Another Year, Another Open RP Post
May. 22nd, 2021 11:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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faemused
Currently offering: Crowley, angel!Crowley, Haleth. Will update this if that changes. If you want one of those three, have at it.
duckshaveears posting in faemusedCurrently offering: Crowley, angel!Crowley, Haleth. Will update this if that changes. If you want one of those three, have at it.
official dream thread sequel (TM)
Date: 2023-10-01 10:31 pm (UTC)That habit was formed when he spent most of his nights alone, and now nights and days alike are spent in the best of company. Even though they don’t entirely have the world back the way they’d like, even though theatre and restaurants and the symphony and all those sorts of things are still slowly recovering, they have one another. They talk and talk and talk, conversations that go on for literal hours and span the entirety of their shared history; they share little bits of their hobbies, each explaining their own progress and praising the other’s. And they spend a great deal of time exploring in the waking world the things they’ve only dreamed of doing to one another.
The thing is, though, that Crowley does enjoy sleep. He especially seems to love drifting off wrapped around Aziraphale, or with his head in the angel’s lap, or… touching him in any way that he can, really. The first few nights it happens, when Crowley drifts off in his arms, Aziraphale simply watches him. He doesn’t pry, he doesn’t disturb whatever dreams Crowley’s having, he simply watches. Marvels at how beautiful he is, how the little serpent on his face completes the perfection of the whole picture, how all the brilliant elasticity that he adores when Crowley is awake relaxes into something that seems untroubled. And whenever Crowley wakes and discovers he’s still held, still right here by Aziraphale’s side, his smile is ten times more dazzling than the angel he once was.
Eventually, when simple admiring doesn’t quite keep him from wanting to wake Crowley up to talk to him, Aziraphale summons books out of the shelves so he can do some reading. As it turns out, reading is even more enjoyable when he’s got his serpent snuggled up to him. And then, at last, just as it does with humans, sleep catches him off guard one evening as he’s re-reading The Scarlet Pimpernel with Crowley asleep in his arms. Between his demon’s slow deep breathing, his warmth, and the familiarity of the romance, he’s lulled in a way he hasn’t been in a long, long time.
Sleep pulls him down into the comfortable darkness of total rest for a while, with Crowley’s weight serving as an anchor.
found it! let Crowley's Magical Mystery Tour of Aziraphale's Shameless Subconscious begin
Date: 2023-11-14 10:37 pm (UTC)The point is, it was supposed to happen deliberately, with them both agreeing beforehand. Instead Aziraphale slips into sleep while Crowley is using him as a pillow, and Crowley...
...is suddenly dreaming.
And aware of it, which is helpful. He'd be hard pressed to explain how he knows this is not only a dream, but not his dream. A different timbre, a frisson that isn't present in his own mind. He knows the same way he knows the difference between his skin and Aziraphale's when they're touching.
Well then. First thing to do is find where his angel is lurking--what's the ethereal equivalent of lurking? Hovering? Languishing? Cavorting, that's probably it. The point is, he should find Aziraphale. And should also let him know he's here, as it were. Though a little bit of payback wouldn't come amiss if there's a good opprtunity.
"Heigh ho," says Anthony Crowley, and starts walking.
I know I owe you Camelot and this is very silly but it wouldn’t leave me alone
Date: 2024-01-03 05:09 pm (UTC)The hum rapidly becomes the excited but unspecific murmurings of a crowd, punctuated by bursts of applause.
Although its real-life counterpart opens into the backstage area of the Windmill, when Crowley steps over the threshold he’s entering where the audience would.
The house is packed. Though the crowd are more like well-done sketches than actual people, they’re delighted by the man-shaped being currently occupying the stage. A pair of large cards on easels at either side of the stage announce the performer whose act they’re framing: FELL THE MARVELLOUS FEATURING SPECTACULAR ACTS OF PRESTIDIGITATION, LEGERDEMAIN, AND WONDERMENT, AND ALSO A TRULY ENCHANTING ASSISTANT.
Aziraphale commands the stage in a cloak woven of actual stars. (It’s a dream, he can be dramatic here in ways the extremely limited budget and human audience of the Windmill in 1941 didn’t permit.) As he moves, the Horsehead Nebula shimmers across his shoulders, little glimpses of the very beginning of the universe.
“…but now, as you can see, all three coins have vanished!” he announces, his excitement and glee filling the theatre. The audience oohs and ahhs, more enthusiastically than any living audience has probably ever done for close-up magic. “Ah, but what good is the power to make things vanish without the power to make them reappear? You may well ask, ladies and gentlemen! And no magician worth his salt simply casts his props into the void without a care. I shall now retrieve all three coins, in the same order they disappeared. Behold!”
A flourish of his cape, a flurry of starstuff, and suddenly Aziraphale’s empty hand holds an egg. There’s a ripple of laughter from the crowd; the angel himself seems unfazed.
“Why, that’s odd. I could have sworn I was bringing back the coins. Perhaps they’re inside here?”
He sweeps off his top hat in a grand gesture and drops the egg into it; there’s a resounding crack. Almost at once a great black-and-red snake with burning yellow eyes rises from the hat, coils spilling past the brim. A few dramatic screams from the audience pierce the air—as one might generally expect in a room full of people not previously established to be snake enthusiasts—but Aziraphale’s smile only sweetens.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please, there’s no need to be alarmed. Remember, after all, that if human traditions hold one truth in common across time and distance, it is that the greatest magic is love.”
And he leans forward and kisses the serpent gently on its forehead.
A burst of light and color like the formation of a galaxy, just enough to dazzle the audience and stir up a furious buzz of confusion… which turns to astonishment as the effect begins to clear. At the angel’s side stands a grinning version of Crowley, looking every inch the magician’s assistant in a red-and-black tuxedo and high heels, with the top hat perched jauntily on his head. Aziraphale beams as the house erupts in applause again.
“Thank you, thank you. But alas, I’m afraid I still seem to have misplaced my coins!”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry, angel.” The duplicate Crowley casually plucks off the top hat and dips long fingers into it, coming away with a shiny red apple. “Can I tempt you?”
Aziraphale sighs melodramatically. “Crowley. My dear fellow. Is now really the best time?”
“Come on. It’ll take your mind off things, at least!”
With the same sort of familiar eyeroll that usually precedes an all right, I suppose for bebop this isn’t so bad or a well, if you really insist, the angel heaves another sigh and reaches over to take the apple. For a moment he looks as if he’s simply going to take a bite out of it; then his mouth quirks into a strange smile.
“You know, Crowley, I don’t think I’ve ever shown you one of the human skills I learned a long time ago.”
“Really? What’s that?”
“Did you know that you can break an apple in half with your hands?”
The crowd makes interested noises.
“There’s a trick to it,” Aziraphale continues. “Here, let me show you.”
He takes the apple in both hands. A flex, and a sharp snap, and his hands come away separately, each holding half of the fruit. And, just as the audience begins to register how impressive this is, he points to something glinting in one half of the apple’s white flesh near the core.
“Why, it’s all three of my coins! The farthing, the shilling, and the half a crown!”
The crowd goes, politely, wild. Aziraphale smiles adoringly at the duplicate Crowley, the smile that only shows when the demon’s come to his rescue yet again, and together they take several bows to the noise of thunderous applause. When someone starts shouting encore!, Crowley’s double leans over and says something in Aziraphale’s ear that turns the angel’s smile indulgent. He nods, and the double slinks offstage as Aziraphale steps forward to address the crowd, assuring them that he has plenty of time for encores.
As he’s nattering on about the history of card tricks, a thin dark figure saunters up beside the real Crowley.
“Can’t say we weren’t warned.”
it's glorious and I greatly enjoyed rereading the whole dream thread WHEEEEE
Date: 2024-01-06 01:23 am (UTC)1941 at the Windmill Theatre. What a night that was, the whole thing.
He watches Aziraphale go through his routine, and even chuckles a little. Stage magic isn't one of his interests but it's fun to watch Aziraphale enjoying himself, particularly as here he has all the skill he lacks in the real world. Not that Crowley is judging. He rode a dragon in a jousting tournament, for Someone's sake.
He barks out a laugh at his own dramatic appearance, and if he rolls his eyes at the saccharine transformation...well, he's still smiling. As is his doppleganger, wearing a tuxedo tailcoat, fishnets, and sparkling red high heels. He wonders idly what would happen if his duplicate would click his heels together three times.
There's an apple, because of course there is. Aziraphale's never been one for subtlety in his symbolism. Not that Crowley's any better.
The act continues, the assistant leaves the stage. Crowley isn't surprised at all to hear someone approach and speak with his own voice. "No, we can't," he agrees, turning his head and grinning like the snake they are. "Nice shoes. Nice legs, come to that."
Vanity is expected of him, after all. Demon.
this thread at the moment is kinda my “for when I get the zoomies”
Date: 2024-01-12 01:49 am (UTC)Up on the stage, Aziraphale’s begun shuffling cards with a dexterity he’s never shown in real life. (Not without the help of miracles, anyway.) He’s nearly radiating pride and glee—and why not? His audience here is far more receptive than any real one, and he’s able to handle his props with a far greater ease than he ever has in the waking world.
“Didn’t tell him you’re here yet, by the way. Turnabout being fair play and all. Or it’s in the spirit of playing dirty, take your pick. I’d give you the grand tour, but…” He gestures vaguely with one long hand. “Probably a lot more fun if you just start poking around.”
the Camelot angst is glorious but silliness is also key
Date: 2024-01-20 01:29 am (UTC)and it’s going to get quite silly in here
Date: 2024-01-28 07:54 pm (UTC)“Ahh, you want the Wicked Sorcerer scenario.” Yes, in a dream the capital letters are every bit as clear as they would be if Aziraphale himself were saying them out loud. “Been keeping that one in reserve since… the 1480s, probably? Hold on. Think I remember how to get there from here.”
The not-Crowley turns to regard the wall nearest them. Unlike the real-life Windmill, this one is lit by candles as well as electric light, with plenty of large dramatic-looking candelabras mounted on the walls. A quiet hum, a hesitation, then a noise of triumph as the double considers their options before reaching out to pull one of the candlesticks towards them. With a soft ka-chunk! a section of the wall pops open, revealing a secret door straight from a Gothic romance.
“C’mon, then.” Without waiting for the genuine article, the double slithers into the newly-revealed corridor. The walls are painted a warm and familiar yellow, interrupted every so often by doors on either side. “The scenic route.”
I'm listening to Götterdämmerung right now, I need the silly! ;)
Date: 2024-01-28 10:14 pm (UTC)Perhaps if he'd been unprepared he might've found this all more strange, but of course Crowley's wondered about doing this for...how long has it been now? Months? Long enough to have ideas, definitely, even expectations. This doppleganger's no threat--he's based on Aziraphale's own ideas of what Crowley is like, and Crowley is secure enough Aziraphale's opinion of him nowadays that the idea is a lot more intriguing than unnerving. Besides, it's interesting to see how those hips work from an outside angle.
Crowley grins and follows along in his double's wake.
"Wicked Sorcerer, is it." He brushes a hand along the wall, noticing the familiar colour. His grin grows. He knows now why Aziraphale likes yellow so much. "I was expecting a summoning scenario, I admit, but Wicked Sorcerer definitely has possibilities." He speeds up his pace so they're walking side by side. "Think he'd like to play with both of us at once? Assuming you're willing as well. Can't imagine you're not."
I REGRET NOTHING.
Date: 2024-02-04 12:10 am (UTC)They stop at a door, turn the knob and peer inside. The landscape beyond is one that suggests an idealized American West—desert buttes in the bright yellows and oranges of an oil painting, with the occasional tumbleweed, and a railroad track shining somewhere in the not-too-distant distance. Even as the doppelganger theatrically cups a hand around their ear, a quiet but distinct sound begins to build: chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga.
Following it, there’s an affronted cry.
“Oh! I say! Some very bad angels have tied me to the railroad tracks, and the 3:10 to Yuma is coming down the line! If only someone were here to cut me loose! I wouldn’t care what sort of ruffian might come along, I’d do anything for someone to set me free!”
Crowley’s double flashes him one of their wickedest smiles as they pull the door shut again.
“Figured you’d want to know that one was there.”
AND RIGHTLY NOT
Date: 2024-02-04 01:27 am (UTC)He casts a faintly regretful look over his shoulder as they walk away from the room, because Aziraphale all tied up and willing to do anything is certainly appealing. In fact...
"Ohhhhh...is there a Bastille room?" He grabs his double's arm. "Tell me there's a Bastille room, complete with manacles and that outrageously prissy outfit and him all, all fluttering his eyelashes and everything. Are you sure we want the Wicked Sorcerer room and not that one instead?"
tee hee happy vamlumtimes
Date: 2024-02-14 08:53 pm (UTC)This being a dreamscape, the double’s words bring with them a faint frisson of emotion. The sensation registers like a sort of bodiless version of the earth shifting subtly beneath one’s feet: it hints at the presence of something powerful and hidden.
“Course, we can leave that for another time if you prefer. But as the closest he can get to imagining you? I’ll always recommend the thing you’re not supposed to find.”
yaaaaaay so much better than flowers or chocolate or chocolate flowers!!
Date: 2024-02-15 01:44 am (UTC)The wave of lust that rocks through him at his doppleganger's suggestion still almost knocks him off his feet. His? Aziraphale's? Both?
Who cares? Regardless, he wants. Not just the bright delighted flame of recent weeks but something darker, with that added tang of secret, forbidden, sinful.
"Ohhhhh I definitely like your style." He's still holding the other Crowley's arm, though now it's as much to keep his balance. "That. Show me that, absolutely "
WHAT TYPOS NO TYPOS HERE
Date: 2024-02-18 12:30 am (UTC)Again there’s that faint near-rumbling sensation, around and beneath them. None of the doors either side of them have clear labels, but the shape of each is slightly different, the knobs and doorframes distinct from one another. It’s not unlike making one’s way through the back rooms of a museum designed by an eccentric.
“There’ll be some back-and-forth, he’ll protest a little but he won’t really mean it. Mostly he just likes to struggle and be held down and make a lot of noise.” The double stops again, hesitating between two choices. “If I remember right from last time… yeah, this one, I think.”
Having made a decision, the dream-Crowley reaches out and turns one of the doorknobs. It swings inwards, and instantly a dream-echo of scent rolls out to meet them: grass and wet earth, and a suggestion of something green as only Sherwood Forest could be to a creature who’d spent as much time in England as they had.
“Through here. C’mon.”
note to self: find what happened to the Sherwood Forest thread, gotta be around somewhere...
Date: 2024-03-14 04:37 pm (UTC)Forests have never been Crowley's milieu of choice--of Hell's for that matter, no point in trying to corrupt squirrels--so it isn't hard to narrow down which one this is. There are only a handful he ever spent any significant amounts of time in and fewer that he and Aziraphale were both present for. "Sherwood? Should I be expecting a lot of innuendo about staves and hard wood and shooting here?"
Found it, and it’s actually my go!
Date: 2024-03-14 07:49 pm (UTC)As they step over the threshold, the double’s outfit shimmers and changes: instead of the magician’s assistant getup, they’re suddenly wearing a slightly gaudier version of the red getup that earned Crowley the nickname of Will Scarlet.
“Sometimes he stands in for Maid Marian and we’re Robin. Or vice versa, rarely. Sometimes it’s just revisiting the good times, but taking opportunities we missed. Once in a while there’s a clandestine meeting at the Great Saturday Fair. Anyway. You were saying?”
oh good, thank you for the link!
Date: 2024-03-21 04:32 pm (UTC)He shook his head briefly and continued in his double's wake. What had he been saying...? Oh, right. "Does he want us to pretend to force him against his will or tempt him til he gives in?"
He doesn't have to say that he prefers the latter. The former has its points in a fantasy, but it's so, so much more satisfying to make a reluctant Aziraphale admit what he obviously wants but doesn't want to confess to wanting. Delicious.
You’re welcome! and HEE I love getting to do all this daydream stuff
Date: 2024-03-23 11:46 pm (UTC)The sound of the revelry grows a little louder and more cheerful. A more traditionally feminine version of Aziraphale’s voice rises over the noise: “Well, I suppose if you insist, I shall be your May Queen. Come! To the maypole, and the feasting tables!”
A raucous (but not too raucous) cheer goes up. Crowley’s double glances towards the source of the sound, and a look comes across their face that the real Crowley has probably never seen on his own: the unshadowed, happy smile that he’s worn so often lately now that he and Aziraphale are finally together.
“She does love to go a-maying,” the doppelgänger says, voice warm with affection. “Drinking, dancing, being told she’s pretty. Most of the time we show up during the games to win a kiss, or under the maypole to steal one.”
Of course, during their time in the real Sherwood, Aziraphale had indulged far more in the feasting side of spring and summer celebrations. He’d blessed young lovers, children, lambs and milk cows, sharing in their laughter and delighting in how much simple goodness there was to go around. But every once in a while there had been a look in his eye as if he might be curious about the equally simple human joys they reveled in.
The double chuckles quietly before continuing along their way towards a strangely familiar glade. There’s no telling what’s happened to it in the intervening centuries, but at the time it had been a favorite location for them to sit and drink and argue.
it's fun! want to turn it into fic too? could probably do the first one already
Date: 2024-04-07 10:27 pm (UTC)Ohh he knows exactly what's called for here, and it sounds absolutely delectable. Aziraphale can wax rhapsodic as much as he wants about the delights of this meal or another, but for Crowley there's nothing, absolutely nothing like the taste of his angel giving in to temptation. [footnote: Though an aged Lagavulin does come close.]
"Under the maypole, is it. That's got potential too." Crowley grins, amused by the suggestion and also by his doppleganger's obvious pleasure in it. Though the other Crowley's smile is unusual and Crowley absolutely doesn't recognize it as an expression he's ever worn. Something Aziraphale made up, no doubt. "I take it we get to win archery concerts in her honour in exchange for a kiss, or rather more than a kiss. How many of these interludes do we need to go through to get to the goal, though?"
ooooh we could! and hehehehHEHEHEHEHE BEHOLD WICKED SORCERER SCENARIO
Date: 2024-04-24 10:20 pm (UTC)The crowd noise drifts away from them as they head into the well-remembered glade; once there the double walks straight up to a sturdy oak and simply presses a knot on the front. Slowly the texture of the tree ripples and changes, revealing a very tall and stylish grandfather clock with no pendulum.
With a flourish, Crowley’s double opens the door and gestures inward.
The landscape beyond is none they’ve ever visited—or perhaps an amalgam of places, stitched together to create a new picture. It’s a forest of some sort, between spring and summer, with the very last of what might be crumbling stone walls poking up through the greenery. [footnote: For some reason, despite the abundant foliage, the place still somehow looks like a rock quarry in Wales.] In a little clearing, quite obviously visible, an apple and a cherry tree have twined together into a mess of foliage and blossom, impossibly heavy with fruit and flowers at the same time. Their bountiful branches have grown into the shape of a sort of platform, on which rests a soft bed, decked in silks and velvets.
In that bed lies Aziraphale as he’s never let Crowley see him in waking life.
He looks for all the world like a pre-Raphaelite painting, eyes shut and hair tumbling in long curls across the pillows—longer than he’s ever worn it around Crowley. To complete the picture he wears only a very light, diaphanous robe—a single translucent layer over the soft curves of his body. The robe is loose, baring his pale skin from shoulder to breast on one side; though he’s covered to the thigh the outline of his cock is just visible through the fabric. A few drifting petals catch in the folds of the robe and on his skin.
All at once he stirs, languid and deliberate, a movement that mirrors a cat stretching out in a patch of sunlight.
“What a perfect day,” he sighs, his eyes fluttering open to glance up into the branches of his bower. “Utterly idyllic weather, my kingdom is at peace, and absolutely no sign of the wicked sorcerer whose courtship has plagued me these past years.”
At Crowley’s side, his double shimmers and blurs, turning back into the enormous black-and-red snake. Though in a dream the sensation is weightless and thus more a suggestion than anything else, the snake’s body slithers up and across his shoulders to drape like a great reptilian stole.
“Have at it, ssssssssorcerer,” they purr. “Let me know if you need some help ressssstraining him. There’s even a ssssinissster tower we could whisk him off to.”
we certainly could and BWAHAHHAHA
Date: 2024-05-15 09:44 pm (UTC)It's such a perfect setup, absolutely ripe with potential. Aziraphale's desires are as transparent as his robe as he wanders around his glade, humming to himself. Absolutely everything screams here I am, come and ravish me! It couldn't be more blatant if he'd embroidered the words on the diaphonous silk and tattooed arrows on his buttocks as signposts.
...there's a thought for another time. But for now, Crowley has a role to play, and he intends to relish every second of it.
And he knows just how to go about it.
A shadow slowly covers the glade, the golds and greens and roses darkening underneath it. It grows and grows, the sunlight blocked by the apparition of horns, talons, a spiked tail.
Of course, Crowley waits until the instant Aziraphale begins to turn around before he strikes.
A huge scaled claw wraps itself (not too roughly, but not too gently either) around the helpless (hah!) angel, lifting him easily. Crowley flaps his massive wings once, twice, three times...and they're airborne, the snake wrapped around his neck and Aziraphale held tight, and the dragon flying towards the tower that so conveniently appears on the horizon, set against dark mountains and thunderstorms. All the land is covered in darkness, and Crowley roars his amusement and triumph.
CACKLING. LOVE THESE DORKS
Date: 2024-05-15 11:00 pm (UTC)Somewhere beneath the thunder, the roaring wind and the dragon’s laughter, Aziraphale’s voice still rings out in distress.
“Oh! Ruffian! Fiend! Wickedest of sorcerers! Oh, how dastardly—!”
He flails enthusiastically but ineffectually against the dragon’s grip, making loud noises that aren’t really protests at all. In the process his thin soft robe tears in several places, giving appealingly under Crowley’s claws; he’s flushed, long hair fetchingly tousled by the rough wind. And just as he’s held not too gently and not too harshly, any blows he manages to land in his struggle have force behind them but no intent to hurt.
As travel always is in dreams, the journey to the dark stone tower is somehow lengthy and compressed. It’s a properly wicked-looking building, rising up into a bank of churning clouds laced through with lightning and the occasional flock of bats. A wide window in the side of the tower opens itself up wider, like a snake’s jaw unhinging, to admit the dragon and his passengers into what is unquestionably an Evil Lair. It’s all black marble and red velvet, elegant and shadowy, with grimoires of dark magic on ebony shelves and leering gargoyles peeking over the arches of doorways. [footnote: Though it has a great deal more friendly clutter and less black mold than true Evil Lairs, and a distinct lack of any shark-based security, as some James Bond devices are a touch too modern for Aziraphale’s tastes.]
“Villain,” Aziraphale says, with all the fierceness of a melodrama heroine, the instant his feet touch the floor. “I knew you hadn’t given up your evil courtship, serpent!”
SUCH DORKS also damn I wish I could draw. should he have a goatee or is that just too much?
Date: 2024-05-19 09:57 pm (UTC)Calling them 'robes' hardly seems appropriate. Oh, they go down to his ankles and wrists, certainly. But his arms are nearly bare, as is his torso, the cloth strategically attached with golden armcuffs and thin chains in a manner that passes by 'suggestive' and lands closer to 'indecent.' His pelvis is blatantly outlined, the 'skirt' flowing in strips revealing his legs underneath, dragonskin boots underneath, or are those just his feet? The fabric is black as pitch, but where the firelight catches it is an outline of scales in a red as dark as the heart's blood. His hair flows past his waist in a long crimson fall, decorated with dark beads and more gold chains and two black feathers. His serpent-double remains wrapped around his neck as a living decoration; Crowley lifts a hand and strokes its head, smiling cruelly.
Aziraphale wanted an evil sorcerer. Crowley is more than willing to oblige, and he's sure his shadow-self will be only too happy to join in the fun.
"Is that any way to talk to your husband-to-be, my sweet?" His voice drips with a mixture of honey and mockery, rich and cruel. "And on our wedding night, no less!"
Goatee makes me think of Fright Night and thus I APPROVE
Date: 2024-05-19 10:16 pm (UTC)At the first sight of him, Aziraphale pauses a moment, as if briefly stunned by the power of (what he believes is) his own imagination. It makes him an even prettier picture: the extravagantly desirable damsel momentarily waylaid by his own surprise at how much he enjoys the engineer of his distress. But for a fantasy he’s kept so deeply buried, even that spark of unexpectedly strong desire feels in keeping with the entire situation.
As soon as Crowley’s words register, he’s snapped right back into his own role, tossing his snowy curls with all the haughty authority of a fairy tale princess.
“Our wedding night?” he echoes, indignant, belatedly remembering to clutch at his somewhat shredded robes for modesty. (This does very little in the way of actually keeping him covered, but arguably, actually being covered isn’t really the point here.) The snake lets out its own hissing cackle, lifting its head to leer at Aziraphale with brilliant gold eyes. “You presume too much, foul fiend!”
All that then! And omg that icon!!!
Date: 2024-05-19 10:36 pm (UTC)His gaze rakes over Aziraphale with open covetousness, lingering on every scrap of skin (which takes a while, given the amount on display).
He’s such a cutie. Also here he’s channeling Lansbury in Court Jester
Date: 2024-05-19 11:22 pm (UTC)“So you’ve said time and time again. And every time my answer has been the same. No matter what sort of wonders you may conjure with your dark magic, no matter how handsome you may make yourself seem with your terrible powers, I shall never be yours, in name or in deed!” It sounds like a well-rehearsed speech—performed with great gusto, but rehearsed nonetheless. “Perhaps,” he continues, with the air of someone who won’t follow through but knows the effectiveness of the threat, “I shall throw myself from the window to flee your advances.”
The sly glance from beneath his eyelashes says, and I expect you to show me exactly why we both know I’m not going anywhere.
no such thing as too much melodrama or horniness here
From:am I rewatching bits of Legend and Magic Sword? MAYBEEEEE
From:Excellent choices both!!! ohhhh Mia Sara, one of my earliest girl crushes...!!
From:You have excellent taste! :D and HEE he’s so right about temptatiob
From:I have Opinions about Crowley and temptations.;) And yesss Mia Sara, Joanne Whalley, Carrie Fisher<3
From:okay so I would understand if you want to scrap this thread but here’s the take
From:excuse you they will pry this thread out of my cold dead hands
From:I WAS WORRIED, THANK YOU
From:pffft have you met me this is my jam as much as yours
From:HEY SO GUESS WHAT I FOUND IN MY NOTES
From:HEY GUESS WHAT I RESPONDED TO AT 1AM
From: