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}
duckshaveears posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
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.
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
Date: 2024-06-01 04:03 pm (UTC)He leans in close, not touching but near enough that his breath can kiss his cheek and ear, stir his hair. "Without ever having felt your body awaken to passion..."
am I rewatching bits of Legend and Magic Sword? MAYBEEEEE
Date: 2024-06-01 07:45 pm (UTC)At once the touch of hot breath and the stroke of a fingertip raise goosebumps on Aziraphale’s bared skin. His eyelids flutter slightly—for all that he’s happily throwing himself into the act of playing coy, the promise of where this fantasy leads is already threatening to unravel his already-flimsy facade of resistance.
For just a moment he leans into the slight touch; then he arches a bit, not quite holding himself away from Crowley.
“You know as well as I do that there is no room in my duty for passion.” This comes with a wave of true emotion he can’t quite suppress: he’s spent millennia yearning, knowing what he wanted was probably frowned on in the very mildest case scenario and punishable by erasure from existence in the worst. But the want has always been there, growing and growing, waiting for permission to be unleashed. Or teased out of hiding. “The Law of the Land [footnote: Yes, the capital letters are audible.] forbids it.”
Excellent choices both!!! ohhhh Mia Sara, one of my earliest girl crushes...!!
Date: 2024-06-01 11:33 pm (UTC)"Oh, but there is," he purrs. He moves incrimentally closer, breathing into Aziraphale's earlobe. He knows from experience how a breath there, when you're already taut with desire, can send need shooting down the spine right down to the toes. "All you have to do is wed me, and then it becomes your duty."
He tilts his head down so his breath will caress Aziraphale's neck and stir his hair. "And then you could have everything you want. Your honour intact, your duties fulfilled, and your nightsss..." He lets the last word dissolve into a hiss. "I promise your nights would contain all the passion you could possibly want. I would give you everything, Aziraphale. Everything. If you will only grant me this one, simple request."
You have excellent taste! :D and HEE he’s so right about temptatiob
Date: 2024-06-02 01:49 am (UTC)“Everything?” he repeats, the word a heated whisper. “You speak of passion and of honour, and no doubt you’ll offer riches and power to go along with it, but…”
He lifts his gaze, then, immediately seeking the molten gold of Crowley’s eyes. In the firelight, Aziraphale’s own eyes look a sort of stormy sea-grey, their soft blue not washed out but transformed.
“Would you love me, once I am yours, or would you only conquer me?”
Not that he especially minds the conquering part. It’s arguably the point of this whole exercise, or at the very least one of the main attractions. But Aziraphale is something of an incurable romantic, particularly in what could actually be called his wildest dreams.
I have Opinions about Crowley and temptations.;) And yesss Mia Sara, Joanne Whalley, Carrie Fisher<3
Date: 2024-06-02 10:11 pm (UTC)Crowley leans in, intent and unblinking. This isn't the hold him down and struggle oh-no-you-big-bad-villain scene he was intending and debateably was asked for, but even so... "I have done all this only for love of you," he says, voice as dark and rich as Turkish coffee. I have made myself powerful in order to obtain you, sought riches that I might adorn you with them, turned to darkness solely that I might approach your light."
Does that last line make any sense? Never mind, it sounded good. He reaches for one of Aziraphale's hands and places it against his bare chest. Which is, of course, glistening in the firelight. "This heart beats only and ever for you, my angel. Do you think it is your kingdom I want? No. Only you." He leans in closer, still holding Aziraphale's gaze, until they can feel each other's breath on their lips. "There is nothing I would not do, if I could only call you mine."
okay so I would understand if you want to scrap this thread but here’s the take
Date: 2024-08-28 03:20 am (UTC)His eyelashes flutter. His posture softens. When he speaks it’s a sigh into Crowley’s mouth, the ghost of a kiss.
“Is this sorcery, or is this true passion at last?” Aziraphale breathes the words almost to himself, as if he’s voicing the inner monologue of a protagonist (which, considering they’re in his dreams, is entirely thematically appropriate). The tips of his fingers stir over Crowley’s heart, carrying echoes of that heat-wave arousal.
excuse you they will pry this thread out of my cold dead hands
Date: 2024-08-28 01:47 pm (UTC)"Kiss me, and you will know," he whispers, the Serpent of Eden offering an apple.
I WAS WORRIED, THANK YOU
Date: 2024-08-29 05:23 am (UTC)Where Eve tasted the apple in innocent curiosity, Aziraphale accepts this temptation out of yearning. He’s always wanted it, even before he knew he did, always been so starved that he can’t stop to think about the depths of his hunger. But it’s always been there, vast as the ocean of Crowley’s own need: a parched sea-bed gasping for a filling tide.
There’s a sort of immaterial tremor in his kiss that suggests the sharp crack of thunder in a heavy sky. Angels aren’t supposed to want anything for themselves, but here in his own mind the sheer depth of his desire pulses and crackles, a storm cloud shivering on the brink of downpour.
pffft have you met me this is my jam as much as yours
Date: 2024-08-29 10:43 pm (UTC)And oh, for all the fun of this scene they're playing, their mouths know each other. Crowley tries to draw it out, keep it slow and lingering, but there's hunger in his throat and belly that can't be denied, and Aziraphale can match it.
And while this was Aziraphale's fantasy, there's part of Crowley that craves it as well, he's finding. Being the seductive demon who can't be resisted, after so many centuries of being refused...feeling Aziraphale yield to him so sweetly, his desire almost a tangible presence in the room with them...something in Crowley howls, wanting more.
He leans in, deepening the kiss further, pressing Aziraphale's hand against a heart that beats wildly.
HEY SO GUESS WHAT I FOUND IN MY NOTES
Date: 2025-11-27 05:05 am (UTC)No angel should feel desire, but I do. I desire you, and further than that I want you to desire me in return. I want you to be so overwhelmed with how much you want me that we have no choice but to give in.
He’s greedier with his kisses than he’s dared to be yet in life. His free hand clutches at Crowley’s back, an insistent phantom pressure, and his fingers held against Crowley’s heart tighten and tremble. With a great deal more sense memory to draw on, these dream-kisses are vivid and perfect—they’re every remembered moment of the best ones between them in life so far, but with the added enhancement of the secret more-than-physical want he’s allowing himself to feel.
In life I have had to make an art of denying myself the experiences I crave the most. I have grown expert at gracefully justifying why I can’t simply act as I please and telling myself it builds character, and I’m sick of it. Here where no one can see us, I want to drink so deeply of my desires that I nearly choke.
HEY GUESS WHAT I RESPONDED TO AT 1AM
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