dumbshow | the critically acclaimed open post

the critically acclaimed open post

assorted shitty people

optional prompts/ideas

☆ caught in the rain meme
☆ little steps meme
☆ affectionate physical contact meme
☆ picture prompt also acceptable but link them so it's tidy
☆ AU ideas: soulmates AU, reincarnation AU, Bad End AU, canon divergent/roleswap AU, dorky college AU, crossover AU, super indulgent high fantasy AU
☆ melodrama is ultimate tier
★ SHIPPING AND FILTHY THINGS:
☆ non-fluffy relationship types I'm down for: codependent, master/servant power imbalance type ships, "we're bad for each other but worse for anyone else," other things I am failing to think of tbh
☆ things I won't rp: noncon (includes "dubcon"), incest, tsundere shit if your tsundere is just verbally abusive, gratuitous torture porn, you'll probably have to ask me about harder kinks and they will vary by character
☆ I don't have a kink list so pitch me an idea if u thirsty
☆ if you would prefer a locked post I can also make that happen

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[Hm, hello, he likes this, and he squeezes his hand, his thumb brushing against the back of his hand. It's not impossible to maintain this form, but it is an effort-- so good, they're distracting themselves. It's good practice (or something).

Although--]

How often did he hang around you when he was on earth?

[Hmm, yes, holding hands is the best plan for distraction. He frowns up at the ceiling, recalling an old, old memory...]

Oh, more than enough. He's always been very, you know— he needs someone to speak at or he gets bent out of shape.

[It's not that he's jealous, because he knows there's nothing to be jealous of. But at the same time, he really doesn't like the thought of Gabriel hanging around Aziraphale, purely on a defensive basis, and also, Gabriel is just . . . gross, he's just so gross, Crowley never liked him even when he was an angel.]

So what did he do, just come around and bother you til you paid him mind?

[crowley that's literally what you did]

[Crowley, babe. Darling. Honey. Aziraphale gives him an even look; yes, dear, you did that same thing.]

Something like that, I suppose. I don't think he cared much if I was actually listening, just present...

Huh.

[Well. Well, and he actually looks a great deal like Aziraphale in that moment, huffing softly to himself.]

Right. Good to know.

I'll keep that in mind tomorrow. Oye, what do you think they'll try, anyway? Maybe they'll try to make you Fall . . .

[But it's Crowley, who has already Fallen, so it's fine.]

[Oh. Look at him... that's kind of cute, but only because he's imagining Crowley's face instead.]

Oh, I'm sure there will be plenty of Hellfire. That shouldn't be half as bad as the posturing, though.

[Agnes had spoken of fire (or fyre), so yes, that's probably accurate. But Hellfire will kill Aziraphale, and yes, that's the fate he expects in Hell, but there's something a little . . . disturbing about hearing Aziraphale acknowledge that so matter-of-factly.

So yeah, there's a moment of shock. He blinks, nods, refocuses.]

Yeah.

Suppose it's back to the fire and brimstone days with them sometimes, then.

Most of the time, when it comes to— well, traitors.

[Which is the first time Aziraphale has acknowledged out loud that they are, in fact, traitors. Being on their own side is some kind of dramatically romantic, that's easier, but traitors? Hmm.

Still, he has this odd feeling...]

You know... I think we're going to be alright.

[Traitors, and that's perfectly apt for what they are. But he doesn't mind. He minds very much the thought of Aziraphale down in Hell alone, surrounded by demons who aren't creative, but don't need to be.

He melts away into his proper body, and now the worry is evident in his gaze, the quiet way he squirms in closer.]

Tell me that again when you return. Yeah?

[They will be just fine. Aziraphale does the same, dropping the glamour and leaning in to press a kiss to Crowley's forehead. He's worried, don't get him wrong; it's a terrifying thought, whether or not they can pull this off, but panicking is only going to make Crowley feel worse...

So: kisses.]

Of course. We'll meet in the park, shall we? You'll tell me all about the look on Gabriel's face. [that prick] Then... we'll see. That ride in the country, perhaps.

Yeah.

[He's tense, but what's there to be done? Talking about it won't help. Kisses might, he does so like them, and he turns into him a little more.

It's just that he can't help but remember all those things Hell is so good at. All the little ways they get under your skin, figuratively and so very literally. It's just that he can't help but imagine what they'd do to an angel, his angel, knowing damn well Heaven wouldn't care, knowing that this was their one chance to really take out six thousand years of building resentment . . .

Heaven would just kill him straightaway. There's nothing much to fear there.]

Why don't we just get a place there?

[It's raspy, and he twists against, squirming impatiently, like he can't get comfortable.]

In the country. Some cottage or something. Somewhere we can go to whenever we want.

[Since if they survive all this, they're technically out of jobs. And it's not as though they ever really did those jobs, except on a very basic, low-level way, but. Still. It's going to be odd, filling up all those hours.]

[They will be fine, Aziraphale tells himself again, and tries not to let his heart break from the way Crowley's voice sounds. They can do this, surely; their respective bosses never paid enough attention to them, after all, or they'd have been found out sooner— so even if he says something a little too polite to a few demons, surely no one will know. No one will figure out, and they will be fine.

Ah, but-]

A cottage? [He repeats it, surprised, and he nearly forgets what's happened to his bookshop again, but... a cottage. In the country. Together.

His face does that ridiculous thing again, smiling and trying to keep it down, because he knows what a fool he looks like this. A whole cottage!]

I— I am going to decorate. [This is non-negotiable!!]

No.

[Well, that's firm. It almost makes him forget his fear, honestly. Or, well. Maybe it's just the sight of Aziraphale's face, so stupidly happy. Overjoyed all at the thought of getting a-- a bloody cottage in the countryside (together, can't forget that, but it's one thing to blurt it out and another to really consider what he's just proposed). Love, and maybe that's it: maybe he won't be convinced by words, but by little things like this. What would be the point of faking such joy?

He blinks, and glances away, scowling as he tucks his head beneath his chin.]

You're not-- you're not bloody decorating, angel, I've seen how you decorate. Some bits are fine, but I'm not living anywhere that heavily features pastel.

Yes, you are. You'll like it.

[No, he won't, he'll complain about it every day, and Aziraphale will tell him how lovely it is, and doesn't he like these darling new matching mugs? It will be... nice. Peaceful. Idyllic. One of them will buy a "bless this mess" cross stitch one day to be ironic and it will never go away. He can picture it all vividly, and he loves it already.]

You can help me pick out a few things.

I can-- it's half mine, you can't just give me a few scraps and act like it's charitable.

[Oh, this was a good idea indeed, because it's so much easier to think about their future than whether or not they'll have one.]

And I won't like it, actually, you having spent the past six thousand years constantly being half a century behind style.

Edited 2019-06-12 18:09 (UTC)

[Crowley, darling!! Please appreciate his vision. Aziraphale makes that dopey face again when he says "half mine," because of course he does. But he won't give in so easily to Crowley's, ah... minimalist decor.]

Those tall windows you like so much would be lovely in the country, [he's just going on, like Crowley isn't whining,] But you will have to be nice to the garden.

I will not.

[He sounds disgusted in his whining. Don't make him be nice? He shifts again, half flopping over Aziraphale, all long limbs and semi-petulant expression.]

Fear's the only way to get them to grow properly. They get lazy if you're nice to them.

[Was there an incident in which Aziraphale gifted him a plant and he was kind to it because he felt bad about menacing it? Yes. Did it grow lazily and shoddily? Also yes.]

And who among us raised plants, was it you, oh, no, it wasn't, was it?

[Sweetheart, please... Aziraphale strokes his hair, utterly convinced that Crowley is sweet and gentle somewhere in there and taking no objections.

Ah, but--]

I suppose my track record with plant management is not, er... without flaw, historically speaking. [Like, in a purely Biblical sense. That's not the point!!] But still, don't be such a spoilsport.

[Like, melting all over him and whining. Let him cuddle without fidgeting, you actual child.]

What are you doing, Crowley?

Getting comfortable.

[Flopping around, anyway. He shifts again, half because Aziraphale pointed it out and half because it's a simple joy just to be able to do it. Perhaps he'll lie atop him, or tuck his face beneath his chin, or squirm and rock his hips just to say he did.]

Not without flaw, is that really what you're going to call it? When have you once kept a plant alive for more than a month?

Ah, [Aziraphale says, in the exact tone of someone who says "ah" and means "you're being just a little bit ridiculous, and I love you anyway" and who has been around his ridiculous, wriggling serpent long enough to leave it at that. Ah.]

There have been some plants that have unfortunately expired, yes, alright. I— could keep a plant if I wanted to. [No, he couldn't; he'd get absorbed in new books and old books and going out for a quick bite and suddenly a month's passed and he has to miracle life back into his poor fern but he still knows, deep down, that he forgot all about it yet again. He could keep a plastic plant, maybe.]

If you're going to threaten the garden, I'm going to pick the drapes.

You can try, anyway, I'll give you that.

[He squirms again-- and all right, even he knows he's being irritating at this point, but it's hard to stay still. The moment he does, his mind focuses in on what's to come, equal parts gutting anticipation and helpless anger. It's pointless and utterly distracting, and he huffs a sharp sigh, finally sitting up properly.]

Come here.

[Because he's going to fuss with Aziraphale's wings now, that's as good a distracting technique as any. Besides: they've been bothering him for a bit now. Love yourself, angel, groom your damn wings.]

[He will have delightfully out of date curtains and Crowley will like them, rest assured. It's happening. Aziraphale hums and pushes himself up to sitting, looking at Crowley expectantly.]

So?

[What's up, what's happening. He will gladly play along with more or less anything to assuage Crowley's inevitable panic attack about The Future.]

[The thing is, it's not as though their wings ever go away. They don't cease to exist just because the humans don't see them. They're there, just sort of . . . elsewhere, all at once. He can see the faint outline of them if he focuses, light glinting off them, like spotting dust motes in the sun.]

Hold still.

[It's easy to slip his fingers into that other place, just enough that he can run them through the first set of feathers, tossing away the loose ones.]

Oh, [He says, and immediately doesn't. He can't help it; it isn't as if his wings are touched often, or really at all. So it's only natural to fidget, but at least he leans toward Crowley instead of away.

But he isn't holding still, so, sorry dear. Now listen, prissy boy with pretty wings...]

They aren't that bad.

[He scoffs softly.]

When was the last time you groomed them?

[Because it's not filthy, but at the same, come on, babe, you can do better than this. He moves with Aziraphale's twitching, his fingers moving slowly and methodically.]

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