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The Player
Name/nickname: Cully
Age: 24
Pronouns: she/her, generally, but I won’t take offence if I get others
Contact: im.going.nowhere.very.slowly@gmail.com, Culumacilinte on AIM
Experience: I’ve been RPing in various forms since 2007, both in communities and out. I specialise in EPIC ‘VERSE BUILDING via AIM. Think probably 1000+ pages of AUs branching upon AUs. Lots of sex and tragedy, more often than not.
Currently played characters: Charley Pollard

The Character
DW account: [personal profile] anguiform 
Name: Unknown, and presumably unpronounceable. When written, it’s represented by a ‘complex, wiggly sigil’
Alias: Crawly, Anthony J. Crowley, many, many others, as he’s lived on Earth for the best part of 6,000 years. Mostly just goes by Crowley. (Incidentally, that's Crowley pronounced like the occultist, not the character from Supernatural)
Age/Birthdate: The beginning of creation, give or take, so at least 6,000
Species: Demon-- which is to say, formerly angelic, since fallen and acquired an affinity with snakes
Canon: Good Omens
Canon point: Post-book
Played By: Kunal Kapoor

Read more... )
anguiform: (smoulder)
Continued from here

The blushing (human eyes couldn't see it, with the starlit dark and the shade of Aziraphale's skin, but Crowley isn't human) is a little unexpected, but between the two of them, it's always been the odd little things that cross the border into squirming discomfort. For Crowley, any hint of the huge, consuming, ineffable love Aziraphale is capable of makes him want to curl up into snake-form and bury his head in his own coils. It's not the love in general terms; Aziraphale is an angel, after all; love is kind of what he does; but specific love, focussed on Crowley, is unaccountably terrifying. He tries his best not to let on about that. For Aziraphale, it's his own carnal desires, or at least that's Crowley's hypothesis. The angel's come to terms very neatly with gluttony and drunkenness and avarice over the centuries, but he still manages to freak himself out when he wants with the intensity that humans want.

It's a strange combination. But then, they are by definition a strange combination, so perhaps it's to be expected.

In any event, Aziraphale plainly doesn't need persuading in this instance, just encouraging past his own tongue-tied embarrassment. And, well, Crowley can hardly pretend he doesn't enjoy the pleading. He tightens himself around Aziraphale's skinny torso, scales smooth against warm, human-feeling skin, constricting just enough that Aziraphale won't be able to draw a full breath without it hitching.

There's a part of his brain that wants to keep going, the bit of him that remembers being a snake, back at not-quite-the-beginning, remembers the sensation of bones crunching under his strong coils, the animal satisfaction of life ended and warm raw meat. The rest of him is appropriately rather grossed out by that thought in this context, and he makes a face at himself.

Half a second later, he catches himself doing so, and surges up to cover it with another kiss, his hands going to hook into the waistband of Aziraphale's trousers. He hopes, between his fingers popping the button of his flies and his tongue doing decidedly inhuman things in Aziraphale's mouth, that's enough of a distraction for both of them.

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Anthony J. Crowley

July 2014

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