#snakeley

              " so WHAT. . . ”

         the edge of each syllable slips sluggishly through the           drunken HAZE wafting and hanging so HEAVILY in the           air of the bookshop. if this is REALLY the endgame of           it all -- earth, mankind, impractical bone china, garish          sushi restaurants, them, then this is EXACTLY the fashion           in which aziraphale would like to spend the planet’s dwindling           prime; properly SLOSHED with an equally inebriated           angel plastered against her. { LIKE NOW. }

             “ w-- what exactly. . . is your POINT ? “ 

        a FAT lot of bollocks and rubbish HOPE was !          aziraphale had been STRAINING her hoping muscle on the          absolutely ravenous desire for crowley to FORGO          these fussy talks of rapture and living lords in favor          of collapsing into a lewd HEAP of otherworldly, sapphic         adoration. but it seems not even the FRUFRU flavor of chateauneuf         du papes clinging to the demon’s lecherous tongue could          sate the INCESSANT bargaining that night. { there’s a          tantalizing smear of peachy maquillage across aziraphale’s kiss          swollen lips to show for THAT particularly fruitless endeavor. }

              an anguished GROAN narrates the demon’s haphazard               stumble and COMPLETELY intentional backwards collapse               onto the overstuffed chaise lounge, elbows comically winged as she                WRITHES into a lopsided, half-laid position. { just that’s a massive                accomplishment, given that the shop presently feels LESS like a                scholarly den on inequality and more a NAUSEATING carnival ride. }               NEEDFUL fingers extend longingly towards the heavenly host                once more, even the MINUTE parting disagreeable to the                ungodly shopkeep’s way of thinking ! that wide-eyed yearning prompts                aziraphale’s tailored slacks and half-buttoned dress               shirt to do their DAMNEDEST to project a glamor of                IRRESISTIBILITY -- under threat that they would all                meet a seam-ripping fate if crowley wasn’t in her lap                soon. { and by soon, azazel cruelly twists a loose thread               on her cuff, she means RIGHT NOW ! } 

       “ ANGEL -- “

@snakeley​ said: “Is there a word for total screaming genius that sounds modest and a tiny bit sexy?” ( consider this snakeley introducing herself :DD )

BENEATH THE PRAISING GAZE of the sun, Diana glistens like a swath of gold. Even the grass appears to glow beneath her naked body, illuminating her in a halo of light. Scars are sketched out across her legs, for she had been foolish. So certain was she to claim victory in her sparring match with Antiope that she had allowed herself to be vulnerable to her aunt’s counterattack. A stupid, purely idiotic mistake, that she would learn not to repeat! Alas, for now, Diana allows the majesty of the island to heal her wounds, to cradle her bruised pride.  

The weather is divine, every breeze caresses her as lovingly as a friend’s embrace. Her eyes are closed as she lounges, her toes curling into the grass. She begins to hum a sweet melody, one inherited from generations of Amazons, when she feels a slithering patch of smoothness slide across her neck, eventually finding sanctuary in a coil between her breasts. Such a companion rouses a serene smile from her lips, for, certainly, this must be one of her friends! But ah, what a crime it is indeed that she has forgotten the Golden Perfect in her sorry state of shame! Against the very nature of friendship is it to travel the island without the mechanism which allows her to communicate with the beloved creatures of Themyscira. 

What a surprise she is in for when a silky, seductive voice speaks a language she comprehends, one easily deciphered without the lasso. Diana’s dark eyes flicker open as though she has been splashed by water, her smile widening tenfold from the revelation. And such a majestic sight it is to witness! A brilliant serpent, midnight black scales with slashes of glorious crimson, is gazing back towards her. 

❝ You are not from Themyscira. Nor are you very modest, my new friend. ❞

Peels of giggles sound from her lips, as she reaches to cradle the snake’s magnificent head, the tip of her thumb tracing obscurities against the smooth surface. Her perky breasts offer a warm home for the creature, one she improves by pressing her shoulders inwards. 

A foreign visitor to Themyscira? One seeking her company? Surely, this must be a sign! Diana’s interest swings upwards, eyes widening with the tease of possibilities. 

     “As I live and breathes....” The ember eyed pagan sighed as he sipped his red wine. Of all the scents he’d ever pick up. A demon. It’d been awhile since he last caught on to one of course so...classy. For better words. 

        He was already inwardly damning Mr. Gibbs thrice over to hell for having the indiscretion to announce said crewman’s rule break in front of the latest thorn in his side -- some sort of self-styled pirate who’d taken it upon himself to crash his dinghy into the Pearl and then negotiate passage to the nearest port. Crowley, he believed his name was. Not that he cared. The sooner the bloke took himself and his oddly familiar gait off of this vessel to bother some other poor sod, the better.

       But until his ship reached a vaguely civilised port, this Crowley fellow clearly planned to linger in his life and turn up in his general vicinity like a bad penny.

       Punishment for insubordination wasn’t usually in a pirate captain’s power: in most cases, it was left to the quartermaster or first mate to order floggings or whatever other heinous form of torture the pirates on board deemed appropriate for the crime ( a practice that Jack always noted as particularly ironic ). But the act of which he’d been accused -- a bloodbath in one of the lower decks that had involved several of his mates -- was deemed serious enough to involve the captain, much to Jack’s own chagrin.

      It was, after all, one thing to sanction Gibbs to act in his authority when he chastised the men -- or at worst, ordered a dunking or two, but quite another for Jack to dish it out himself. Too soft. Too hesitant to resort to violence. They were labels that had always followed him. While it was true that he could flounce about and shout and swear like a good captain should, the men who served under him knew of his reputation. And instances like this were how it had all started the last time, how Barbossa had gained enough of a foothold to evaporate any goodwill the men had for him.

     To say that he didn’t want the input of a near-stranger was putting it lightly, and he hoped the decided edge to his voice informed the other man of exactly how much it was not wanted. Yet, before he went above to the weather deck to confront the mangy cur currently putting him to this test, he’d need to have some semblance of what he planned to do. His eyes remained fixed derisively on Crowley. “ Particularly as I’d also be asking for instruction on how to deal with unwanted and inauspiciously-dressed strays, too. ”

Now, there was a tactic he hadn’t–––exactly not considered, but to hear it from an ADULT always gave something just that little extra air of authenticity. Which wasn’t always a good thing, of course––things like CLEAN YOUR ROOM or COME IN FOR SUPPER didn’t exactly need extra authenticity––but sometimes, an expert outside opinion was just what’s needed. And what better expert outside opinion on all things fire than a straight-up demon from the hottest place on earth (or under it)? 

i love memes of all shapes and sizes ; always accepting ! 

       for just one moment, azazel aziraphale does NOT react        to this sudden profession of willing self depravation – too        engrossed in the erratic key strokes of her typewriter and       RUSHING legal jargon bouncing around her skull. ( while        this is not exactly a lie, it is also not entirely a truth. right        now aziraphale is absolutely imaging that she is writing the        equivalent of beethoven’s ninth in the form of a demonic        covenant, but she is ALSO imagining that the shop is filled        with glorious silence rather than the shrill cry of one freddy       mercury. )   

               “ you WHAT ? “

       obsidian gaze cuts suddenly towards the angel; so much for        work then. that bezos fellow will have to wait a bit longer.        which is JUST as well to her – if the humans understood       HALF of what they were absolutely convinced they did,        they’d be in far less hurry to sell their souls. 

                it isn’t her fault, aziraphale FORCES down every urge to                 scold crowley for offering such sweet sacrifice into the                 space between them– a space which the fiend remedies                 with footfall silent as death. ( like a thief in the night. ) but                the ginger curl that is seized between thumb and forefinger                is not stolen, but tucked beyond raphael’s ear to bare her                celestial visage to the demon’s disturbing gaze. she looks                 like heaven. ( aziraphale remembers exactly what it looked                 like. )

       no, of course it isn’t her fault. crowley is still of heaven and therefore       shackled to its IDEALS of love. eternal and ethereal and,        aziraphale had cried out in AGONY and REALIZATION as        she reached back to clutch at MANGLED wings so very        long ago – 

                CONDITIONAL.

      the almighty’s love came at the price of subservience.        unquestioning obedience. blind loyalty. so it only makes        sense that the WINGED SERAPH before her would think        to offer her this. offer to CHANGE, to FORFEIT anything        the demon asked in exchange for her eternal devotion.        aziraphale need only name her price.

               it is nothing.

       “ no-- my dearest angel, you needn’t give up anything on          my behalf. my love is not a prize to be won, or a          reward to be gained through prostration. it is a gift i give          to you free of obligation.

              yours for as long as you see fit to have it. “       

i love memes of all shapes and sizes ; always accepting ! 

    “ we're together NOW, aren’t we ? “

         you’d think that it was her absolute FAVORITE          holiday spot, this doghouse aziraphale so often          managed to back herself into. the key flung          to parts unknown POSSIBLY forever. { and forever          could be a VERY long business for two immortal          beings. }

     not that she doesn’t very well DESERVE the      edge to her lover’s tongue and the metaphorical      imprisonment-- moving like a thief in the night      on every still evening they’d shared together,      thus far. waiting for that telltale rise and fall of      divine breast before leaving her MOST precious      angel to greet the dawn alone.

        { aziraphale thinks that this is SHAME she is experiencing.           that somehow her presence might spoil crowley’s           grace beyond repair. she’s entirely incorrect on both           accounts, as demons often are, but it’s only 387 AD.           she’s got about 2,400 more years of character           development coming. IT’S THE DIVINE PLAN. }

    “ i DO apologize, dear, and i was hoping we might let bygones       be bygones and just. . . enjoy ourselves ? “

          how can you say NO to THESE eyes ?

     “ please ? “