This is like! Five days late! I’ve been so sick, holy shit guys. I actually went to a doctor, i never fuckin do that! Turns out i’ll be fine, so isn’t that good
Anyway, here’s body for @ineffablehusbandsweek which i took to be a prompt to draw their true forms! also, cos it’s the nsfw week this is absolutely the two of them boning down all the way to bone town central
so yes, we have Aziraphale’s true form which is concentric rings of eyes around a big ol’ eye with some cage-like halos about it cos heaven is a prison. His six wings and a couple hands and an extra, more firey halo that swirls around and shows his mood (it really sparks a lot out of anger when he’s in a business meeting, to the point where most angels in heaven just think Aziraphale has a sparky halo). And Aziraphale’s body on earth is controlled like a puppet. He has a good amount of control over it, but it comes from his physical influence so it often betrays his otherworldlyness
Crowley is a big old snake, still hurt and unhealed from the damage of the war and his fall. He exists mostly as the eye in the middle there, which has a kind of simultaneously foggy and granite essence about it. His scales are sometimes stone but most often scales. His snake form kinda knots around itself constantly, just always moving and worrying. His halo is still by his head, but it’s gone from being a sign of his holiness to being a kind of hook that hell is using to choke him into submission. Crowley is always in physical contact with his human form, be it by his snake tongue when he’s focusing, or just by brushing by it with his snake’s body. This is why his walking is so fucked up, he’s knocking his own body around in the effort to take steps
A sequel to Tyto Alba will post on Valentine’s Day!
@crowleyisms and I have been working on Antaresia, a new fic with new art. It will be released as part of the @ineffablehusbandsweek which starts on Valentine’s Day, as that is the theme of the story.
Here is the original: Tyto Alba, which was part of the Good Omens Holiday Swap 2019. It takes place in a fantastic reverse AU created by Crowleyisms, where the demon Aziraphale has a library full of secrets for sale, and the archangel Raphael the Healer has fled Heaven due to the temptation to ask dangerous questions of God. Raphael is living in hiding on Earth under the name Crowley, reaching out to those hurting souls who need him via a radio show.
Excerpt from Antaresia:
The humans had started to notice the angel among them, and even if they didn’t quite know why, they were simply drawn to Crowley. They came by the South Downs cottage in an endless parade during the second week of February. Oh, Crowley, just thought I’d stop by with this bread I made to say thank you for visiting my nan the other day, and here, we all made you a card! Oh, Crowley, I had some leftover jam, thought you’d like some, and picked up one of those pretty little cakes that Mrs. Jackson makes. Happy Valentine’s Day!
Aziraphale had never tried to make Crowley love him. He’d had enough sexual fantasies about the angel to fill a library, but it had never occurred to Aziraphale that he might live any of them, because it had never seemed possible that Crowley could fall in love with him. If he had known that was an option, Aziraphale would have tried to orchestrate it. But he hadn’t, and so after 6000 years, loving Crowley was easy, but fighting for Crowley was a skill that Aziraphale had not yet learned. He’d been possessive of Crowley in the past, always. But he’d tried to keep it understated, knowing it wasn’t his place.
There are certain moments when everything inside Crowley stops because he remembers the fall ... still not understanding, how his questions could have been a crime to be punished so harsh.
Summary: Crowley had planned out everything, which of course meant that anything that could have gone wrong had done so.
On Ao3 here
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Crowley had planned out everything, which of course meant that anything that could have gone wrong had done so.
Crowley had planned to take them to St. James’s, so they could talk about- things. About what had happened after the apocalypse hadn’t happened. But the moment that Crowley had tried stepped out of the Bentley it had begun to rain in a nonstop downpour that was so intense Crowley couldn’t even miracle himself dry.
So that plan was out the window.
His next plan was to bring them to the Ritz. They had done that before- many times over, but Crowley was determined to make this time different. Special, dare he say it. He would seat them at a private table in a corner and they would talk and Aziraphale would take a ridiculous amount of time eating his food, and then he would steal some of Crowley’s, which was fine with him as long as he got to see the angel’s eyes close as he made that little noise of delight that always happened when he was enjoying something. And then Aziraphale would set his hand on the table and Crowley would take it, intertwining their fingers the way Aziraphale had done on the bus back to Crowley’s flat, and maybe they could finally- well, Crowley didn’t want too far ahead. But that plan was shot to hell as soon as Crowley saw that the restaurant was closed for a charity event. It would have been easy enough for them to sneak in there, but then he would have to watch as the angel made his way through the “charity donors” (most of whom were just there to flaunt their wealth, but Aziraphale didn’t need to know that) and Crowley would have to entertain himself by making the rich people suffer through slightly messed up food orders and an unfortunately popped button or two. But tonight, Crowley didn’t feel like sharing the angel with anyone.
That left Crowley with one option, one that he had been guarding in the back of his mind for almost sixty years. Aziraphale had been the one to suggest it, all those years ago. But Crowley had never thought it would actually happen. He had hoped, of course he had. Had imagined every possible way this could go.
“Crowley, you don’t have to do all this.” Aziraphale had unfortunately been with him as his plans had utterly failed, and had been oddly quiet the whole time. “We can just go back to the bookshop and-”
“No,” Crowley interrupted him, “I’m taking you up on your offer. I know a place.”
“I’m afraid I’m not quite sure what you’re referring to. What offer?”
“Soho, 1967. You said we could go for a picnic.” Along with other things.
“Oh.”
Crowley grabbed the nearest cassette he could get and put it in the player, gritting his teeth as Freddie Mercury began to croon about the crazy little thing called love. Aziraphale pulled out a small book from a pocket and began to read, absentmindedly tapping one finger on the cover. Crowley forced himself to look at the road, pressing down on the gas pedal.
This was going to be a long drive.
The country landscape flew past them as Crowley drove them down the open road. The rain had stopped and the sun had begun to shine again, changing colors as it began to set. The orange light covered the countryside, casting the rolling green hills in deep shadows. They had been driving for about an hour and Crowley had turned off the music about ten minutes ago, not sure if he could handle any more singing about broken hearts and good old-fashioned lover boys. Aziraphale had set his book down and was looking out the window, oblivious to Crowley staring at him. He couldn’t help it, he was a demon after all, he was supposed to encourage temptation. And Aziraphale was the biggest temptation of them all. The light from the setting sun caught on Aziraphale’s curls, illuminating the tips of his hair and giving him a fuzzy halo. Crowley couldn’t look away, which was unfortunate, as that was the moment that Aziraphale turned to face him, and caught Crowley staring at him.
“What is it my dear?” Aziraphale smiled and bless it, the light caught Aziraphale’s eyes, enhancing the already inhumanly blue color.
“I- it’s just- er, what book are you reading?” Stupid.
“An older version of Shakespeare’s sonnets.” Aziraphale patted the cover lovingly. “From before that dreadful man changed all the pronouns. Really, that was quite rude of him.” Crowley made some noncommittal noise and they continued on in silence.
“Do you have,” Crowley started after a few minutes of silence, “Do you have sonnet 29?” Aziraphale smiled softly, opening up the book.
“Yes, I do believe I have it here.”
“Can you…read it to me? I’ve always liked that one.” Well, liked wasn’t quite the right word. It was the sonnet that Crowley had always thought was a bit of a mockery, far too true and personal. Too similar to words he had written and then hidden in the centuries past. And now he was going to hear Aziraphale read it to him. Why had he suggested that?
Aziraphale began to read, his voice clear and more beautiful than any of the heavenly choirs.
“When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,”
Crowley’s only sin was asking questions. He had never truly meant to Fall. All he had ever wanted was answers. He dropped one hand from the steering wheel, clenching it in a fist next to his leg. Aziraphale continued speaking, oblivious to Crowley’s thoughts.
“Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur’d like him, like him with friends possess’d,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Crowley had thought about the angel far more than he cared to admit over the millennia. Had thought about the way that Aziraphale's eyes lit up whenever he had a new book, about his drunken rambling that Crowley could listen to all day. And, when he was the most upset, the most vulnerable, he thought about the times he had helped Aziraphale. The fall of the Bastille was always one to revisit.
"Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;”
Crowley spoke, finishing the last two lines.
“For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”
Aziraphale closed the book, staring at him. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Aziraphale reached up and removed Crowley’s glasses, setting down gingerly on top of the book.
“Oh, Crowley.”
Aziraphale took his fist from where it was resting on the seat, Crowley unclenched his fist and let Aziraphale intertwine their fingers the same way he had on the bus the evening the apocalypse hadn’t happened. Crowley felt his cheeks turn red. He looked at their hands, then at Aziraphale, who was staring at him expectantly.
“Angel-”
“Crowley, I’m- I’m ready to catch up with you.” Aziraphale smiled, his cheeks flushing pink slightly. Crowley squeezed his hand before turning back to face the road. He pressed the gas pedal down, pushing the Bentley faster.
