They Call Me the Bees

OH CHRISTMAS PUG

That said, it’s still a long process, and his slit pupils make his stumbling somewhat dyslexic. But he likes the stories.

Aziraphale figures it out, one day, catches him sounding out at words and furrowing his brows to focus his eyes. Crowley’s worried the angel will think less of him, the intellectual, Wilde-collecting angel.

But he doesn’t. He purses his lips, and gently pulls the book out of Crowley’s hands. It was something he had read before, something he had recommended to the demon, actually.

So he sits next to Crowley, flicks his eyes to the spot where a black fingernail had just been pointing, and he reads. He reads out loud to Crowley, and in response, the demon curls up agiant him on the couch. Leans against him and stretches out his legs, lets his eyes flicker closed to rest from the strain.

I don’t think I ever posted this? He’s like leaning on a car but I was too lazy to draw that. I did give him a lovely tacky 60s paisley tie though. Shading/lineart practice. I like sharp edges.

aziraphale pulling out a crowbar: this is good because it’s helping those in need

honey, you’re familiar like my mirror years ago

idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword

innocence died screaming, honey ask me, I should know

“It’s fucking Michael!”

(Son of the wonderful Pre-Raphaelite painter Marie Spartali Stillman and her photographer/diplomat husband William Stillman.)

I may know too much about the Spartali Stillmans.

For example: Did you know William Michael Spartali Stillman’s nickname was Long Mike, because he was quite tall?

I did, that is a thing I knew.

Crowley: Because I… … made them

Aziraphale: Oh, I had no idea! How lovely! Which ones?

Crowley: … (mumbles)