#ineffablehusbandsweek

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

Ineffable Husbands Week - Day 5 - Argue @ineffablehusbandsweek

Tsuntsun bois!

Day 1 of the #ineffablehusbandsweek Dancing and Music! Aziraphale would deffo make for a good snakecharmer x3

when your partner is the equivalent of all the parasol

@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.

Now, however, it was.

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. 

My fic for day five of @ineffablehusbandsweek​!

Day Six Prompt: Trip/Drive/Destination

Words: 1255

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.