#Good Omens Headcanon

[crowleysgirl56]

Good Omens Season 3/finale thought of the day:

I would love to see Crowley play an instrument during the finale. Maybe as some way to woo Aziraphale. I’ve read a bunch of different fics of him either playing the piano or a violin, the two instruments I can see him playing the most in my brain.

If Crowley were to play an instrument, what would it be? Do you have any ideas other than piano or violin? I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories!

[hg-aneh]

quick headcanon shiz

[treasoncheese]

[onceuponapuffin]

Because I'm in a sharing mood and have some extra time:

I've put this in a few other places, so if you see it floating around elsewhere it's me. As far as I know, I'm the only one with this headcanon.

After the Job debacle, Jemima keeps trying to summon Crawley. Not intentionally, and not by way of hellish ritual or anything. She just keeps praying to God for "that funny demon" to come back and play with her.

Crawley can feel it. At first he laughs it off, but after a while it gets annoying. So one day he goes back to Job's place to tell Jemima to stop doing that to tell her that she can't be doing that. He means to tell her off, really. But she ends up showing him all of her new pottery projects. By the time she eventually ends up plaiting his hair he makes up his mind to tell her...

When Sitis comes in, wondering who Jemima is talking to. She sees Crawley, recognizes him.

"Ah Bildad the Shuhite, how lovely to see you again. You're staying for dinner of course." Then she leaves, presumably to get dinner going. Crawley is left speechless, mouth open, no words, not given a choice.

At the dinner table, he feels out of place. Ennon and Kesiah keep looking at him funny, and once or twice they try to ask questions, but Sitis shushes them. After they eat, Crawley is given an open invitation to join them again next week. He says no.

Sitis sets him a place anyway.

He shows up.

Each dinner he's given another invitation. Each time he declines. Each time Sitis sets him a place anyway. Each time he shows up anyway. It's almost like she's known his type before. The type who are prickly on the outside, but sweet on the inside and just wanting someone who is willing to hold them regardless of the thorns. The only other person ever to do that has been Aziraphale, and Someone Knows where he is these days.

Next thing he knows, Crawley has actually become Bildad the Shuhite: Family Friend. He is around regularly, and even Ennon and Kesiah don't mind him so much, although they still roll their eyes at him whenever they think they can get away with it.

He tells Jemima his real name ONCE. While the two of them are alone, playing Tea Party with her dolls.

She mishears "Crawley" as "Crowley."

He keeps it.

[ilomilodailystuff]

Imagine Heaven and Hell teaming up— not for the apocalypse, no.

But to separate Aziraphale and Crowley.

Because they know how powerful they could be together and that's a biiiiiiiig problem for both angels and demons 💀

Aziraphale might look cute, shy, and extremely kind and patient, even not really good at being an angel (for Heaven's standards). Crowley might seem silly, grumpy, a dork sometimes, not an evil demon (for Hell's standards). But ohhh, underestimating them would be a huge mistake.

They're also more than "aziracrow" they're Aziraphale, Angel Of Eastern Gate, Supreme Archangel with celestial powers, Warrior and Protector. And Crowley, former Angel and Dominion, now demon, can literally stop time, turn into a giant snake if he wants.

Don't you dare to make them angry. You don't know how chaotic they can be.

[owlygem]

Headcanon, mothers in public will often leave their babies in Aziraphales care while they do something else. He gives off such an angelic and trustworthy aura that they don’t even think twice when they hand their bubs over to this fluffy haired stranger.

[thethingswedotomorrow]

Crowley has been with humanity since the beginning. The original serpent of eden, he is the first "monster" in humanity's bedtime stories. He is the figurative and literal demon on human's shoulders, always there to guide them one way or another. He's weaved through history itself, and prides himself on an impeccable track record of demonic activity throughout the last 6000 years.

But, naturally, after 6000 years, Crowley finds that he's spent more time pining after a certain Angel than doing any sort of work. Like, an extreme amount of pining.

And it isn't until after the notpocalypse that Crowley realizes that, entirely accidentally and very embarrassingly, he may have accidentally made his pining very, very public.

One of Crowley's favorite ways to waste a day is to take Aziraphale to different museums around the world and watch as the angel wanders around and points out all of the inaccuracies

"Good Lord Crowley, have you seen this painting? Portraying you as a dragon is a tad dramatic, I think. All we were doing were having a picnic. And I have never had my hair looking like that, thank you."

"I don't know Angel, they've got your wings spot on. Wa-Hang on, have they added horns to my head?"

"Oh, I see, suddenly it's only inaccurate when they've got you wrong."

The museums always seem to be miraculously empty, and whenever Crowley mentions this, Aziraphale suddenly finds a new, very interesting piece of art to admire

Crowley admires the lengths Aziraphale goes to to hide the small miracles he's done for Crowley's sake

As if Crowley wouldn't move literal mountains for the angel

*He did, actually, do that once.

In the 12th century, they were having a lovely evening together with multiple caskets of wine, up until Aziraphale complained about the amount of light in his eyes

"Honestly Crowley, all this sun and no shade, it must truly be awful for the humans around here with no shelter. It's a tad much, even for me."

Crowley, even then, immediately recognized this off-hand comment as an underhanded complaint, and knew that would not stand

When the small earthquake passed, Crowley claimed that the nearby church was on a fault line and he was simply doing his demonic duty by damaging holy goods in the area

If Aziraphale realized that the mountain range in the distance suddenly provided much more sun coverage, he never mentioned it.

Currently, however, Crowley follows Aziraphale around, wandering behind him and never truly looking at the things in the museum

In every single place they've ever gone together, there was only ever one thing that deserved Crowley's attention

And it certainly was not an inaccurate model of a 18th century tea set

But when Aziraphale wanders into a hall titled 'Love of the Past', he starts to panic. Just a very tiny amount, basically none at all. A small enough amount of panic that he could deny it, even to himself.

He thinks about the past, towards the beginning, back when Humanity was still getting it's footing and figuring out how to have governments and societies and (the most important part) figuring out the whole alcohol situation

Throughout the years, especially towards the beginning, Crowley began to resent any time not spent with Aziraphale

Everything seemed small and dull when compared to the way the Angel smiled when he saw new type of human dessert, or the way he laughed when Crowley managed to work out a clever comment

And once Crowley experienced those things, he never wanted anything else

He had seen the poetry the humans had written, how much emotion they could pour into a simple piece of parchment or a clay tablet

He never cared for written word, but he was shocked at just how much feeling the humans could manage to pour into words

So after Aziraphale left Rome (after the oysters and the wine and the smiles, for somebody's sake the smiles), he went due east for a new miracle on another continent

Crowley stayed and got well and truly drunk. As he did best.

He had spent a few weeks around the other drunks around the area, most poverty stricken and saddened with some sort of grief of one type or another

It wasn't until a group of poets wandered into his dark corner of the pub that he started to considered writing

Obviously nothing anyone would ever read, he'd ensure that. Every scroll or parchment that he'd touch with a quill would be burnt with hellfire before it left his sight

But, as many of his worst ideas started, he had nothing better to do and too much time to think

So he wrote. He wrote letters, first addressed to nobody, about random thoughts that would pop into his very intoxicated brain. Whether humans would ever find traces of the unicorns they lost on the ark, whether he would ever find a way to count just how many scales he had, whether he would ever reach a point where he didn't have to cover his eyes every day

Slowly, the letters started becoming addressed to 'A'. Whether he was conscious of this or not, he'd never admit.

But he wrote. He wrote to A about Hell, the jobs they required of him, the things they'd have him do. He wrote of the way humans had beaten him to the punch 90% of the time. How they would do things worse than Satan himself could imagine, and they'd never blink an eye while doing it.

He wrote of the way the sun darkened each day that passed without his Angel, the way his wine never seemed to have enough flavor when he was alone.

He wrote of the ways he imagined he could orchestrate an elaborate reunion, a convoluted mess of too much demonic activity in a small area that just happened to have a wonderful new tea, or so he's heard, and wouldn't it be a shame to leave the town without tempting the angel to try it?

He wrote to A about how he was sure he had no heart, no emotions. He was a Demon, for somebody's sake, he certainly had no need for stupid things like that, and so the ache in his corporation's chest when he sees the Angel had to be some sort of malfunction.

Anatural function, surely, that could be fixed with the right amount of aloofness and strong liquor

He wrote of the way the sun always seemed to hit the Angel's hair just right, and Crowley had no faith, he had no God.

But in those moments, with a halo around the angel and that smile aimed towards him, he might consider praying now to a different source altogether, a closer source. One full of life and light and actual proper goodness, not that fake advertised bullshit they plaster on church walls in pretty paintings and sad songs

Crowley wrote for a long while, and found that the writing helped the pain.

Even if only because it brought on memories of Aziraphale, and that was enough to hold him until they met again. It had to be, he had no choice in the matter.

And he wrote so often throughout the ages, and often while he was drunk. And he was so sure, so positive that he had burned every trace of his heart and emotion out of existence.

He had to be. The danger those words could put Aziraphale in was far too great. He couldn't be bothered to care of the danger to himself, but the fact that the very hint of any emotion could come close to hurting his Angel was enough to ensure that they would never come across another being's eyes.

He destroyed every letter and word that described his desire, his pain, his greed. He ripped the words he created out of reality as easily as he had written them. Every time, he burnt the parchment, and every time, it burnt a part of him with it.

And then the Apocalypse had happened. Or, well, didn't happen, he supposed. Really, he wasn't entirely sure if there was a difference.

Because everything had changed, even if the rest of the world hadn't noticed. And he was suddenly allowed to see Aziraphale with no excuse, no half-hearted reasoning behind it. He was allowed to want, and to crave, and he relished it.

And he was allowed to take the angel to museums to watch him fuss over small mistakes humanity had collected throughout the ages

Until he realized that they had, in fact, also collected HIS mistakes.

In a hall. A whole bloody hall. A hall, dedicated to and full of stupid parchment and sappy letters and wine stains over words written so long ago

And honestly who gave them the right? Leave it to the humans to collect other people's belongings and put it on display as their own

And he knew, from the moment Aziraphale read the first page on display, he just knew. This was it. All of it was ruined.

All because Crowley had gotten so drunk and passed out in his room above the pub, and when they'd thrown him out in a drunken stupor, they'd collected his belongings to sell afterwards. And he'd never even realized, so concerned about the next meeting, the arrangement, concerned about anything and everything except the one thing he forgot about and could end them both.

Any moment now, Aziraphale would look up at him, with disgust and confusion and all those emotions that he'd really rather not see on his face, preferably ever, but especially not towards him.

But Aziraphale never looks up. He reads the first page 5, 6, 7 times, being sure to capture every single word. Every wrinkle in the paper, every crease.

Then he moves to the next, and then the next. He repeats this process. Every page, he scours each and every page. Searching and scanning, analyzing every word.

Crowley is frozen at the entrance of the hall, too terrifed to say a word, but too hopeful to leave. He stands there, suddenly feeling the same feeling in his chest that he felt so many years ago, in the corner of the pub, sitting in the dark, wishing for the light that he knew would never come.

He's so panicked, that he doesn't notice Aziraphale finishing the last page, and wiping the tears from his eyes. He startles when he accidentally meets his eyes, and prepares a number of excuses and deflections, all to preserve this shred of peace and safety they had carved out for themselves.

"Angel, I- you really- ngk- humans are so rid- are you hungry? I could eat, I've heard they've got a killer bar around here, and we cou-I can get us there in 10 minutes, ngk actu- scratch that, we could be there in 5, I bet. Museums aren-angel?"

Crowley finds himself stopping the random stream of words coming out of his mouth, when he notices tears in Aziraphale's eyes

"Angel, I-"

That's all Crowley can get out before Aziraphale is walking towards him with a purpose

And suddenly Aziraphale is very close to him

Very very close

And suddenly Aziraphale's lips are on his, and Aziraphale is holding onto Crowley's jacket, and Crowley's hands are just waving in the air back and forth while he processes the last .5 seconds.

By the time he realizes what is actually happening, Aziraphale pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against Crowley's, and laughs.

He laughs. Laughs. Aziraphale is laughing and it's a wonderful, beautiful noise and Crowley doesn't quite understand why, but then he's laughing too and then they are both standing there, arms around each other, laughing and Crowley realizes now that all the words he's written, all the praises he sang of his Aziraphale, the way he wished and prayed for his heart and laugh and love

Not one bit of it is at all comparable to the real thing.

[david-minus-michael]

with the way when crowley saw discorporated aziraphale while in the pub, he asked something along the lines of “are you real”/“are you here” which makes me think of all the other times he was drunk and hallucinated/imagined aziraphale standing before him.

[lesbicosmos]

i love a lot of good omens headcanons but i think my favourite definitely has to be that 'angel' only became a common petname because so many people heard crowley call aziraphale angel and it just caught on amongst humans

[gingiekittycat]

Headcanoning that Crowley invented plants so that no one could live without the light from a star

Headcanoning that Crowley designed the Garden before he Fell

Headcanoning that God kept the design with one small addition of a tree in the middle called the Tree of Knowledge as a slight at Crowley’s thirst for answers

Headcanoning that Crowley's angel name was "Eden"

and God kept the name too

[hikarry]

I've got the very weird feeling Nina would be the type of gal pal that would try and convince Crowley to get into Tinder/Grindr and when he does cave, she takes the phone from him and starts swipping right in every single possible person without looking at faces or details or anything, not because she cares and lowkey feels guilty over the whole breakup (she does, but don't let Crowley - much less Maggie - even dream about it), but because she really really wants to see what happens like a social experiment. And because she's chaotic, cmon

Watch the whole of London desperately finally getting to match with the mysterious gothic redhead with the sunglasses and the fancy car that has plagued the city for as long as anyone can remember

[crowleysgirl56]

Good Omens season 3 finale movie thought of the day:

What if Aziraphale falls in the finale? What if Crowley comforts him, says something along the lines of “We’ll fix this together Angel”. And maybe Aziraphale will respond, “I rather think that term isn’t so appropriate anymore”. And Crowley will get real quiet and duck his head down and take hold of Aziraphale’s hands, gently rub circles into the back of them, and softly replies, “That’s not the reason I call you that.”

[hg-aneh]

Hc that Croli is autistic and adhd but tries his best to mask at all times bc reasons

[treasoncheese]

[champivenao]

What if Aziraphale was there to witness Crowley’s fall?

His kindness and adoration for his fellow angel friend would probably be the things that might have just (ever so slightly) changed the course of, well… everything.

Do not repost, and if you do at least have the decency to credit me. Thank you ✨

[ilomilodailystuff]

Crowley is on his knees, hurt, held down by angels, while Aziraphale is at the opposite, watching the 'good side' threatening him and the demon.

Archangels have warned Aziraphale : if he doesn't come back to Heaven and forget about saving earth, they'll kill the demon Crowley.

"This is your ultimatum, Aziraphale. Save the earth, and he dies. Let the Second Coming happen, and he lives." Archangel Michael says, while Sandalphon presses a blade against Crowley's throat.

The fight is on earth, right in the middle of whickber street and people are watching in fear.

"You have 3 seconds, Supreme Archangel." Michael warns. "3..."

Sandalphon pulls on Crowley's hair to force him to meet Aziraphale's gaze. The demon's nose is bleeding, and his face is bruised.

"2..."

Aziraphale's eyes widens as he sees a tear run down the demon's cheek while he smiles gently, weakly...

"1..."

I love you, Crowley's lips moves faintly.

Aziraphale's jaw tightened and his hands turned into fists.

"Kill him." Michael orders calmly, too calmly to have the decency to feel sorry.

Crowley doesn't even close his eyes, not afraid of death as long as his eyes are on the angel's.

Aziraphale watches, his heart hammering in his chest, seeing how Crowley is ready to die for him no matter what... And how his own family dares to betray him this way, how his own home disappointed him since the beginning of time.

As the blade starts to make Crowley's throat bleed, Aziraphale snaps.

His blue eyes start glowing. His nostrils flares. His tight fists tremble.

The demon's yellow eyes go round as he notices the angel's change of expression.

The gold halo brightens around Aziraphale's head and the wind is blowing heavily, the sky turning grey. Crowley frowns as he stares at his partner with both a worried and impressed gaze.

Seeing the changes around him, Sandalphon stops his movement to look at the sky, then at Aziraphale.

Michael does the same, not understanding what's happening.

"...Here's my ultimatum." Aziraphale speaks with a deep tone, his eyes glowing as the wind makes his white locks move.

Suddenly, a bright light hit the ground like thunder and Aziraphale reappears through the fog, but he's floating above the ground, a halo above his head and blue eyes covering his body wrapped in white clothes while he's holding the most flaming of all swords.

"Let the demon Crowley go, and I'll let you live." His voice is deeper, changed, reverberating and impressive as the sound of his voice vibrates through their chest.

Crowley watches him from his position, almost blinded by the angel's lightness, his heart pounding hard.

"Let him go now, and maybe I will show you some mercy..." Aziraphale adds, voice loud and echoing.

Michael, Sandalphon and other Archangels stare at Aziraphale, and if Crowley was looking at them, he'd see that they're afraid.

Meanwhile, another tear falls down the demon's cheek, but this time, it's out of admiration.

The admiration for Aziraphale's hidden strength and magnificence motivated by love. Their -literally- undying love.

(I had this in my mind for a while so I'm putting it there without any story behind it. enjoy 🙂 I might make a small comics or fanart of it later)