it's ineffable

this is really just a place to store all of my good omens headcanons, so follow if you're into that kind of thing. ko-fi and commissions a good omens sideblog

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consider: jeff goldblum playing 1992 crowley and ed begley jr playing 1992 aziraphale. idea courtesy of annethecatdetective! heard this crowley was a bit of an asshole and decided this verse needed a remedy of sorts, so we’re turning him into only a bit of an ass with a sweet, gooey center. want to touch up the verse a bit while keeping what makes it unique, so may post more on it soon!

might potentially turn it into a slow burn fic that follows the course of the script, if anyone’s feeling that? thoughts?

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read the 1992 script … for those that haven’t, satan forces crowley to turn into a serpent and aziraphale is killed with hellfire before adam rights them both in the final conflict. we won’t talk about how quickly the writers glossed over this.

so i’m going to suggest ‘92 crowley hating his serpentine traits more than the other crowleys. it was always used to keep him down. was called “crawler,” “worm,” forcibly turned into a snake, etc etc. he enunciates very carefully so that he doesn’t hiss. is never seen without his sunglasses, to the point where he sleeps with them, this one according to the script.

and aziraphale who tenderly lifts his hands towards his face, “can i..?” tips of his fingers coming to rest on the sides of his glasses. crowley twitches, his hand lifting to grip one of aziraphale’s wrists. he doesn’t say no, just grunts an affirmative. he’s trying to appear nonchalant, but aziraphale can see in the twitch of his brow that this is hard for him. and it isn’t as if he hasn’t seen him without his glasses before – they hadn’t always existed, of course. but if his glasses briefly slipped down the bridge of his nose while they’d been drinking in rome, aziraphale had always chosen not to mention it. crowley’s eyes are shut as the shades are pulled carefully back from his face, opening only when he feels he won’t be swallowed whole by his own vulnerability. there’s the brush of aziraphale’s thumb across his cheek. dazedly, he thinks he might need his sunglasses to block out how bright aziraphale’s gaze is. how soft that smile is. it feels too much.and then there’s a kiss, lips pressed to his, and he very quickly forgets about anything else.

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there’s a moment in the ‘92 script where crowley is stressed about satan and having lost adam, he’s packing his things and is set on leaving earth. aziraphale tries to reason with him, insists there must be a bright side to all of this, that they can still find the boy. and crowley turns on him, calls him “aziraphale, my angel,” tells him no, there’s no silver lining to this, they’re doomed.

aziraphale visibly deflates, saddened. says he’s sorry and that’s when crowley sobers up, himself. seems to awkwardly correct aziraphale when the angel says they’re not even friends. and it’s just, a sweet but short scene. i read ‘92 crowley as being heavily guarded, his walls have been up for far too long but aziraphale seems to have his own personal little entrance in them.

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read the 1992 script ... for those that haven’t, satan forces crowley to turn into a serpent and aziraphale is killed with hellfire before adam rights them both in the final conflict. we won’t talk about how quickly the writers glossed over this.

so i’m going to suggest ‘92 crowley hating his serpentine traits more than the other crowleys. it was always used to keep him down. was called "crawler," “worm,” forcibly turned into a snake, etc etc. he enunciates very carefully so that he doesn't hiss. is never seen without his sunglasses, to the point where he sleeps with them, this one according to the script.

and aziraphale who tenderly lifts his hands towards his face, "can i..?" tips of his fingers coming to rest on the sides of his glasses. crowley twitches, his hand lifting to grip one of aziraphale's wrists. he doesn't say no, just grunts an affirmative. he's trying to appear nonchalant, but aziraphale can see in the twitch of his brow that this is hard for him. and it isn’t as if he hasn't seen him without his glasses before -- they hadn't always existed, of course. but if his glasses briefly slipped down the bridge of his nose while they'd been drinking in rome, aziraphale had always chosen not to mention it. crowley’s eyes are shut as the shades are pulled carefully back from his face, opening only when he feels he won't be swallowed whole by his own vulnerability. there's the brush of aziraphale's thumb across his cheek. dazedly, he thinks he might need his sunglasses to block out how bright aziraphale's gaze is. how soft that smile is. it feels too much.and then there's a kiss, lips pressed to his, and he very quickly forgets about anything else.

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i never claimed to be good at posing for selfies ✨

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crowley telling aziraphale that they can run away together, hands gesturing towards the sky? i felt that deep in my bones.

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Hey, sorry to popp in. I just saw your selfie and you look really cute and also quite young so I wondered how old you are if you don't mind me asking :)

thank you! and i’m 24, turning 25 this december!

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how do you think the first night Aziraphale spends at Crowley’s flat goes

with a lot of caution, probably. aziraphale wringing his hands, still unsure what to make of this whole mess. still refusing to relax because their respective head offices aren’t too pleased with them, he’s sure.

standing in crowley’s living space, fingers ghosting over the back of the throne as he listens to the demon spit out a threat or two at his plants in passing. he’s tense … things still feel incomplete. not fully settled, you know?

and there’s drinking involved, of course there is. celebratory “the world isn’t ending so stop looking so glum, angel,” drinking. lots of reminiscing on what all earth has given them. grateful to still have it. to still have each other, crowley mumbles, voice sobering only to crack.

neither of them sleep that night, it’s just a night spent drinking. unwinding from the week they’ve had. the angel starts to fiddle with the remote to the telly and crowley introduces him to some good ol’ jeremy kyle. it’s a night spent laughing – or cackling, in crowley’s case,when the angel cracks a joke at gabriel’s expense. looks guilty for it even as he giggles alongside the demon.

they don’t confess feelings that night, no, that’d take place only after their little body swap trick. but they do enjoy each other’s company, begin to unpack some of what happened and, at one point, crowley returns from the kitchen with a bottle of brandy to find aziraphale drunkenly cooing to one of his plants.

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face is weird but this is my favorite sweater of all time ( ever )

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season 2 of good omens but it’s just one of those “5 hours of ambient noise” videos on youtube. camera in the living room of the south downs cottage. fireplace crackling. aziraphale taking an occasional sip of cocoa as he turns a page in his book. crowley muttering to him, every now and again. getting some soft murmur in response.

season 2 of good omens but it’s just a “peek into the now mundane lives of two supernatural beings who have decided to settle down together in the south downs.”

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crowley accidentally started the whole loch ness business when he went for an impromptu swim.

“did you hear about the monster in scotland?” aziraphale asks him, tossing a handful of crumbs to the birds at their feet, “that’s been terrorizing the loch?” “huh? oh. yeah. dreadful beast. lots of … teeth.” “you met with it..?” “oh, yeah. said it had a taste for angels. specifically ones that smell like old books.” crosses his legs and tosses his head to glance at aziraphale, “good thing there’s none of those around here, yeah?”

aziraphale, considering this with a furrowed brow. "crowley … i’m an angel who smells like old books.“ and crowley just, "what? oh. yeah. s'pose you are.” taps his fingers against the back of the park bench, where his arm is stretched out across the back of it. “guess you should steer clear of scotland.”

the angel finds it hilarious when he’s finally told the truth, some months later. even if he doesn’t outright laugh, more of a smile. the giddy, guilty sort … like he knows he shouldn’t find it funny. shakes his head, twinkle in his eye, “crowley! you actual beast.”

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aziraphale eyeing some dessert on display in the window of a bakery, “oh, that looks positively scrummy, crowley. wouldn’t you say so?” but crowley is too busy eyeing aziraphale, currently doing a very good job of mentally undressing the angel.

“yes. yeah. right. scrummy.” sounds a little impatient, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. and then, “you know, angel ..,” drawling his words, sidling up next to him. “i know of something else that looks scrummy. maybe even ... scrummy-ier.” and his voice has reached that high, lilting tone of his that he only ever does when he’s teasing or mocking the angel.

aziraphale gives him a hard, chastising look for it. because he knows what crowley’s getting at, even before the demon has smirked around his utterance of “angel cake.” and they’ve been together long enough, now, that crowley knows aziraphale will get the euphemism. feels smug when a look of faux offense turns to one of consideration-- before the angel just, “angel cake! what a fantastic idea, crowley. do you think they’ll have any? and maybe some red velvet samples, oh, just to taste--?”

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crowley telling aziraphale that he’s done something awful, something unforgivable, something truly wicked -- “you’ve stolen my heart, angel.” said with a dramatic choking noise, hand clutching at his chest as he crumples to the floor. and aziraphale just watches the dramatics for a moment before humming, voice lilting in a sing song, “ah, well ... guilty as charged.”

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God snapped Her fingers and said, "let Aziraphale get dicked down," and I am only the prophet sent to deliver Her message.

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thinking about making a bottom aziraphale server ... 

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how do you think the first night Aziraphale spends at Crowley’s flat goes

with a lot of caution, probably. aziraphale wringing his hands, still unsure what to make of this whole mess. still refusing to relax because their respective head offices aren’t too pleased with them, he’s sure.

standing in crowley’s living space, fingers ghosting over the back of the throne as he listens to the demon spit out a threat or two at his plants in passing. he’s tense … things still feel incomplete. not fully settled, you know?

and there’s drinking involved, of course there is. celebratory “the world isn’t ending so stop looking so glum, angel,” drinking. lots of reminiscing on what all earth has given them. grateful to still have it. to still have each other, crowley mumbles, voice sobering only to crack.

neither of them sleep that night, it’s just a night spent drinking. unwinding from the week they’ve had. the angel starts to fiddle with the remote to the telly and crowley introduces him to some good ol’ jeremy kyle. it’s a night spent laughing -- or cackling, in crowley’s case,when the angel cracks a joke at gabriel’s expense. looks guilty for it even as he giggles alongside the demon.

they don’t confess feelings that night, no, that’d take place only after their little body swap trick. but they do enjoy each other’s company, begin to unpack some of what happened and, at one point, crowley returns from the kitchen with a bottle of brandy to find aziraphale drunkenly cooing to one of his plants.

[azireffable]

honestly, though? honestly? the entire good omens fandom is really missing out on the angst that michael/lucifer has to offer them ... imagine loving someone only to be given the duty of sending them plummeting from the heavens.