#crawleigh

[vivi-theakuneko]

Fix-it ver. Crawleigh (Part one)

I know i haven't finished the other things but... This idea is too good.

-Next part-

[hannahnhorror]

Back in the early days.. when Crowley was named Crawleigh and his Bentley was a 2CV!!

[questionableart420]

💜 Crawleigh art dump

💜 I realized I don’t update my tumblr as often as I should so I’m gonna dump all this fanart here now! XD Crawleigh was the original main character of early version of Good Omens, but was later split into Aziraphale and Crowley. I came across old posts here that Neil had answered about him, and was just fascinated by this lil character we never got. He’s apparently horrible at being a demon because he’s just too nice 😭

💜 so I made a lil au, where Crawleigh exists in an alternate timeline of Earth, where he was best friends with Muriel, and the Earth DID actually end. He was offered the chance to save it by letting it reset to a timeline where it was saved, but for ineffable reasons, it could only be saved if he was in the form of Aziraphale and Crowley, so he let God split his soul because of how much he loved Earth :3 It is a tragic little au but we’re used to that now 🙃

[thegoodomensdumpster]

Charity drawing stream 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7

The last request was “I’m really curious to see Crawleigh saving that cat from a tree”. Needless to say, I was delighted I had an opportunity to draw this soft soft demon again, and since it was the last request of the evening, I could put in extra time on the coloring.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Part 1 of the Ineffable Edition goodies: William the Antichrist (all parts here)

William the Antichrist, a lovely little book included in the Ineffable Edition of the Illustrated Good Omens, contains the Neil Gaiman original short text from which then he and Terry Pratchett cooked up the brilliance we know today. It covers the meeting of the three demons and the baby swap.

Fun facts from Neil’s preface :) :

Crowley was original known as Crawleigh, inspired by nearby town: The unfortunate demon, whom I called Crawleigh, because Crawley was a nearby town with an unfortunate name, would have to sort it all out as best he could.

About the writing, Crowley and Aziraphale: Terry took the 5,000 words, and rewrote them, calling me to tell me what he was doing and what he was planning to do. The biggest thing he was going to do, he told me, was split the hapless demon into two characters - a would-be-cool demon in dark glasses (which was, I think, a Terry’s way of making fun of me, a never-actually-cool journalist in dark glasses) who had renamed himself Crowley, and a rare-book dealer and angel called Aziraphale, who would embody all the English awkwardness that either of us could concieve. 

Adam was named William all the way through the writing and only after the estate of Just William’s book didn’t reply, they shuffled things around: William the Antichrist XXX being finished, we reached out to the Richmal Crompton estate to see if they’d countenance the book being published with their character. They didn’t reply, and we were already talking about some of the fun things we could do to the characters if we weren’t stuck with William Brown’s world - Adam’s second in command could be female, for a start - so our second draft of the book formerly known as William the Antichrist, which was mostly an attempt to make it look like we knew what we were doing all along, and not just filing off the serial numbers and doing a Find and Replace to change William to Adam (although we did that, too, resulting in Gollancz’s copy editor asking who composer Vaughan Adams was).

Fun facts from the story :) :

Crawleigh is truly an in incompetent demon - when the other two recount all their evil deeds, he says: “Well.. I really meant to get around to that sort of stuff. I mean I really meant to. But. I’ve been so busy recently, and I just didn’t, um, you know how it is...” He trailed off.

He drives not a Bentley, but a Citroen 2CV. (no colour specified, but this is what the type looks like: :))

He’s really, really bad at demoning (remember that at this point he’s still both Crowley and Aziraphale): It wasn’t he didn’t want to ruin the lives and souls of strangers; it was just that after he’d given them nice cups of tea and homemade cakes, and listened to their problems and helped them balance their cheque books, and got their kittens down from trees, there simply wasn’t the time.

Satan at one point of time hurt him! 

WE ARE RELYING ON YOU, it said. DO NOT FAIL US, CRAWLEIGH.

“No, Lord.“

NO... WHAT DID WE DO TO YOU AFTER THE ATLANTIS DEBACLE? REMIND US.

“Half an aeon, O Master of the Nine Hells, partially dismembered, suspended in the flaming cesspits of Abbadon. There were internal stoats in there somewhere as well. And after that I was Earthbound until further notice.“

[magnetothemagnificent]

The Aziraphales were left with the braincell that day....

[pastelpenguins]

Well, just had this idea.

Originally Aziraphale and Crowley were Crawleigh right? So like… what if that's why Heaven shits on Aziraphale so much and Hell is so annoyed with Crowley? Like… the start of the series on the wall is just two halves of the same being trying to make sense of memories that are and aren't theirs anymore?

That went down like a lead balloon? Inner thoughts on “oh shit, i fucked up big time here” awkward flustering angel? Well its how they felt at the time right?

Sword brought up again during the arc? Thats Crawleigh going, “well, you know how the sword thing went, best not to try anything like that again.”

Aziraphale headcanon of it meaning “Of Raphael” yeah Crawleigh was Raphael before he fell and the Aziraphale half of him now is the “Good” half Heaven wanted so, y’know, he’s of Raphael right? Snort, let's name him that.

Crowley, er… Crawly? XD we hate him and we got the shit half, so uh well lets name him something to show it. Hmmm…. well he should be on his knees or better yet belly, crawling for… oh shit that’s perfect, Crawly!

So yeah, enjoy a differnt take on the Aziraphale and Crowley were the same being/fusion Headcanon.

[charnamefic]

I’ve seen a lot of talk about the William the Antichrist draft booklet and Crawleigh, but to my knowledge it hasn’t been publicly shared yet. It came with the Dunmanifestin Ineffable Edition of the Definitive Good Omens, and I think that all of those that will be distributed have been, so I thought it would be a nice idea to start posting pictures of its contents so that people who weren’t able to get their hands on a physical copy could also enjoy it. Knowledge for the people! I think the fandom could do some really fun things with it; It’s fascinating to get this glimpse into how the story developed.

The pictures aren’t in the greatest quality, so I’ve provided a transcript under the cut.

William the Antichrist

  It was a dark and stormy night.

  Do not let that lull you into a false sense of security. Just because it was the kind of night on which evil things have always been known to walk the earth, the kind of night on which one’s car breaks down in front of the old dark house, while dramatic lightning bolts fork through tarmac-black skies does not mean that this was not a night on which the forces of darkness were not abroad. They were abroad. They were everywhere. They always are. That’s the whole point.

  Two of them lurked in the ruined graveyard. Two shadowy figures, one hunched and squat, the other lean and menacing: both of them star-quality lurkers. If Bruce Springsteen had ever recorded Born to Lurk, these two would have been on the album cover, no problem. They had been lurking in the rain by a particularly ruined tomb for over an hour now, and they looked like they could carry on all night. Neither of them had spoken a word since arriving, although their body language was a stream of sullen invective. The shorter of them carried a bundle.

  There was a splash and a muffled curse as someone trod in a particularly deep puddle. A third figure joined them.

  “Sorry I’m late,” it said. “The car broke down, and you wouldn’t believe what I had to go through to get someone out on a night like this. Then I got lost. Got here eventually though. Been waiting long?”

  The hunched, squat lurker spat in the mud. “We are all here then,” he hissed, in a voice like fingernails clawing through a blackboard. “We can begin. Hastur?”

  Hastur, the thin one, nodded. “Great deeds have I done in the service of Our Master. I have poisoned reservoirs and given dogs venomous bones. I have tossed red-hot coins to buskers and strychnine sweets to small children. I have sold cars with carefully defective brakes; given sure tips to small investors, guaranteed to lose them the savings accumulated through their pitiful lives. I have corrupted youths and virgins. I have forced many to madness and beyond. I have written books that drove those who read them to suicide; and I have written songs that made those who heard them wish that they were dead. You could fill Wembley Stadium with those lives I have ruined, those souls I have twisted to Our Master’s cause. And you?”

  The squat one cleared his throat, the sound was not unlike slivers of blackboard being driven under someone’s fingernails, and began his litany: “I have burned down orphanages and hospitals. I have altered bus timetables

  and pushed people in front of subway trains. I have stolen candy from babies and hope from the despairing, swindled poor old women and returned to swindle them again. I have placed ground glass in soup intended for the poor, and ground diamonds in soup for the rich. I have removed warning signs, and made my own Diversion signs, and laughed as cars and lorries tumbled over cliffs. Thousands have I corrupted, thousands more have I destroyed utterly. I might also mention VAT form 10A/VB/003.1. And you, Crawleigh?”

  The latecomer shuffled from foot to foot, squelching slightly. They were staring at him.

  “Well...I really meant to get around to that sort of stuff. I mean I really meant to. But. I’ve been so busy recently, and I just didn’t, um, you know how it is...” He trailed off.

  There was a pause. Then the hunched figure hissed, in a voice that sounded like nails being dragged across an entire language laboratory full of advanced teaching aids, “You’ve been…busy?”

  “Uh, yes. I mean, for example, Tuesday. Yes. I really was going to go out and um, well, deprave somebody or something. Only there was this note saying the gas board would finally be sending someone over to fix the boiler, so I stayed in all day specially. Well, that was Tuesday gone. Of course, I phoned and they said he’d be round Wednesday, and so Wednesday I’m in all day, except I popped out for five minutes to get some ciggies, and I get back and there’s

  a note on the door saying they’d been and I was out and could I get back to them? Five minutes!”

  “It‘s not as if,” he added, warming to his theme, “It’s not as if they give you a time they’ll be coming round. Oh no! ‘Be in all day,’ they say, as if you haven’t got better things to do with your time, so there am I...”

  “You haven’t done...anything?”

  “Erm, I suppose if you want to put it like that...”

  “Nothing?”

  “Well I was rude to a few people...”

  The hunched figure glared hopefully. “You cursed them with dread maledictions and dark and forbidden imprecations, did you?”

  “No. Not exactly. Not as such. Mostly I just gave them one of my looks. But, I mean, they could tell I wasn’t pleased. I’m fairly sure about that.”

  The lean man, Hastur, spoke. “This is getting us nowhere,” he said. “What news of the parents?” There was something deeply unpleasant in the way he used the word. A raindrop which had begun to trickle down the back of his neck got the message and tried desperately to drip upwards.

  Crawleigh seemed marginally less uncomfortable. “All set. A-OK. She goes into labour tonight. We make the swap after everyone’s asleep, and she goes back home with Him next week. The hospital staff are all ours, and when she gets

 Him back to St. James’s all her nurses, nannies, governesses and so forth will be our people. Everything’s set.”

  “Good."

  A clap of thunder smashed the skies, and the rain, innocent of what it was about to fall onto, attempted the impossible and tried to fall even harder. Where it hit the small, squat figure it seemed to be turning into steam.

  “There must be no mistakes, Crawleigh.”

  “Oh, no. Gosh, of course not. I’ll be making the swap tonight myself what could possibly go wrong?”

  There was no answer. Possibly there was a sigh.

  The small, squat figure leaned down and picked up the bundle. It was bulky and well wrapped against the rain. “Here. Take good care of it. It is the most important thing there is, Crawleigh. Our Master’s own.”

  Crawleigh took the bundle from him. “Right. Well, I’d better be off then. Going to be a busy night. Lovely seeing both of you again. Listen, if you’re ever down my way, give me a bell, love to see you, mustn’t drift out of touch. We could pick up some curries, watch a video back at my place...” He trailed off, realising that he was alone in the graveyard.

  Carrying his burden gingerly he squished out of the graveyard and down the hill to the puddly patch of mud where his car, a Citroen 2CV, was waiting.