Ok but Crowley is the reason Sherlock Holmes is so enduring.
No no, bear with me.
The first stories come out in The Strand. Crowley, newly woken from his near-century of sleep, reads them in Aziraphale’s copy, and really likes them. Aziraphale, who moves in literary circles, offers to introduce him to Doyle.
Crowley is very excited, and when they meet wrings Doyle’s hand and go on about how much he likes the stories.
Doyle, of course, is a rude bastard, and dismisses Crowley’s praise. He doesn’t like the character, he’s not interested in what people like Crowley think to him.
Crowley is initially tempted to destroy him, and ruin his career, but then realises he can get better revenge than that. He makes the popularity of the stories and books blow up. He puts them everywhere. He makes Sherlock Holmes the talk of London. He finances the backstreet presses printing spin-off stories.
And he keeps it going, firing up Holmes’ popularity until Doyle is driven out of his mind, believing in fairies and hating his own work. Until Arthur Conan Doyle is only ever remembered for Sherlock Holmes, and Crowley gets unending adaptations for himself.
There’s this one Neil Gaiman interview where he says that the character of Crowley was supposed to be more shy and diffident, and all I can imagine that happened is that Crowley showed up and begged him and Terry not to expose him like this, and to make him cooler.
Also he definitely had a hand in casting the radio play. Radio verse Crowley is what Crowley wishes he were like. I bet he listened to a lot of Peter Serafinowicz recordings, to the point that Aziraphale got suspicious and asked him who this Peter Seraphim was. And then Crowley just breaks down like “I wish I had a voice that cool.”
aziraphale’s design felt quite traditional in costume so i put her in long skirt with the blazer and waistcoat. crowley honestly needed no changes whatsoever in her dress and haircuts
there’s a lot to deal with when you’ve had an unrequited crush on the woman thats supposed to be your mortal enemy for at least 4000 of the 6000 years you’ve know each other. they’ve both hit that point now here they wont even joke about sleeping w/ each other because it hits to close to home. they’re just trying to stop armageddon without fucking up what they have. anyway it’s been a good while since i read this book so i need to do a re-read tbh
fancasting – richard ayoade as aziraphale, good omens by neil gaiman and terry pratchett
Many people, meeting Aziraphale for the first time, formed three impressions: that he was English, that he was intelligent, and that he was gayer than a treeful of monkeys on nitrous oxide.
something random that I really love about the good omens fandom is that aziraphale is almost universally drawn wearing glasses even though 1. he is never specified to wear glasses in the book, and 2. being an angel means he would probably have perfect eyesight and would under no circumstances need glasses. i just think it’s really heartwarming that we all collectively accept that aziraphale is one of those pretentious and gay book-loving bastards that wears glasses for the Aesthetic™. glad we’re all on the same page
“Are you all right?“ Aziraphale fumbled
with the phone, clutching it closer to his ear. “You sound terrible.”
“Heh. Can’t sssay the ssssame, angel. Ugh…wait.”
“Are
you hurt? What happened?”
“Nuh. Juss’ got back. Bloody awful time.
Helluva time. Heh. Ssss’ joke.” There was a breathy sigh down the line. “Don’t like
it down there angel. Don’t like it. Usssed all m’ magic. Jussst wanted to get
out. Wassn’t paying attention an’ came up here. Not there. Not—London. Obviousssly.
Would like to be.”
“Crowley, dear, where are you?” said
Aziraphale carefully.
“Dunno.” There was a sniff. “‘Sss all cold
‘n ssscraggy. Ssscotland maybe.”
“Ok. Ok, I can—I can follow your mobile phone
signal, can’t I?”
There was a hissing laugh on the other end.
“Ah angel. You can follow my mobilephone sssignal anytime. Heh. I misssssed you, angel.”
“Answer the question, dear.” Aziraphale grabbed
his coat, phone pressed between his shoulder and jaw, thrusting an arm through.
He struggled for a moment, before he slid his arm out and and put it through
the other side, muttering a curse under his breath.
“Yeah. You’ve gotta turn on the, the…ugh. No.
No. You know, just. Talk to it. Tell it
to… find my location. Be convincccing. Like you’re chasssing sssssomeone away
from the ssshop. Y’know. Firm.”
“Right, will do.” He pulled the door open,
locking the shop firmly behind him with a glare and started briskly down the
street.
“Hey, there’sss a…yeah. A town. Jussst over
there. I can sssee a—“ there was a yelp and a loud crackling sound from the
other end. Aziraphale stopped dead in his tracks, causing an important looking businessman
to nearly crash into him.
“Crowley?! What happened? Are you all right?” He completely
missed the dirty looks he was getting for blocking the foot traffic.
“Ngk. Bloody ditch. Came outta nowhere.”
The angel let out a sigh of relief, half
jogging down the pavement. “All right. You find that town and then you stay put,
all right? I’ll be there soon. Don’t try anything. I’m coming to get you.”
willowfoot 