#crowley & warlock

[captainfantasticalright]

The Omen and Good Omens: side by side scenes.

Arrival/Birth of the Antichrist:

Arrival of the demonic nanny:

Birthday celebration of the “Antichrist”:

Arrival of the Hellhound:

Entrances to manors:

Discussing burnt records due to buildings mysteriously going up in flames:

*and some more.

[prettygirlmkegrqves]

they are so silly🥰

[lejoursobre]

That's how it happened to me 🦆 S2 made me re-watch s1 and as 2019 is now a long time ago, I forgot how much I loved it!

[guavi]

it's Mary Poppins ya'll

[melonsharks]

i went. insane. LOOK. i know a lot of people realllyyyy wanted crowley to be the wedding dress designer LOOK I KNOW AND ITS OK u can make ur own au i promise but in MY WORLD. you need to understand me.

crowley owning a vineyard is personal to me. he is THE snake in the garden of eden, tempting is his JOB ok. he makes wines aziraphale indulges in, aziraphale designs dresses with crowley in mind. do you hear me. are you listening to me. i have everything from the second they meet mapped out OK i know what im talking about. listen to my delusions, boy.

[sapphic-bats]

Warlock asks Nanny about it once.

She’s cutting apples for him, just the way he likes, and he’s gazing out of the window at the lush, green gardens that his mother so proudly upholds. Among the waxy leaves and spindly saplings, Brother Francis tends to the flora carefully, though Warlock’s quite sure he’s just taking certain leaves between his finger and his thumb, and studying them closely. But what did Warlock know about gardening?

He notices Nanny looking out those windows, too. Though she always gazes and stares with a deep intent, as if she only cares when she does, and it so happens that she never looks upon the garden empty.

What was that funny thing Nanny and Brother Francis had taught him? The thing that Nanny discouraged, to which Brother Francis promoted quite devoutly?

“Nanny, have you ever been married?”

Warlock knows what marriage is. After all, his parents are married, if you can call it that. They married, once, out of love. But it’s since faded. It’s more traditional, now. Out of convenience and a general apathy to trying again.

Nanny’s quick hand stills, blade edge flat against the cutting board. With her back turned to the young boy, he cannot make out her expression. He never can, what with her poised shades she wears pointedly upon her nose. But she speaks soon again.

“No,” she replies, simply.

Warlock considers this. “Do you ever want to be?”

Nanny, who had taken up the cutting again, pauses once more. She sets the knife against the board and tilts her chin towards Warlock. “Wherever have you learned such personal questions, dear?”

She’s not refusing to answer him. She never has. She just asks in true curiosity, and perhaps a slight avoidance. But Warlock’s eight, now, and he knows how to navigate her tricks.

“Where do you think?”

At that, she pauses, lips pursed with their consistent purple tint. The lipstick she wears, that faintly stains Warlock’s forehead when she kisses him goodnight and tucks him in after a bedtime story: often about a garden, or a bird that chirped too loudly, and was cast down to the ground by the other birds. One who became the kind bird of the grounds, and took in other reject birds that had fallen similarly.

She considers his answer a moment more, satisfied with the obvious influence she’s had on him. She turns back to the apple slices.

“Perhaps,” she answers.

There is quiet for a moment. He doesn’t mind, he’s grown up with Nanny at his side, and has become quite fond of the silence. It is where thoughts are made, she said once.

She finishes cutting the apples, and plates the sweet snack to serve to the boy. “What troubles you, dear? You seem awfully curious, all of the sudden.”

Not that she minds. Nanny never rejects curiosity.

“Nothing’s wrong, Nanny, it’s just—” he pauses, considers his next words and how to place them. “You look at Brother Francis a lot, and—”

Nanny interrupts him after an audible, suspicious gulp. “Who?”

He frowns, eyes boring into the back of her head. “You know Brother Francis.”

She seems quite comically nervous, like she’s pressed a wax-seal act over her true thoughts. “Oh, yes,” she decides, too much breath coming with her words. “The gardener.”

“You like him, Nanny.”

She turns, abruptly. “I most certainly do not!” Her voice comes out a tad shrill, though perhaps it’s just outrage and scandal.

Warlock narrows his eyes, perplexed. “But you look at him all of the time.”

“When has that ever had anything to do with- with love?” She struggles with the word.

The boy shrugs. “Mum and Dad don’t look at each other,” Warlock observes. “But Brother Francis looks for you, too.”

Nanny’s mouth, ready with a retort, or perhaps a counter-argument, flicks towards a different shape. One that might be, he does? Or perhaps Warlock is mistaken. She pauses, lips pursed again, and sets her teeth.

“I’m sure he does, love.”

The plate is set before him, and Warlock soon forgets his questions. He never asks Nanny again.

But he’s reminded of it when her eyes, barely visible in the light, flick towards the window into the dazzling garden.

Years later, Warlock is nearly sixteen, and has since let the thoughts from half his lifetime ago fade. They never die, just sort of… wait. Wait to be plucked again, notes of memory leaping from their tinny strings. Like a harp.

His mother takes him into town. Soho, where he has no interest in seeing, but his mother so desperately needs a new vinyl, a coffee, and though she never says it: a moment to get away from the house, or more specifically, her husband within it.

She agrees to let him wander. She trusts him, for all she hasn’t before. And perhaps, she says, the fresh, un-televised air could do him some good.

He’s only taken two steps out of the coffee shop, where his mother remains to await her tea, before he almost runs smack into two pedestrians, arm in arm. He takes a surprised jump back, tongue set with an angry scolding, when he gets a good look at them from behind.

“Nanny?”

They both freeze in unison, as if they both know the name, and the voice that has conjured it forth once more for the first time in five years. Warlock notices something else.

“Brother Francis?” He prods, shocked. “Izzat you?”

Both of the two now turn, and everything around the three fades into blurring colors and churning noises.

Warlock would be a rotten liar if he had said he hadn’t missed them dearly. He would also be a lousy boy if he didn’t recognize them by the backs of their heads alone, he thinks. Because he would know them anywhere. They’d always done a much better job at raising him than his own parents.

They both look different now. Brother Francis seems to have had dental work done, and has cleaned up quite nicely. Nanny, though, appears to have changed her style completely. Her- his? Their? Who knows. But she still sports a fine pair of shades upon the bridge of her nose.

The pair seem to stutter, splutter with a little awestruck surprise. It’s as if they’d never expected to see him again.

“Oh- Warlock,” Nanny Ashtoreth begins, feigning a cool-headed surprise. “How good to see you.”

She sounds different too. Less of a high strain on her voice, more natural.

But Warlock seems to finally feel a gear shift, and a puzzle piece clicks into place. He glances down to the space between the two, where their arms are linked.

In his dumbfounded state, he feels a smile split the trance.

They both see it at the same time, chins tilting to follow his gaze. When they catch where his eyes are, their stares mingle together in concern. It’s a look that wonders aloud whether or not they should be worried, or blatant.

Warlock looks back up to their faces. “I see now why you two left,” he adds, grinning wider.

He can’t help it. He was right all along.

Warlock remembers something, then. It takes all of his power not to burst out into a triumphant laugh.

“I’m sure he does,” he says, slyly.

Nanny’s eyes, illuminated from behind with daylight, widen. She remembers, too. Of course she does.

And she bites back a twinning smile.

[sarosthewizarddude]

Crowley is such a dad he adopts every kid he finds

Oh you're the antichrist? Adopted.

Oh we had the wrong one? You're the right one? I'm adopting you too then. Yeah, I tried to kill you five minutes ago but you know how it is. Big misunderstanding.

You made a pot? Lovely. Adopted.

You're digging up bodies? Doing Wicked? Wonderful. Adopted. I will risk my existence to keep you alive.

Oh, so you're technically an immortal angel, but you act like a kid? Close enough, adopted.

[starksual-art]

nanny ashtoreth’s beauty deserves flowers

[flowerquib]

A single mom who works to jobs who loves her kids and never stops-

yes the bentley is traced I cant draw cars (let alone a fucking bentley) for the life of me

so crowley got custody of the kids whether he wanted to or not

[aydracz]

Crowley's mail for The Ineffable Con

Here's a detail of Crowley's mail that Shax was handing out to The Ineffable Con participants as a gift.

Making these brought me immense joy because it felt like giving back to the fandom, which is full of amazing people whose creations I enjoy every day. So these are for all of you, my dears!

And there was a little surprise in each of them

Some of the letters are still up for grabs at the Bandstand in Battersea Park in London together with some amazing art by @drimmsydra and @fuzzywhispersbear! (See details in the previous post.)

Aubrey Thyme's sign was created by @onlylurkingreadingstuff and used with their permission.

[pidgeonl0rd]

I saw Nanny kissing Santa Claus!!

[lookitsstevie]

bwother framcis I did what you told me but now nanny is cwying

(I'm late but happy mother's day!)

original meme by @/qinniart (rest in peace)

[worrynoodle]

Fun fact: Aziraphale left the frosting on his face that long because he was hoping ✨️someone✨️ would lick it off. Maybe someone who could 'do really strange things with his tongue'

[hannahnhorror]

As a proud owner of a 2CV I'm sad that Crowley didn't get to drive one, but maybe Nanny drives this beauty? (Crowley in diguise and so is the car)

[megamindsupremacy]

A personal favorite Good Omens headcanon of mine is that, despite being born an entirely human person, Warlock has a bit of reality warping powers. In the book (less so in the show, but still there to an extent), a lot of emphasis is placed on how Crowley and Aziraphale expect things to happen, and so they do. Aziraphale expects a phone to work by just talking to it without pushing buttons, so it does. Crowley expects his plants to grow better when he yells at them, so they do.

And of course, for eleven years, they both expect Warlock to be the Antichrist.

Warlock literally spent eleven years getting molded back-and-forth by Aziraphale and Crowley to be this or that sort of magical. Can you really expect that to not make any sort of difference to him? Crowley and Aziraphale expected Warlock to be the Antichrist so hard (because they literally didn’t even know there was another option) that I wouldn’t be surprised if Warlock was more Antichrist-like than Adam at this point. Adam grew up human (enough) and then revoked all of his Antichrist powers at the end of the book. He’s a regular human kid now. Warlock is probably more powerful than Adam at this point because it wasn’t just Crowley and Aziraphale who expected him to be incomprehensibly powerful- Warlock believes it himself. His name is Warlock, for fucks sake, that’s gotta do something to him.

[melonsharks]

hi please dont take this seriously this is extremely self indulgent. i feel insane right now, but. 1998 parent trap au LMFAOOOOOO.

you watch a movie you haven’t seen in years, realize one character owns a vineyard, the other is a wedding dress designer, that they got divorced but are still deeply in love with each other and u know what? you just go with it. u gotta draw whats in ur heart.

bonus: