#Aziraphale and Crowley over time

[gaiaseyes451]

Excited to share my first @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt!

Slow Waltz

The antique record player turns only slightly newer vinyl around in a slow circle, the needle gliding unhurriedly along its well known path. The genius of men long dead, composed even longer ago dances with the dust motes and lamplight of the bookshop. It’s a waltz, Crowley pictures the dance steps as the first spirited notes pluck at his fingers, tapping in time. Shostakovich, if he’s not mistaken, and he knows he is correct. The tender, legato melody begins and Aziraphale’s eyes flutter shut, his hands conducting as they hover over his lap, a smile lifting his cheeks.

He remembers the salons in Paris, the halls in Moscow, the chambers in Vienna. They would sit—or stand—hands moving in time together yet never touching. Crowley knew better than to ask the angel to dance.

Perhaps eventually, maybe one more song.

***

Midnight is heralded by the rich toll of the grandfather clock’s chimes reverberating through the calm air. Aziraphale startles at the sound. As he’d watched Crowley melt deeper into his chair and his cups, Aziraphale’s thoughts had wandered to centuries long past. The people and customs and drink had changed and yet these nights—passed alone but together—were constant. The easy banter and exasperating contrariness yielding to a devastating fondness as the alcohol loosened their lips and cleared their vision.

”’S late,” the demon says, schooling his limbs into a semblance of a sitting position. “Should be going.”

”So soon?” Aziraphale asks, almost lighthearted if not for the tightness around the words. “It’s just now midnight and you seemed rather comfortable and it’s not as if I would sleep,” he rambles before stopping and taking a breath.

Crowley is watching him, one eyebrow quirked, more curious than wary.

“We haven’t even finished the bottle,” Aziraphale waves at the table strewn with wine bottles and if there’s a faint tinkling of miraculous bells neither seems to hear it.

There’s a smirk playing at Crowley’s lips. Aziraphale relaxes a little, settling back in his chair, pleased with himself at a successful temptation.

“Well,” Crowley drawls, sliding back into his chair. “Maybe one more drink.”

***

Motionless is an usual state for Crowley. His entire existence, he feels, has been a string of perpetual motion. Buzzing with anxiety, humming with affection, shimmering with hope. This moment—standing still while the world moves around him—is a harsher collision than he’s experienced in all his millenia. He regrets supporting the concept of inertia.

First, his breathing had stopped when Aziraphale said he was returning to Heaven. Then, Crowley’s heart when he’d asked Crowley to go with him. Now, no part of Crowley moves as he stands, motionless and resolute, braced against the Bentley. Only his eyes follow Aziraphale out of the bookshop, across the street, into the lift that will take him away for Satan-knows-how-long.

Crowley wills Aziraphale to turn, to look at him. To see him standing there. He did not leave; Crowley will never leave. Not without Aziraphale.

Maybe one more look, one more glance over his shoulder and the angel will see it, too.

The look never comes.

***

Crisp white suit, cold white tiles, vapid austere company, Aziraphale walks through the corridors of Heaven. At the model of Earth, he pauses and the angels walking with him stop, too. It is a well worn routine by now and the other angels disperse into idle chatter or feigned tasks as he rotates the globe in search of one being.

He always searches for the same person. He always finds him, no matter how well Crowley hides.

This time, he’s making no attempt to be covert. Quite the opposite, really. On the globe Italy—Venice in particular—smolders with temptations of lust and gluttony and an abundance of venial sins. Carnival.

Aziraphale turns his head into his shoulder to hide his smile. He remembers all the times he and Crowley met at this celebration, choosing to enjoy the revelry themselves rather than wasting the energy to negate the other’s influence.

He spares a small miracle, changing the crimson lining of Crowley’s mask to marigold. He hopes the demon will know what it means, when he sees it.

Aziraphale believes they will meet again, in Venice or Moscow or Paris or Vienna. Or London. In a bookshop, with a bottle of wine and Schostacovich’s waltz. And they’ll finally, finally dance.

Maybe one more year and it will be safe.

[shoomlah]

I have a feeling that beneath the little halo on your noble head There lies a thought or two the devil might be interested to know You're like the finish of a novel that I'll finally have to take to bed You fascinate me so

You Fascinate Me So, Blossom Dearie

[yourangle-yuordevil]

That time in ancient Greece when Aziraphale needed a speedy horse and accidentally invented the pegasus

VS.

Whatever Crowley had going on in medieval times

[thatskindarough]

They’re going to the movies

[mrghostrat]

god, i know i drew all day but my brain so empty i just wanted to draw a little more <3

[p4nishers]

i cant get over the ball being so CLEARLY all for crowley i can't get over aziraphale trying to woo him with a WHOLE FUCKING BALL because that's what he knows that's what romance IS for him because he's been wanting to dance with crowley ever since dancing was invented and he's so stuck in time with the way he dresses and talks and he still thinks a dance is the high of romance AND HE MADE A WHOLE ENTIRE FUCKING BALL FOR CROWLEY JUST SO HE COULD DANCE WITH HIM like now it's so fucking obvious he gave away his BOOKS without a second thought and it was all for crowley he organised a whole JANE AUSTEN THEME BALL just so he could have an excuse to finally dance with the love of his life and i can't get over this i'm shaking my fists and pacing up and down he did not give a single fuck about anything other than dancing with crowley and HE BARELY TOUCHED OTHER PEOPLE'S HANDS WHILE HIS WHOLE FUCKING PALM WAS PRESSED TO CROWLEY'S AND i need to lie down

[evan-buck]

GOOD OMENS 2x02 // 2x05

If you're going to invoke fiction, might as well do it properly.

[crowleyholmes]

"Safety"

I just think he deserves to sit in a window and look at his stars until he falls asleep...

[fearandhatred]

anyway what was The moment in good omens that gagged you because the first time i heard aziraphale say "you go too fast for me" i was flabbergasted. gobsmacked even. never in my wildest dreams did i expect to hear this kind of line from anywhere other than fanfiction website ao3 dot org

[paryyys]

thinking about the theory that if they erased crowleys memories of his time in heaven (the same way they erased gabriels) and crowley still goes to aziraphale (without his memory) in the garden of eden bc everything would be better if you were near one particular person✨️

[crowlixcx]

[beebopboom]

1941. hand kiss.

[orionsangel86]

Suddenly remembering the best and funniest Good Omens fanfiction I ever read which was set at a mutual Heaven and Hell "work party" and all the demons had bets to see who could bed an angel by the end of the night. It was hilarious and of course you read it presuming that Crowley will win but be gentlemanly enough to not claim the prize - which of course is what happens, but at the last minute it hits you around the face by revealling that Beelzebub hooked up with Gabriel

and well.

I think I'm gonna go reread that fic...

[codename-adler]

i’m afraid of diving into good omens tumblr discourse but i just–i have to say

Aziraphale’s face. it’s. that is the expression of someone who does not want to be kissed, but knows it’s inevitable. though even more subtle than that, it’s the face of someone who does not want the thing to happen not because they don’t want it, but because they do, they really do, and yet it is not the way they wish it would be. Aziraphale knows something here. and he isn’t telling Crowley, nor us. he’s got some kind of higher pressure weighing down on him, forcing him to act against his nature and heart, forcing him to act against Crowley. he backs Crowley into a corner with his talk of joining Metatron in Heaven, and knows it. and that is what he wants, because that’s where he needs Crowley to be–away from him; but he pushes too strong, pushes Crowley to risk it all and end up cornering Aziraphale right back. all Aziraphale wanted, all he needed to do, was protect Crowley by breaking his heart and abandoning him, but you can’t undo 6,000 years of companionship without a miracle. it’s a failure.

whatever the Metatron told or did to Aziraphale that was hidden from us, it terrified him enough to make up a wobbly plan that could keep Crowley safe, if he would just go along with it. Aziraphale may have been strong enough, may have loved Crowley that much, to put his heart on the line and sacrifice himself if it meant Crowley could live on, but he underestimated Crowley’s love for him. underestimated Crowley’s courage and capacity for honesty.

the angel lied and the demon spoke his truth and everything crashed and failed.

and it is painful failure and remorse that i see on Aziraphale’s face.

it’s Please don’t ruin my attempt at saving you and Can’t you see what I’m trying to do and I’m sorry I’m breaking your heart but I have to if I want to keep you and To choose you I have to choose Heaven but I know you’re not seeing it that way and Crowley look at me I’m lying just go along and

Oh no, you believed me entirely too much, what have I done?

with the kiss, Crowley seals his fate as undeniably tied to Aziraphale’s. and Metatron will know.

[thatskindarough]

At the Cafe!

[ineffableaddiction]

What’s this? As much as I’ve watched this scene, I’ve never paid close attention to Aziraphale’s gestures in the Final 15, aside from noting the anxiety/fear/whatever other descriptors are preferred.

It looks like Aziraphale also mouths “we need help” at the same time.

Was this (along with the “something’s wrong” voice) a clever way to let Crowley know that they were being observed? Or was Aziraphale asking Crowley to stop time?