#pianist aziraphale

[leviosally]

Play for me the Music of your Heart

Yeah...both these GIFs were needed. 😂

Chapter 28 of 30 is up, lads! We're nearly there 🥰

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The backstage door opens, admitting his accompanist to a second wave of applause and cheers. Crowley turns, prepared with a ready smile and a gesture to welcome Tracy onto the stage with him.

Except that it isn’t Tracy.

Read it here.

[gaiaseyes451]

Ostinato - A New Good Omens FanFic

Rated: Explicit, One-Shot, 11k (Read here on AO3)

A massive thank you to @and-his-hands-were-24-crows for this utterly gorgeous sketch!!! *swoons* Check out their AO3 at The 23rd Crow! Summary (Read on AO3): It has been six months since Aziraphale ascended to the highest ranks of Heaven. It has been six months and Aziraphale will not answer any of Crowley's attempts to contact him through conventional methods so alternative tactics must be employed. Crowley uncovers an ancient summoning ritual discovered by humans, rooted in magic and steeped in power of music. If the angel will not respond to Crowley willingly, then the Supreme Archangel will no longer be given a choice.

Excerpt: With three keys, one for each lock, he opened the heavy auditorium door. The twists and slips and chains of the deadbolts barred it against unwelcome human presences. 

On the stage, he took painstaking care to create the sigil required for the summoning ritual—a cipher of concentric circles on the matte black boards drawn with stark white chalk. His intricate script wove them together, nearly incomprehensible for the multitude of languages and sheer number of times their names were repeated. It was impossible to tell where one ended and the next began. He wove the disparate languages together with a transcendent grace: angelic characters, demonic runes, Sumerian, Phoenician, Hebrew, Latin, Sanskrit, Arabic, Mandarin, Hindi, Greek, Italian, Prussian, German, French, English– the history of an existence that had always belonged to the both of them.

Thanks to @voluptatiscausa, @malachitegrey and @adverbian for organizing the High Pollen Count! Event and encouraging us folks who ran with the vibes instead of the pollen itself to still participate. 🤣

And a huge thanks to my beta's @hakunahistata, @the-literal-kj and @paperclipninja. As always a shoutout to @goodomensafterdark for supporting the wonderful writers' community.

[ennas-aesthetic]

You know what I just realized?

When Crowley said, "that's the point. No nightingales," I paused and went - huh. So both Aziraphale and Crowley KNEW about the actual nightingale bird that sang in Berkeley square? We as the audience are AWARE about it, of course, because God's narration told us so. We also know that, outside the mise en scène, Tori Amos' A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square plays as the end credits for season 1 roll.

But the s1 end credits song, I assumed, was non-diegetic. As in, like the soundtracks that permeate throughout most films, the song could only be heard by the AUDIENCE, and not by the characters. In addition, the characters THEMSELVES cannot hear what God says to the audience - and logically speaking both Crowley and Aziraphale could not have known about a singular, inconspicuous bird singing despite the noise of the traffic. Especially not when the Nightingale sings while they're currently dining at the Ritz.

So the 'No Nightingales' line WORKS for the audience - it's an incredible gut punch that leaves you weeping. But since we never heard or saw either Aziraphale and Crowley acknowledge the Nightingale, did that line have the same devastating impact to the both of them?

Oh, it absolutely did. Maybe even worse than we could ever imagine.

Because Crowley WASN'T just talking about that damn nightingale bird, was he? If you rewatch Season 1, Episode 6, you can see and hear VERY clearly that while Aziraphale and Crowley settle on their usual table at the Ritz, a pianist plays A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square inside the scene itself. Unlike the end credits, the piano version of the song is a DIEGETIC sound! That means both the Aziraphale and Crowley can hear it LOUD AS DAY.

And it's JUST - the heart-breaking contrast this has to Beelzebub and Gabriel's Everyday. When Crowley says 'No Nightingales," he implies that that was THEIR song. It's a specific reference enough to know that this became part of their history - of their rich plethora of inside jokes and shared memories. And judging by Aziraphale's shattered face, he KNEW the significance of the line. He KNEW that Crowley is throwing back THEIR song to his face. "If Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, why can't we? Why can't we make the Nightingale a reality, the same way they made their Everyday come true?"

That A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square is Aziraphale and Crowley's Everyday becomes fact when Crowley turns the Bentley's radio on, only for it to play THIS song. THEIR song. Which SHOULD HAVE brought them together. It SHOULD HAVE. It worked for Gabriel and Beelzebub, didn't it?

Turns out, not every problem could be fixed by making that song yours.

[shoemakerobstetrician]

Season 3 Opening Scene Nightingale 1941 Theory

So, season 2 opened with a flashback that had us totally reevaluating Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s relationship. I think the same will be true of season 3.

I think we will return to the night in 1941, to find out that they kissed, danced, or more that night.

1 - Why are they sitting at a table in the bookshop just drinking, no food on the table? When they’re drinking they don’t use a table. I think it’s to clue us in that there is more to the scene than what we are seeing - at some point before or after they had dinner.

2 - We know that Aziraphale did the apology dance in 1941 - again an indication that there is probably more to that evening than what we have seen so far.

3 - When Crowley says ‘no nightingales’ in S2E6 we now think he’s referring to the scene at the end of S1E6 in the Ritz, but it does seem a bit of a reach. It was a very nice moment, but I don’t think a relationship defining one that would cause both of them to think of it as their song.

4 - A Nightingale Sang was released in 1940, first charting at the end of December 1940. It would have been a hit in 1941 (according to Wikipedia it got up to #2).

5 - I think they had dinner, they danced, or perhaps even kissed to Nightingale as it was playing on the radio, and it became their song in a much more significant moment in 1941.

6 - When Aziraphale says to Crowley “Perhaps one day we could…dine at the Ritz” after “You go too fast for me Crowley” he would then be directly referring to their song from 1941.

7 - When it plays at the Ritz at the end of season 1, it’s because the pianist finds themselves mysteriously compelled to perform it, like the Oxford bus driver taking them to London.

8 - And finally, when Crowley says “no nightingales” at the end of S2 it is just devastating, it’s him saying there is no us.

And another thing: in the lyrics to Nightingale: That Certain night, the night we met/There was MAGIC abroad in the air. 😁

One more thing: I can certainly see Neil gleefully being like “Psych, it WASN’T their first kiss.”, and the scene would be just as heartbreaking if not more so if it was what Crowley thought was their last kiss.

ETA I just rewatched the bookshop table scene for like the 17th time. Holy 💩 is the dialogue strange and very loaded. The “trust me” bit, and the “shades of grey”. Throughout the whole scene Aziraphale is sideways eye fucking Crowley. There is simply no way we’re not going to see more of this scene in Season 3.

I very much like this whole idea, it probably won’t happen. Maybe someone will write a fanfic at least.

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil, I was wondering about the costuming during the ball. I’ve seen people calling Jim’s ensemble an Elton John look but it seemed like a clear Liberace homage to me. Of course both would wear a sparkly suit and feather cloak, but that was Liberace’s gotp aesthetic while Elton John used to go for more avant-grade looks. Also Aziraphale is controlling the wardrobe choices in this scene and Elton John would be too bebop for his tastes but Liberace the classical pianist would be right up his alley. Was it meant to be a reference to Elton John or Liberace?

Also people have speculated that since Jim’s other clothes were borrowed from Aziraphale. I thought it was the result of Aziraphale’s miracle that made everyone’ wardrobe more glamorous for the ball. But if it was originally Aziraphale’s outfit, do you have a backstory for when he originally wore it? And is that something we might see in series 3?

Finally, why didn’t Aziraphale conjure glamorous outfits for himself or Crowley?

In my head Aziraphale is giving everyone the clothes he feels they should wear, Jim included.

Our amazing costume designer had designed an Aziraphale at the ball costume, but Michael felt strongly that Aziraphale wouldn't dress up for it, and should remain in civvies.

[hikarry]

I get why you would have Crowley be a guitarist/vocalist. It's a classic in the fandom. But a pianist? I don't really see that instrument fitting him

My reason is one and only one and a very simple one at that: Have you looked at that man's hands?

Anthony J. Crowley was created to play a fucking piano!

As a pianist myself, I would commit cold blooded murder to have long slim fingers like those!

It is a sin I haven't run across a single fanfic - in universe or not - where this guy plays a piano! Look at the way he moves his bloody fingers! Look at how fucking fluid he is!

I will have him sit his ass in front of a piano and fucking serenate Aziraphale every night if I have to, but my musician Crowley will be, regardless of anything else, a pianist god

I understand your scepticism tho

Most musician Crowley AUs have him as a rock star and, by God, so will I, but whoever made the rule that rock stars only sing and play drums or the guitar?

You need no other example but the Queen of Glam Rock himself, Freddie Fucking Mercury. He is one of the biggest rock stars to ever grace this Earth and he could barely play a bloody guitar to save his life, but was a genius at the piano

Don't Stop Me Now. Killer Queen. Somebody To Love. We Are The Champions. Breakthru. Face It Alone. Spread Your Wings. The March of the Black Queen. Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy.

I could keep going.

Do you know what all of those have in common?

They are all Queen songs, yes. All undeniably rock songs. And their main instrument is what? A piano

I rest my case

[angellilou-art]

Hear me out...

Fic idea :

Crescendo

They're rivals.

Crowley is a non conformist left handed violonist and Aziraphale a very strict and traditional pianist. They hate each others music but they have to duet because they're the best at their instruments. And... They both want to show to each other the best way to play music!

Playing with uncontrollable passion or aiming the perfect harmony : who is right?

[ideas from my Discord]

[foolishlovers]

CO-WORKER AUs: Below you can find a list of Good Omens AUs in which Crowley and Aziraphale are co-workers. (oh my god they were co-workers)

[Requested by anon. You can request more fic recs here.]

Hit me with your ledger by KissMyAsthma (G, 1k) Corporate accountant Aziraphale has been infatuated with his coworker Crowley for a long time, but he has done nothing about it. One day, opportunity strikes and… Sometimes, an accidental nude is all it takes to score a date.

Get Down by AppleSeeds (T, 3k) When Aziraphale calls downstairs asking them to send up someone to fix the fax machine in his office, he doesn't expect them to send the most handsome and stylish man he's ever encountered in his entire life. Hopefully he won't end up doing anything foolish to embarrass himself.

The Piano Serpent by journeytogallifrey (T, 3k) Aziraphale owns The Flaming Sword, which is one of the premier gay bars in London. Everyone knows this… except for their pianist, Crowley. While the regulars take bets over whether he's the clueless straight person he seems, Aziraphale just tries to prevent himself from falling further. But one night Crowley plays a song written specially to honor their regulars, and Aziraphale can't hold the truth in any longer. How will Crowley react? Will the truth really set them free?

Hold the Lift by CemeteryAngel725 (T, 5k) Crowley just wants to get to work on time, but when he gets stuck in a lift with new guy Aziraphale, he ends up with a lot more than he bargained for. See, Aziraphale has this list of 36 questions…

!False (It's Funny Because It's True) by MirjamOmens (E, 6k) Aziraphale drew a long breath through his nose. Crowley, of course it had to be Crowley. The new guy in the sales department, who would promise potential customers just about anything to close a deal. Arrogant, annoying – and wildly, stupidly attractive. Aziraphale hated him. Aziraphale is a stellar software architect and a project manager, who is so done with the sales department selling unrealistically scheduled and budgeted projects. And he definitely doesn't have a crush on anyone, thank you very much.

Bang This Out? by crepesandoysters (E, 9k) As far as work friendships go, Aziraphale and Crowley have won the jackpot. They work well together and know how to make each other laugh, the whole metaphorical package. They could even be called best friends. Or, at least, they could be called that until today. Today comes with a kiss, and the kiss comes with more. A lot more if it were up to them. Except that their workplace seems to have other ideas.

Cock Tales by TawnyOwl95 (E, 12k) Crowley’s love life is on the rocks so he finally swears off men. Typical that his new job places him with a co-worker who's so straight up sexy. Or in which, Aziraphale tries to mix things up, Crowley is shaken and Anathema is a right stirrer. But could a relationship be worth a shot?

I'm Beginning to See the Light by ineffabildaddy (E, 15k) There was Crowley - the paragon of cool, the overlord of apathy, breezing easily through each and every one of their exchanges and giving no fucks while doing so; then there was the anachronistic, cloying Aziraphale, trying and failing not to live life like a Thomas Hardy protagonist, and giving many fucks indeed. Or: Aziraphale has quite the pash on his colleague Crowley, who seems resolutely disinterested in him. As their annual Christmas party progresses, it appears that Crowley may not be as disinterested as Aziraphale first thought.

House Style by soft_october (M, 24k) “Since that's all settled, the real question is did he give you his number?” Anathema laughed. “He was looking at you the way you look at lunch.” “Forget lunch!” Michael declared. “He was looking at you the way you were looking at him!” Aziraphale is content in his job as an editor at Celestial Publishing, though he could go for a bit less of doing his boss' job for him. But everything goes a bit screwy when the CEO brings in a consultant with plans to build a program that will turn the entire editorial department on its head. If only he wasn't so handsome.

All Lines Are Open by TawnyOwl95, FeralTuxedo (E, 21k) Anthony Crowley, bored host of a trite call-in radio show on Tadfield FM, has very few pleasures in life beyond annoying his long-suffering producer Aziraphale. When a caller reports suspicious activity at the abandoned Tadfield Manor, Crowley is determined to investigate, dragging Aziraphale along. Both of them are going to get more than they bargained for. A local radio AU

Heavenly Wicked Cafe by WaitingToBeBroken (T, 33k) There is a terribly rude barista that makes amazing coffee and a saint of a barista, whose coffee tastes vile. And they are in love.

i've found a way (a way to make you smile) by curtaincall (T, 40k) Crowley worked in Sales. He had never intended to work in Sales. It had just sort of happened. One moment, there he’d been, a newly minted university graduate off to change the world, exquisitely useless Philosophy degree in hand, and now here he was, having sauntered vaguely downwards into a Hell that consisted mainly of cold-calling new customers and sucking up to existing ones.   AU based on The Office.

First Class (Hons) Christmas, University of Tadfield. by heloluv (M, 41k) Dr. A.Z. Fell is a renowned literature tutor at the prestigious University of Tadfield. December is upon the University, and Dr. Fell is leading the Christmas Charity Drive. He needs volunteers. Dr. A.J. Crowley is a skilled plant ecologist who recently began his tenure at UoT. He can't stand Christmas, and nothing at all could ever possibly convince him to partake in "festivities". Until a certain literary expert catches his eye. A Christmas and New Years fic, in which Aziraphale teaches Crowley how to enjoy the most wonderful time of the year.

because thinking makes it so by summerofspock, NaroMoreau (E, 41k) It's supposed to be an exchange. An arrangement. Something to make them both feel better and less lonely. But Crowley's never had the brightest ideas.

Tadfield's Finest by angelsnuffbox (E, 51k) The sleepy town of Tadfield is thoroughly shaken by the arrival of DI Crowley. Where barely anything ever happened before, there is now a bustle of low grade criminal activity, and everyone knows where to point the blame. Gabriel thinks he's a bad omen for the town, many others are quick to agree. Meanwhile, Aziraphale from SOCO just thinks he's hot. Ridiculously so.

Golden Handcuffs by seekwill (E, 70k) Far from any city, near the Scottish coast, Tadfield College has a celebrated history, an unrivaled academic reputation, and two departments at war. When the Biology and English departments are forced to share a building, Senior Lecturer and botanist Anthony Crowley finds himself drawn into the orbit of the polite but strange English professor, Dr. Aziraphale Fell. As the new term begins, two academics navigate the politics of both their offices and academia, and try to solve the puzzle of one another.

Wild Hearts by foolishlovers (E, 124, WIP) In the idyllic English countryside, far from the hustle and bustle of the big city, two teachers at Willowbrook Hall set out to transform their students’ lives through the world of theatre. But for Mr. Crowley, the challenge of navigating his long hidden feelings and dear friendship with Mr. Fell may prove to be the greatest drama of all.

Sugar And Spice by SylWritesStuff, ladydragona (E, 179k, WIP) Queer technology giant Anthony J. Crowley is just about ready to throw in the towel after relationship after relationship has failed, but there's a new barista at the company coffee shop and he's cute and sweet and Crowley's never been able to resist blond hair and blue eyes. The tabloids will have a field day, they always do, but his assistant is getting married and a temp is needed. A temp who really isn't very good at making complicated coffees, has past experience in reception, and absolutely no idea that the latest complicated coffee order came from the owner himself. Aziraphale only knows that he's handsome, patient, and was the first person who told him he was doing well. How could he refuse the temp position? Or, he soon discovers, more.

[you can find more fic rec masterposts here]

[sightkeeper]

Little scene from a fic I read over the weekend, Play for me the Music of your Heart, by @leviosally wherein Aziraphale is a conductor/pianist and Crowley is a violinist :) This is their Halloween concert where Crowley wore a reaper costume during Danse Macabre

[leviosally]

Play for me the Music of your Heart

(I was tempted to use the 'It's been 84 years' GIF since I haven't updated in ages, but I refrained 😆) Anyway, ch. 30 is up, and the total count just went up to 31 (last time, I promise, lol)

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They had made it. That moment…that ineffable moment, with Crowley’s hands clasped in his own and those warm golden eyes broadcasting his love like a lighthouse still had Aziraphale feeling as though he might sprout wings and take flight at any given moment. As it stands, he had woken up sweaty, smelling faintly of alcohol and smoke with sticky whipped topping streaks the exact width of his lover’s tongue in various places on his skin, and every color of glitter under the rainbow in his hair. So. Needs must.

Read the whole fic here.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello beautiful human !

Can I find in, your glorious library, stories where Crowley has good friends who care for him deeply? Aside from Aziraphale, ofc.

Thank you so much in advance ❤️

Hi! I would recommend our #apocalypse buddies, #crowley & muriel, and #friendship tags for fics to enjoy. Here are more fics in which Crowley has good friends...

Angel, Please by GhostOfCallisto (M)

Crowley and Aziraphale are both regular old humans who met under human circumstances. Crowley is a part of a struggling band called Hellish Rebuke with the demon crew, Aziraphale is a former drag queen named Angel Fell attempting to be a professional dancer. Maggie and Nina are best friends with Crowley and big fans of his band.

I'm Gonna Set Things Right Again by iocallistoeuropa (G)

Aziraphale has gone off to Heaven, Crowley is driving around the country aimlessly, Muriel has learned how to have a "cupperty", and Give Me Coffee... or Give Me Death has now been expanded and renamed Give Me Coffee, Give Me Records... or Give Me Death. Some things have changed for the better, but others have turned into quite a mess. Is there any way to set things right again?

Who Am I Without You? by Lainey_Marie (T)

After Aziraphale left for Heaven, all Crowley wanted to do was lose control of himself and spiral until he couldn't feel anything anymore but there is an angel needing his help to adjust to life on Earth and a pesky coffee shop owner who just won't let him drown in his immense sorrow. With the help of his new friends, Crowley attempts to figure out who he is when he isn't living for Aziraphale or to do Hell's bidding. But what happens when that very same angel returns in desperate need of a hand to save the world once more?

You're Just a Little Under Rehearsed by MickyRC (T)

Drama teacher Crowley loves directing the Tadfield Community Players' shows—interacting with the rest of the staff at the community center, not so much. So when he meets the new accompanist for this year's musical, he's shocked to find that he might actually like him. Possibly more than like, if he's being honest. Aziraphale is fresh from leaving a long career as a church pianist, and hoping that a new job will get him out of the lonely rut he's found himself in. The attention and kindness of the flashy community theater director are unexpected, but not unwelcome. Far from it. But with a community theater to run, a show to put on, and a disgruntled R.P. Tyler looking for any excuse to get rid of Crowley and his theater program, will they be able to make a relationship work? And, more importantly, can they make sure the show still goes on?

The Prize by Caedmon (E)

Need a car? Date my brother. My brother is a real angel but needs a helping hand in the social/romance department, so I’m trying to help him find a good guy. Ages 35-50, employed, good looking, emotionally stable. After an entrance interview, if you successfully date my brother for a set amount of time and pull him out of his shell, I will give you my garage kept 1933 Bentley. Serious inquiries only. Contact gabriel@messenger.com

love like yours (will surely come my way) by CCs_World (T)

Dr Zira Fell is a new professor of theology at St Beryl's University. His first day there he meets the mysterious and enchanting Dr AJ Crowley, an art history professor and a painter. They almost immediately become friends, and spend most of their time getting lunch together, talking, drinking wine, making art, and falling slowly in love with one another. Featuring cameos of everyone's favorite (and least favorite) characters, gratuitous descriptions of paintings, long text messaging conversations, and one cranky cat.

- Mod D

[the-fell-family]

Hi ! Love you both 🥹

People noticed that Crowley's hands look like ones of a pianist. Is that true ? And if so, what is Crowley's favourite music/song to play ? 👀

Have a good day, lots of love ❤️

Tried piano, didn't have the patience for it. - Crowley

He's very good at playing it, but like he said, he didn't have the patience to keep at it. Which is quite a shame. - Aziraphale

[vidavalor]

Is Crowley a princess?

And if so, would that make Aziraphale Super Mario??

<<Is Crowley a princess?>>

On occasion. Not at the moment, though.

Tonight, since her angel just had the piano tuned, she is a lonely, famous concert pianist on a break from her most recent world tour. Aziraphale is an old acquaintance of hers from college who is trying to seduce the stunning artist he's been secretly mad about for years into a, well... private performance... of different sort.

She is so very lovely with her wavy, long, red hair and her black silk slipdress and those gorgeous fingers playing him all the Rachmaninoff and Saint-Saens and Great American Songbook classics that he loves that it is a bit unclear who is doing the seducing. It's a pity she'll be gone again tomorrow night for another show, and he, back to his bookselling life.

One night together before she leaves for Paris. Do they finally, after all these years, give in to the temptation?

<<Aziraphale Super Mario??>>

Aziraphale thinks by 'Super Mario', you must mean Mario, the building manager of the apartment building Aziraphale owns at the end of Whickber. He agrees that Mario is quite super, yes. A super super, indeed!

[sentientsky]

"I forgive you." It came out like a blood clot—like an artery dripping gore—like an oil spill. Crowley felt his shoulders rise, fall, fall, fall. The air between them hummed, the tension of six thousand years turning every atom electrified and silently screaming. Breath shuddered out of him, human and terrible and hollowing. He had never been more grateful for the swallowing darkness of his glasses, for the way they hid the centuries of pre-emptive grief and wicked terror. The air was suffocating, the once familiar bookshop turned catacomb.

And then, hating himself for it but seeing no other way forward, he spoke the words aloud. "Don't bother". And then he was out in the middle of Soho and the breeze was harsh against his too-warm skin. Stepping out into the sun felt like rising to the surface of some great ocean—the gasping, desperate feeling in his lungs, the sudden crash of noise. A woman across the street called for her wife. A car horn. A dog barking. Laughter, cruel and far-off. He pulled breath into lungs that didn't need it, winced as he felt slivers of cold drive into the soft flesh of his throat.

So that was it; five and a half million years of want and need and burning, aching somedays, cyphered pleas for "our side". All gone in the space between shaking half-breaths and a kiss still seared against his lips.

Fuck it.

He'd ruined it the first time, had forced them both to look directly into the sun, to face the thing they'd been dancing around for the better part of six millennia. He could do better—would do better. At a music café some years ago, a human had been playing the piano—something soft and slow. A jazz number, if the demon remembered correctly. But the remarkable thing wasn’t the song itself, but that they were playing it with their eyes closed. Aziraphale had pointed this fact out to Crowley, excitement lilting in his voice (even then, the sound had thrilled him, sent a stab of warmth through his heart). It was only after the final note reverberated through the room that the artist opened their eyes, blinking in the sudden rush of stage lights. Aziraphale, ever the music connoisseur, approached the musician. The pianist had explained that, for them, reading music never came easy. Rather, they learned by touch, by the way the keys felt on their fingertips. In fact, the only way they could play a song was with their eyes closed. If they watched their hands as they played or thought too hard about their next move, they got confused and tripped over the notes. Muscle memory, they’d said.  It was muscle memory—the galactic familiarity of finding the space between seconds and prying—that guided Crowley now. He hadn’t done it since Not-Armageddon, but it came easily to him just the same. Time, you see, operates kind of like sound, like music; it loops and sways and carries forward in waves. If you know where to look (as the demon did), you can disrupt the flow, send it back towards the shore. 

And this was what Crowley did now. Drawing his hands through the ripples of minutes and seconds and hours and millennia, time stilled around him. It was natural. Easy, like breathing or sleeping. Or loving Aziraphale.  Slowly, the world turned backwards; humans retreating from whence they came, cars driving in reverse, the wind blowing in the opposite direction. If Heaven had taken notice of their "half-a-miracle", Crowley expected them to be able to see this from every edge of the universe. He likely only had one shot at this.

The world aligned itself once more, and time returned to its regular, steady gait—a rubber band snapping back into place. Something hummed in Crowley’s chest. Something bright and burning and the shape of a neutron star.  Hands shaking, he reached for the handle of the bookshop and pushed. The bell above the door rang, clear and and too-loud in the morning air. Aziraphale whirled around, a trembling half-smile on his face. Oh. Oh, somebody, this was going to be harder than he thought. It felt like all the oxygen, all the courage, had been punched clear out of him "Crowley!" A beat, a shuddering breath. "Angel". He pressed his still-trembling hands into his pockets and strode forward. "Oh, Crowley, dear, I've been looking for you. I have excellent news." His stomach did a little flip, something deep within him growing hollow and fearful. "We have to talk," he managed to choke out around the heart still lodged in his throat. "Yes, I quite think we do. I have something to tell you." Aziraphale strode forward, all grins and beauty like a flickering star, all plasma and heat. He could practically feel the agitated warmth roll off of his angel. Crowley shivered. "I just met with the Meta—” "No. Wait," the demon held up a hand, pausing the rushing torrent of Aziraphale’s words. "Just let me say my thing, please." "My dear boy, just—oh, what is that lovely human expression—"

"Hold that thought," Crowley muttered. His eyes burned behind his glasses. Aziraphale looked pleasantly taken aback.

"Yes, how did you know? I—" "No." The angel's eyebrows crinkled in confusion. "No?" "No," he repeated, enunciating each letter with perfect clarity. He was going to do it right this time. He was going to keep him from leaving. He could be good. Right? "I’m gonna speak, and I want you to listen to me without interrupting, m'kay?" Words were building in the basin of his sternum now, pushing up on his airways. He was going to have to say it outright this time; no more waltzing around this frenzied galaxy of emotion. Willing his hands to steadiness, he pulled his glasses from his face, and tucked them into the collar of his shirt. Aziraphale's breath seemed to catch for a moment, meeting the ferocity of the demon's gaze head-on. A deer in headlights. And then, "Crowley, I really—" (Eons hurtled through his mind in a split second, the serrated knife's-edge of want like a being all its own. Aziraphale in the garden. Aziraphale in the tavern, on the cliffside, on the West End stage, in the Bentley, in the bookshop, in the very marrow of Crowley’s bones.) "I love you," he rasped, ichor writhing in his veins.

There, he'd said it., said it fully and completely, without so much as flinching. It was the same love he'd expressed for the past several thousand years in a million little, unspoken ways: an ox rib, a revolution, a church, a burning bookshop and the bottom of a glass and a lost best friend. A yellow Bentley, a lifetime of tethering his life to Aziraphale's, of trailing after him like a moth to flame—like a dog to its owner. "I love you," he pushed on. They were both looking directly into the sun again, Crowley urging them to stare straight into the heat of it all. The words were spilling out of him now, a heaving, thrashing current falling to the bookshop's hardwood floors. "I love you and you can't go to Heaven." Aziraphale froze, pupils blown wide and unblinking, for just a moment. Tension stretched out like a thread between them. And then he pulled in breath like a drowning man (who wasn't really a man at all), and tears were gathering in the corner of his eyes, and oh god, he'd made his angel cry. Fear and guilt and horror slammed into him at a million kilometers an hour and left him halfway between dizzy and nauseous. His fingers tensed at his side, desperate to do something, fix what he'd so obviously broken. Heaven would be on the front step any moment. It was too late, wasn't it? It was always too late. "Crowley—what?" Aziraphale breathed, mouth twisting into a brutal, terrible, heart-wrenching sob. Crowley ached, panic lancing through him like a knife. "I—I really, I can't. You could come with me." He stepped forward, moving to place his hands on the demon's shoulders. Crowley leaned into the touch, almost unconsciously. "Don't go," he croaked, tears beginning to prick his own eyes once again. This time he didn't reach for his glasses, didn't try to hide his fear. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. And then Aziraphale could hate him and his desperate, hungry, reverent love in the aftermath. "Don't go where I can't follow. Please".

His angels blue-grey eyes searched his own, and the weight of his gaze was impossibly heavy, pressing down on his chest like a river-smoothed rock. "Crowley, please. I don't understand. The Metatron said—" His palms found the sides of Crowley's throat, thumbs resting gently on the side of his jaw. Crowley sucked in a breath. "Angel," The scent of earl grey—of old books and soft tartan chairs. Aziraphale's hands were shaking. "I know what the Metatron said," he intoned, soft as rainfall. "You can't go. It's not—they won't change. You're better than that." "But you could be an angel. With me," he murmured, soft thumbs running across sharp cheekbones. "Be my second-in-command." "Don't want to be. Want t' be an us," he felt tears—traitorous, burning tears tip over the edge of his lashes and fall against his face. "Crowley, darling, please." A beat. "I love you." The bottom of the world dropped out from under him in that moment. Aziraphale loved him. He loved him and he'd said it aloud and now it was out there in the world and it was as though every nerve on his body was on fire. His angel pushed on, "Truly, I love you. I need you with me. Please, come with me. We can do good, I know it." He could never say no when his angel asked something of him. Especially not when his kind, gentle hands were holding him like something good, something precious. Especially not when Aziraphale had just admitted to needing him, had injected the word with so much warmth he thought his all-too-human heart might beat clear out of his chest. But there was a first (technically, second) time for everything. He drew in a heavy breath, and tilted his head, breaking his angel's hold on him. Aziraphale's hands—now empty, still shook. He made a soft whimpering sound, and Crowley ached to kiss his fingertips, banish the fear. But instead, he looked up towards the ceiling, to a God who was not there—who maybe had never been there at all. He felt the Heavenly Host drawing near, a sense of hollow emptiness, the scent of absence. This was the time of last-ditch efforts, of holding his heart out and hoping Aziraphale might take it as it was, bruised spots and all. "I can't. I won't. I need to be here, on Earth, with you." "Crowley, please. I don't think you understand what I'm offering you," he huffed. A residual shard of anger stabbed at him then, and he turned his gaze sharply back to the angel before him. "Oh, I understand perfectly well, angel. I'm fairly certain I understand better than you do." Aziraphale's mouth drew into a thin line, tears welling fresh in his eyes again. And still, Crowley ached. A beat. Something in the angel shifted, then, turned on its edge—the walls beginning to go up again, and it was just like it had been not fifteen minutes ago. He was watching the same moment play out over and over again; some cyclical, torrential nightmare. "I would like you to come with me, but," Aziraphale paused, voice breaking in the middle. "But I'm leaving, with or without you." And there it was, like it was predestined. Despite the love, despite the want, despite every shared bottle passed between them, every half-accidental touch and glance and whispered word—despite the way he would’ve let Aziraphale run a sword through his chest... It wasn't enough. It was never enough. They were re-enacting their old magic trick, right there in the bookshop, this time with Crowley staring down the barrel, letting Aziraphale pull the trigger. Aim for my mouth, but shoot past my ear. Aziraphale wasn't shooting past his ear. His bloody ribcage felt as though it might splinter apart. Wingbeats in the distance, a grief wide enough to drown the sea. Crowley reached down, pulled his sunglasses from their resting spot against his clavicle. And then the hunger in his eyes was once more hidden, and he was walking towards the door like a man headed to execution. "Crowley—" Aziraphale nearly keened, the wall crumbling for a split second. Without turning, Crowley said the only words he could think of. "I forgive you."

[hikarry]

I was rewatching season 1 with that friend with whom im gonna eat crepes cosplaying as the Ineffables to get some referencea and you know what just fucking hit me?

When I heard Crowley say, "That's the point. No nightingales," for the first time, it hit me like a ton of bricks. Like a slap in the face. I had to stop and think – how did Crowley and Aziraphale know about the nightingale singing in Berkeley Square? As viewers, we’re clued in by God’s narration. Plus, we hear Tori Amos' version of "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" during the end credits of Season 1. But how the fuck do they know?

I always thought that song during the credits was just for us, the audience, not something the characters were aware of. I mean, Crowley is away from all the Queen songs the Bentley plays, which is very much implied, but this song?

For us, the audience, "No nightingales," is a gut-wrenching moment. A punch. But Crowley and Aziraphale never acknowledged the bird in Season 1 nor Season 2 until the very end. They never mentioned it was special.

Oh, but it definitely is.

Ive seen some people confused by Crowley's line. The thing is, he wasn't just talking about the literal bird. If you rewatch Season 1, Episode 6, you’ll notice that when they sit down at the Ritz, there’s a pianist playing "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" This isn't background music for us; it’s in the scene – both Crowley and Aziraphale can hear it.

This makes "No nightingales" even more heartbreaking. It’s their equivalent of Beelzebub and Gabriel’s "Everyday." Crowley’s line hints that this song was their song. You know, like couples usually have? Aziraphale’s face says it all – he knows what Crowley is talking about.

And this becomes crystal clear when Crowley turns on the Bentley's radio, and "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" plays. That song was their song. It’s the song that symbolized their bond, just like "Everyday" did for Gabriel and Beelzebub.

He was so ready to just take Aziraphale and their song back to the Ritz, but instead, he watches as the angel he has been in love with for centuries leaves and the Nightingales now hurt.

[emaxou]

Aziraphale THE "Music Tyooter" 👨‍🏫

yep, at least if we believe Furfur's book aka the DEMON’S GUIDE to ANGELIC BEINGS who WALK the EARTH 👼👼

@bea-n-art made a beautiful one about him being a bishop, so this one had to be done too!!

"Music Tyooter" is written just after "Guard of Eden" and before "White Knight" so I assume he wasn't a pianist/guitar/idk teacher. It turns out that humans from long long time ago loved painting angels with harps as this intrument is considered sacred and heavenly.

There are many speculations about it, you can go take a look here 💛

I can't speculate accurately about the exact time where he was a music tutor, nor what type of tutor he was, but I mean, why not harp ?