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youryurigoddess · 5 months

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A nightingale sang in the London Blitz

When exactly was that certain night, the night Aziraphale and Crowley met — and spoke for the first time in 79 years in the midst of the London Blitz?

And what’s the deal with the nightingale’s song, really?

Grab something to drink and we’ll look for some Clues below.

The night they met

The Blitz, short for Blitzkrieg (literally: flash war) was a German aerial bombing campaign on British cities in the WW2, spanning between 7 September 1940 and 10 May 1941. The Luftwaffe attacks were carried out almost non stop, with great intensity meant to force a capitulation and similarly strong impact on British life and culture at the time.

Starting on 7 September 1940, London as the capital city was bombed for nearly 60 consecutive nights. More than one million London houses were destroyed or damaged, and more than 20,000 civilians were killed, half of the total victims of this campaign.

The night of 29 December 1940 saw the most ferocity, becoming what is now known as the Second Great Fire of London. The opening shot of the S2 1941 minisode is a direct reference to recordings of that event, with the miraculously saved St Paul’s Cathedral in the upper left corner.

The actual raid lasted between 06:15 and 09:45 PM, but its aftermath continued for days. The old and dense architecture of this particular part of the city turned into a flaming inferno larger than the Great Fire of 1666. Multiple buildings, including churches, were destroyed in just one night by over 100,000 bombs.

Incendiary bombs fell also on St Dunstan-in-the-East church that night, the real-life location of this scene as intended by Neil. It was gutted and again claimed by fire in one of the last air rides on 10 May, when the bomb destroyed the nave and roof and blew out the stained glass windows. The ruins survived to this day as a memorial park to the Blitz.

Such a delightfully Crowley thing to do: saving a bag of books with a demonic miracle adding to the biggest catastrophe for the publishing and book trade in years. 5 million volumes were lost, multiple bookshops and publishing houses destroyed in the December 29th raid alone.

Even without this context, judging by the seemingly unending night, overwhelming cold and darkness, broken heating at the theatre, and seasonal clothing (like Aziraphale and Crowley’s extremely nice winter coats), it’s rather clear that it was the very beginning of the year 1941.

Everything suggests that Aziraphale and Crowley’s Blitz reunion happened exactly 1900 years after their meeting in Rome — which, according to the script book, took place between 1 and 24 January 41 (Crowley was right: emperor Caligula was a mad tyrant and didn't need any additional tempting; there's a reason why he was murdered by his closest advisors, including members of his Praetorian Guard, on 24 January 41).

Interestingly, both events involved a role reversal in their otherwise stable dynamic, with Aziraphale spontaneously taking the lead instead of letting the demon be the one to do all the tempting and saving, and ended with a toast.

The S2 Easter Egg with the nuns of the Chattering Order of St Beryl playing table tennis at the theatre suggests that the Blitz meeting happened on a Tuesday afternoon, which doesn’t match any of the above mentioned days, but sets the in-universe date for 7 January 1941 or later.

The Chattering Order of Saint Beryl is under a vow to emulate Saint Beryl at all times, except on Tuesday afternoons, for half an hour, when the nuns are permitted to shut up, and, if they wish, to play table tennis.

The nightingale

January means one thing: absolutely no migratory birds in Europe yet. They’re blissfully wintering in the warm sun of Northern Africa at the time. But, ironically, when the real nightingales flew off, a certain song about them suddenly gained popularity in the West End of London.

It might be a shock, but A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square wasn’t a hit from the start — even though its creators, Eric Maschwitz and Manning Sherwin, were certainly established in their work at this point. The song was written in the then-small French fishing village of Le Lavandou shortly before the outbreak of the Second World War with first performance in the summer of 1939 in a local bar, where the melody was played on piano by the composer Manning Sherwin with the help of the resident saxophonist. Maschwitz sang his lyrics while holding a glass of wine, but nobody seemed impressed. It took time and a small miracle to change that.

Next year, the 23-year-old actress Judy Campbell had planned to perform a monologue of Dorothy Parker’s in the upcoming Eric Maschwitz revue „New Faces”. But somehow the script had been mislaid and, much to her horror, replaced with the song A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square. She had never professed to be a singer but even so, she gathered her courage and went out onto the moonlit set dressed in a white ball gown. Her heartfelt rendition of the now evocative ballad captured the audience’s imagination and catapulted her West End career to stardom.

It was precisely 11 April 1940 at the Comedy Theatre in Panton Street and the revue itself proved to be a great success — not only it kept playing two performances nightly through the Blitz, but also returned the next year. And the still operating Comedy Theatre is mere five minutes on foot from the Windmill Theatre, where Aziraphale performed in 1941, and not much longer from his bookshop.

Now, most Good Omens meta analyses focus on Vera Lynn’s version of the song from 5 June 1940, but it didn’t get much attention until autumn, specifically 15 November, when Glenn Miller and his orchestra published another recording. And Glenn Miller himself is a huge point of reference in Good Omens 2.

According to the official commentary the infamous credits scene is establishing Aziraphale and Crowley’s final resolve for the next season using the same narrative device The Glenn Miller Story (1954) does in its most crucial scene. It starts with the tune (and audio in general) totally flat, then adds a piano on one side, and gradually becomes fully multidimensional. The Good Omens credits not only emulate the same sound effect, but bring it to the visual side of the narrative by literally combining the individual perspectives of the two characters together. Even though they’re physically apart, their resolve — and love to each other — brings them even closer than before. Aziraphale smiles not because he’s being brainwashed, but because he knows exactly what to do next.

Some of you might have noticed that Tori Amos’s performance for Good Omens is actually a slightly shortened version of Miller’s recording — much less sorrowful than Vera Lynn’s full lyrics that include i.a. this bridge:

The dawn came stealing up

All gold and blue

To interrupt our rendez-vous

I still remember how you smiled and said

Was that a dream or was it true?

Which is a huge hint when it comes to what we can expect from the main romantic plot line in the Good Omens series. The original song introduces an element of the doubt — it seems like there was no nightingale at all, only the mirage woven by the singer clearly intoxicated with love, much like Aziraphale and Crowley for the length of the last six episodes. Crowley’s comment in the season finale might allude to that interpretation, stating that there are no nightingales — never have been. It was all a dream. But the version we’re working with here is short and sweet, and devoid of that doubt. In the Good Omens universe angels were actually dining at the Ritz, the streets were truly paved with stars (or will be shown as such in the next season), and a nightingale really sang in Berkeley Square, as the omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent narrator, God Herself, had shown us.

All in all, it’s not an accident that the “modern” swing ballad activating Aziraphale’s memory and opening the 1941 minisode is the Moonlight Serenade by Glenn Miller. It’s a track naturally associated with A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square when it comes to music style and the sentiment in the lyrics.

But why the sudden popularity? In the great uncertainty and hardship of the Blitz, A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square provided solace and escapism for listeners, offering a glimpse of hope and love amidst the darkness of war. It became a universal anthem of resilience and a reminder of the power of love transcending difficulties. By January 1941 the whole city knew this tune by heart, including a certain West End aficionado with a cabinet full of theatre programs in his bookshop. Thanks to Maggie’s grandmother, he most probably had a record at hand to play during his spontaneous wine night with Crowley. We can only suspect the details, but it was was mutually established as their song exactly at that time or soon afterwards. Pretty sure we will see a third installment of that minisode for many, many reasons, but especially because of this “several days in 1941” answer by Neil:

The Man Hunt

In 1941 A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square gained even more popularity as the romantic theme of the Fritz Lang’s newest film Man Hunt. The 1939 story by Geoffrey Household first appeared under the title “Rogue Male” as a serial in the Atlantic Monthly Magazine where it received widespread comment, soon becoming a world-wide phenomenon in novel form. Its premise criticizes Britain's pre-war policy of appeasement with Germany, ready to sacrifice its own innocent citizens to the tentative status quo. Sounds a bit like Heaven's politics, right?

Yes, I'm trying to make you watch old movies again — like all the other classics, Man Hunt (1941) is easily available on YouTube and other streaming websites.

The next part will include spoilers, so scroll down to the next picture if you prefer to avoid them.

The plot of the movie seems simple enough: the tall, dark, and handsome Alan Thorndike, who nearly assassinates Hitler, narrowly escapes Germany and back in London continues to evade the Nazi agents sent after him with the help of a young trench-clad “seamstress” named Jerry, bridging the class divide and becoming unlikely friends-partners-romantic interests. It doesn’t end well though.

Jerry's small London apartment serves as a hideout for Alan when he was being followed by Nazis, similarly to how Aziraphale's bookshop is a safe haven for both Crowley and Gabriel in S2. She helps the man navigate the streets and eventually out of London — by sacrificing herself and getting forcefully separated from him by a patrolling policeman. The last time they see each other, Alan watches Jerry look back at him yearningly and disappear in the fog, followed by the elderly officer.

Unfortunately in the next scene we learn that the latter is a Nazi collaborator and helps the agents apprehend Jerry in her own flat. Staying loyal to her love and uncooperative, she’s ultimately thrown out of a window to her death, but posthumously saves Alan once again — through the arrow-shaped hatpin he gifted her earlier that is presented to him as the evidence of her off-screen fate.

Long story short, thanks to Jerry’s sacrifice Alan not only survives, but is able to join the war that broke out in the meantime and go back to Germany, armed with a rifle and a final resolve to end what he started, no matter how long will it take. The justice will be served and the dictator will pay with his life for his sins.

I wouldn’t be myself without mentioning that the main villain has a Roman chariot statue similar to the one in Aziraphale’s bookshop, an antique sculpture of St Sebastian (well-known as the gayest Catholic Saint) foreshadowing his demise, and a chess set symbolizing the titular manhunt/game of tag with the protagonist.

Aziraphale’s song

Will Aziraphale sacrifice himself as well? Or has he already? If his coin magic trick can be any indicator, we should expect at least a shadow of a danger touching the angel’s wings soon.

Let’s sum up the 1941 events from Aziraphale’s perspective: the very first time they’ve interacted after almost a century, Crowley actively sabotaged his entire existence twice by stepping onto a holy ground and by being outed by agents of Hell, both on the very same night and both because of his undying dedication to the angel. That’s enough of a reason not only for performing an apology dance, but also maintaining a careful distance for Crowley’s sake for the next 26 years. Only when he heard that his idiot was planning to rob a church, he gave up since he “can't have him risking his life”.

That’s when Crowley, sitting in a car parked right under his bookshop, offered him a ride. It wasn’t even subtle anymore. It was supposed to be a date, this time both of them understood it. But Aziraphale wouldn’t risk Crowley’s safety for his own happiness, especially not when he can name his feelings towards him and knows that they are reciprocated — the biggest lesson he learnt back in 1941.

So he did what he’s best at, he cut Crowley off again, but this time with a promise of catching up to his speed at some point. Buddy Holly’s Everyday, which was originally planned to play afterwards instead of the Good Omens theme, adds additional context here:

No, thank you. Oh, don’t look so disappointed. Perhaps one day we could... I don't know… Go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.

Aziraphale, carefully looking around and feeling observed through the whole conversation in the Bentley, consciously used the “Dine at the Ritz” line from A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square, from their song, as a code only the two of them understand. Not as a suggestion to go out for a meal, but a promise. A hope for the privilege of being openly in love and together — maybe someday, not now, when it’s too dangerous — even if it leads to a bad ending.

Fast forward to 2023 when for one dreadful moment Crowley’s “No nightingales” robbed Aziraphale even of that semblance of hope. He looked away, unable to stop his tears anymore. Only their kiss helped him pull himself together and make sure that a nightingale did sing the last time he turned — just like in their song — this time without a smile, as a goodbye.

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phoen1xr0se · 7 months

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The FINAL chapter of You Don't Dance - The Story of 1941 by PhoenixRose314 is up on AO3!

Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley return to the bookshop to spend Crowley's last night on Earth together... but Aziraphale has a confession to make.

This chapter IS quiet, gentle and romantic.

But you've heard that before, right?

I hope you enjoy reading this final chapter as much as I loved writing it - it took me weeks, and is very much a labour of love. Leave a comment if you can and I'll love you forever ❤️

* I am not responsible for any heartbreak or angst that results from reading this story

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #good omens fandom #good omens fanfic rec #good omens 2 #good omens 1941 #1941 minisode #1941 #1941 aziraphale #1941 crowley #the bookshop #a nightingale sang in berkeley square #no nightingales

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lickthecowhappy · 28 days

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Ineffable May - Day 8

Records

Retired the act but magic is still consigned not divine, not occult, but the human heart kind We toast to the mingling of black and white shades of grey in the late hours of the night After the last glass of wine has been poured I convince you to stay for just one record Rummaging around in the small back room the end of our evening has me in a gloom when my eyes fall upon the new Vera Lynn her songs always hopeful like “We’ll Meet Again” The record begins and I’m suddenly aflush I fidget and stumble, nervous heart turning mush “The streets of town were paved with stars,” it’s as though her song is actually ours When the record is over I bid you goodbye “Do you hear that?” I ask, “Nightingales.” you reply.

Ineffable May Repository | Day 7 | Day 9

This one was an act of violence against myself. I am sorry if this one hurts you, just know if hurt me too.

#good omens #ineffable may 2024 #poetry #poem #aziraphale #crowley #1941 #goodomens #ineffable may #good omens poem #good omens poetry #a nightingale sang in berkeley square #i spent a normal amount of time on this #records #vera lynn #ineffable husbands #yes nightingales

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lights-at-night · 6 months

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JUST LIKE THEY WERE BEING WATCHED IN 1941??? there is a meta out of this somewhere so @indigovigilance (sry if u didnt want to be tagged)

#good omens #nightingales #nightingale sang in berkeley square #no nightingales #ineffable divorce #good omens 1941

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demonsandpieohmy · 5 months

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To Light Thee On Thy Way

Here’s my slightly angsty version of 1941 part 3.

Rating: T

Word count: 3k

After returning to the bookshop at the end of their night in 1941, Aziraphale grapples with a new realization about his relationship with Crowley.

Crowley looked down at the record in his hand and studied the cover. “‘It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear,’” he quietly recited.

“You know I hated that one.”

Crowley whipped his head up, as if surprised Aziraphale could hear him. “I thought you liked the tragedies? Or did I go through all that trouble with Hamlet for nothing?”

“Romeo and Juliet was simply too horrid for me,” Aziraphale said. Back when it premiered he'd gone without Crowley to see the opening performance, grateful to be alone when he fled the Globe in tears. “At least Hamlet had some sort of vindication before he died. Romeo and Juliet killed themselves for absolutely nothing.”

“They got to be in love, even if just for a short while.”

“One single night of passion, for which they sacrificed the rest of their lives. And you’re forgetting the rest of that scene: ‘It was the lark, the herald of the morn. No nightingale.’”

“Well, tonight there’s going to be nightingales, if that’s what it takes to bring your musical repertoire into this century.” Crowley set the pin on the gramophone, and the record started to spin.

“Are you going to perform, then?” Aziraphale asked.

“I’m not one of your Ladies of Camelot, angel. You’re gonna join me.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #fanfiction #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale x crowley #the apology dance #good omens 1941 #a nightingale sang in berkeley square #lilly writes #lilly rants

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zeldahime · 4 months

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Highway to Pail Day 16

[Day 1] [Prev] [Next] @do-it-with-style-events

February 16: I opened a bottle of wine last night. I made a very pour decision.

Technically, occult and or ethereal beings weren’t supposed to be able to get drunk. Nobody had told Aziraphale and Crowley that, however, so get drunk they could, and get drunk they did. It just took rather more alcohol for them than it did for a human. Aziraphale had used this to his advantage for more than one temptation; Crowley had never thought about it long enough for this idea to occur to him.

On this particular night, two ethereal and or occult beings were not drunk, but they very much wanted to be. They were, at most, at the very beginning of tipsy, right where inhibitions start to be loosened but long before they’re forgotten. If they had been drunk, maybe they could have dismissed what happened between them as a consequence of alcohol on an empty stomach and narrow escape. If they had been drunk, they could have talked themselves into thinking it didn’t matter, that their counterpart hadn’t meant it, that everything was how it had always been.

It was how it had always been, was the thing. They just couldn’t lie to themselves about it anymore.

Aziraphale had waited until they were safely ensconced and barricaded in the bookshop to tell Crowley about his sleight-of-hand, until Crowley was sitting down and had a glass of wine in him. This was as much because of his own nerves as what he imagined the state of Crowley’s must be. His hands shook as he tried to demonstrate the sleight-of-hand that had saved them, dropping the photograph—the photograph of them, together, what a precious, dangerous object—on the bookshop floor. They were safe, at least for tonight. Whatever that Furfur fellow was planning wasn’t going to happen, not without some kind of proof, but Aziraphale was certain Hell would keep closer tabs on Crowley for a few years just in case there was some basis to his allegations. As there very much were, he feared this might be the last night he got with Crowley for quite some time, no matter they had just been reunited after seventy-four long years.

They used to go centuries without meeting and think nothing of it, but after living and working so closely together these last two millennia, Aziraphale thought his heart might rend in two, to lose him again so soon after so long a separation.

After their toast to shades of grey, they drank together in silence for a short while, contemplative and tense, until Crowley stood quite suddenly, nearly knocking his chair over, and began to pace the bookshop.

“Haven’t changed the place, angel?” he asked casually, if casually were a word in fact meaning “brimming with restless energy after having thought you were due to be tortured for a million years in the deepest pit and not sure what to do with yourself now that that isn’t in fact your future, while locked in a smallish building with the person you were going to get tortured over and who saved you,” which is to say, not casually at all but Aziraphale was willing to pretend he’d hit the mark.

“There is an addition, actually,” Aziraphale said, steeling himself to say something he knew would be rather more revealing than he thought Crowley would be ready for tonight. “I bought a gramophone. In 1898, while you were asleep.”

Crowley went still in a way he rarely ever did even asleep, turning slowly to face Aziraphale. “You bought a new thing? While it was still new?”

Aziraphale smiled, despite his misgivings about this conversation. “I wanted to show it to you when you woke up. But you were gone so quickly….”

Crowley swallowed, and appeared to steel himself. “Well, you can show it to me now, can’t you?”

So Aziraphale led him to his couch, the one with beautiful yellow upholstery that had formed itself to Crowley’s body after three decades of near-daily use and then hadn’t been touched in eleven, and his little gramophone, and the collection of records Aziraphale had begun acquiring from dear Caroline and other little shops before her. He showed Crowley all the little pieces, even though by now he knew Crowley knew how they worked, felt Crowley’s heavy gaze on him as he talked, as he joked about the little recording angel on the earliest discs.

He looked up to ask Crowley which record he would like to hear, and at some point, Crowley had tucked his glasses into his shirt pocket, one arm hanging on the outside. His gorgeous yellow eyes were unblinking and took up most of the sclera, unusual for him when not in danger. Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat.

After a second too long looking into Crowley’s eyes, Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I just bought a new one, actually, if you’d like,” he offered. “From a singer called Vera Lynn. My new tenant sells them, Caroline, she’s called.”

“Sounds good, angel,” Crowley said, voice deeper than usual, sounding nearly gravelly, and Aziraphale’s stomach did an odd little flip.

“If you’d like to do the honours?” Aziraphale felt his voice deepening as well, every word feeling loaded in a way he didn’t quite understand himself. Crowley took the record from him slowly, placed it carefully on the gramophone and placed the needle with scientific precision. As it played, as they listened, they were drawn to each other like magnets, standing closer and closer together. By the time “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” played, they could nearly taste each other’s breath on their own lips.

Crowley asked, “Can I have this dance, angel?” but made no move to take his hand. His eyes moved to Aziraphale’s lips.

Aziraphale turned his face up, moved closer, without thinking at all, and Crowley’s hand came up to cup his face, and—

Then Aziraphale’s brain caught up, and he stepped away. “Crowley,” he said to the ground, “I would love to, I would, but—but angels don’t dance, Crowley.” Angels don’t dance, but Aziraphale could. Angels don’t love, and Aziraphale did. And it put Crowley in so much more danger than if they were merely traitors, because it meant that Crowley was lovable.

Crowley was silent for a long moment, his hand in the air where Aziraphale had just stood, and then in a horribly even voice, said, “Of course. I understand.”

It would have been easier, if they’d been drunk. If they didn’t have to face what they meant to each other and how impossible their positions were.

Author's note:

Caroline is the OC I made up for Day 2, Maggie's grandmother who runs The Small Back Room; the gramophone comes from Day 3!

#my writing #do it with style events #highway to pail #good omens #good omens 1941 #aziraphale #crowley good omens #aziracrow #azicrow #a nightingale sang in berkeley square #almost kiss #edit: links now should all be up to date and work!

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maayan00sh · 9 months

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NOBODY, and ESPECIALLY not Neil Gaiman, can convince me that they don't end the night in 1941 by listening to "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square"... and I will FIGHT anyone who tries

#ineffable husbands #1941 #a nightingale sang in berkeley square

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di-42 · 7 months

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A Nightingale Sang in 1941

I feel that we all as a fandom are overlooking an interesting piece of information. Maggie's great grandmother (or Maggie herself, this is entirely up to you depending on whether you believe Maggie is human or a celestial entity) opened the bookshop in the late 20s and it was originally in a corner of Mr Fell bookshop. A bit random to have been mentioned with no meaning for the audience (but not overly weird either). It's not unreasonable to assume that the record shop was still there in 1941.

We know that Aziraphale doesn't like modern music, he doesn't listen to modern music and it's not up to date with modern music to the point that in present day bebop is the most modern (and most un-listenable) kind of music he can think of. We can assume this was the case throughout time.

1941 Aziraphale probably wouldn't have had a copy of, or listen to radio stations that would played, A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square.

So, I wonder, is it possible that the 3rd instalment of the 1941 minisode will show Maggie's great grandmother (or Maggie) leaving behind a copy of the record at the record/bookshop, Aziraphale being persuaded to listen to and perhaps dance to it (One can hope!) by a certain demon after a night of constantly escaping danger more times that we can count? Perhaps, that's how it became their song and perhaps the circumstances of it becoming their song is what scared them into a hiatus until 1967. And, perhaps, that's why Aziraphale is, to this day, hostile to modern music. Because of what it can do to you.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #azicrow #good omens 1941 #a nightingale sang in berkeley square

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rcreveal · 6 months

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1941: a New Beginning

Summary:

NanoMutt Prompt a Day Challenge Day 32: How you said I love you_ In a way I can't return. I've been wondering what happened the eventful evening in 1941.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

1941-later that night after the magic show, Soho, England

“Well, guess I’ll be off to my place, angel,” Crowley got up a little unsteadily from where he’d been sitting in Aziraphale’s shop. Centuries of carefully hidden contact had been blown all to hell tonight but the reflexes of hiding their contact were still kicking him to move.

“Go? Now? You couldn’t possibly!” replied Aziraphale, surprised,“Furfur and those zombies are most likely at your flat waiting to do you a mischief! And you’re drunk!”

“I can get… undrunk,” replied Crowley, making no move to do so and swaying gently on the spot. Aziraphale had a point about there likely being something unpleasant waiting for him at the flat. And Crowley was tired. Tired of pretending he didn’t enjoy the angel’s company. Tired of putting up with the angel’s continued distrust which had unbent considerably tonight. Tired of the petty machinations of Hell when the humans were going for full bore annihilation up here. And he hadn’t slept for a week, what with one thing and another, so he was just plain tired.

Collapsing back into the seat, Crowley reversed course, “All right, I’ll stay.”

Aziraphale immediately started to bustle about. “I’ve got cots and blankets and things for those times when people need to shelter here during the bombing,” he says, setting up a cot under the soaring atrium.

This is probably a bad idea, Crowley thinks, but I’ll blame it on the drink tomorrow. Weaving as much from the wine as from holding the suddenly insistent exhaustion at bay, he falls into the open cot and barely registers the blankets going over his shoulders as he falls asleep. He wishes oblivion would take him for a bit. But he’s just not that lucky.

Aziraphale finished tucking his fiendish adversary into the cot and studied Crowley’s face in repose. There were care lines around the eyes and mouth and the loose suit hid that he was more gaunt than lean. What had the demon been up to to make him so…worn?

After blowing out the candles and turning off any lights, Aziraphale paused with his foot on the stairs leading up to his own bedroom looking over at the figure on the cot, his fingers playing with his ring, 'Crowley might be alarmed waking in the night in someplace unfamiliar. I’m only being a good host keeping an eye on him.’ It took a small miracle to open another cot quietly, since it was wont to try and viciously pinch fingers and if thwarted in that, collapse loudly when first sat upon. Still, he managed to get the cot set up and himself bedded down near the demon. Just in case Crowley needed directing to the loo or something in the night, he told himself as he drifted off, buoyed up by the great success of this remarkable night both on and off the stage!

Aziraphale woke completely from a sound sleep, senses on alert, like he’d learned to do on the front in the Great War. With an automatic internal checklist on high speed, he knew the shop was safe, the bombing was done for the night, so why was he thinking of the Great War? Then the sounds from the nearby cot answered him.

Crowley’s thin shoulders were hunched and his restless shifting was making the cot groan which blended with his quiet moans and grumbles. Aziraphale was struck with how much he sounded like the poor country lads trying to catch some sleep in the trenches, poor souls. Without thinking about it, because he just couldn’t stop himself from trying to ease suffering right in front of him, Aziraphale laid a comforting hand on the demon’s shoulder. He wasn’t prepared for what he felt.

*****

Vertiginously spinning, caught in a horrific fall, no up, the ability to fly suddenly stripped from him…

Pounding artillery falling on top of him, destroying the gun nest he’s huddled in, leaving him untouched, but not unscathed by what he’s witnessing…

Slithering down tunnels, trying to escape a relentless pursuer until the sharp teeth meet in his neck over and over again, reincorporating only to do it again and again.

Darkness, pain, hopelessness…

*****

Aziraphale had been nominally caught up in human memories, but this was more intense and harder to navigate. Poor soul…

Aziraphale finds his center and thinks of something hopeful that had helped the lads on the front: new mornings after a storm, the promise of the rainbow after the Flood…it isn’t working.

*****

Under Homer’s ‘rosy finger’d dawn’ the horrors of battle fields are only more apparent, looting happening while others can only give the succor of the gentle knife. Under the painful light of the first rainbow he's desperately trying to save just one life from the Flood, but every person or beast he tries to drag to safety is just pulled under the water faster. Always he arrives too late, for everyone.

*****

‘Not for me’, thinks Aziraphale, ‘You always arrive in time to help me.’

The maelstrom of pain and memory and despair drops a bit. Aziraphale thinks of the times Crowley has arrived in time to help him, like tonight. He thinks about how he admires Crowley’s audacity and willingness to fake it until he succeeds, like with the bullet catch trick. How much he values Crowley’s trust in him. How they’ve been able to save some lives working together along the way, like Job’s children and Wee Morag.

There’s a little seed of optimism still in there, Aziraphale can sense it, like an internal shrug of “Yeah, I guess. Alright.” Aziraphale thinks of that new song he’s heard lately, the one about the nightingale. He’s always liked nightingales. Apparently, nothing horribly traumatic has happened to Crowley about them. Aziraphale miracles the song onto the phonograph. It doesn’t overpromise. There are no forever afters, just good enough for now. With the nightingale song playing quietly, the demon’s moans and memories subside and true rest slips over Crowley.

Aziraphale drifts off himself, wondering what would happen if Crowley got the chance to ‘help him out’ more often…

The next morning Crowley woke to the smell of coffee, real coffee , feeling more rested than he had in a long time.

“I thought you didn’t hold with the black market, angel,” remarked Crowley sitting up in his lone cot under the atrium. In the daytime, he notices that the black paper taped to the inside of the atrium to prevent any light from escaping is traced with constellations.

“I don’t. But I do enjoy substituting the Fuhrer’s coffee with our ersatz stuff from time to time. This morning seemed appropriate. Did you rest well?” asks Aziraphale in what sounds to Crowley like solicitous host mode.

“Best nights sleep I’ve gotten in a while. You certainly have the most comfortable cot I’ve ever slept on,” Crowley says as he folds up the blanket and out-wiles the cot’s attempts to take his fingers off. “Wish I could stay,” he throws the coffee back in one shot, “But I need to see to whatever little presents Furfur has left for me, and I’ll probably have to stay rather scarce for a bit. You know how it is,” He tilts his head at the phonograph, “Didn’t know you liked modern songs, angel.”

Aziraphale looks into Crowley’s eyes saying, “I’m rather fond of this one, for some reason.”

“Nightingales, yeah, ‘ve always been fond of them, too,” Crowley says, smoothing the wrinkles out of his suit and the muss out of his hair. “Well I’m off. Thanks for the help last night, but try to stay out of trouble for a little bit? I mean, taken in by Nazi spies, angel? See you around,” and he starts to saunter towards the door.

“Crowley,” calls Aziraphale, and the demon pauses with his hand on the door knob.

“Yeah, angel?” Crowley looks back.

“I grant you, the demon Crowley, free and unfettered access to this Book Shop in perpetuity,” Aziraphale says formally. A little chord is felt more than heard around the space. “Don’t want you to have to lurk in the doorway if I’m out for some reason,” he says to the surprised ‘oh’ that is Crowley’s face right now.

“Uh…thanks, angel. You’re welcome in purple-tooey, uh, anytime in the Bentley should you need to pop in for a word. But, why the change of heart? I always thought you rather enjoyed having to give me permission to be in here every time, the ultimate show of how I'm forever unwelcome even in a little embassy of Heaven,” the demon ended on a growly hiss.

“I can't do much about your standing with Heaven or Hell, Crowley, but I do have the power to make you welcome in my home. So I did. After what you did for me last night, it seems silly to strictly follow embassy protocol in this case. And if you need to duck in, the demons and zombies won't be able to follow you,” explains Aziraphale calmly, thinking ‘and, dear boy, maybe I think you need a refuge, too.’

Crowley grins, “If I'd known that all it would take to have unlimited access to your drinks cabinet would be barely managing not to shoot you, I'd’ve done it years ago!” he drops the grin under the angel's continued gentle regard, “But, honestly angel, you helped me out a fair bit, too, with the picture sleight of hand and such, and I am grateful for that,” still slightly bemused, Crowley puts his hat on at a rakish angle and slips on his glasses, “See you around when things cool off, angel!” he calls as he saunters out the door.

Aziraphale’s eyes follow Crowley across the street until he drives away, only then saying, “Go well, my…friend.”

Notes:

There were so many sweet hurt/comfort pieces at Sendarya's Good Omen's Discord server Holiday party, that I finally was able to get the mood for a try at a later that night 1941 piece. Camapuri's "The Longest Night" https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2023GoodOmensHolidayFic/works/52154056 and Aziraphale's comments while defending the Bookshop in S2 sparked the idea of Aziraphale intentionally getting himself in trouble and letting Crowley help him, but he didn't seem to always do this intentionally and I wondered when that sort of intentional behavior started and why. Greenathena's "Under the Watchful Eyes of an Angel" https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2023GoodOmensHolidayFic/works/52169752 has such a sweet scene of Aziraphale watching over Crowley, that I wanted to write another one, too. And I just like writing scenes where Crowley is getting looked after by other characters, he sure needs it, and I hope he gets his safe place in season 3, until then I'll keep imagining it for him...

#good omens fanfic #nanomutt prompt challenge #protective aziraphale #hurt/comfort #developing relationship #good omens 1941 #a nightingale sang in berkeley square #short one shot

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acheemient · 6 months

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If part 3 of 1941 is not "A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square" coming on the radio and Crowley standing from the table where they have been drinking wine and coming around to Aziraphale's side and offering his hand to Aziraphale to dance, and Aziraphale looking a bit wonderstruck and a bit delighted and taking Crowley's hand, and they slow dance, holding each other so close, and they look into each other's eyes, and Crowley whispers, "Angel," and he's looking at Aziraphale's lips with all the wanting in the universe written upon his eyes, and Aziraphale with a face that says he's never wanted anything more than to swallow Crowley whole so he can Keep him, and they lean in, and at the very last second, Aziraphale stops them and they are standing there breathing heavily with their foreheads pressed together, and Aziraphale whispers, "I want to; oh God, I want to," and Crowley whines and tries again, but Aziraphale pulls back but doesn't leave Crowley's arms, and says, "We can't," and Crowley looks like he's been slapped, and Aziraphale looks so heartbroken and says, "They almost caught us tonight, and they would have destroyed you" and then continues so quietly, like it's a secret, "I don't know what I would do if I lost you," and Crowley tries to protest saying they can be sneaky, they won't get caught, they can have this, together, and Aziraphale looks so sad and says, "Oh Crowley," and Crowley knows Aziraphale is so close to agreeing and so close to pulling away, and he whispers, "Please," and for a second Aziraphale looks like he is going to give in, but he can't put Crowley in danger, so he makes his face colder, and he steps out of Crowley's arms, even though it nearly kills him to do so, and he says, "Besides, you know Angels don't dance," and Crowley remembers himself says, "No I don't suppose they do," and he straightens up and puts his glasses on and pretends nothing happened and says, "Of course you're right," and they nod at each other and Crowley moves to leave the bookshop, and Aziraphale feels like he's about to lose something so precious that he will not be able to ever get back, so he calls "Crowley," and Crowley turns to look at him, and Aziraphale says, "Perhaps someday...," but he can't say what he really means (some day we can have that, someday we can be together how we want, someday I will stop pulling away), so he visually changes his mind and finishes with, "we can dine at the Ritz," and he prays to a God that he, in this moment, hates so, so much for keeping him from the demon he loves more than anything, that Crowley understands his true meaning, and Crowley looks like maybe he does and like maybe he still has hope, and he nods and says, "Stay safe, Angel," and Aziraphale nods back, and then Crowley leaves, and Aziraphale is left looking absolutely devastated and heartbroken and angry, truly angry, for the first time in his long and lonely existence that he has to be loyal to Her rather than to him, and he takes a moment, takes a breath, and walks silently over to the radio and turns up the volume on the song and closes his eyes and gives himself that moment to remember what it felt like to be held, to be loved, to imagine what saying yes would bring, then honestly what is even the point of all of this?

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #the longest run on sentence ever written #i think I'll write my first fic 🤔#feels like i have it in me #***

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shoemakerobstetrician · 10 months

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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.

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