Current mood:	homeworking
Entry tags:	anathema-centric, aziraphale/crowley, drabbles, fanfiction, good omens, meme

"oh," said the angel dismissively. "be-bop." {music drabbles, pg, good omens}
Quite some time ago quantum_witch posted a lovely set of music inspired drabbles. They were based on a meme and I thought I'd try it too. :D

Yoinked from quantum_witch
1. Pick a character, pairing, or fandom you like.
2. Put iTunes or equivalent media player on random.
3. For each song that plays, write something related to the theme you picked inspired by the song. You have only the time frame of the song: no planning beforehand: you start when it starts, and no lingering afterward; once the song is over, you stop writing. (No fair skipping songs either; you have to take what comes by chance!)
4. Do 5 of these, then post.

Except I cheated, because I turned all of mine into forreals drabbles, meaning 100 words each. Which required some editing after the song was over. Um. And I also kind of just wrote with the song, instead of picking a theme. Ahaha. I'm so bad at following rules. XD

That said, here be drabbles! :D Featuring Aziraphale and Crowley, because I am a fangirl.

Author: m_erechyn
Rating: PG. Ish.
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley for the most part?
Disclaimer: Erm. Good Omens is property of Pratchett and Gaiman. Not mine, alas.
Notes: A little sad, a little wistful, a little angsty. I don't know, I like them. :D

Any Other World (Mika)

They already know what they have is far from ordinary. Not many angels and demons find love, especially with each other.

They already know it’s hard to say goodbye, especially to each other.

Aziraphale doesn’t even try to hide the tears that are trickling fast down his cheeks for all of Heaven and Hell to see.

“Sorrow. It’s only human,” he says, eyes shining.

“We aren’t human,” Crowley retorts, covering his own face with a pale hand. His voice lacks the edge it normally possesses.

“I know,” Aziraphale replies sadly, and they cling to each other in one last embrace.

- - - - - -

Fidelity (Regina Spektor)

Aziraphale doesn’t like to talk about it, but Crowley knows he’s not the angel’s first love.

“The trouble with falling for humans is that they’re human,” Aziraphale says, when Crowley asks him about it. “They die.”

The demon isn’t sure how to respond.

“Is that what happened?” he asks. “She died?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replies. He looks down. Remembering.

“I won’t die,” Crowley says desperately. He takes the angel’s hand, laces their fingers together.

“You won’t,” Aziraphale agrees quietly, and brushes his thumb against Crowley’s, the small touch fully understood.

And then they are silent, communicating without words their eternal fears.

(After six millennia on earth, they both know even immortality is nothing, in the end)

- - - - - -

The District Sleeps Alone Tonight (The Postal Service)

Crowley curses this foolish co-dependence.

Only months ago he wouldn’t let the angel into his flat, unless he came with alcohol or an emergency.

Now he lets Aziraphale into his bed, drinking and danger optional.

At least, he used to. It’s not like that anymore.

Crowley has never had any problem with sloth, but tonight he finds his bed to be too big and cold and… lonely.

Tonight there is no soft body beside him. He is completely, quietly, alone.

He stares up at the ceiling, prepared for another sleepless night, and hopes Aziraphale will have a safe journey home.

- - - - - -

Mr. Brightside (The Killers)

Aziraphale thought he would’ve gotten used to it by now.

He’d rang the doorbell and when there was no response he’d unlocked the locks as easy as breathing, walking in immediately, worried that Crowley was injured or unconscious or worse, gone forever.

Aziraphale hadn’t expected to see what he saw.

Though lust was one of the seven deadly sins, and Crowley was a demon.

He’d shut the door hurriedly before the two could notice his presence, though that was hardly necessary.

It had happened before. He really shouldn’t have been so shocked.

Aziraphale never thought it would hurt so much.

- - - - - -

Let it Be (Benny Benassi and the Biz)

Anathema isn’t one to lie in the grass, but on a day like this it’s practically inevitable.

She feels the weight of six thousand years beneath her bones, and the dust of six thousand more floating above her. The light paints streaks over her sun-starved skin.

She can hear things shifting, changing, twisting around her.

That was not the last Armageddon.

But Anathema doesn’t want to think about such things on a day like this.

She breathes in, feels the universe in her lungs, time flowing backward and forward and then to the present again, and thinks: “let it be.”



Thanks for reading! ♥