A 'Good Omens' Drabble Thread~!

[MaiMai]

*waves nervously* I haven't posted any of my writing on the forum for several years, I think. Buuuut I'm obsessed with Good Omens and inspired by the other creative stuff I've seen around here for it, so I'm jumping in with a drabble/short fic thread! (I'll also be doing requests, if anyone has some they want to throw out there  ) I haven't read the book, so I'm using the series as my reference. (This is also my first time writing these two, so hopefully I'll get better at doing so!)

 

 For You

Aziraphale never was entirely comfortable with the apartment in which Crowley chose to establish his, ah, lair. (He had referred to it as a home, once; Crowley had looked as if the word made him physically sick, so he had backtracked rather quickly.) It was terribly twenty-first century: glass, metal, minimalism. It made Aziraphale uncomfortable. The building felt lifeless. At least with his bookshop, there were memories beneath the wood, and the dingy windows had seen several centuries of life.

It was rare, therefore, that he would take himself to the demon’s house of steel and glass. Only in instances such as this – when he truly wished to speak to Crowley, and Crowley himself simply was not answering the telephone – would Aziraphale do so.

He pressed the buzzer once, sharply, letting his finger fall away with a scrunch of his nose. Aziraphale had harboured a touch of distaste for door buzzers and bells, ever since humanity had invented them. They were nothing more than loud and unnecessary.

When no one heeded his call, he shifted, huffing softly.

“Crowley? It’s me.” He hit the buzzer once more. Again, several minutes passed, and nothing.

Aziraphale’s brows furrowed and he scanned the length of the corridor. Then, as he adjusted his collar, the door swung easily open before him and he strode in with purpose.

There was clattering in the apartment, the sound of Crowley’s voice. Immediately assured that nothing was amiss so much as the demon’s own neglect for basic courtesy (he was somewhat hit or miss with regards to answering his own door), Aziraphale called out as he entered:

“Crowley, it’s me, I need to speak to you rather urgently, I’m afraid. I wouldn’t have entered without announcement but-oh-oh dear-”

The scene which lay before him was equal parts perplexing, and simply chaotic. Crowley was amid his flourishing house plants (Aziraphale looked on them fondly, and with sympathy. The few times he had been in the apartment, and Crowley hadn’t been able to hear, he had given them words of gentle encouragement. He worried about them) However, he was snarling, and…

“My dear Crowley, are you crying?”

“I’M TELLING YOU NOW, IF YOU DON’T STOP REBELLING AGAINST ME, I WON’T HAVE ANY MERCY WHEN I-Angel? What in the name of Satan are you doing here?” Crowley stood with feet planted firmly, fingers curled around a pot from which yellow flowers exploded every which way. From his other hand his glasses hung; his eyes were for once revealed – and glazed with a film of tears.

“O-oh, you I couldn’t reach you by the telephone, so naturally I-but really, Crowley, are you quite alright? Your eyes-”

“I am not crying,” Crowley snapped, swiping the heel of one hand at his cheeks. “It’s the plant. The plant’s doing it.”

Aziraphale was silent, for a moment, before he said tentatively, “I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow. You mean to tell me that this perfectly innocent plant is making you cry?” He spared a glance of sympathy for its butter-coloured flowers as he spoke.

“Hnng-ugh-” was the rather incoherent response Aziraphale received. Crowley hunched over, rubbing now at his nose rather than his eyes; his brows drew down as his he drew a shivering breath. “hhh…hh’HRASHhw!...fuuu-hh’aARSHHw!-for the love of…” He snuffled against the dripping of his nose and squinted at the angel.

“Bless-oh, um,” Aziraphale quickly checked himself, but Crowley didn’t allow him time to amend, following with another throat-tearing sneeze. The plant almost slipped from his grasp; Aziraphale rushed forward to take it.

“That fucking plant has it in for me,” he growled. Aziraphale had taken it in his arms, and shielded it protectively, as though he could spare it from hearing the slander.

“Crowley, really, I don’t believe the plant has any ill intentions,” he frowned, “Dare I suggest, that you might be experiencing the phenomenon of allergies?”

Without the burden of the plant, Crowley was wiping at his twitching nostrils with a sleeve. “Dare you, Angel? Demons aren’t allergic.”

“I’m not sure that’s, ah, entirely true.” Aziraphale had never disclosed such to Crowley, but the amount of dust in his bookshop on occasion got to even him. In fact, it happened so frequently that he had long concluded that he may have a mild dust allergy.

“Well,” Crowley shoved his glasses back on none-too-gently. The tears had tried on his cheeks. “Well, fuck. Hh’AHHSHHhh!”

“Ble-ah.” Aziraphale glanced down at the plant in his custody, seeking to cover another slip of the tongue. Now that he looked, he noted that its flowers were truly beautiful: splayed, full petals, shadowed by plump leaves, quivering softly as it seemed to seek solace in his embrace. “I have to say, your choice surprises me. I was under the impression you didn’t much like flowers.”

“Yeah,” replied the demon roughly. “It’s not mine.”

“But. It’s in your apartment.”

“I mean-I was growing it for you.” Crowley was scowling now, still using his sleeve to mop at his nose.

“For me?” A slow smile grew on Aziraphale’s face.

“Yes, yes, for you, obviously,” he hissed. His venomous tone didn’t deter Aziraphale in the least.

“Oh. Oh, my. For me,” he repeated softly, “It really is- rather beautiful. How ki-”

“Not kind. Just wanted to give you a plant…” The grumble tailed off into yet another wrenching sneeze.

“Oh, I do apologise. Here,” Aziraphale retrieved a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and offered it to Crowley, who eyed the neatly-pressed square with suspicion. “It’s the least I can do, since-”

“DON’T. Say it.” Crowley snatched the handkerchief and blew his nose obnoxiously loudly. “Just taaahh-take the plant and get out of h-…hahh’RRSHHhh!”

“My. Perhaps I should. Although-I did come here with a somewhat urgent matter to discuss,” the angel said, belatedly recalling the purpose of his visit. (The plant had quite put all other thoughts out of his head.) He ducked his head to examine the flowers more closely. In doing so, Aziraphale caught their heady scent fully for the first time, the sweetness of honey with a slight bite. He drew in a breath.

“Th-They certainly do smell rather strongly. But beautifully, nevertheless,” he corrected, quelling the minor (but irritating) itch the plant had produced with a brief touch to the bridge of his nose.

“The plant obviously prefers you, Angel,” Crowley informed him darkly, “It’s not trying to sabotage you like it did me.” He held up a beckoning hand which told Aziraphale, fine, fine, since you’re not going to leave, come through. “But don’t expect tea.”

“As if I would,” Aziraphale retorted.

He wouldn’t put the plant down for the entirety of their conversation. It pissed Crowley off to no end, and kept him sniffling, but secretly, secretly, Aziraphale knew he was a tiny bit pleased.

[Reader]

Awww I enjoyed this! 

[Nervous-Bean]

Oh!!! I’m so excited to read drabbles for good omens and your writing is so wonderful! I can’t wait to see what you have next!

[Spoo]

Yesssssss! This is already so lovely and you’ve only posted one. I think your grasp on the characters is great (especially on Crowley ), and your writing is fantastic! I’m looking forward to anything else you might share here.  

[curlyq9393]

This is so sweet and well written! You have such a strong sense of their relationship. I can’t wait to read what else you write!

[MaiMai]

@Reader thank you! I'm glad you liked it

@Nervous-Bean ahh thank you so much!! ❤️

@Spoo thank you!! I'm kind of slow because it's been ages since I wrote fanfic lol ^^" but it's fun haha!

@curlyq9393 aww, thank you! I've been finding them kind of a challenge to write tbh (I feel like I maybe need to read the book to get more of a handle on them!)

This next one is shorter, but based on a sort of headcanon that Crowley has a tendency to break in to Az's shop in the middle of the night when he's sick and needs comfort, lol (because of course he can't ask for help like a regular demon heh). (It's also almost midnight where I am and I'm very tired so I hope it actually makes sense!! but I wanted to post it before I lost the courage to so eyy)

 

The Unconventional Way

There was little Aziraphale appreciated being woken up for in the deep, dark midst of the night. Amongst the limited category was hot cocoa, a new book, perhaps tea. Most things – such as the resounding crash which had lately jolted him from sleep – were more unwelcome.

“What in heaven…” he mumbled to himself, shuffling out of bed. He flicked on a light at the doorway into the shop, illuminating dimly the rows of faded typography and recollections of lost owners. The lamp threw lamp threw into relief, too, Aziraphale’s state of dishevelment, casting his silhouette onto the wall. Soft-rumpled pyjamas, wayward curls of hair, a disordered halo in profile.

It threw more shadow than light onto the rest of the room, but he could still see the window, half-pushed up. He could also still hear the snuffling breathing, extremely distinctly, which issued from somewhere amongst the dimness.

“I really wish you would remember to shut the window, at least. If you’re going to break in, be polite about it, please,” Aziraphale griped to the bundle of darkness on the sofa. Said bundle of darkness shifted and grumbled.

“Nghhh…I’mb dnever polite.”

“Oh, Crowley.” The angel shut the window with a simple flick of the fingers, frowning. “You do sound awful. Even worse than earlier, I daresay.”

The darkness wriggled again, and Aziraphale had a brief glimpse of yellow eyes, before they flickered shut. “hhah’ahrsshh!-you dond’t say. Snf!”

Finally, the shadows resolved themselves into a form as Crowley sat up. He glared, but Aziraphale’s eyes caught on small things in his appearance: the crumpled suit, the persistent tremor to the line of his body (fever?), the flushed cheeks which were unnervingly close to the hue of his red-toned hair.

“I do wish you wouldn’t break and enter every time,” Aziraphale told him, moving closer to place a touch to his skin; Crowley hissed, but grudgingly allowed it. “You’re terribly hot,” added Aziraphale after a moment. His indignancy was quite dissipated, replaced by growing worry.

Crowley was coughing, an awfully tearing cough which made Aziraphale worry all the more, but he still managed to quirk an eyebrow at the choice of words.

“You would choose to interpret it in a-in a debased manner,” Aziraphale complained half-heartedly, “Oh, just come up to bed. You’ve already broken in; I suppose I can’t evict you now.”

A flicker crossed Crowley’s face, and he put his arms up to Aziraphale, “Uhhh. Help bme up?”

“For heaven’s sake, you are a child.”

Regardless of his grumbling, Aziraphale wrapped an arm around his waist as they escaped the towers of books, murmuring, “Crowley. You don’t have to break in every time, you know.”

“Of course I dknow,” Crowley scoffed (as much as he could, at least, hindered by congestion), “I just. Prefer the unconventional way.”

Aziraphale chose not to say anything, about how he suspected it was easier on the demon’s conscience to break in through a window, than to actually ask for help from an angel, much less from Aziraphale himself.

“Well, if you ever do decide to take the conventional, please do me the courtesy of an advance warning. I would be dreadfully shocked if you came in through the front door.”

[Reader]

I love how you wrote Crowley and Az in this one! The loving but bickering couple type. They are soooo adorable together! 😍 Awesome job! And thanks for being brave enough to publish! 

[Nervous-Bean]

oh my god the dialogue is SPOT ON im actually!!!! so in love with them my heart is dying kljadsjklakldsk i love the way you write them so much!

[TheCakeIsAlive]

Maimai!  So good to see you pop up. And especially with such delectable fanfic. Crowley warring with his plants made my day.   And he is the most adorabwle pouty demon when ill. You've written them so well.  If you do decide to treat us with even more (such temptation worthy of Crowley himself (sorry, I had to go there)) I shall be waiting with baited breath to see where it takes you. #ineffablehusbandsforever 

[queenie]

Oh god yes

[AngelEyes]

Eeeep! I adore Good Omens! These dribbles are totally fantastic! You really capture their odd, complex relationship perfectly! I love how Aziraphale keeps catching himself from blessing Crowley. And Crowley breaking into the shop is perfect. Looking forward to more!

[Sneesee]

Hooray!! I love Good Omens, and this Drabble thread!

[Masking]

(I am making it my mission to comment on every piece of Good Omens fic on this forum.)

Both of these drabbles are cute as hell (and heaven :D). I especially like the first one - the flower smells so strong that it almost makes Aziraphale sneeze, as well as Crowley? Yum.

[MaiMai]

On 6/28/2019 at 1:19 AM, Reader said:

I love how you wrote Crowley and Az in this one! The loving but bickering couple type. They are soooo adorable together! 😍 Awesome job! And thanks for being brave enough to publish! 

Thank you so much!  The bickering couple dynamic is super fun to write, and it fits them well I think!

On 6/28/2019 at 9:18 PM, Nervous-Bean said:

oh my god the dialogue is SPOT ON im actually!!!! so in love with them my heart is dying kljadsjklakldsk i love the way you write them so much!

Omg thank you!!

On 7/1/2019 at 6:07 AM, queenie said:

Oh god yes

I'll take that as a good thing!

On 7/4/2019 at 2:53 AM, AngelEyes said:

Eeeep! I adore Good Omens! These dribbles are totally fantastic! You really capture their odd, complex relationship perfectly! I love how Aziraphale keeps catching himself from blessing Crowley. And Crowley breaking into the shop is perfect. Looking forward to more!

Aww, thank you! I adore their relationship! (also I have serious doubts that Crowley ever enters the bookshop without breaking in when left to his own devices, lol)

On 7/9/2019 at 3:44 AM, Sneesee said:

Hooray!! I love Good Omens, and this Drabble thread!

Thank you!

On 7/11/2019 at 2:49 AM, Masking said:

(I am making it my mission to comment on every piece of Good Omens fic on this forum.)

Both of these drabbles are cute as hell (and heaven :D). I especially like the first one - the flower smells so strong that it almost makes Aziraphale sneeze, as well as Crowley? Yum.

A very noble mission! And thank you! I don't often write allergies, actually, but I had fun with that one

And omg @TheCakeIsAlive I just realised I accidentally missed your comment, I'm sorry!! It's good to see you around, too!

 

This is a bit of a rambling one, but here, have some sick Az and some flustered Crowley! Also, feel free to request by comment or PM if you've got a burning desire for any Good Omens stuffs!

 

Medicine (tw for some drunkenness in this one!)

Initially, the book shop had been a façade, merely a front to his existence on the mortal plain. It hadn’t taken long, though, for Aziraphale to fall into the routine of an honest bookseller: he opened each day from eight until four (excepting Sundays, of course – he was no heathen), chattered with the occasional customer, acquired new, fascinating reads. At the end of the day, he would retire to bed with a tired but satisfied glow. The simple routine was a comfort to him.

Crowley too, as much as he claimed his own anarchism, revolved around the same routine. He would barge into the shop at times he knew the customers would be thin on the ground (what he did outside of these times, Aziraphale was often unsure, and honestly preferred not to ask and to remain wilfully blind). Thus, he often found himself watching the wrought-iron hands of the clock, ticking steadily and slowly closer to demonic interruption.

“A few…more minutes…” he mumbled to himself, in the midst of a silence which was unfortunately short-lived. Unwillingly, Aziraphale broke it himself, with soft intakes of breath that almost seemed to echo in the empty air. “hh-…hh’kkxshh!-hhh…hh’kitssh!” He was left bleary-eyed, panting softly and scrabbling in one pocket for his handkerchief. Accordingly, he was rather unprepared for the resounding thud of the door swinging open at the hands of a rather enthusiastic demon.

“Angel! Good news, fantastic news, actually,” Crowley pronounced. Though Aziraphale turned to face him, handkerchief pressed half to his face and distinctly dim eyes, he merely stared for a moment, before holding up a carrier of wine and divulging his ‘good news’: “I stole this.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Crowley! We’ve spoken about this before, what did we say about-” he broke off to cough. So much speech was difficult with a voice fractured and brittle as broken glass. “-about stealing alcohol?”

“Uhh, I wasn’t really listening, but it was something about stealing is bad, I imagine,” the demon shrugged it off. Aziraphale eyed him.

“It had better be good wine, at least,” he said darkly, and turned his back to blow his nose, a mumbled excuse bme escaping the folds of the cloth.

“As if I would waste my time stealing sub-standard wine,” Crowley returned. His arched brows fell as his stance fell into lines of uncertainty. “You’re sick?”

“Mmh.”

“Why don’t you just-you know. Miracle it away? Heal yourself? Isn’t that what you angels do?” Feeling that he had found the obvious answer, the demon now lounged on the sofa in a distinctly smug way. The sight irked Aziraphale dimly.

“I can’t,” he said. The misery in his voice outweighed the snappishness of his response. “I got another memo from Gabriel. Too many…frivolous mihh-miracles…hh’ktxssh!...iih’kxssh!” He lifted beseeching eyes, “Crowley.”

Crowley shook his head immediately, saying shortly, “No.”

“Oh, Crowley, please.”

“I said no.”

“Why not?”

The pleading in Aziraphale’s eyes bored into Crowley’s heart. He was still clutching the handkerchief before his face, probably knowing it made him look more pathetic or something. The bastard.

Eventually, Crowley squirmed, a flush spreading across his cheeks, but only shrugged: “The thing is, I, uh. Can’t.”

“You-what?”

“I can’t heal you! Demons can’t heal! We’re creatures of destruction, fire and brimstone, all that good stuff.”

Aziraphale stared at him, and managed to stutter through a cough, “It’s a fine time for you to mention that now.”

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said, and he really did sound sorry. A little, that is. “In the meantime, I suggest we do what humans have done since the beginning of time, and self-medicate.” He uncorked a bottle of wine with a simple gesture of the hand.

Aziraphale had to admit (reluctantly), that as Crowley’s terrible ideas went, it wasn’t the most terrible he had inflicted upon him. He didn’t feel better, exactly, but he did begin to forget his symptoms. They became removed to the edge of the buzz of the alcohol; he forgot the fastidious use of the handkerchief in his pocket, sniffling frequently instead, and the sting of his throat seemed numbed by the second bottle.

By the time they had reached the third, they had stumbled into the back room of the shop and fallen into the same armchair, legs tangled. It was an awkward fit: Crowley’s limbs were too angular really to be in such proximity to, and Aziraphale found himself with the demon mostly sitting in his lap. All the same, it was strangely homely.

“Doesssn’t make senssse,” Crowley mumbled, for perhaps the tenth time. He had a tendency to elongate his -s’s when drunk. “Why demons can’t. Can’t heal.”

“’S natural,” Aziraphale told him, accompanied by a throaty cough. “Healing is…fundamentally good. Pr’bably. Hence, hence angels can do it.”

Crowley hmph’ed in displeasure, and started to say something, but Aziraphale was distracted, blinking into the dim light of the old chandelier to drag out the faint prickling behind his eyes. “Hnngg…hh’itschh!-hhh…..hih’ttsschH!-kkxsshh!-mh. Dreadfully sorry, wh’did you say?”

“I said-angel, your face-”

To his mortification, Aziraphale brought up his hands to find that his nose was running quite profusely. He fumbled for the handkerchief in his pocket, mumbling, “I amb sorry-”

Crowley waved him off impatiently, “S’fine, s’fine.” He took a long swig of wine, his gaze fixed on Aziraphale. “Y’know what, I’m sorry.”

Over the folds of the handkerchief (Crowley swore to- to someone he did that on purpose, just to wrench at his stony demon heart), Aziraphale blinked at him. “What…what for?” His face darkened, “What did you do, snf, Crowley?”

“Nothing, nothing! I mean, obviously something, c’mon it’s me, but-wh’t I meant, w’s. Sorry I can’t-can’t miracle ya better. And stuff.”

Aziraphale brightened, “O-Oh. You don’t...there’s no reason to be…oh, e-excuse-…hh’nnkttsh!-ttkxshh!-excuse bme…”

“Ugh, b-mm. Bless you-hughh,” Crowley made a face extremely close to someone whom had just had a mouthful of ash.

At this, Aziraphale positively beamed, and coughed, and coughed again (still without dropping the damn handkerchief, Crowley noted).

“M’r wine,” he advised, sloppily handing Aziraphale his own glass. “And for fuck sake, stop. Doing that w’th your eyes.”

Aziraphale looked up at him, all innocence: “’M sorry…what with my eyes…?”

“That, looking up a’me all pleading over tha’stupid handkerchief, it’s. Hngh.” Crowley’s voice petered out into incoherence, flushing beneath the rims of his sunglasses.

“…huh.” Aziraphale made a very specific mental note, which he dearly hoped he would recall in later sobriety. “You’re…s’awfully sweet of you.”

“Shut up,” Crowley hissed, and tapped the glass before Aziraphale. “Take y’r damn medicine.”

[TheCakeIsAlive]

Good lord, that was... stunning.  You wrote sick Aziraphale straight into my headcanon. He's such an adorable creature. 

[Masking]

Aziraphale is so Aziradorable when he's sick. It seems Crowley feels the same way.

[AngelEyes]

Awww! Adorable dear! I love that Crowley can't heal because he's a demon, and it's so sweet that he feels bad about it! Az looking all sweet and pathetic over the handkerchief. I can totally picture the puppy dog eyes.