![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
whiterabbit1613 Dec. 1st, 2005 06:24 pm
About this fic:
I am embarking on a project this month that I am calling "A Christmas Carol". In it, I am attempting to write 25 different fics (one for every day until Christmas) that is based, however loosely, on a carol. I don't think the fics will be very long... and if you object to Christmas, well, you might want to ignore me for the next month.
1 December
Title: God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen
Rating: G
Fandom/Pairing: Good Omens, vague Crowley/Aziraphale
Warnings: Frighteningly sugary, slashy, talks about Christmas a little
Words: 346 (I'm calling it a drabble.)
It was coming.
Crowley could feel Aziraphale buzzing with it. "It's a month away, angel," he said sourly.
"No it's not," the heavenly being responded, eyes alight with something inexplicable. "It's only twenty-five more days."
December first was unbearable. Crowley tried to get away from the effervescent glow that emanated from his oldest acquaintance, but it was impossible to escape. Aziraphale had his holy alarm clock ticking down, the pages of his calendar marked with the countdown to That Day. The clock was ticking and could not be turned off, could not be told off. "It's December first," said Aziraphale. "It's so close I can feel it."
"You've been feeling it for half a year," since the cheesier department stores began playing Jingle Bells and New York began its search for the largest evergreen, ever. To Crowley, however close it was, it felt half a year more away.
Three more Sundays. Three more full weeks of Aziraphale acting as giddy as a school girl, ushering him from store to store to buy presents (even though it wasn't supposed to be material, and Aziraphale had so few gifts to buy, but he had more since the Almost-Apocalypse) which Crowley didn't really mind. It gave him the opportunity to get out and spread Envy, Lust and Gluttony, Lust being his favorite. Though Aziraphale frowned at him in his particular way whenever Crowley put a thought into a passing child's mind - the frown that caused a tiny crease in the angel's forehead, and made Crowley's stomach do an odd sort of flop. Crowley wasn't sure he liked the flop, which had snuck up on him in the months after the Almost-Apocalypse. But he could live with it.
"I'm tired, angel," the demon said, with sunglasses arming himself against the dying light. "Let's go back to the flat. I dunno, listen to carols. Rest us merrily and all that."
Aziraphale smiled happily, and laughed - another change, another (perhaps, Adam-induced) difference. He held out his hand, which Crowley took, not-so reluctantly.
"Tired? It's only December first."
I am embarking on a project this month that I am calling "A Christmas Carol". In it, I am attempting to write 25 different fics (one for every day until Christmas) that is based, however loosely, on a carol. I don't think the fics will be very long... and if you object to Christmas, well, you might want to ignore me for the next month.
1 December
Title: God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen
Rating: G
Fandom/Pairing: Good Omens, vague Crowley/Aziraphale
Warnings: Frighteningly sugary, slashy, talks about Christmas a little
Words: 346 (I'm calling it a drabble.)
It was coming.
Crowley could feel Aziraphale buzzing with it. "It's a month away, angel," he said sourly.
"No it's not," the heavenly being responded, eyes alight with something inexplicable. "It's only twenty-five more days."
December first was unbearable. Crowley tried to get away from the effervescent glow that emanated from his oldest acquaintance, but it was impossible to escape. Aziraphale had his holy alarm clock ticking down, the pages of his calendar marked with the countdown to That Day. The clock was ticking and could not be turned off, could not be told off. "It's December first," said Aziraphale. "It's so close I can feel it."
"You've been feeling it for half a year," since the cheesier department stores began playing Jingle Bells and New York began its search for the largest evergreen, ever. To Crowley, however close it was, it felt half a year more away.
Three more Sundays. Three more full weeks of Aziraphale acting as giddy as a school girl, ushering him from store to store to buy presents (even though it wasn't supposed to be material, and Aziraphale had so few gifts to buy, but he had more since the Almost-Apocalypse) which Crowley didn't really mind. It gave him the opportunity to get out and spread Envy, Lust and Gluttony, Lust being his favorite. Though Aziraphale frowned at him in his particular way whenever Crowley put a thought into a passing child's mind - the frown that caused a tiny crease in the angel's forehead, and made Crowley's stomach do an odd sort of flop. Crowley wasn't sure he liked the flop, which had snuck up on him in the months after the Almost-Apocalypse. But he could live with it.
"I'm tired, angel," the demon said, with sunglasses arming himself against the dying light. "Let's go back to the flat. I dunno, listen to carols. Rest us merrily and all that."
Aziraphale smiled happily, and laughed - another change, another (perhaps, Adam-induced) difference. He held out his hand, which Crowley took, not-so reluctantly.
"Tired? It's only December first."