Whoa. More now.

I've just posted all I've got so far, deb. And you're one quick reader.

Holy CRAP, Am. I have never watched one episode of Smallvlle, and I love this.

He'd just missed Clark. Lex swore for the first time in his unlife.

SuhNERK.

I have never watched one episode of Smallvlle, and I love this.

I've seen counts on fingers of one hand not very many episodes, so I don't think having seen the show is exactly needed here.

I'm glad you like it. Writing it made me giggle.

Wow. That's really good, Am. I love the idea of Vamp!Lex.

American Idiom Nitpick:

I… I thought I fancied her.

"Fancied" is britspeak. An American teenage boy would say "liked" or "had a crush on" or "had a thing for" or "was into."

Yup - what Lyra said. "fancied" is UK-specific.

I missed that, first time around, with the giggling.

Sunday 100 du jour.:

Title: Magic is...
Challenge: Magic
Rating: PG
Pairing: W/T

Magic was her mother's hands healing a bloody knee with a chant and an herbal poultice, setting a fairy light to frighten away the monster in the closet.

Magic was her father, red-faced, calling her mother a goddamn witch, shoving her down the stairs.

Magic was a book on vengeance spells hidden behind her dresser in high school, fondling the pages, promising herself she'd only use it if she couldn't get out.

Magic was Willow, softness and warmth, red hair and scent of patchouli.

Magic was Willow, danger and power crackling around her.

Magic, Tara knew, was danger, life, love.

Oh, that's lovely Lyra Jane. Really lovely.

Liking the SV/BtVS - made me giggle quite a few times. Deb, in all seriousness you should try SV fanfic. There's so much good stuff out there, and you don't need to watch the show. It helps, certainly, but it's not neccesary.

Anyway, um - this is very much not ME-verse, but I've written some Good Omens fic. Just a wee snippet. Where would be a good place to post it? 'Cause I could do with input.

Post it here! Please!

Slippery

"But it's raw."

Crowley sighed.

"Yes, it's raw. If it were cooked, it wouldn't be sushi."

Aziraphale shot him a doubtful look and peered back through the window to watch the besuited city workers valiantly battling with their chopsticks. As they looked in, a particularly inept young man tried to combine eating with telling an anecdote, and an unwise gesticulation sent something pink and white flying into his dining partner's cleavage. Crowley sniggered.

"Raw fish," repeated Aziraphale slowly and clearly, as if there were something fundamental about the notion that Crowley hadn't understood. Anyone would think that they hadn't both eaten far stranger things over the millennia. How Aziraphale could possibly be so bloody middle England when he wasn't even English in the first place was a source of ongoing bafflement to Crowley.

"Look, was I or was I not right about chocolate?"

Aziraphale blinked.

"Well - well, yes."

"Yes. 'That doesn't look very tasty,' I seem to remember you saying. 'Wouldn't catch me trying any of that.' And don't try to pretend you don't buy yourself a bag of Thornton's continental chocolates every second weekend, because we both know you do. So?" The angel had the grace to blush. "Don't you trust me?"

"You're a demon," pointed out Aziraphale unnecessarily. "I'm not supposed to trust you."

Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Don't you trust me?"

"Well -- well, it would be rather foolish, given the circumstances, to -- um. That is -- I suppose that in a sort of limited -- I mean, obviously we're on different -- well." He faltered to a halt in the face of Crowley's raised eyebrow and his face took on a sheepish expression. "Um. Yes. More or less."

"Good. So believe me when I tell you that you're going to like sushi. Who knows your tastes better than I do, angel? That lot up there? I don't think so. They wouldn't know Brahms from Beethoven, or Hersheys from Suchards. No. I know your tastes. And when I tell you that you're going to enjoy sushi, you damn well better believe me."

"Sorry," said Aziraphale in a small voice.

"It's not like I'm asking you to try eating it off a naked virgin," pointed out Crowley, rather enjoying his righteous indignation. The angel's eyes widened right on cue, and Crowley's mouth twitched ever so slightly.

"Gracious me! I should certainly hope not! How thoroughly unsanitary. Not to mention embarrassing and uncomfortable and -- dear me. What a dreadful suggestion."

Crowley considered, for the briefest of moments, telling Aziraphale that actually, some people did exactly that, and that it could be a thoroughly pleasurable experience for all concerned -- and, what's more, that this particular idea was one the humans had come up with all on their own, because Lust was one Deadly Sin that they'd all embraced pretty wholeheartedly, and combining it with Gluttony was remarkably popular, as any number of luxury icecream manufacturers could attest. But he wasn't stupid.

"Look, just give it a try, all right? I think you'll like it. You've used chopsticks before, haven't you?" Aziraphale fixed him with a prim little glance.

"Certainly. As you know perfectly well."

"Yes, well, but you've pretty much embraced all this business of wearing cardigans and listening to Radio Four and eating with a knife and fork. You could be rusty."

"Nonsense." Aziraphale drew himself up to his full height and thurst out his chin pugnaciously. Crowley bit back a laugh. "Fine. Let's go and jolly well eat some sushi right now."

* * *

They didn't need to eat, obviously, any more than Crowley's car needed petrol. Now, Crowley had been pretty taken with the idea of food right from the outset - as far as he was concerned, humans got a thoroughly good deal, what with all the senses and physical pleasures and all that, although they mostly took it all for granted. Once he'd been assigned to the place, he'd made a point of trying everything at least once, and most things many, many times, and this had included food. Aziraphale, on the other hand, had spent centuries upon centuries piously refraining from eating or drinking, lest they lead to gluttony. He had kept his interactions with mortals to a minimum and had certainly done nothing so vulgar or proletarian as carry money lest it lead to avarice; he had never indulged in a wink of sleep lest it lead to sloth; he kept no possessions lest they lead to envy; he avoided following any particular sports team lest it lead to anger; he avoided looking at his own reflection lest it lead to vanity; and he avoided looking at anyone else very hard lest it lead to lust.

At first.

Over the years, however, Aziraphale had gradually unbent. Food, he had come to agree, was perfectly harmless and rather enjoyable, and the same could be said of sleep. Money, although purportedly the root of all evil, was no such thing, and was, moreover a handy way of interacting with mortals. Possessions were perfectly fine, so long as one was prepared to lose them at a moment's notice - and if he had rather more books than the average collector, certainly keeping them all in a bookshop where a mortal might at any moment breeze in* and purchase them wasn't the same as actually owning them all outright. Mirrors were a useful enough way of ensuring that one's hair was in place. A little bit of anger was occasionally warranted as a response to persistant customers or people who listened to walkmans on public transport.