Current mood:	productive
Current music:	solsbury hill - peter gabriel

fiat lux; lies of omission; bull's eye, lucky
My god, I have a headache like you wouldn't believe. Stupid sinuses.

I shouldn't complain. My sister is in the throes of an exacerbation, and is not feeling so great.

She called me looking for a name for our walk team and I was like, "um... I have bad memories of the time I was forced into being the walk team co-captain, so I've got nothing." And she said, "well, what about something from LotR or HP?" So I immediately said, "Oh. Marauders."

She had the same exact idea.

If you knew us, you would know how rare it is for the two of us to come up with the same answer like that. Her husband thinks it's a little too badass out of context, but I'm sure she'll get her way in the end if that's what she wants.

Anyhow, I've begun answering the ficlet challenges.

Five requests down...

Fiat Lux

Crowley waited as Aziraphale wandered the flat, reaching out a slim finger to brush the spine of a leather-bound book, or nodding absently at some well-made knickknack.

It was the first time he'd had the angel over, and while he'd never admit to any nervousness, there was a slight flutter in his belly that probably couldn’t be put down to the curry they’d had for lunch, considering he didn’t actually digest the food he ate.

When Aziraphale looked up and gasped, Crowley smiled.

"Oh dear," Aziraphale said. "That certainly is ... quite unusual and ornate."

It was a three-tiered bronze chandelier, with leering, shrieking gargoyles carved around each level. To complete the effect, the sconces were filled with red-tinted bulbs. It was quite possibly the ugliest thing Crowley had seen since leaving Hell several millennia ago. It had come with the place, and he could have easily modified it at any time, but it reminded him of how much he didn't want to go home, if Hell even was home anymore.

“It’s a right old horror, and you know it, angel.”

“I’m sure I couldn’t say.” As if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

"I’m sure you could," he countered, hoping Aziraphale's sense of aesthetics would get the better of his manners.

"Hmph." Aziraphale wandered into the kitchen, refusing the bait.

On his way out the door, Aziraphale, brow creased with concern, said, "I’m so sorry. I forgot a housewarming gift." Then he smiled a mischievous smile. "Yes, it will have to do."

Crowley forgot this cryptic remark until later in the evening, when he turned on the lights and the room was flooded with a soft white glow that was almost heavenly. He looked up at the chandelier, and saw, to his surprise, a tasteful art deco affair with delicately tinted glass where the right old monstronsity had once hung.

He grinned.

Forget Hell. The chandelier would always remind him of Aziraphale, and his new home.

fin

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For bonibaru: Good Omens. Crowley, chandelier, surprise. 331 words.

My first GO fic. Woo!

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Lies of Omission

Emily dialed the phone, fingers shaking with rage.

“Hello.”

“Lorelai Gilmore. How come I had to find out about you and Jason from Cissy Throckmorton?”

“Find out what about me and Jason?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Lorelai. It’s not becoming.”

“Mom, I’m--"

“How long has this been going on? You do know he still brings that blonde bimbo to functions? He was with her last Sunday night at the breast cancer gala.”

“Yes, Mom.”

“And that’s okay with you?”

“I knew about it, if that’s what you mean.”

“I don’t understand. He’s your father’s business partner. The least you could have done was told us you were involved with him.”

“I was going to, Mom, but you seemed to think the whole idea was insane--"

“It *is* insane! He’s strange, Lorelai. And he’s got no sense of how things are done. Everything is a rebellion against his father with him... Oh. I see.”

“See what, Mom?”

“This is about me, isn’t it? You’re doing this to get at me.”

“No, Mom. Not everything is about you, you know.”

“Don’t lie to me, Lorelai. I think you’ve done enough lying.”

“I never lied, Mom. I just... didn’t tell you the whole truth.”

“Lies of omission are still lies.”

“I’ve gotta go, Mom.”

“Lorelai--"

"Sookie and Jackson are coming over for our weekly poker game."

"What? Weekly poker game?"

"Bye, Mom."

Emily listened to the soft click as Lorelai hung up, and set the phone down on the table with extra care. Her skin felt too tight, as if it might split in two if she moved too quickly. Just when she'd thought things with Lorelai were improving...

What had she ever done to deserve this?

End

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for maveness: Gilmore Girls, Emily Gilmore, angry, poker. 288 words.

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Bull’s Eye

Eowyn takes a deep breath, holds it. Her eyes are focused on the target, a fair distance away. She slowly releases her pent up breath, takes another. Nocks the arrow, narrows her eyes to aim, and draws, feeling the muscles in her arms stretch and move in concert, a joy she knows well from riding.

Exhaling, she lets go. The arrow flies true, hits the center of the target. Her first bull’s eye.

Another deep breath, triumph welling within her.

She turns to Faramir. “Did you see?”

“I did,” he replies, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I shall have to brush up on my skills to keep pace with you, my lady. We can practice together.”

She laughs, delighted, and kisses his lips, twining her arms around his neck. “There are other skills we could practice together,” she murmurs against his mouth.

He pulls her closer, arms wrapped about her waist and says, “As you wish.”

end

***

for snacky: LotR, Eowyn, triumphant, 157 words.

I know absolutely nothing about archery, so if I got something wrong, let me know.

***

Lucky

Another report, another failure.

Charlie rubs his forehead, the back of his neck. The war is not going well, and his dragons are not the heroes he’d imagined they would be.

“Wotcher, Charlie.”

He looks up to see Tonks in the doorway, smiling tentatively.

“Hi.” He can already feel heat rising beneath his skin; it is embarrassing, sometimes, how much he is attracted to her, and how easily it shows. But mostly, it is amazing; his sense of wonder that she returns his feelings has only grown over the past few months they’ve been together.

“Rough night?”

He grunts noncommittally, gesturing to the papers scattered on the desk and shrugging.

She leans forward, her hands on the arms of his chair, and places a gentle kiss on his lips as she swings one leg over to sit on his lap.

For a moment, he thinks they may tip over -- Tonks is not the most graceful woman he’s ever met -- but the chair remains upright, though it creaks in protest.

She twines her arms around his neck and settles in for some serious kissing, her mouth opening over his, her tongue licking at his lips before he slips his own out to touch it. She runs her fingers through his hair, sending shivers down his spine, and his hands come to rest on the curve of her hips, stroking the soft skin of her back under her too-short t-shirt.

She rocks against him, the heat of her scorching him even through their clothing. She unbuttons his shirt with nimble fingers, then pushes it off his shoulders so she can press openmouthed kisses to his chest and neck; solar flares of pleasure rising under his skin.

His head falls back under this sweet assault, and he thinks again, about how lucky he is, when all around him, luck is running out.

***

Tonks is enjoying the way Charlie feels beneath her. She's managed to get his shirt off and is busy kissing his chest, his shoulders, every bit of skin she can reach without contorting herself into a really awkward position.

Charlie tugs at the hem of her t-shirt and she moves back to let him pull it over her head. He tosses it to the floor. In one smooth motion, he raises his wand and banishes her bra with a whispered spell, so her breasts spill into his waiting hands, wand dropped to the floor along with her shirt.

His fingers are callused but so very gentle and warm on her already-heated skin, and pleasure arcs through her body when he rolls one taut nipple between his thumb and forefinger before licking at it, his hand moving to the other breast.

She whimpers and keens, arching into his mouth, head thrown back so the ends of her hair (black, tonight, and long) brush lightly against her shoulder blades, the touch like another pair of hands on her skin, making her shiver.

He rises, arms strong around her, and sets her on the desk, pushing the scrolls and books to the floor with a thump.

She wraps her legs around him, pulling him close, hands already unbuckling his belt and opening his trousers; he does the same for her, lifting her slightly to slide her jeans and knickers over her hips and down her legs.

“Charlie,” she whispers, desperate to touch him, to feel him inside her. “Please.” She pushes at his trousers before taking his cock in her hand, hot and hard, the head glistening with precome. She scoots forward, brushing her wet folds against him.

“Hold on,” he mutters, jaw tight. “Contraceptive spell?”

“Did it before I came in here.”

“Good thinking.”

“That why I’m an Auror. Always prepared.”

He grins and pushes inside her, then covers her mouth with his, swallowing her gasp. She knows she’s loud, and it wouldn’t do to have his mother rushing in before they’re through.

She has no trouble blocking thoughts of Molly Weasley from her mind as she and Charlie move together.

He comes inside her, and she follows him over the edge, swallowing her cries of pleasure as she shudders in his arms, a tidal wave of bliss rolling through her.

She knows she’s lucky to have him, that in these dark days, any time they have together is a gift, and she clings a little when they’re done, more than is usual for her. Once she leaves this room, the real world will intrude, and she wants to make this last as long as possible.

Without her saying it, Charlie seems to understand. He murmurs a quick cleaning spell and then gathers her close, sitting back down in the chair. She curls up on his lap and rests her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

end

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for hiddendaze and snacky: HP, Charlie, desk, wonderment. *and* Tonks, wand, desperate. 798 words.

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Lemme know what you think.