Prattle & Ponder

FF: The Line That Shall Not Be Crossed

ralst — Mon, 23 Sep 2013 22:55:10 GMT

Fandom: Rookie Blue
Pairing: Gail/Holly
A/N: This was written for the Sappho challenge (my fragment: I conversed with you in a dream), but somehow I got my dates wrong, so it comes to you now in its pre-beta'd state. It's also totally silly and is - very oddly - Andy-centric.

Life was good. Andy had reconciled with her former boyfriend - who, thankfully, hadn't died, because it's hard to get smoochie with a corpse - and managed to retain the friendship of her almost-boyfriend slash fuck-buddy slash best-friend (okay, so maybe there were times when she couldn't look him straight in the eye, and other times when she found her eyes wandering northwards to check out his ass, but overall she thought she was handling the transition back to friendship with-no-benefits pretty well). On top of which, the small grain of guilt she'd felt at jumping into bed with one of her friend's very-very-recent-exes had almost dissolved in the warmth of Gail's new friendship with the woman from the lab. Admittedly, she wasn't quite sure what was up with that, but she was perfectly willing to bask in the cessation of hostilities it had produced.

"What are you grinning at, McNally?" Gail sat down opposite, her eyes boring a hole through Andy's very soul as she scowled at the brunette. It was the kind of look that had been absent ever since Sam's shooting and whatever the hell had happened while Andy had been standing vigil over his bedside.

She tried smiling, but that only seemed to intensify the cold emanating from the ice-crystals Gail now seemed to possess instead of eyes. "Nothing." Andy's eyes flittered around the room, but the usual swarm of uniformed officers were conspicuous by their absence.

It was then that Andy noticed Gail's hands or, rather, the white tinged fists that appeared to be fighting a battle with the desk for dominion. For such delicate hands, they looked almost brutal, and for the first time in their acquaintance Andy actually felt physically intimidated by the blonde (other types of intimidation, especially those that could be employed via sharp words and home truths, were far more familiar, at least where Gail was concerned).

"You think you're something special, don't you, McNally." The corners of Gail's lips rose in the bastardisation of a smile. "The golden girl who can do no wrong."

"No. I. I don't." She thought again about Nick and the ease with which she'd dismissed Gail's feelings to jump into bed with someone she didn't even love and how that decision had dwarfed the momentary thought she'd given to Nick when she'd left him for Sam. "I've done plenty wrong."

The truth, although freely given, did nothing to diminish the intensity of Gail's regard. "There is a line, McNally, and if you cross it, nothing will ever be the same again." Andy squirmed nervously in her seat as Gail appeared to loom over her. "Holly, is that line."

It took a moment for Andy to equate the name to the tall brunette who seemed to bring out the non-homicidal side of the blonde. It was a trait she really wished she possessed, especially now, as Gail leaned forward, her fists digging into the scarred wood as she stared down at her very confused prey. "Holly?" She really wished their conversation had come with subtitles because she was sure she'd missed some subtle clue as to what the hell they were talking about.

Gail's brows lowered and her lips thinned the second Holly's name passed Andy's lips; Andy, who despite evidence to the contrary, wasn't stupid, decided there and then not to mention Holly's name again without permission, and perhaps a crucifix and exorcist on standby.

"You try and take her from me," said Gail, a trace of demonic glee entering her voice, "and I will destroy you."

Andy was more confused than ever; did Gail really think she was trying to steal her girlfriend? (whatever the true nature of Gail's words, there was one thing that Andy no longer doubted, and that was that Gail was in love with the tall lab geek). "I won't." She thought about expounding on the evidence of her straightness, but Gail was living proof that a boyfriend or two in your past didn't make you immune to falling in love with another woman. "She's besotted with you." Andy's reassurance had been cribbed from a conversation she'd overheard between Chris and Dov, although Chris had been adamant that the besotted-ness was entirely mutual; a sentiment she'd ascribed to male fantasy, at the time.

"Of course she is." A flicker of the real - sarcastic but generally non-homicidal - Gail Peck shone through for a second and Andy drew in a breath of relief, until the moment passed and the warmth once again left Gail's eyes. "So don't try any of your pirate tricks, all right, McNally?"

Andy was promising before she'd even processed the words. "Pirate tricks?" She wondered, briefly, if that was a lesbian term, but there had been something in the way Gail said the word that struck Andy as significant. "I don't understand."

The look Gail bestowed upon her then was one of utter condescension; it was a look that would normally have raised Andy's hackles, but compared to the glares she'd been subjected to just moments before, it was oddly warm and almost friendly. "Of course you don't, McNally, it was my dream."

Andy blinked twice, in a manner akin to a cartoon rabbit. "A dream?" She wondered if Gail was on any kind of medication; although, last time she'd been confronted by a high Gail Peck, she'd been a lot less scary. "You had a dream about me?"

With a roll of the eyes the old Gail returned. "It wasn't about you, McNally, you're not the centre of everybody's universe."

"But I was in the dream?" Andy heard the sound of shuffling feet and thanked God that they would soon be joined by - hopefully - sane members of the police force.

The white slowly drained from Gail's knuckles as she began to relax her hand and call a truce on her war with the tabletop. "Yes." A quick smile flitted across Gail's lips as Oliver sat down in the space beside her and Andy let out a sigh of relief; not that she though Gail would hurt her in any way, but a pissed off and possibly deranged Gail Peck would have frightened anyone. "You made an appearance," said Gail, her voice loud enough to be heard, but low enough not to draw attention. "All decked out in one of Jack Sparrow's rejects and trying to flirt with someone who wasn't yours."

"Holly?" The name, passing her lips, once again earned Andy a look of silent fury. "I'd never flirt with, erm, her." She didn't know why she was defending her actions in someone else's dream, but with the Nick-debacle still clear in her mind, she wanted to make it clear that she had no interest in Gail's latest date. "I'm not interested in, erm, Holly, that way."

A slow second passed before Gail shrugged away her intimidation. "I know." She smiled at something Chris was saying to Dov and the anger of moments before seemed a mere figment of Andy's imagination. "It was just a dream, McNally, you've gotta learn to lighten up."

Andy tried to protest, but the words failed to materialise, and she was left to stare open-mouthed at the insanity that was Gail Peck in love.

Trailer Training Wheels

ralst — Sun, 22 Sep 2013 12:31:45 GMT

Trailer Training Wheels is a collaborative venture into the world of short film production using the surprisingly complex format of a film or TV trailer. The group will have sixteen days to write, film, edit etc. a 2-3 minute trailer; a task that will test our existing talents and force us to acquire new ones.

If you would like to be involved in the project please drop me a line at: ralst31@gmail.com and I'll arrange for the skills survey to be passed on to you; don't worry if you don't have any transferable skills at this stage, merely indicate what area you are interested in learning and any talents that you think might come in useful to the group (if you happen to live near the filming location the ability to make a mean bacon butty would be prized above rubies).

The challenge itself will be held between the 28th September and 13th October - sixteen days - with the theme/prompt issued to the group on the morning of the 28th and the finished article expected by no later than 23:59 (BST) on Sunday, 13th October.

It's your chance to spread your creative wings and join the group for its first (of many, I hope) ventures into short film production.

IDF Feedback

ralst — Mon, 27 Jul 2009 18:39:40 GMT

I made the newbie mistake of signing up to the feedback challenge and then forgetting to actually take note of the feedback I gave. So, what you've got here, are the ones I could remember from the day itself and those entries I've given feedback to over the weekend. Therefore, not a full list, but enough to cover what I signed up for... Gosh, long winded, sorry.

E-mail

Poured Out Like Water (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by ocean gazer.
Coming Undone (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by DiNovia.
Something, Not This (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by Susan P.
The Fear of Falling part 1 (Birds of Prey) by Inspector Boxer.
Femslash Island (Multi-fandom) by Ann.
Commodum Ex Iniuria (The Reward of Injustice) (Criminal Minds/X-Men Emily/Emma) by Alsike.
No Rest for the Wicked parts 1-10 (The Sarah Connor Chronicles/Firefly Sarah/River) by Inspector Boxer.
Kissing Josh Lewis (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by Marymartin.
Through A Glass, Darkly (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by DJ Shiva.
A Lean and Hungry Look (Harry Potter Hermione/Pansy) by Kerisempai.
Fall Back Into Me (Law & Order: SVU Alex/Olivia) by Whedonist.
Otalia IDF Series: Little Wonders, I Don't Believe You and Falling Down the Mountainside Guiding Light music videos by Cabenson.
A Day and a Year (Torchwood Alice/Johnson) by Celievamp

LJ Comment

Frank Cooper - God's Gift to Lesbians Everywhere (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia Blake/Doris) by Wonko
No More Euphemisms (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by wICKEDjOY
Pride (Guiding Light Blake/Doris) by purplepapillon
One Smark Cookie (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by stargazer1960
You and Me Guiding Light video by kissmychakram
How It Began (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by serenitymeimei
The Art of Making Reluctant Friends (Guiding Light Blake/Doris) by serenitymeimei
The Five Worst Dates Olivia and Natalia Ever Had (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by uselessmarks
Otalia icons by the_hero_factor
The Sick Rose (Guiding Light Blake/Doris) by Wonko
The Woods (Guiding Light Blake/Doris) by purplepapillon
5 Times Natalia Rivera said 'F**K' (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by itsalovestory1
Crossroads part 24 (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by Wonko
Have You Heard of Galileo? (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by senpai20
The Kitchen at Company (Guiding Light Blake/Doris) by purplepapillon
Five Times Natalia's Caution Was (Almost) Thrown To The Wind (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by gilligankane
No (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by chebomic
Three Times Olivia Really Needed a Martini, or Three Times Olivia Realized She Was Falling in Love with Natalia (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by Fewthistle
Three Reasons Ava is Glad She Lives Far, Far Away (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by Fewthistle
How Three People Found Out About Olivia and Natalia (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by Fewthistle
Guiding Light icons by grumpybear
First Time Guiding Light video by ragazzaazzurra
The Sarah Connor Chronicles icons by grumpybear
Stuck (Women's Murder Club Jill/Cindy) by darandkerry
Five People Barbara Slept With And One She Fell In Love With (Birds of Prey comics Barbara/Dinah) by seriousfic
Women's Murder Club icons by grumpybear
Cookies vs. Biscuits (The Devil Wears Prada Emily, Andy) by grdnofevrythng
Just who took who prisoner? (China Beach McMurphy/KC) by sportysmurf
Drowning out the noise (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by Tinna Karen
Get The Kid A Prize (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by gilligankane
Power Bottom (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by Juri
Five Times Natalia Wanted to Say 'I Love You' But Didn't (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by laughsunshine
What Comes Around, Goes (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by gilligankane
A Taste of Things to Come (Guiding Light Blake/Doris) by geekgrrllurking
Easy (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by uselessmarks
Almost Stop The Earth (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by gilligankane
Favor (Guiding Light Blake/Doris Olivia/Natalia) by still_nina
Kissing (Torchwood Gwen/Tosh) by fajrdrako
An iTunes Five (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by Fewthistle
How Do You Solve a Problem like Natalia? (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by darandkerry
Chemicals React (Fringe Olivia/Astrid) by Juri
Chemicals Burn (Fringe Olivia/Astrid) by Juri
Alexander McQueen Makes Bed Sheets Now (The Devil Wears Prada Emily/Serena) by egalitarianmuse
Best Laid Plans (Women's Murder Club Jill/Denise) by libmix
Substitute Teacher (The Sarah Connor Chronicles Sarah/Cameron) by 2headed_turtles
A little sickness, a lot of love (Guiding Light Olivia/Natalia) by ojos11
Clue by Four guiding Light (Olivia/Natalia Black/Doris) by geekgrrllurking

Friends Cut

ralst — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 14:34:51 GMT

I've been meaning to do this for a while...

More than half the people on my f-list neither seem to post or comment, so I'm going to assume they've moved on or we just don't have anything in common any more. So, bye-bye, and best of luck with whatever you're doing.

FF: Moments in the Rain

ralst — Sat, 09 May 2009 14:32:13 GMT

Fandom: Murder in Suburbia
Pairing: Ash/Scribbs
A/N: For loridragus - it turned out to be slightly longer than a drabble.

Rain splashed disjointedly against the windscreen, only to be captured and sent hurtling into space by the rhythmic power of the wipers. It was almost hypnotic.

"Scribbs, wake up!"

The blonde jerked in her seat, the heavy weight of lassitude falling from her eyes as she scowled at her DI. "Don't shout." She thought about pouting, but the last time she'd tried that particular move Ash had given her a twenty minute lecture on maturity and its place in modern policing. "Can you remind me, again, why we can't have the radio on?"

"We're here to work, Scribbs, not indulge your juvenile listening habits." Surveillance was tedious at the best of times, but it was tantamount to torture when forced to share a confined space with a woman singing off-key to the latest bubble-gum pop to escape from the crèche of modern music. Or at least that was the conclusion Ash had reached after a particularly harrowing ten hours spent trapped in a van with Scribbs and her boom-box while they waited for a drug trafficker to show his face. "We could play I-Spy," she conceded.

The steady rhythm of the windscreen wipers pulled at the edges of Scribbs' wakefulness and she found herself fighting a yawn. "Boring," she sighed, her eyelids lowering.

Ash would have liked to take umbrage with the remark, as she herself was an excellent I-Spy player, but had to concede that their current situation required something a little more daring than a game of I-Spy to stop it falling into the category of most boring day of their lives. "We could talk about our depressing lack of a love life."

"I have a love life," Scribbs mumbled, her words becoming indistinct as she slouched further into her seat. "It's a sex life I'm lacking."

The idea that Scribbs, the uncouth and rumpled bane of her existence, could have a love life that didn't include her, filled Ash with horror. They were meant to trade overly embellished anecdotes about their appalling taste in men, while ignoring the elephant in the room that was their burning and, one could say, unhealthy desire to rip each other's clothes off. Falling in love was not part of the equation. "What love life?"

Later, if pressed, Scribbs would blame her slip on the windscreen wipers, and their hypnotic powers of suggestion, but the truth was that she was just too exhausted to keep up the pretence. "Our love life." Her eyes closed and she was seconds away from descending into a deep sleep when the arctic feel of Ash's stare roused her to full wakefulness. "What?"

The accumulated resentment and yearning of a year spent ignoring her own feelings, and Scribbs', bubbled up in the back of Ash's throat and made it impossible for her to speak. Ash knew, that whatever she said, it would change their relationship forever, and sitting there, on a cold and rain drenched Monday afternoon, she knew she didn't have the courage.

With the flick of Ash's wrist, the radio sparked to life, and another opportunity was washed away.

FF: Mind Reader

ralst — Fri, 08 May 2009 02:03:59 GMT

Fandom: The Mentalist
Pairing: Lisbon/Van Pelt

He keeps smirking at me. It started when Van Pelt and Rigsby entered the room and, no matter how much I glare, he won't stop. I know what he's thinking. You don't have to be a mind reader to see the innuendo dancing behind his eyes. One look, that was all it took, and my secret longing was a secret no longer.

God, I hate him sometimes.

He'll say something, of that I'm sure, but he'll wait until we're alone. He might be insufferable, but he's become a good friend, and he wouldn't embarrass me like that in front of my team. But, if he uses his voodoo voice, and tells me to buy Grace roses, I might just have to shoot him on principle.

The smirk falls from Jane's lips and, for just a moment, I think he's turned his thoughts to another, but then he leans in to whisper in my ear, "She prefers lilies."

God, I really hate him sometimes.

FF: My Hand in Yours

ralst — Thu, 07 May 2009 19:43:28 GMT

Fandom: Murder in Suburbia
Pairing: Ash/Scribbs
A/N: For the_girl_20

She took my hand. Right there, in front of everyone, she reached down and clasped my hand in hers, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if we'd been holding hands all our lives.

It was then that I looked at them; Sullivan, Gillepsie and the others, waiting for the comments and raised brows, but there was nothing. No shock, no outrage, not even a hint of prurient interest. As if... As if it's the most natural thing in the world for Scribbs to take my hand.

And, maybe it is.

Drabble: Old School

ralst — Thu, 07 May 2009 19:32:01 GMT

Fandom: The Facts of Life
Pairing: Jo/Blair
A/N: For trancer21

We came here to say goodbye.

The memories of lives just beginning, blur into the realities of what we left behind. Friendships, so intrinsic, washed away on the tide of years passing. Her reluctant smile, once so real, is transformed into the echo of a daydream, that plagues my perfect life with the ache of what should have been.

As the bulldozers march on Eastland, I look over at her weary face, and wonder what happened to the rebel I once knew. She is a stranger to me know, and with that realisation, I come to understand that it is not these old building to which I owe a farewell, but to Jo and the life we couldn't allowed ourselves to have.

FF: One Night Stand

ralst — Thu, 21 Aug 2008 22:49:17 GMT

Fandom: Original
Pairing: F/F
A/N: This is not in any way connected to my ongoing story. Thanks to Ann for the beta.

The morning after was never meant to be this hard. A little awkward, obviously, but with the judicious use of a hasty farewell, it would be over and done with within twenty minutes and she could move on. Her latest conquest, however, had apparently not read the memo and had turned the experience into a nightmare of epic proportions. Questions. Question after question, after question. Sex was one thing, but having to divulge her real name and current occupation was far too personal.

"Look," she struggled for a name, but upon finding none, hurried on, "last night was great, but I really need to be going."

The smile wavered on the other woman's face. "I thought we could have breakfast? I heat a mean croissant."

Damn the woman for not reading from the script. There were certain rules attached to one night stands and offering breakfast and being all charming and warm about it just wasn't part of the deal. "That's a lovely offer, but I really need to be going." She wished she could think of a viable excuse; some high powered job she needed to rush off to at a moment's notice, but she was halfway positive that she'd told the other woman enough about herself the night before to make that unbelievable, and although she had no problem lying to women, she drew the line at telling a lie that would humiliate either of them. "Perhaps another time?"

As the woman's smile brightened, she knew she'd made a rookie mistake; promises of more was the number two no-no when it came to this kind of thing. She might as well have brought the woman back to her home with the mess she was making of the whole thing.

"I'd like that." The woman did have a most charming smile, and from what she could remember, the warmth inherent in her smile was dwarfed in comparison to the inferno of her kisses. "Dinner, tonight, maybe?"

The edge of uncertainty in the offer caused her to waver in her refusal, and instead, she found herself shrugging her shoulders in an echo of that uncertainty. It was a trap, she knew, and one that could only end in tragedy, but for some inexplicable reason, she felt unable to tear herself free and make her escape. "Okay."

She wondered briefly if she'd been drugged or lobotomised; nothing else could explain her radical departure from the correct morning after routine. A mid-life crisis was her next thought, but she supposed herself too young for that little excuse.

"Say, around eight?" The woman was pretty, she decided, rather than beautiful, as had been suggested by the lighting in the club, but rather than be put off by the difference, she actually found it an improvement. "You're not a vegetarian or anything, are you?" The kind of woman you grow old with, she thought, before chiding herself for entertaining such ideas. "I'm not the best of cooks, but I can grill a pretty decent steak."

"No, I'm not a vegetarian." She cursed herself a fool, she should have said she was a vegan with a severe nut allergy or something. The lobotomy theory was beginning to look more and more plausible with every second she stood there, not fleeing the scene of the unravelling crime. "But I really do need to go."

A nod of the other woman's head released her from the paralysis of thought that had consumed her body, and with trembling legs and a great deal of confusion she stumbled from the room and into the daylight beyond. She had a date. A date that was sure to be followed by a night of unbridled passion; not something she would normally complain about, but sharing a bed with the same person two nights running was far too close to domestic bliss and the decay of a normal relationship for her liking. She shuddered. The beginning of the end, she thought, her mind churning with clichés.

As far as one night stands went, it had been one in a million, but what she didn't realise for a long while afterwards was that it would also be her last. And the thought that would really have horrified her, had it dared to cross her synapses on that fateful morning, was that she didn't regret it in the least.

FF: Auspicious Beginnings

ralst — Thu, 29 May 2008 22:23:53 GMT

Fandom: Murder in Suburbia
Pairing: Pre-relationship Ash/Scribbs
A/N: I thought I should try out the table of prompts idea. This is very short.

The dark-haired woman looked at herself in the bathroom mirror and frowned at the one shiny hair that had dared to escape its tight confines and flail across her forehead. The nonconformist strand, after withstanding a full minute of ocular abuse, was summarily twined between the woman's fingers before being yanked, painfully, from her head. A subsequent examination of her visage confirmed that nothing else was amiss, and the woman smiled, her lips so tight the expression was more reminiscent of pain than pleasure.

"I'm never drinking again," swore a blonde as she barrelled out of the cubicle and towards the washbasins, her sudden emergence causing the brunette to yelp in surprise. "You can say that again," she moaned, before dunking her head beneath the cold tap and turning it on full blast.

Water sprayed everywhere, including the brunette's skirt, prompting an exclamation of outrage from the impeccably dressed woman. "Do you mind?" she snapped, the veins in her neck throbbing as she turned a deadly stare on the blonde. "If you want to slosh around like a pig in mud, may I suggest you do it elsewhere!"

"Ssorry." The water was quickly turned off as the blonde grabbed a handful of tissues and knelt before the seething woman, her hands frantically dabbing at the water mark. "I never was that good at physics," she mumbled, her hands dabbing closer and closer to areas not normally reached before a third date.

"That's quite enough! Thank you." The brunette scuttled back until her knees collided with the waste-bin and she was forced to halt her retreat. She had thought, naively it now seemed, that the ladies' toilets in one of England's more suburban police stations would be free from the dregs of society, but she'd obviously been wrong. "The public aren't allowed in here," she informed the woman. "You should speak to the..."

"I work here," the blonde interrupted, a smile suddenly working its way onto her lips as she held out her hand and said, "I'm DS Scribbins - Emma - you must be my new DI."

The brunette was desperate to deny the accusation, but good manners made that impossible. "Detective Inspector Ashurst," she supplied, deliberately leaving out mention of her first name, even as she felt compelled to shake hands with the other woman.

"Welcome to Middleford," Scribbs continued, before wading up the soaked tissue and lobbing it over her new colleague's head and into the bin. "I look forward to working with you."

Ash stood there, transfixed, as the blonde lout exited the ladies' room, taking with her Ash's hopes and dreams of an exciting new start in Middleford. "I give it a week," she muttered, before quickly re-straightening her shirt and hurrying after the blonde.

Prompt request

ralst — Sun, 10 Feb 2008 00:29:25 GMT

I'm so far behind in archiving I'm almost Elizabethan, which means I have to do a bit of scribbling to rev up my mind (it's a process that works, so I don't question it). But, I'm no writer, and although I can give other people prompts I'm lousy at doing them for myself. So...

1. Please leave me a one word ~~or phrase~~ prompt.
2. Please state the fandom and pairing
3. Please choose from the following fandoms: Murder in Suburbia, Voyager, Women's Murder Club, Bad Girls, The Sarah Connor Chronicles, Andy Richter Controls the Universe, CSI, Fastlane, Criminal Minds, Jane Bond - or anything else you know I'm into.
4. Please wipe your feet on the mat.

Unlike everyone else who does one of these prompt request posts, I can't guarantee I'll get them done, but I'm going to try and see what I can do.

FF: It's Yours

ralst — Sat, 01 Dec 2007 01:41:42 GMT

Fandom: Murder in Suburbia
Pairing: Ash/Scribbs
A/N: I believe the term is fpreg crackfic and I blame it on encroaching insanity. Not beta'd because I like my beta too much.
Dedication: For trancer21 Merry Christmas

Ash looked down on Scribbs as if she'd just been found guilty of mugging elderly disabled nuns and selling the proceeds to feed her crack habit. "You're what!"

The blonde tried to look innocent but she wilted like yesterday's tulips in the face of Ash's glare. "I'm pregnant." For some reason best known to overly priced psychiatrists, Scribbs decided that her partner's bulging eyes and throbbing temple were a signal for her to elucidate. "With child. Got a bun in the oven. Knocked up."

"How could you!" Ash tried to reign in her temper and keep from shouting, at the top of her lungs, in the middle of Sainsbury's, but the provocation was too much. "And who, might one ask, is the father?"

Even the nosiest of shoppers had by this time deserted the aisle and Scribbs was left without the safety of witnesses to her possible demise. "You are."

"That no good, slack-jawed... Me?" A moment of stunned silence was quickly followed by Ash's version of a death glare. "Are you winding me up?"

Scribbs shook her head. "It's your baby."

Convinced that her normally slightly kooky but generally sane friend had been poisoned with some kind of hallucinogenic, Ash pulled Scribbs closer and lifted a hand to her forehead to check for a fever. "You feel a little warm."

"Stop that." Scribbs reached into her coat pocket and withdrew the document she'd had her doctor sign. "Read this."

Ash scanned the paper. "Is this English?"

Scribbs peered closer. "Bloody doctor's handwriting," she muttered. "It says I'm pregnant, approximately nine weeks, and doing well, in case you were interested."

Ash looked dubious.

"It does!"

"Fine, if you say so." The translation of which was clearly, 'you're deluded Scribbs but I'll soon have you comfortable in your own padded cell'. "But where does it say the spawn of Scribbs is mine?"

The doctor had been a little unwilling to include details of the father, as he'd insisted on calling the co-parent, so there was a distinct lack of evidence when it came to Ash's involvement. Not that a good police officer let a little thing like lack of evidence stop them from getting their man or woman, in this case. "It has to be yours, you're the only person I've slept with in months."

Two heads peered around a shelf of baked beans after hearing the latest development but one growl from Ash had them scurrying away in fright.

"Slept, Scribbs, as in falling asleep in the same general vicinity, not as in baby-making rumpy-pumpy." Ash let out a big breath and tried to hold back the tension headache she knew was building behind her eyes. "And even if we had ... done more than sleep, I still couldn't be the father." After a quick check to make sure the aisle was still clear Ash pointed vaguely in the direction of her navel. "I don't have the equipment."

"Equipment or not, it's still yours."

"It is not!" Ash would have stomped her foot but she had rules against public displays of childishness. "You're obviously suffering from some sort of delusion brought on by stress."

"I am not stressed!" Scribbs' screech echoed down the aisle and guaranteed them another five minutes of uninterrupted squabbling. "I'm hormonal, pregnant and frustrated. Not necessarily in that order."

"This is ridiculous, I can't talk to you when you're in one of your moods." Ash started to move off but Scribbs grabbed hold of her arm and began pulling her in the opposite direction. "Scribbs, what are you doing? You're making a scene!"

Scribbs didn't stop moving until their travelling side-show had crossed the shop and come to rest beside a shelf containing a spectacular array of pregnancy test kits. "I'm going to prove it to you."

"You're mad," Ash muttered, "totally and utterly bonkers."

After checking several different boxes Scribbs declared one the winner and propelled them both towards the checkout. She might have to wait until the kid was born for the paternity test but Scribbs was determined to at least prove one of her assertions before the night was out. "You've got to promise me," she said, "that if this proves I'm pregnant, you'll at least entertain the possibility that you might be the co-parent."

"Sure, why not, just because it's biologically impossible it doesn't mean it can't happen, right?" Ash's sarcasm was met with watery eyes and suddenly the terse inspector felt mean for raining on her friend's delusional parade. "Okay, if you are pregnant, I'll give it some thought." Scribbs' smile brought one of equal wattage to Ash's face, before a suspicion slowly formed in the back of her mind. "You're not just saying this to get me into bed, are you?"

"No," Scribbs scoffed. "I mean we'll have to shag, obviously, but that's not the issue."

"What do you mean 'we'll have to shag'? Is it the second step in some weird lesbian pregnancy ritual no one told me about?"

The checkout girl looked at the two women as if they'd just beamed in from outer space and offered her the choice of pink or blue anal probes.

"Don't be daft." Scribbs paid for their shopping and quickly ushered Ash towards the door and away from prying ears and out of shape security guards. "I just refuse to have a kid with someone I haven't shagged." She shivered. "Far too Virgin Mary."

Ash didn't say anything more until they were safely in the car and halfway to her flat. "We'll have to get married."

The tires hit the kerb and jolted Scribbs out of her shock. "Excuse me?"

"A civil union or whatever they call it." Ash looked serious, a fact Scribbs found rather terrifying. "I know it might seem old fashioned to you, but I think a child needs that sort of stability."

"So you're... Proposing?"

"Yes." Ash's sane inner voice pointed out that she didn't for one second believe that Scribbs was pregnant with her child and therefore there was absolutely no reason to propose to a woman she'd never even kissed, but that side was promptly ignored by the rest of her body that was doing cartwheels and forming a dodgy looking Mexican wave. "I'm asking you to marry me."

The car overshot its parking place and came to a screeching halt in the middle of the communal garden outside Ash's block of flats. Neither woman inside the car noticed.

Scribbs smiled. "Yeah, okay, I'll marry you."

Ash wanted to point out that the word 'okay' really had no place in an acceptance of marriage but she held her tongue and mentally assigned herself the task of handling all their child's English lessons. "Good."

"Good."

Scribbs' smile threatened to burst her face, so Ash did the only thing she could think of to save serious injury, she leant forward and pressed her lips hungrily to her fiancee's. Both their hands unconsciously coming to rest against the taut stomach beneath which slept their unborn child.

FF: A Lift to the Wedding

ralst — Wed, 12 Sep 2007 17:27:16 GMT

Fandom: Voyager
Pairing: B'Elanna/Seven
A/N: A response to P&P's turbo-centric affair and an attempt to write something without relying on dialogue. Not beta'd.

Seven had never attended a wedding, but she very much doubted that she was meant to be kissing the bride-to-be in a stalled turbolift, two floors below where the entire senior staff were gathered to celebrate the nuptials. Not that she minded. B'Elanna had always managed to inject a little excitement into her day, usually via a well placed barb or heated argument, and she had certainly succeeded on this occassion. She just wondered if she was meant to be enjoying it or, perhaps, putting up some form of resistance and reminding the woman currently suctioned to her lips, that she was meant to be plighting her troth to the ship's helmsman.

B'Elanna's hands continued to wander as her lips and tongue fought a pleasant duel with Seven's own. The former Borg's grasp on the intricacies of interpersonal relationships was sketchy to say the least, but she felt it incumbent upon her to return the fervour and heat with which she was being gifted. Therefore it was only moments before clothes started to pile up on the floor and skin was lavished with the kind of attention normally reserved for the bedroom or brothel.

Ten minutes after their little excursion into the physically enticing, B'Elanna's comm. badge chirped to life and demanded her attention. She ignored it. The second call carried with it the captain's voice and a sense of urgency wasted on the engineer, who was far too busy peeling the biosuit from Seven's lengthy frame. A short pause, during which the former Borg discovered that physical sensations were anything but irrelevant, was broken by the squawk of Seven's communicator and Tom's harried voice.

B'Elanna's brow furrowed in annoyance but the feel of Seven's tongue circling the delicate skin below her ear, soon blocked out any other thoughts, except the need to reciprocate and taste, once again, the metallic warmth of the starburst implant at Seven's neck.

The tingling sensation of the transporters pulled at Seven's body but before she could curse the end of her newly awakened life, B'Elanna grunted an abrupt command and the sensation ceased, to be replaced by a tingling of an entirely different kind. Seven would have commented on the ingenuity of B'Elanna's actions but she had lost her voice to a strangled sob that left her body trembling in the wake of her release.

Stretched out on the floor of a turbolift, her arms slick with the sweat of desire as they curled around Seven's body, wasn't quite how B'Elanna envisioned her wedding day. If she had, she would have agreed to marry Tom years ago, or at least the second Seven stepped out of her alcove and bestowed on her the first of many condescending looks. She nuzzled closer, her lips trailing delicately across the skin of Seven's back, until she reached the swanlike curve of her porcelain neck.

She smelt the rich aroma of their sex mixed with the unique scent that she's always associated with Seven. It had been that scent which started the day's excitement; the close proximity making it impossible for B'Elanna to ignore what she'd always wanted, even as her conscience insisted she was doing something unforgivable. She ignored that thought, once again, and sunk her teeth into the smooth skin of Seven's cheek.

It might not have been the wedding everyone else was expecting, but lying there on the floor of the turbolift, B'Elanna fulfilled her promise to end the day as a married woman.

FF: Basement Bette

ralst — Mon, 10 Sep 2007 03:25:09 GMT

Fandoms: Jane Bond/The L Word
Pairing: Jane/Bette
A/N: This story is in response to P&P's turbo-centric affair and my question about characters over 40.
Warning: This has not been beta'd. Read at your own risk.

Bette Porter was in a foul mood. Jody had stormed out on her that morning, following a misunderstanding over her lingering feelings for Tina, and then later that afternoon she'd had a shouting match with Tina after she'd accidentally slept with her, again, without breaking up with her other girlfriend. Now, to make matters worse, she was stuck in the college's basement with some woman who reminded her far too much of Helena at her most seductive.

"Now isn't this romantic," Jane drawled. "Just the two of us, alone in the dark."

Bette would write to the head of the college to complain, most forcefully, about the state of the locks on their lower basements; there was absolutely no logical reason for a storage area to have a self-locking device. "Who are you?"

"My name's Bond, Jane Bond."

The condescending look Bette bestowed on the other woman was one of her best, she was only sorry that the poor lighting had diffused some of its effect. "I think someone's seen too many James Bond movies."

Jane felt the hairs at the back of her neck stand to attention. "You know my father?"

She's even more deranged than Jenny, Bette thought, unless, "Did Helena put you up to this?" It wasn't really Helena's style but she'd been spending so much time with Alice lately that Bette couldn't overlook the possibility.

Jane had known quite a few Helenas over the years but none of them had been responsible for her little jaunt to California. "I'm here to confer with Professor Graldise on a matter of utmost importance."

"She died last week." Bette's suspicions were growing by the second. "Who are you, really?"

"Jane Bond." Most spies liked to assume different guises when they were working but the Bonds had always found that their name carried a certain amount of weight in the criminal world and, unless absolutely necessary, they hated to part with it. "And you are?"

"Bette Porter, I'm the dean of -"

"Ah, yes, Ms Porter." Even in the semi-darkness Bette could detect the gleam in Jane's eyes. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Such as?"

"That you're a woman of principle, who's a little too pigheaded for her own good," Jane began. "Not to mention outspoken and utterly gorgeous."

Bette planned to find whoever was talking about her and have their lips seal together with super-glue. She was not pigheaded, she just knew when she was right, and it was hardly her fault if she was right most of the time. "Do you have a cell phone?" She decided to change the subject. "I've left mine in my office, but if I could borrow yours for a second I can have James come down and let us out."

"My mobile's in the car." Jane looked far too happy. "So, I guess we'll just have to keep each other amused until someone arrives to check on the collection tomorrow."

Bette couldn't stay locked in the basement all night; Jody would throw a fit if she wasn't home in time for dinner, and she'd promised Tina that she'd pop over to her place on the way home to discuss the brochures they'd received from Angelica's top three pre-schools, not to mention the make-up sex they always indulged in after one of the not-infrequent rows. "You have to get us out of here."

"Why the rush?" One of the other things Jane had heard about Ms Porter was her love of the ladies, and considering her flight home wasn't until noon the next day, she was in no hurry to leave. "There's a certain survivalist charm to being locked away together, don't you think?"

"No." Jane was extremely attractive, and her resemblance to Helena did add a certain wicked appeal, but Bette already had more than enough on her plate. "We need to get out of here."

"I suppose some women just aren't into commitment free fun," Jane sighed, in a tone she knew to be irresistible.

Bette felt her knees go weak at the tone. "Commitment free?" Not that she would ever contemplate cheating on Jody, at least with anyone other than Tina, but it had been such a long time since she'd been able to throw caution to the wind and simply ravish another woman, without it turning into some melodramatic opera, that she was sorely tempted. "Are you sure Helena didn't put you up to this?"

"I'm sure."

It was madness, total and utter madness. "Take off your clothes," she ordered.

Jane smiled, before turning to pin the other woman against the wall. "No, Ms Porter, you take off yours."

Short fic promts thingie

ralst — Wed, 29 Aug 2007 02:25:59 GMT

Mostly I wanted to see how my new icon looks against the green, but I did manage to come up with a pertinent question to make the post purposeful.

Is there a specific formula - prompts or number of prompts - used for those snapshot style story series? I'm trying to think of an example, but my mind's gone blank. Hopefully someone knows what I'm on about.

Opinions sought

ralst — Mon, 27 Aug 2007 18:31:43 GMT

As I've no doubt mentioned, the site is coming up to its 5,000th story - by my estimation, some time during the latter half of November - and I've been thinking about ways to celebrate that. Hence the questions.

1. Does it need celebrating?

I have a tendency to want to celebrate everything, so I'm not the best judge, and looking at the stats every update has probably given me a false sense of their importance.

If indeed we do decide to celebrate:

2. How?

Ficathons and challenges can have mixed results, and it's not easy to gauge the response before the fact (I never would have guessed my zombie fics would have led to a tour of the femslash world). So is there a better alternative?

Something I have always wanted to do, was an update that included at least one entry for every main fandom (those with their own page), and even an entry for every major pairing in that fandom if there's more than one. Now at the moment there are 45 fandoms (46 when Scrubs gets its own page - soon, I hope), three of which haven't had a single entry this year. So is it pie in the sky to think this is possible? Is there any way to ensure or check that it's done?

Basically, I'd like for the update that contains the 5,000th story to be the biggest update in P&P history, with a story to satisfy every single person's fandom/pairing desires (not including squicks).

Ideally I'd also like them to be new, never before posted (including to the site's lj community), stories, videos or graphics.

Personally I could probably write something for four of the fandoms, but that still leaves over forty to go. Am I clutching at straws?

3. What about extras?

Stories are, obviously, the cornerstone of the site and proposed update, but is there anything more we could do? Possibly something that celebrates the multi-fandom nature of the site?

FF: Mommy Dearest

ralst — Mon, 27 Aug 2007 04:24:03 GMT

Fandom: Murder in Suburbia
Pairing: Ash/Scribbs
A/N: It's nearly half five in the morning and I'm surfing the big insomnia mind fatigue wave. So I doubt this makes sense. Actually, I doubt this is in English. It's just a bit of free association drivel.

Ash liked children. She did. They were small people who had yet to learn the intricacies of wife-swapping or the right dose of sleeping pills to administer so your unsuspecting spouse was kept in a semi-coma while you cavorted with the nubile next door neighbour and squandered the life savings. They were innocent. Sweet. Cherubic.

"You can ease back on the false smile," Scribbs whispered. "The little devils have gone."

"I don't know what you mean." With a subtle stretch of her jaw, Ash realigned her facial muscles. "I love children."

"No you don't."

"Yes I do." She took out her handkerchief to wipe away the stain of child fingers from the desk. "They're innocent. Sweet -"

"Cherubic, I know." Scribbs looked down the corridor in the direction of the little angels. "I think that ginger haired one spat in my coffee cup."

Ash looked nauseous. "I'm sure you're mistaken."

"There was a definite phlegmy noise." The cup in question was thrust in Ash's face. "What do you think?"

With a sudden burst of speed, Ash excused herself from the desk and hid next to one of the filing cabinets. Not that she'd consider it hiding; she needed a file that was all, a very important file. The whole case could depend on it.

"What are you looking for?"

"Papers." She brandished a file. "It's called police work."

Canting her head to the side, Scribbs read the label on the file. "I think you'll find it's called the tea roster."

"I know that!" The file was stuffed back into the drawer. "We've wasted enough time already today, I think we should -"

"You thought it was a waste of time?" Scribbs again looked in the direction the children had departed. "I thought you loved children?"

"I do."

"So long as they don't come to work?"

"A police station really isn't the place."

"That's true." The cup waved lazily in Scribbs' hand; her thoughts deceptively free of sarcastic rejoinders and subterfuge. "But I suppose when they start calling you 'mummy', they'll be here all the time."

Ash's jaw twitched.

"What with their dad having such unpredictable hours, and the station being near the school, and all."

The thought of chocolate stained faces grinning at her from the other side of the desk while she tried to work, frayed on Ash's last nerve; it was bad enough when Scribbs did it, she couldn't face the same from two miniature people.

"Mummy Ash, it's got quite a ring to it."

Ash's temper rose, along with her blood pressure. "I will not be called Mummy Ash."

"Mommy Dearest?"

"Scribbs!"

"What I could never figure out was if she didn't want them to use wire coat hangers, why did she buy them in the first place?" She waited several seconds for Ash to answer the non-sequitur, but when she didn't, Scribbs asked, "I mean, would you buy your kids dodgy hangers?"

"They are not my kids!"

All further conversation on the subject was cut short when Ash picked up Scribbs' mug, threw it in the bin, and stormed out of the building. Naturally, Scribbs gave chase.

"Your kids, step-kids, it's all the same." Scribbs decided not to take the door slammed in her face personally. "Once you and Keith tie the knot, they're going to be all yours," she continued, alighting into the car park.

Ash stopped three feet from the car, her back rigid and a look on her face that could sour milk in the udder. "I am not their mother."

"No need to panic, I'm sure the whole motherhood thing's a piece of cake once you get started." Scribbs opened the car door and waited patiently for Ash to unwind enough to make it the three paces to the vehicle. "And you've only got them until they're eighteen."

Ash looked like she was going to be sick.

"And, I'm sure the ginger one will have outgrown the whole spitting in cups thing by then."

Keith answered his mobile after twenty rings. He finally got off the phone after his fiftieth plea.

Ash turned to her partner. "Keith and I have decided to call it a day."

"Really?"

"We were growing in different directions."

"That's a shame."

"I'm sure we'll remain good friends."

"You could baby-sit."

With slow deliberation, Ash turned to glower at her partner. "Don't think I don't know what you were doing."

"Me?"

"Just because I've split up with Keith doesn't mean we're getting back together."

"I'm relieved to hear it."

"What we had is over."

"Dead and buried."

"We both agreed to move on and see other people."

"People with kids," said Scribbs.

The twitch returned to Ash's jaw. "Dating colleagues is unprofessional. We agreed."

"Highly unprofessional." Scribbs reached into her inside pocket and withdrew a lollipop. "Still, at least with me, you knew you were guaranteed adult conversation."

The look of childish glee on Scribbs' face was too much. "Stop the car!"

"What?"

"Stop the car."

It had taken Ash two months to find the perfect candidate for her next boyfriend. Eight and a half weeks of listening to Scribbs describe all the great sex she was having with her new, and temporary, boyfriends. A sixth of a year convincing herself that she'd made the right decision when she'd broken things off with Scribbs. All ruined in one afternoon, just because her so-called partner was a childish, inconsiderate, moronic little twerp who looked far too sexy sucking a lollipop for it to be legal.

"Ash?"

"You need to promise me no kids."

"What?"

"No nephews. No nieces. No pitter-patter of tiny feet."

With a shrug, Scribbs said, "Okay."

"No sex talk in the office."

"Oh," she whined.

"Scribbs!"

"Okay, okay, no sex talk."

"And no trying to corner me in the ladies' loos."

"You're taking all the fun out of it."

"Promise."

"I promise."

Ash knew that Scribbs wouldn't keep her promises just as she hadn't kept them the last three times they broke up and got back together. There would come a day when something Ash did, however innocent, would set off a little bell in Scribbs' tiny mind, and she'd feel compelled to try and steal a kiss in the locker room. It was inevitable. Just as inevitable as her lies about other partners and Ash's choice of the absolute worst date to take her place. Games played to deny the obvious; that they belonged together.

"How about sex in the car?"

"Only if you're wearing a seat belt."

FF: A Match Made in Larkhall

ralst — Sat, 25 Aug 2007 00:34:08 GMT

Fandom: Bad Girls
Pairing: Nikki/Helen
A/N: I was just trying to get used to writing these two again. So it's rather pointless and in dire need of a beta. Props to Sarah Dreher's 'Stoner McTavish' for the first line.

"I know what you need," said Yvonne.

"What?" It was cold in the cell. Nikki's skin was puckered and chafed with the memory of coarse soap and frigid water. She snapped open another chapter in her book, the yellowed pages limp with the memory of a lifetime of grubby fingers.

"A shag."

Nikki snorted. "Is that an offer?"

"Only in your dreams, love." Yvonne made herself at home on the foot of Nikki's bed. "But there are plenty out there who'd gladly volunteer."

Nikki grunted. "Kids and junkies," she dismissed, her eyes never leaving the cold confines of her precious book. "I never took you for a Cilla Black wannabe."

"How long's it been?"

"What?"

"Since you had your end away."

"I'm not having this conversation," said Nikki. "Don't slam the door on your way out."

"A year? Two? Three?" Yvonne stretched across and lowered Nikki's book. "So long ago that you've forgotten?"

Nikki shot her a dirty look. "For pity's sake, Yvonne, why don't you go bother one of the screws."

"Where's the challenge in that?"

Nikki let the book drop into her lap. "It's been five months," she said. "And I remember every single moment of it."

"Was is Stewart?" Yvonne asked casually.

"I thought you were leaving."

"She's got that look about her."

Nikki looked up warily. "What look?"

"That look." With a dismissive wave Yvonne reduced sexual identity to little more than a fashion statement. "She never takes her eyes off you."

"Is this conversation going anywhere, because I'm not getting any younger."

"Got a hot date or something?"

"Yvonne."

"Look," Yvonne said. "You're a good looking woman, but if you keep pining away for the one bird in here who you can't have, you'll end your days a dried up old battle-axe like Hollamby."

Nikki's temper flared but she managed to douse the flames. "This conversation is over."

***

Nikki let her tray drop onto the table. "What?" she asked grimly. "Do I have a sign on my back or something?"

Barbara gave her a maternal smile. "Is something the matter, Nikki?"

"Yeah, Nik, is something wrong."

"Something wrong," the two Julies enquired.

Exasperated, Nikki began to shovel the unappetising food into her mouth.

"Morning, Nikki," called a passing blonde.

"Hey Nikki," giggled her bald headed companion.

Nikki pushed her plate away in disgust. "That's the seventh 'hello Nikki' I've had this morning." She looked across the cafeteria towards the leather clad moll holding court on the opposite side of the room. "I know Yvonne's behind this."

"Behind what?"

The teasing smile that accompanied the words caused Nikki's heart to race. "Miss Stewart?"

"Hello Nikki." Helen spared the other women a brief nod of greeting. "So what's Yvonne been up to this time?"

"It's nothing."

"'Von's been playing matchmaker," said Julie Saunders.

"Got all the girls interested," added Julie Johnson.

Barbara readied herself for a quick getaway, afraid that Nikki's next move would be to strangle one of the obvious co-conspirators. She had known the plan was ill-advised the moment she'd heard it, but the boredom of prison life had worn away her common sense, and left her open to the other women's reassurances.

Helen laughed, the sound brittle in its falsehood. "I would never have taken Yvonne for one of Cupid's little helpers."

Nikki ran her hands through her hair. "She's just trying to be funny."

"No, straight up, she wants to help Nikki find someone."

"Yeah," Julie Johnson concurred. "She said Nik's been a moody cow lately 'cause she's not gettin' any."

"I don't think." Barbara tried her best to intervene, but her two friends had grown enthusiastic about their subject.

"That Rita on the Twos is a nice girl."

"Nice girl."

"And she's always got 'er head stuck in a Jackie Collins."

"Be perfect for our Nik."

"Perfect."

Helen could vaguely picture the woman in question; a twenty-something brunette who was serving five years for embezzlement. She was attractive, in an obvious sort of way, but she could hardly picture Nikki being taken in by someone so blatantly interested; because she had no doubt that Rita and half a dozen other women on the wing would be more than interested in becoming Nikki's little friend.

"It's nothing," Nikki insisted.

"A harmless bit of fun," agreed Barbara.

Helen looked towards Yvonne. "If you say so."

***

Helen rapped on the outside of Yvonne's cell, the rhythm just the wrong side of natural. "Can I come in?"

"Can I stop you?"

"Yvonne?"

Yvonne leaned back against the wall, her hands behind her head in a devil-may-care attitude. "Welcome to my humble abode." She indicated the end of the bed. "I'm sorry I can't offer you tea and biscuits, but it's the butler's night off."

"Exactly how bored are you?"

The question was unexpected but Yvonne made sure to give every appearance that she'd known it was coming. "I'm locked up in here twenty-four, seven. What do you think?"

"Is that why you're messing with Nikki?" Helen had planned a more subtle introduction but Yvonne's flippancy had derailed her script. "You're bored, so you're taking it out on her."

Here goes. Yvonne smile predatorily. "I'm not the one playing with Nikki."

"So you deny trying to set her up with women?"

"I didn't say that."

Helen's composure began to slip. "She doesn't need you interfering in her life."

"Is that so?"

"She's perfectly capable of sorting out her own love life." She started to shake inside. "So why don't you just leave her alone."

"Like you do?" All traces of humour drained from Yvonne's face. "I don't know whether you're just some confused dyke playing out her little coming out drama, or another sick bastard looking to get their kicks by taking what's on offer. But you either front up, and see Nikki right, or move out of the way and let someone else make her happy."

Tears stung in the corners of Helen's eyes but she refused to let Yvonne see them fall. She was meant to be the one in control, but prison gates and iron bars couldn't protect her from the truth of Yvonne's words, and she hated her for it.

Without another word, Helen left.

***

"Morning, Nikki."

"Hello, Nikki."

"See you later, Nikki."

"Do you want to watch me play pool, Nikki."

"Evening, Nikki."

And one "Do ya fancy a shag, Nik?" Had all combined to set Nikki's teeth on edge and guarantee that she spent every moment she wasn't in the garden, or eating her meals, locked up in her cell reading something old and heavy going.

"'Er, Nik, 'ave you got a minute?" Julie Saunders asked, having finally tracked the woman down after an afternoon of searching. "Only me and Jue 'ave got something to show you."

Nikki sighed, but as the chances of either Julie propositioning her were slim to none, she decided to indulge her friends' request. "What is it Julie?"

"It's in our cell."

Nikki hoped it wasn't another cat.

Julie led the way to the Threes, purposefully avoiding the areas populated by Nikki-crazed hopefuls, and knocking three times in a prearranged manner. "That's our signal," she explained. "So Jue knows it's me."

Julie Johnson quickly opened the door and stepped aside to make room for Nikki before once again deferring to her shorter friend.

"Nik, we'd like you to meet Rita," said Julie Saunders. "Rite, this is Nikki."

A push to the back prompted Nikki's entrance into the cell, which was soon followed by the Julies' swift exit.

"Hello, Nikki."

Nikki wanted to scream.

"Do you come here often?"

The scream was short in duration but long on pent-up aggression.

"I told ya she'd prefer a blonde," said Julie Saunders, from her hiding place on the other side of the landing.

"Yeah, a blonde," her friend agreed.

***

Helen paused at the entrance to Nikki's cell. She'd had two days to stew on Yvonne's words; and watch the, apparently never ending, stream of single women try and make their move on Nikki. Two days in which she died a little more inside every time she overheard a coquettish 'hello' or witnessed a saucy wink.

"Are you planning on staying out there all day?" asked Nikki. "Only the neighbours will talk."

"I'm sorry. Woolgathering."

Nikki looked her in the eye. "You okay, Helen, you look tired."

"I haven't been sleeping."

Nikki tried not to think about the new doctor and whatever he might be doing to keep Helen entertained into the small hours. Life was so much easier when she could forget the world outside and its hold over the woman standing nervously in her doorway.

"Sit down."

Helen obeyed automatically; her response triggered more by the understanding in Nikki's eyes than the words themselves. "I've been selfish, Nikki."

Nikki froze.

"I've kept you at arms length but refused to make the last cut that would set you free."

"I don't want to be free."

"But don't you see? That's the whole problem. You should be free. Free of this place. Free of me." Helen looked away. "You deserve so much more."

Nikki gripped the edge of her bunk and hoped to God that her world wasn't about to come tumbling down. "But what I want is you."

"I'm not enough."

"You're enough for me."

"For how long? A week. A day. How long until you resent the walls between us? How long until not being able to touch you drives me insane?" The tears that Helen had kept in check for days began to fall. "Being close to you tore me apart, but being away from you is killing me."

"Helen."

"You have the chance at a life in here." She stood to distance herself from Nikki's concerned arms. "Women who can love you openly. Freely."

"Yes," Nikki said. "I could."

The shadow of loss fell across Helen's eyes, her lips trembling as she forced herself to say what was right. "Then you should be with one of them. They can give you what I can't."

"No they can't." Nikki took her place beside Helen, her body rigid with frustration and pain. "If you want me out of your life, Helen, have the decency to tell me straight. Don't try and pretend you're doing this for me, because the only thing I've ever wanted, is to be with you."

Looking up, Helen saw the fury in Nikki's eyes; the cold, hard anger doing more to break down her barriers than all the love and devotion she knew lay within. "I'll make your life a misery."

"That's nothing new."

"And I'll go on and on at you about your appeal."

"I would expect nothing less."

"And insist you keep your nose clean."

"Comes with the job."

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Helen reached out and brought Nikki into her arms. "And tell you 'I love you' when we're in the middle of an argument."

"I'll look forward to every squabble."

Their tears mingled as they came together in a kiss; the last of their new beginnings finally having taken shape.

FF: Ground Zero - England, 11.19a.m.

ralst — Tue, 21 Aug 2007 00:47:13 GMT

Fandom: Jane Bond
Pairing: Jane/F
A/N: Written for the 'Ground Zero' series, part of the 'Vampires, Ghosts and Zombies' challenge - I just wasn't quite ready to say goodbye to the undead.

The Aston Martin swerved across the meridian and ploughed through the throng of lunging undead, clearing a path to the baseball bat wielding woman swearing up a storm. Gravel flew in every direction as Jane applied the breaks, and with a suave grace totally out of place amidst a zombie attack, stepped from the car and introduced herself to the stunned stranger.

"Hello, I'm Bond, Jane Bond." Jane's smile was a perfect mix of arrogant charm and reassurance. "And who might you be?"

The woman's lip trembled, but she rallied valiantly, and promptly threw herself into Jane's arms; her heaving bosom and enticingly placed hands bringing a devilish smile to the spy's lips, before she swept the woman off her feet and unceremoniously threw her into the car.

"Hey!"

Jane's Walther PPK made quick work of the two zombies that had been approaching from behind, but the small handgun was no match for the thirty or so lumbering bodies headed in their direction. "Hold on," she instructed, slamming the door shut and jamming her foot down on the accelerator, sending up a second cloud of gravel and liberally covering the nearest undead with tiny grey flecks, to compliment their ugly grey skin.

The woman looked terrified as they side swiped two more zombies, before heading back onto the motorway, and speeding away from the waking nightmare that had befallen her what felt like a lifetime ago. Taking a moment to calm her nerves, she took her first proper look at her benefactress; lustrous dark hair, flawless skin and a face that spoke of untold wickedness and fun, it was as if she'd been rescued by some advertising executive's idea of a fantasy.

"Are you real?"

Jane laughed. "From the top of my head to the tips of my toes." She laid a reassuring hand on the other woman's knee. "You'll feel better when we get somewhere safe."

"Safe?" Her eyes reflexively turned to the rear window, where any hint of their pursuers had long since vanished. "Nowhere's safe."

"Nonsense." With the flick of a switch the subtle tones of Nat King Cole wafted through the air and brought a smile to Jane's face. She hadn't used this particular seduction technique since the Albanian Ambassador's daughter, and she was anxious to see if it still worked. "Why don't you lower the seat and get a little sleep? I'll wake you if anything of interest happens."

"Sleep! Are you insane? We're on the run from zombies! ZOMBIES for God's sake!"

The Ambassador's daughter had divested herself of her underwear by this point, so either the technique was outdated or the woman was really concerned about these creatures. "Would you rather I put on some Barry White?"

"We're being stalked by creatures from the grave, and you're worried about the background music!"

The Bond manual on dealing with hysterical women stated that the initial response should always be a slap to the face, followed by a) a deep kiss and promise of ravishment b) ravishment c) a toe curling kiss and promise never to ravish or repeat said kiss unless the woman in question betrayed her country/husband/father or d) a shot to the chest.

"Please calm down," Jane tried, having quickly realised that she couldn't administer a good slap without risking a pileup. "I was only trying to lighten the mood."

"Undead creatures," the woman wailed. "Undead!"

"Really, Madam, if you don't stop screeching I'll be forced to reconsider my plans of seduction."

For a second the woman contemplated taking her chances with the zombies. "Do you really think a zombie attack is the ideal time to try and seduce a perfect stranger?" she asked reasonably.

It seemed perfectly natural to Jane. "Life and death situations have always excited my libido," she explained. "I remember this one time in a Serbian prison -"

"You're not an escaped mental patient, are you?"

Jane turned and gave the woman one of her more winning smiles. "No," she drawled. "I'm perfectly sane."

"That's..." Her breathing laboured and eyes dilated, the woman couldn't tear her eyes away from the seductive charm of Jane's smile. It was as if the zombies and impending doom were suddenly secondary to the charming woman beside her. "Are you an enchantress?"

Jane merely smiled as she brought the car to a halt; the zombies could wait, but her pathological need to seduce could not.

FF: Power Cut

ralst — Sat, 18 Aug 2007 23:59:27 GMT

Fandom Murder in Suburbia
Pairing: Ash/Scribbs
A/N 1: This is for atfm. It's not the Sassy fic I intended, but hopefully this bit of fluff will do until that one comes along.
A/N 2: I've just realised it fits in with passion_perfect's theme # 1 too.

"Ash, why don't you just come back to bed?"

The only sound to answer Scribbs' plea was that of the bedroom door closing; the intended bang somewhat hampered by the cushioning effect of the thick carpet Ash had recently had installed. With a weary sigh, Scribbs untangled herself from the sheets and padded after her fleeing friend, not quite sure what had upset her this time, but determined to smooth it over and get some much needed rest.

"Ash?" Scribbs hadn't heard the front door slam, so she was pretty certain that Ash was somewhere in the dark recesses of the flat, she just couldn't see her in all the gloom. "Why's it so dark in here?"

"There's been a power cut." Ash's voice came from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen; its Arctic tones enough to keep the entire contents of the freezer from defrosting.

Although rare, Scribbs didn't see what was so upsetting about a power cut. "Is that why you're in a mood, 'cause the electric's gone out?"

"No." It was always a bad sign when Ash didn't even try to pretend that she wasn't angry. "I think you know why 'I'm in a mood', as you put it."

"I do?" Ash's faith in her powers of observation would normally have delighted Scribbs, but on this occassion she hadn't the foggiest idea what she was going on about. "Can you give me a hint?"

Ash's anger deepened, but her ire had to take a back seat to her curiosity when the moon came out from behind a cloud and bathed the kitchen in muted light. "Scribbs, what are you wearing?"

"Is that the hint?"

"Scribbs." The warning tone was obvious. "What are you wearing?"

"Nothing."

The air stilled. "Nothing?"

"I didn't have ti -"

"You're naked?" Ash closed her eyes and prayed that the power cut would never end. "What if I'd put the lights on?"

"There's a power cut."

"You didn't know that!" She squeezed her eyes tighter. "I could have seen you naked!"

"So?" Scribbs was used to her partner being uptight and controlling but hysterical was a new development. "Is this about what happened earlier?"

"Nothing happened earlier."

Hysterical had obviously made friends with denial and set up home together. "And the moon is made of blue cheese."

"You're babbling Scribbs."

Condescension was a good sign; it meant the real Ash was still alive and well amidst all the irrational denial. "And you're freaking out because we shagged."

"We did not!"

"Okay, okay." Scribbs moved closer to where Ash was skulking in the shadows. "Made love. Is that better?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Whatever you want to call it, we did it." Ash tried to interrupt but Scribbs stepped forward into the moonlight and momentarily derailed her thoughts. "And if you want proof I'm sure the guys over in S.O.C.O. could match your dental records to this bruise I've got on my left boob."

Ash's traitorous eyes had refused to stay shut and therefore she had a clear picture of the bruise in question; not to mention the breast it adorned. "I ... I did that?"

"You don't remember?"

In truth the entire incident was a bit hazy for Ash; not that she didn't recall each and every sensation with vivid clarity, but the exact chronology of events was a mystery. One minute they'd been celebrating a particularly difficult case brought to fruition, and the next she'd been overwhelmed with the taste and feel of Scribbs' skin beneath her lips. She would happily have blamed it on the wine, but the bottle stood unopened on the side, and the only thing she'd been intoxicated with had been Scribbs.

"I'm not usually like that."

"Really?" Scribbs was inordinately please with herself. "Does that mean I bring out your inner beast?"

"Scribbs," Ash warned.

"Ash," Scribbs mimicked, taking her lover's hand, "why don't you just come back to bed?"

Ash looked ready to protest.

"Okay, what are my three rules about sex?" Scribbs asked.

"Rules? You don't have rules."

"One," Scribbs announced, "never apologise for a healthy sex drive."

"Libido," Ash edited.

"Two: never have sex in my parents' house."

"Goes without saying."

"And three: if you're ever lucky enough to make love, rather than just shag, don't be an idiot and turn down a repeat performance when your girlfriend is naked and gagging for it."

"That's hardly a proper rule." Ash's brow crinkled in thought. "Girlfriend?"

"Yes, girlfriend."

"Isn't that a bit presumptuous?"

"No." Scribbs started to lead the way to the bedroom. "You have rules about one night stands, remember? So either I'm your girlfriend or you just broke rule number twenty-three."

Ash followed Scribbs into the bedroom. "I do hate to break the rules."

"Including mine?"

The robe slipped from Ash's shoulders. "Especially yours."

Going Friends Only?

ralst — Fri, 17 Aug 2007 17:36:22 GMT

I've been thinking for a while about making this journal friends only, but I'm not quite certain about the protocol.

I'm sure a number of people friended me to learn about P&P, but that will now be covered by passion_perfect (mostly), while this will revert to being more of a private journal, with any stories etc. left unlocked and cross-posted to the comm.

So on Sunday I'm going to clear my journal of friends - except for frequent posters - and set all future entries to friends-only. If you'd like to stay on the friends list, just comment to this and I'll make sure not to un-tick your box (so long as you're not a troll *g*), but if you'd rather not have my ramblings clutter up your f-list, this is the perfect opportunity to escape.

Does that sound about right?

Now I just need to get a Friends Only banner.

FF: Not the Surprise She Was Expecting

ralst — Mon, 13 Aug 2007 15:01:44 GMT

Fandom: The Facts of Life
Pairing: Jo/Blair
A/N: For darandkerry.

Ever since the disaster that was her twenty-first birthday party, Blair had taken great pains to ensure that she was surprised with exactly the right kind of party from then on. No more old ladies with ukuleles and Jo dressed in a rabbit suit, although the latter had at least been good for a laugh, from that moment on she'd been determined to have nothing but sophistication and elegance surround the celebration of her birth. That was why she really couldn't understand how she'd ended up here, in a police cell, when she should have been out painting the city a subtle shade of rose.

As always, it had been Jo's fault. Just as it had been twenty years earlier, when they'd been hauled into the slammer for underage drinking, and her life had been irrevocably changed. It was as if the woman had been put on the planet with the sole intention of disrupting Blair's perfectly, perfect life, and forcing her to associated with the underbelly of society.

"Wha'cha in for?" Her cell-mate asked, a thick plume of smoke escaping her lips with each guttural sound, and marking her as a definite member of said underbelly.

"It's all a misunderstanding," Blair assured her. "I shouldn't be here."

"Me either." The woman stepped closer. "The cops set me up."

"You too?" Blair had no idea the police were so corrupt, but if they could arrest 'Blair Warner' there was no telling how low they'd stoop. "Was it a dark haired detective by the name of Bonner?"

"Huh?"

"Warner!" Was shouted from outside the cell, and before Blair could say a proper farewell to her companion, she was ushered into a tiny interview room and left to wait.

Ten minutes later a tense and aggrieved looking Jo entered the room and took her place on the opposite side of the table. "Blair."

Blair was on her feet in seconds. "Don't you 'Blair' me, Jo Polniaczek, get me out of here!"

"That's Detective Bonner," Jo corrected. "Now sit down before you wear a hole in the lino."

"I will not -"

"Sit!" Blair sat. "You've got two choices here Blair, you can tell me the truth, or you can spend the rest of your life locked up."

"I want to see my lawyer."

"Ain't gonna happen." The last thing Jo needed was for some overpriced Harvard boy to come along a spoil things. "Spill."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Blair said honestly.

"Sure you do, Princess, now you can either tell me now, or later, but believe you me, you're gonna tell me everything." Jo had perfected her interview technique by watching hour after hour of Hill Street Blues, and she could already tell that Blair was weakening. "Who's Dickie McSweeney?"

"Dickie? Is he in some kind of trouble?"

"I'll ask the questions."

"Really, Jo, there's no need for that tone." She crossed her arms and sent a silent 'turn blue' in Jo's direction.

"I'm askin' ya for the last time; who's Dickie McSweeney?"

The fire in Jo's eyes was all too familiar and Blair decided that she'd better do what she was told; she could make Jo pay for it later. "He's a member of the board."

"Of Warner Industries?"

"Of course." Blair rolled her eyes as the foolishness of the impoverished. "He took over the post last year when his father passed on."

"His old man croaked? Was it natural causes?"

"He had a heart-attack on the ninth tee."

It could have been chemically induced but, for the moment, Jo was willing to let it slide. "Go on."

"That's it. Old Mr. McSweeney died and Dickie took his place." The death notice had been in the New York Times, so Blair really didn't understand Jo's scepticism.

"And now you're marrying him," Jo sighed.

"And now I'm..." Blair stopped in mid-repeat. "Marrying him? Him who?"

"McSweeney."

"Blair McSweeney?" She pulled an unbecoming face. "Mrs. Dickie McSweeney? Are you mad? That's almost as bad as Blair Polniaczek." There was a second's pause. "Not that I ever tried out the name."

"Come on, Blair, I know you two are getting hitched." Jo leaned across the desk, in her best intimidation pose. "Nat and Tootie told me everything."

"Then they're obviously deranged."

"How about the manager of the Russian Tea Room, is he nuts too? Only he's pretty sure the Warner/McSweeney party will be having their big wingding at his play in a few hours."

"The Tea Room." Blair's excitement quickly waned. "That was meant to be a surprise," she chastised. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to arrange for other people to arrange the perfect surprise?"

"You trying to tell me you didn't know nothing about this party?"

"Of course I knew about it! It's my surprise birthday party, I practically organised the whole thing."

Jo had worked on fraud cases that were less complex. "So Dickie is surprising you with a wedding for your birthday, that you organised?"

"What wedding?"

"To Dickie."

"I'm not marrying Dickie." For the first time Blair realised that even if she were marrying Dickie, which she wasn't, it still wasn't a police affair. "Why am I here?"

"To answer questions."

"About a wedding I'm not having?"

"Says you."

"That's it, I'm not saying another word until I see my lawyer." Blair made a zipping motion across her mouth before throwing away the imaginary key. "Not a word."

Jo waited five minutes.

"I'll be late for my party if you don't hurry up!"

"I thought you weren't talking?"

Blair scowled and went back to giving Jo the silent treatment.

"So how long have you and Dickie been dating?"

"We're not dating!" Blair cursed her own inability to keep quiet. "He has hair coming out of his ears."

That piece of information gave Jo pause. She knew Blair wasn't the superficial snob she appeared to be, but she wasn't Mother Teresa either, and hairy lugs weren't something she'd contemplate outside of royalty. "Is he a Duke or something?"

"No." That was it. Blair didn't plan to say another word to Jo for as long as they both lived. She didn't care how difficult it made their reunions, or how much flack she took from the others. That was it!

"So you're really not gettin' married?"

Blair shook her head in the negative.

"Nat and Tootie lied to me?"

Blair nodded; she'd sort out Nat and Dorothy later.

"I haven't lost ya?"

Blair wasn't quite sure she knew a head movement that would adequately answer that question; mainly because she wasn't quite sure what the question meant. "Lost me?"

Jo shrugged. "To someone else."

"You had me arrested and hauled into a smelly police cell because you thought you were losing me to someone else?"

Jo waved goodbye to her pension. "Yeah."

"That," said Blair, "is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me." She waited a moment for a look of hope to light Jo's face. "I'm going to kill you."

True to her words, Blair practically jumped from her chair, her hands encircling Jo's throat in a choking position, that rapidly changed to enable her to bring the other woman's lips to within kissing distance of her own.

"But first..." As Blair lips met Jo's, she decided that being truly surprised on her birthday wasn't such a bad thing after all.

FF: Shakespeare and Balloons

ralst — Mon, 13 Aug 2007 13:19:33 GMT

Fandom: Murder in Suburbia
Pairing: Ash/Scribbs
A/N: Being somewhat hopeless when it comes to dates, it wasn't until I took a look at my f-list this morning that I realised it was darandkerry's birthday. So apologies for the obvious haste of this story, but a big happy birthday to you!

Ash was in purgatory. She had bought Scribbs' birthday present in June, two months before the blessed event, after overhearing her friend discuss a hitherto unknown love of sixteenth century literature with the boss. The gift was ornate, without being fancy, and although somewhat removed from Scribbs' usual decor, it would make a pleasing addition to anybody's library. Everyone, that is, except Scribbs, her Philistine of a colleague.

Gently tracing the edge of the book through the thick wrapping paper, Ash contemplated giving it to Scribbs anyway, despite what she'd just learned. So what if the Neanderthal detested William Shakespeare, and had actually been discussing his sister - Ash was still a little hazy on the details - it was still a beautiful book. And the story was timeless; murder, madness and storms, it was right up Scribbs' alley.

"She'll hate it," Ash decided, opening her drawer and hiding the gift under the Johanssen file.

"Hate what?" Scribbs asked, scaring her partner half to death and earning a glare of doom in return. "Did I make you jump?"

The question was posed in far too cavalier a manner for Ash's liking, so she decided to ignore it, and Scribbs. Only it was somewhat impossible to ignore a grown woman wearing a fake tiara and carrying balloons. "You do realise you're a work?" she asked, pointing at the largest balloon, which had emblazoned on its side the words 'Birthday Babe'.

Scribbs' smile was pure childish glee. "They were a present from the blokes in Traffic." She pointed to the tiara. "This I got from Mandy and Sasha, and..." Juggling the balloons, she reached inside the waistband of her jeans and began tugging at her underwear. "This was a present from the boss."

Ash took a second, disbelieving, look at the 'Count Dukula' festooned undergarments Scribbs was attempting to display. "He bought you underwear?"

"Boxer shorts and matching socks." Scribbs sounded so enthusiastic it was sickening. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find 'Count Dukula' undies?"

Ash could honestly say she didn't. "He bought you underwear," she repeated, hoping she could impart the impropriety of the act to her friend.

Scribbs' shrug was as insolent as ever. "It's not as if he bought me a silk teddy and garter belt." She again tugged at her underwear. "Count Dukula!"

And this was the woman who Ash had presumed would appreciate the depth and sophistication of King Lear, she was obviously mad. "If you're quite finished giving yourself a wedgie, I suggest we get back to work."

Scribbs pouted, inbetween tying the balloons to her chair and artfully placing the tiara atop her computer monitor, but eventually settled down to work. Ash was relieved, but knew it wouldn't last. Ten minutes later, Scribbs began using her pencil to tap out Happy Birthday to Me on the side of her coffee mug.

"Scribbs," Ash warned. "I'm trying to concentrate."

"Sorry."

Fifteen minutes after that, the humming began.

"Scribbs!"

"Sorry." Scribbs started fiddling with the string holding the balloons to her chair. "Do they look straight to you?"

"Yes."

"You didn't even look."

Ash looked up at the garish items in questions, none of which were in the vicinity of straight. "They're fine."

"They're not too much?"

"Not if you're five."

Scribbs' face fell.

"I'm sorry, Scribbs, they look very nice." Her lack of a suitable gift was making Ash churlish, and she didn't want to risk ruining her friend's day because of her bad mood. "I haven't got you a present," she finally admitted. "Sorry."

"S'okay."

"No it's not." Ash hated the woebegone look on her friend's face. "But it's all your fault!"

"My fault? How's it my fault that you couldn't be bothered to get me a present?"

"Couldn't be bothered!" Ash reached in her drawer and withdrew the book, before tossing it at Scribbs. "I searched for weeks to find that thing. Weeks! And what sort of thanks do I get?"

Scribbs had stopped listening and started ripping the second the present hit her side of the desk. Ash was right about one thing, when it came to birthdays, she really was no better than a five year old. Once the paper had been shredded, Scribbs was left looking at the ornate cover of King Lear. "A book?"

"I know it's not..."

"You bought me a book?" The smile on Scribbs' face threatened to split her face in two. "A real book."

"I realise it's not what you..."

"This is the best present ever!"

Ash waited for the sarcastic comment that was sure to follow Scribbs' last statement, but none materialised. "You really like it?"

"I love it." Scribbs was slowly turning the pages, and marvelling at the craftsmanship of the leather binding. "No one's ever bought me something like this before."

"I thought ... You like Shakespeare?"

"God, no, he's a pompous twat," Scribbs dismissed.

"But..?" Ash was more confused than ever. "It's King Lear."

"Uh huh."

"By Shakespeare."

"I know, I did it for my A-levels." Scribbs cleared a space in the centre of her desk to place the book. "All madness, scheming daughters and hubris; dullest book on the planet."

"It's a classic!" Ash stopped the building tirade, and finally gave voice to her confusion. "If you don't like Shakespeare and think King Lear is dull, why are you so happy about your present?"

"It's a proper grown up book," Scribbs explained, as if it was obvious. "It means you take me seriously."

"It does?"

"Yes." Scribbs ran her hand along the leather. "It's the second best gift you could have given me."

"It is?" Ash felt proud of herself and half inclined to ditch the paperwork and take her friend for a celebratory meal in the canteen. "What would have been the best?"

Scribbs' smile became wistful. "What you gave me last year."

"A subscription to National Geographic?"

"No, the other thing you gave me." Ash looked lost. "After the party..." The confusion hadn't waned. "Up against the coat rack..." A spark of recognition. "Your hands down my -"

"I was drunk."

"Not that drunk."

"It was just a ..." She lowered her voice. "Birthday kiss."

"And the rest."

Ash's entire face had turned purple and she was finding it increasingly difficult to breath. "I didn't think you remembered."

"I'm hardly likely to forget something like that." Scribbs had tried mentioning it on several occasions but whenever it arose, Ash turned pale and changed the subject. "It was the best birthday I'd ever had."

Ash tried desperately to think of a way to return the conversation to talk about books and Shakespeare but her traitorous mind was too busy remembering exactly what she had given Scribbs last year, to offer much in the way of suggestions. It was a losing battle, really, each year they'd come closer and closer to doing something they wouldn't be able to brush under the carpet; a peck on the lips one Christmas, holding hands during the carol service the next, then the accidental meeting under the mistletoe and more birthday kisses than was entirely normal. It really was time they stopped pretending.

Ash cleared her throat. "I never said the book was your only present, did I?" Not waiting for Scribbs to respond, Ash stood up and started moving towards the exit. "Come on, Scribbs, or your present might just unwrap herself."

As Scribbs scrambled out of her chair, she couldn't help but shout, "Happy Birthday to Me!"

Books

ralst — Wed, 08 Aug 2007 00:48:01 GMT

A couple of people on my f-list have been compiling their book lists for the year, and I'm feeling totally envious. Like them I set myself a specific goal, I think it was fifty books in the year, but unlike them I've been totally unable to make a dent in that number (I've only finished five in the last seven months).

I've started to read dozens of books but, even though I've been enjoying them, the second I set them down, I never bother to pick them up again. I'm not sure why. So I've decided to compile a list of short books - ones I can finish in a single sitting - and hopefully rev up my brain for the longer reads I have waiting.

The only problem is that all my shorter books are rather academic, so any suggestions for shorter (although not short stories) fiction books would be much appreciated.

Books to Read

'A Vindication of the Rights of Woman' by Mary Wollstonecraft

'The Tudors: A Very Short Introduction' by John Guy

'Medieval Britain: A Very Short Introduction' by John Gillingham & Ralph A. Griffiths

'Lost Cities of the Maya' by Claude Baudez and Sydney Picasso

'The Incas: Empire of Blood and Gold' by Carmen Bernand

Story rec

ralst — Tue, 07 Aug 2007 22:19:31 GMT

Following the Evidence by Enginerd
This is a crossover story and response to the recent Academy of Bards Criss-Crossover challenge. Now, being the total OTPer that I am, what I absolutely adored about this fic was that it incorporated so many of my favourite couples; it's predominantly a Sara/Sofia (CSI) story, but there is also a heavy Xena/Gabrielle element, and cameos from a number of other fandoms. It's a fun read.