chaletian: (buffy religion freaky)
A couple of Whedony things to share, both of which have probably appeared on people's flists before now, but if they haven't:

Sugar Shock
Part One :: Part Two :: Part Three
Joss Whedon online comic story. It's ace.

Firefly and Serenity: Defying Gravity
This is genius. Sheer genius.

Compote is already done. Huh. Go rhubarb, with your acidic insides.

Katie has just informed me of *another* thing starting on ITV. Seriously, darlings, what's going on here? Where's the good TV coming from and why is it all on ITV? This is playing with my conception of the universe. And you know I get cross when that happens.
chaletian: (ballet)
Posy the Vampire Ballerina

:: for [ profile] katie__pillar ♥ ::

Buffy hung in the metallic contraption, cursing her luck. The vampire mistress who was responsible for her fate stood before her, dressed in tights, ballet shoes and a shabby white dress.

“I simply can’t let you kill me,” the vampire said calmly. “I’m a dancer, you see.”

“This is Posy Fossil,” said one of her minions, an older man in evening clothes and glasses, his voice hushed and awed.

“Oh, don’t encourage her,” said another vampire, casting a disgusted look at the man. “Look here, Posy, I’ve adapted the chassis and run a current through the… Posy, will you pay attention!”

Posy the Vampire Ballerina was dancing, her face a picture of concentration as she whipped through six fouettés and finished in an arabesque en pointe. After holding the position for a moment, she curtseyed deeply, and turned to the other vampire girl.

“Sorry, Petrova, what were you saying?” she asked vaguely. “I was just remembering something.” Petrova pulled a face.

“Oh, you’re hopeless!” The older man seemed to take exception, and inhaled sharply, starting a long speech on the wonders of Posy Fossil. Petrova broke in half way through, clearly bored.

“Oh, do shut up! Posy, what are we going to do with her?” Posy shrugged, clearly indifferent to Buffy’s fate.

“Can’t we kill her?”

“I s’pose, only I can’t help but feel that Nana wouldn’t be awf’ly pleased.” Posy looked rather surprised.

“But Nana’s dead.” Petrova’s mouth took on a grim line.

“Yes. I know.” She stared pointedly at Posy, who was too busy admiring the arch of her foot to notice. “But I don’t think we should kill her. It’s not… well, cricket, I s’pose.”

“Oh, well, whatever you like,” said Posy, petulantly. “But I want her dress. It’s just perfect for the second act of Giselle.”

(I briefly stole [ profile] xanantha's ballet icon for the purpose...)
chaletian: (b5 ivanova and marcus)
Ivanova and Oz
::as requested by [ profile] bookwormsarah::

AU after season 4 of Buffy; set immediately post-Rising Star of B5.

Oz appears to be in an episode of Star Trek. Huh. It’s pretty cold in the future, and he wraps the blanket that covers around himself. He’s naked underneath. Good thing he’s used to waking up in strange places with no clothes on.

He looks around, taking in the room. Everything shiny, with colourful screens all over the place, not to mention… OK. Aliens. That’s new. Definitely the future then. Although, technically, he was always going to wake up in the future, compared to when he fell asleep. Or lost consciousness. How did he end up in the future with aliens, exactly?

Oz figures he’s in a medical centre or something. It’s a hospital blanket he’s covered with, that much he can tell. Some things don’t change. It’s busy, with people coming and going, and he can sense that this isn’t the common hustle and bustle of an ordinary day. Something unusual has happened. And given that nobody’s paying him any attention, he reckons it’s not him.

Finally, a doctor comes over to him, and checks him over, but brushes off his questions, and tells him to stay in bed. Oz is sleepy, and lets nature take its course. When he wakes up, there’s a woman sitting on the bed next to him. She has long red hair that needs a brush and pale skin, but for all that ranks low down on the resembling-Willow scale that is Oz’s basis for judging women. She has been crying. She notices that Oz is awake, and says merely, “We found you on an abandoned vessel three light years away. You were cryogenically frozen.”

“Oh,” says Oz. The woman laughs, harshly.

“You’ve been frozen for years. Centuries, maybe. Everyone you’ve ever known will be dead by now.”

“Bummer,” says Oz. Way, way in the future then. That’s sort of depressing. He thinks maybe he won’t think about it for a while.

“Don’t you care? The people who loved you… they’ll never know that you’re alive, here, now, still loving them.” Oz thinks about Willow, and Willow not loving him, and her girlfriend.

“All love is unrequited,” he says. The woman starts to cry again. Oz just feels sorta numb.

SDC #16

Apr. 26th, 2007 03:09 pm
chaletian: (buffy british summer)
::as requested by [ profile] allygatorkin::

Faith could never quite imagine dying, which was sorta odd when you thought about the time she had spent good-as-dead in a coma. She knew that she would die, probably sooner rather than later, but she had never quite considered the circumstances. She’d vaguely assumed it would be in battle, and that was that. Not for her the Andrew-like postulating of possible futures.

And now, here it was. The moment of her death. Or should it be The Moment Of Her Death? Was this the kind of thing that deserved capital letters and hushed tones? The last of the original slayers would be gone. Not that anyone would notice. Particularly.

In her dying breath, Faith realised that her life had been wasted on one giant inferiority complex. She wasn’t the one. She would never be the one. And then the potentials were made slayers, and she became even less important. Nothing. Pointless. A waste of everyone’s time. Christ, she was fucked up.

And then she died. And people mourned. But not as many as might had she not been so determined to be only, always, the second best.
chaletian: (buzzcocks reading chantelle)
Title: This Much They Know
Fandom(s): Jericho, Heroes, Buffy
Rating: PG
Notes/Summary: A slightly odd variation on the fic concept here. Three related drabbles, in completely disparate fandoms. Spoilers for Jericho up to 1x13, Heroes for 1xwhatever we're up to, Buffy up to the end.

Gail knows that there’s nothing that can be done. She knows that, really, there’s nothing she can do to change anything. )


He stares at her picture for hours. Claire Bennet. )


They stand there, at the edge of an abyss. Someone makes a joke, because someone always does. )
chaletian: (buffy winner)
::as requested by [ profile] athersgeo::

Dawn had never really decided whether she was real or not. Most of the time, she didn’t even think about it. She just led her life, the same as every other eighteen year old girl (well, not exactly the same), and the fact that she was really a ball of ages old green energy faded from her mind.

She never quite shook it, though. It’s not the sort of thing you can. Maybe it’s not the sort of thing you should. So sometimes, at night, she would lie awake and wonder.

Then, when she was nineteen and at college, Dawn decided to take Philosophy 101. She wasn’t quite sure why, though yes, as her friends pointed out, the professor was a total hottie. But anyway, philosophy. It wasn’t too bad, actually, and she quite enjoyed it.

She read Descartes. At first, she thought it was kinda weird. Then she wondered if Descartes had known more about the whole supernatural underworld thing than he had probably let on, because malicious demons? So her kind of thing. But the thing about philosophy is that it makes you think. And Dawn thought. And she realised that it didn’t matter how she had been made. It didn’t matter what she had been made for. All that mattered was that she was.
chaletian: (cs kill bill)
Title: Mary-Lou... Vampire Slayer?
Author: Liss
Fandom: Buffy/Chalet School
Character(s): Mary-Lou, other
Warnings/Notes: None; 100 words exactly
Status: Complete

She would laugh in the face of danger, she would have no problems fitting in saving the world between French Dictée and a Prefects’ meeting. )
chaletian: (religion freaky)
This was apparently intended as a Jossverse/CS crossover.

Felicity Richardson was in the process of scoring a much-needed hockey goal for the First XI when she felt it. One second, there she was, just normal old Felicity, rather enjoying the hockey game, despite it generally being rather tragic results-wise, as the Lycée Niçoise team was beating the pants off them, and the next, she had hit the hockey ball right through the back of the net and made a sizeable dent in the board beyond it. But the change was in her. She felt different. She felt stronger, faster, more alive.

For the rest of the game, Felicity half-suspected that Miss Benton, the PE mistress, had slipped something strictly verboten into the half-time oranges, but in the changing room later, nobody else seemed to be feeling the same. Most of them were in fact lying about on benches, looking extremely dejected, declaring that they’d rather die than play hockey ever again, and wondering what sort of mug had invented the game in the first place. All in all, just about what you’d expect from losing a rather crucial hockey match by 6 goals to 14.

But the feeling didn’t go away, and Felicity really couldn’t account for it. Plus, she had managed to somehow chuck her plumeau completely out of the window, rather than just airing it, and this, on top of accidentally pulling the door handle off one of the practice room doors, and breaking the drop down white screen when she went to pull the little toggle, had made her rather persona non grata with the staff of the Chalet School.

“You’re a bit of a disaster area at the moment,” pointed out her best friend, Emily. Felicity just groaned, and fell into a chair in the common room. Emily patted her on the shoulder. “That’s OK, let it out. How wild was Matey?”

“Steaming. Possibly literally. Something’s happened, Em.” Emily looked interested.

“Really? What? Don’t tell me whatshername whatshername in Lower IVA has been excluded? I thought she was a shoo-in for it when she set fire to…”

“Not in the school, you idiot! I meant to me. I’ve Changed.” Felicity’s tones were full of foreboding.
chaletian: (getting a divorce)
Found this on the hard drive. No idea where I was going with it: something to do with Wesley, I think.

Nigel Hammond had frequently had mixed feelings about this whole Watcher business. It had struck him, from time to time, that it was potentially rather a risky occupation. This opinion had been validated, a little more completely than he would have wished for, when the Watchers’ Council blew up. A risky occupation indeed. Fortunately for Nigel himself, he had been in Prague, consulting with the National Library about a couple of rather obscure old scrolls, and had thus managed to avoid such an ignominious end.

Now, several months later, the Council was being reborn, led by the legendary Rupert Giles, Maverick Watcher (the ‘Maverick’ went with the name; no-one at the old Watchers’ Council had ever omitted it; it was something of a trial for those remaining to remember *not* to say it). They had makeshift offices in south London (cheaper rent than where they had been, and that did, for the first time, matter), and were slowly building up their library. The old guard, Quentin Travers’ cronies, had refused to have anything to do with the proceedings, and had gone off by themselves. Those who didn’t mind the change in management had remained.

Nigel didn’t much mind one way or the other.
chaletian: (tax reasons)
La. Have just written a story for the Dark Xander fic-a-thon - yay. Haven't written Buffy fic for *years*

‘Don’t Care’ Didn’t Care

Xander Harris didn’t recognise himself in the mirror any more. It wasn’t the superficial differences – though heaven knows there were enough of them to make distinguishing himself from his younger self all too easy. It was something deeper, something in his soul, if he had one. He wouldn’t bet the baby on it.

Except, these days, he might.

the rest )
chaletian: (iron mittens)
Well, this is a bit weird. Crossover. Two worlds. One's the Chalet School. It's weird. Probably won't make sense to most people. But hey, I enjoyed writing it.

Same Time, Same Place

Sometimes the fabric of reality gets a little wrinkled, like it needs a good ironing. And then people talk who really shouldn't be able to.

Conversation #1 )

Conversation #2 )
chaletian: (Default)
All this talk of singing, however, made me want to reminisce happily about the wind-down to SG2005 (I like calling it that: it makes it sound like a proper event with lanyards and t-shirts), when a bunch of us stragglers sat and watched the DVD of the v. fine Buffy musical Once More With Feeling (impressively set up by Nicci, who managed to get the DVD, put it in the DVD player and switch it all on without moving from her supine position on the floor). There was much singing along, and [ profile] katie__pillar and I bopped along singing everything and, in fact, reciting much of the dialogue in between. Speaking of, young Katie, shall I bring my Buffy DVDs along next week and we can have a Buffyfest (in between stripping wallpaper etc)?

June 2016

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