"Chad Michael Murray: serial monogamist and semi-professional douche..."

♥ So, there was the Summer Frolick. And Xanthe allerged. And then Kathye allerged. I am clearly KILLING PEOPLE. Well, not killing, admittedly, with the bit where they’re both alive, but still…

♥ Sunday was spent very placidly (as it would have to be, given how hot it was). We were up late on Saturday because we were both vee restless and didn’t want to go to sleep, so ended up in bed like the two Ronnies, playing the Game (ah, so much better with the Tin of the Game, though to my horror, I realised that Chad was not in the tin! Infamy!). Slept in very late on Sunday (didn’t get up till eleven), pottered on the internet, had a bacon sandwich for lunch, went to return two wooden spoons and the squash to the Guide Hall, then wandered round Sheen for a bit, getting some fruit and yogurt from Waitrose.

♥ Stopped off in Oxfam on the way home, and I got rather annoyed with the girl at the till, who paid absolutely no attention to me while I paid for my books. She was talking to another woman who worked there, and just blanked me completely. I actually ended up saying something, because I was so pissed off. And she came out with the ridiculous “we’re just volunteers” line. WTF? What has that got to do with anything? Just because you’re not being paid doesn’t mean you shouldn’t act in a professional manner. If you’ve made a commitment to keep shop, then that means doing it properly! Rawr!

♥ Chadstock! Chadstock next month!!

♥ Also, France next month, which will be vee nice. There’s nothing like a bit of holiday, sitting round, eating brie, doing nowt. Lovely.

♥ I need to do some laundry. Am running out of knickers.

Return of the Killer Squeenie Drabble Challenge

You know my fandoms, flist: apply them!

So yes, un peu ennuyée. I was thinking, this time around, maybe give me two characters from different fandoms, and I shall attempt some species of crossover.

Also, on an entirely unrelated note, let me vent some spleen against asterisking. If you want to write fuck, write fuck. If you don't want to write fuck, don't write fuck. Don't, for the love of God, write f***, or whatever, because it's just annoying. And that is the end of today's unprovoked rant... *g*

Squeenie Drabble Challenge #19

Ivanova and Oz
::as requested by 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.

Squeenie Drabble Challenge #20

Ianto and Gwensi
::as requested by morganmuffle::

Ianto doesn’t like to say that he’s been in love with Captain Jack Harkness for years. It makes him sound a bit desperate, like. As if his existence is defined by Jack’s. And that’s not the case at all. Sometimes he’ll say that he’s fancied him for years, or that he’s lusted after him for years (and God knows that one’s true enough).

And Jack’s given him the eye enough times, made enough suggestions, touched him often enough. Ianto would give pretty much anything to fall into bed with his boss, shag his brains out, and make him breakfast in the morning.

“Ianto, you don’t have to help me with these.”

“I don’t mind, Gran.”

“Oh, you’re a good boy. Look, here’s me with my friends – Beth and Daisy. You remember your Auntie Beth, don’t you?”

“I do, yes.”

“And look, here’s your grandfather. He died soon after your mother was born; we weren’t together long.” Nor were they married, Ianto had known. He glances at the photograph, and freezes.

Ianto would give pretty much anything to fall into bed with his boss and shag his brains out, but not when his boss is also his grandfather.

Squeenie Drabble Challenge #21

Jake and Dean
::as requested by katie__pillar::

“I don’t like this.” Sam’s voice is positive. Given the way the country is after the bombs, Dean can’t say that he blames him.

“It’ll be fine,” he says reassuringly, nudging his brother with his elbow. “Just don’t antagonize anyone.” A man built like a bear in a plaid shirt gives them both a dirty look. Dean turns to grin at Sam. “Or, y’know, breathe.”

“Gotcha,” says Sam, though he doesn’t look any easier. But the alternator has died on the Impala, and Dean and Sam need to keep moving, cuz there’s nowhere for them to settle down. Rumour had it Black Jack was the place to go for parts, and they can’t afford to leave till they got what they came for. A quick enquiry leads them to a mechanics tent, and Dean joins a bargaining queue. He’s unarmed – they’ve got pretty tight security – and it feels wrong, but needs must when the devil drops a bunch of atomic bombs on you and then proceeds to beat the fuck out of essential engine machinery.

The people in front of him are after parts for a turbine. Most of the people Dean’s come across so far have been so scared they’ve been scary themselves, but this guy – Jake, apparently – is different. Looks more like he knows what he’s doing. He mentions the car, and Jake grins.

“Sweet ride!”

“Oh, she’s my baby.” Sam snickers, and Dean rolls his eyes at Jake. “Brothers,” he offers, by way of explanation. Jake grins understandingly.

They move on, and Dean haggles for the part he needs. Then the atmosphere changes, and the dudes who run the tent go after the kid with Jake. Dean accidentally trips one of them up. Damn shame, but what can you do. He hears later that Jake and his friends broke the fence down getting out. Heh. He liked that guy.

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