Diary of a Suburban Squeen

Thing the first: I have somehow managed to plot a 12-book school series allegedly written by Josephine M. Bettany, and then get super invested in the characters. I will be sharing this extensively. I cannot lie.

Thing the second: Remember this time last year, when I was obsessively posting and filling prompts at the Awesome Ladies Ficathon? I have (embarrassingly) only just got round to listening to a podfic that podklb made of my Alice Longbottom fic, blow me bluebell bubbles, that I wrote for a Harry Potter prompt. The podfic is here (download here), and it is SUPERBLY read. Please do listen, because she did a truly smashing job.

Thing the third: Nellie, darling, remember that Bones vid I was going to show you in Dorset, only to be scuppered by the failiness of our internet? This is it. BEST BONES VID EVER.

Bones, security officers
::as requested by pim2005::

Jim’n me’ve got a bet on. Twenty bucks. Agent Booth and Doc Brennan. Cuz, man, it’s gonna happen, sooner or later. The Doc’s pretty clueless, but that’s not gonna last forever. Though how she manages to not get it, I just don’t know. Booth’s all over her, ‘specially when some nutjob has threatened her. Or the Jeffersonian. Or, like, someone with a name that begins with B. Jim says it’s not gonna happen, that they just work together. But then Jim thought Ms Montenegro and Doc Hodgins just worked together. Uh-huh. I know. Jim should just go, like, register himself blind. That’s gonna be a sweet twenty bucks. Plus, once they’re, y’know, doing it, maybe Booth’ll have a better idea of what she’s up to, and not keep calling us every damn day wanting to ‘just check in’ and making sure she’s not been kidnapped or anything crazy.

Don’t think he doesn’t do that. Every day. Clockwork. I tell ya, it’s a relief when he’s working a case with them over here and can check for himself. Now that we’ve got that Golga-whatsit thing in the building, he’s been even worse. Geez, I hope Jim doesn’t let it slip to the Doc. She’d be pretty pissed. Still, Booth’d talk her round. He always can. That kind of a guy. I wonder why her? I mean, she’s pretty hot and all, but, if you ask me, kinda crazy. Though I guess she was nice when she signed her book for me. Ah, whatever. As long as I get my twenty bucks, I’m happy. Hey, gotta go. Phone. Yeah, three guesses who that is.

I really need to get a Bones icon.

Bones and tapping-fingers
::as requested by katie__pillar::

At first, it had annoyed Booth. Really, really annoyed him. He liked Brennan. God’s own truth. OK, she was all kinds of weird, and seemed to have entirely missed the concept of ‘popular culture’, and her insistence that she needed a weapon couldn’t be considered anything but disturbing, but, y’know, that’s people for you. And he liked her. But, jeez, the tapping!

He’d be on the phone with someone, anyone, nothing to do with anything, and there she’d be. Tap tap tap. They’d be on a stake-out and he’s trying to concentrate, and there she’d be. Tap tap tap. He’d be trying to sweet-talk a witness, really bonding with him, getting him to give up more than he thinks he knows, and there she’d be. Tap tap tap.

At first he’d thought, yeah, she knows how annoying it is. He knows his Bones, after all, and she likes to yank his chain sometimes. But he doesn’t think she’s trying to piss him off. So maybe she doesn’t have a clue. He wonders if he should mention it. Y’know. ‘Hey, Bones – the tapping thing. Cut it out.’ But in the end he doesn’t.

For a while, he’s not sure why he’s not doing anything about. Then, and this is kinda weird, Booth thinks, it stops being quite so annoying. And after a while, Booth finds himself almost expecting it. When she’s gone, he misses it. Because it’s tap tap tap, and she’s there.

Bones and popular culture
::as requested by katie__pillar::

The week in the Henderson household went like clockwork, with never a change. Mondays was the A-Team. Tuesdays was Knight Rider. On Wednesdays the girls got their say with Beverley Hills 90210. Thursdays was Star Trek, because Josh, who was nine, insisted, and no-one had the heart to say no to him. Fridays was comedy night, and the kids watched as many sitcoms as they could fit in between dinner and Mrs Henderson despatching them off upstairs to bed, in careful chronological order. Weekends were always weird, because sometimes some of them saw family members, and others went out with friends. There wasn’t much pattern to the weekends, but the weekdays were cast-iron reliable, and the Hendersons knew it and were glad for the security it offered.

But there was one person who remained oblivious to the oil that ran the Henderson household, and it sometimes worried Mrs Henderson, which was silly of her, really. After all, Temperance Brennan was a clever girl, and there wasn’t much doubt, really, that she would get a scholarship, go on to college, and have a good life. But… how normal was it, really, for a sixteen year old girl to spend all her time up in the bedroom she shared with thirteen-year-old Julie, sitting at the scarred desk Mrs Henderson had brought from her parents’ garage? That girl did nothing but work, barely spoke to anyone, barely made eye contact. Sometimes it was like she lived in a different world that had nothing to do with this one.

Mrs Henderson told herself not to worry, because Temperance Brennan was a clever girl who would have a good life. The rest – it didn’t matter so much, surely?

And maybe it didn’t, really. Temperance Brennan was a clever girl, who did win a scholarship, and did go on to college and did have a good life. But she had missed out on the rhythm of the A-Team and Knightrider, of Beverley Hills 90210 and Star Trek, and sometimes she just didn’t know what it all meant.