But I think this one somehow got ahold of the super secret growth formula that always turned Tweety bird into a mutant canary or I must love geekwriter143 13 times more than I thought I did.

( Under here is my first attempt at Due South Slash Ev-AR Omg! Probably rated Teen for language and innuendo )

*deep breath* So ever since Christmas when myriad69's Dad was tehEvOL and hooked me on another kind of fandom crack put NCIS on the telly and piqued my interest, K and I have been noodling around with the idea of how great it would be if Greg from CSI met Abby from NCIS.

We kept hoping someone would write it; turns out, that someone was me.

( Burn On Big River )

Miles to go and promises to keep. This is one of them. I started this in the summer and am thisclose to finishing, also I promised to post the raunchier parts here on my journal and thus prevent the mods at the Pit of Voles from getting all twitterpated.

This starts out PG and keeps on going like the freakin Engergizer Bunny but eventually it gets very naughty indeed.

Pairing: Greg/Sara

Disclaimer: Oyyez oyyez! This be a work of fanfiction and no profit be intended.

Summary: An insubstantial bit of fluff involving Greg, Sara, corsets, high heels, naughty escapades and the incomparable Bettie Page.

( The Totally True Adventures of Sara Sidle: Pin Up Girl, Chapters The First and Second: Snapshot & She Gives Great Face )

I said once I got a handle on my life I'd start updating with the fic I've been writing. I'm still in full on flail-mode but this is overdue.

I wrote this for the CSI Secret Santa Challenge and seeing as I'll most likely be late with my CSI Smut-a-thon entry I offer this as appeasement.

My very first try at Yo!Bling ( is right under here )

In the "I may not know art but I know what I like..." Dept:

What was up with the cracktacular opening ceremonies for the Olympic Games? Very Felliniesque, well at least the first part was, the second part? From Futurism to the Future? Dude someone at the Italian Ministry for Concocting Olympic Games Opening Ceremonies is on the good shit, because according to them, in the future we'll be ruled by inside-out cockatoos who drive around on Mad Max motorcycles with circus strongmen. That shit is fucked up, yo.

I was watching with my sister and the best part was after I had expressed my disbelief at all this craziness was when she said, "Oh you haven't even seen the spiders yet..."

*boggles*

And a big YAY! to the Women's Hockey Team, You Go Girls! Keep on Kicking Ass and Taking Names! WOOOOOO! *Waves Canada Flag*

Because velocityofsound rocks my world.

I owe her something—even if it’s only crappy badfic—after all the cooler than cool-ass things she’s done for me.

Sara sat on Greg’s inflatable mattress, moodily staring at his hairy toes as he slumbered beside her. It was kind of like sleeping with an orangutan she decided. Limber fun and games for a while but not something she’d ever want long term, diapers not being really her thing. Besides she was getting a little suspicious about all the Men’s Health magazines neatly stacked beside the Jumbo Size bottle of Jergens, that and the fact that Nick was number one on Greg’s speed-dial while she was only number three.

She squared her shoulders with a firm sense of mental resolve, even though it made her look even more rectangular than usual and determined then and there she was going to abandon all her plans to win over Grissom’s affections by sleeping with everyone in the lab—although that one night with Sofia was pretty magical—and move far far away and live a tragic life of quiet yet somehow wistfully noble suffering. People would see her as she went about her work, and say to themselves. “For sure, that there is one woman who is living a life of heartbreaking anguish and yet, look at how she soldiers on like a brave little toaster” and they’d spit contemptuously at some homeless person and hiss, “you think *you* know suffering? Look at her, poor brave broken thing…” And they’d wipe away a single perfect tear.

Yeah, that’s the ticket. Maybe perhaps she’d adopt a child and take up ballroom dancing too. Because everyone knew that was the best way to drown your pain after you’d already tried alcoholism. Only one thing left to do, confront Grissom.

Sara thought she might as well go and do that now, seeing as there was nothing really good on TV anyway because The West Wing sucked so much moose dick this season.

So she walked into his office, being all “Yo. I’ma gonna kick your ass to the curb once and for all aa’ight?" Seriously she was mad hardcore, Brass almost arrested her before he realized who she was. But of course, Grissom took off his glasses and she started crying like a weepy little bitch, because he saw right into her *soul* when he did that.

“I’m leaving!” She snotted through her tears. She thrust yet another leave of absence form towards him, and thanked the retail gods she’d thought to pick those things up in bulk at Costco.

“Sara…” He started, and tilted his head, and she felt her resolve crumbling; if he said the lab needed her that was *so* it, she’d be undone. She hoped there were no plants hidden in his desk.

“No don’t try to argue with me, Griss. We just go around and around on this and you just offer another Final Jeopardy-hard quotation then I get another DUI and I can’t do this anymore. I need to be loved, and I’m going to try my luck with the older, emotionally unavailable crowd in Palm Springs.”

Grissom looked down at his desk, then at a corner of his office, then he regarded his pet spider Horace for a few beats, his gaze rested on Catherine’s tushie for a while, then he just kind of stared off into space, so Sara stepped forward and gently snapped her fingers.

“Griss…hey Griss…it’s your line…” she whispered urgently, “Sorry—that—you—feel—that—way—Sara—but—I—can’t—love—you—like—you—need…remember?” She nodded encouragingly at him.

“No Sara, you’re right. You should go. My time here is almost done anyway…”

And here is where Sara was all Whaaa?? and her heart leapt right out of her chest—until she bent down and put it back in again—because she just knew Grissom had cancer and was dying! Her love for him grew tenfold, which when you factor in the previous balance, plus interest and annuities, coupled with the exchange rate, came out to something like 10X 3004700697500020032. Which is a lot in this market.

“No. It is time I went back home…” Grissom said sadly.

“To California?” Sara went to him, but there was no chalk on his cheek so she had no pretext to touch him so she just kind of stood there awkwardly. “I could go with you! No one should have to die alone!”

Grissom gave her his patented WTF! look and Horace hid because he knew what kind of shitstorm was coming, boy howdy.

“I’m not dying. But my work here among your kind is done.”

“My kind?” And Sara did the cutest little nose-wrinkling frown of bafflement.

“Yes.” Grissom hefted a cooler onto his desk, Sara could tell it was the kind of thing people took with them on long journeys to hold snacks but she had no idea why his seemed to be full of babies.

“Grissom. What’s going on?”

“Walk with me.” He led her by the elbow out of his office into the parking lot. “You see my race has long been baffled by your human emotions, and seeing as those bastard Vulcans have already hogged all the best spots at Starfleet Academy, my superiors sent me here to Las Vegas to learn the secrets behind human sentiment. Also how you can serve an expensive food item like shrimp cocktail at a buffet for only 99 cents, but alas some mysteries prove impenetrable even to one as wise as I…”

“Me.”

What?”

The grammatically correct thing to say is ‘me’, ‘as wise as me’.”

Grissom frowned and briefly considered taking along another “snack” for his flight but decided that, after all this time, and all the sexual tension they’d weathered, actually “eating” Sara would be committing a pun that was too much, even for him. So instead he merely clicked his remote and with a Beep-BOOP! his multidimensional, time folding, interstellar space Winnebago decloaked itself, kind of crushing Ecklie’s car in the process. Then, with a final kiss on her forehead, which he hoped was the epitome of all “what should have been” loving kisses, but was in reality sort of spitty, boarded his ship and blasted off into the starry Vegas night.

Sara stood, tragically slouched, while her tears fell softly to the hard macadam of the parking lot, leaving behind salty trace residue of her infinite sorrow, a sorrow so pure that a bajillion years later a rare species of tree would grow on that exact spot and its beauty and dignified air of profound sadness would draw hundreds from miles around to marvel at the tree and to pick its fruit which tasted rather remarkably like bubblegum but made a pretty good jam for all that.

She stood and slouched as only she could, her adorably kissable belly pooched out slightly over the waistband of her fashionable black lowrider jeans (14.99$ on sale at TJ Max!!) and watched the dwindling trail of Grissom’s spaceship until at last it was a mere speck among the millions of stars and thought to herself, “I better motor if I’m going to make that flight to Palm Springs.”

Just then she heard the oddest noise, kind of like a washing machine trying to copulate with a photocopier, and right before her disbelieving eyes a large blue police box materialized out of thin air. And she had a second to think, “Oh SNAP! Dawg! This materializing shit is messed up, yo!” when a strangely cute man with largish ears poked his head out of the door,

“Hello, I’m the Doctor, how d’you feel about traveling through space and time with me?” he said in the most crotch-dampeningly adorable English accent.

Sara pondered for a minute, then thought, “Fuck it. No more contract negotiations for me, Zuiker and CBS can fire my ass, what will I care when I’m a million years in the future?”

So, she smiled, and nodded, and climbed on board, ready and willing for a life of action, adventure, cheesy special effects, and reasonable UST that eventually gets acted on facrissakes! Or at the very least a comfortable career afterwards making appearances at sci-fi conventions.

Da End!

While I bash away at the Crossover Fic from Hell, the boys in the back room took pity on me and because the boys are kind of jerks, the idea they sent me was; what would Grissom's reaction be if he were to find out about the Greg/Sara dynamic I've created in my previous two fics set in the same verse The Shape Of Happiness and This Thing We Have? (Both of which you can find here

I think the boys in the back room are gunning for a spanking from certain folks at YTDAW...and that's all I have to say about tha-at [/Gump]

Title: Communion
Rating: PG
Pairing: Greg/Sara
Summary: Grissom witnesses a moment of communion between Sara and Greg. Not quite angst, it's more melancholic in tone. Call it angst-lite.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never were.

Special Thanks: To my two betas qill13 and tripp3235 who stepped up to the plate with their kind offers to do a last minute snap beta. Thanks very much ladies. Any mistakes that remain are mine and mine alone.

( Read more... )

So I was telling Myr the other day...I got another package from the boys in the back room. Now they insisted that it was only a little Sara/Greg scenelet and that it would be fluffy and porny.

But when I opened it up...it wasn't that at all. Oh there was Sara and Greg in there but some angsty stuff and issues as well. Lying bastidges!

Anyway 7000 some odd words later, here's what I made out of the idea the boys sent up.

(P.S. I think some of those guys have a bit of a crush on Sara because this time she's driving...)

Set after The Shape Of Happiness but can be read as a stand alone.

Rated R for smut...maybe NC-17 if you're really prudish.

( This Thing We Have )

Sorry Nick...the devil made me do it. I watched CSI on Thursday and I couldn't get that shower scene out of my head.

Schmoop demanded to be written, even worse...Sara/Greg het schmoop. Again, Nick...really sorry buddy. Just know that in one part of my brain you and Greg are doing it like rabbits, all day, every day.

Spoilers for 4X4 obviously.

( Greg Sanders normally didn’t lie. He may have exaggerated, stretched the truth, embroidered for effect—but flat out lie. Not usually. And he wouldn’t have had to, if it weren’t for that damn tattoo of Sara’s. )

So this would be the second story in a cycle I'm writing about Sara Sidle, Five Crossovers That Never Happened To Sara Sidle.

I'm posting the first part now as I am still finishing up the second part. It's long so it probably doesn't fit the "Five Things" format exactly but I only write the stories my brain gives me. I'm hoping to have this wrapped up by tomorrow as I have some Marshall backstory and some Priest! porn to write next.

The first story in the cycle is here

And the next would be here

( behind this cut tag )

Yeah I know, these crossover bunnies won't leave me alone...

Here's another one, featuring my newest crack habit fandom CSI and my newest victim of potential stalking by me favorite character Sara Sidle.

And a mystery guest...would the mystery guest sign in please?

Untitled as of yet...I'll try to think of something. As usual, not for kiddies, Hard R for Language and Adult Themes:

( Fede portai al glorioso offizio, tanto ch’io ne perde’ li sonni e’ polsi. [I did my job so faithfully that I lost my peace and my life] Divina Commedia, Inferno, XIII, 62–63 )

This would be for my dearest darling myriad69 who loves Cross-Overs so...

To challenge myself I wrote this as a series of drabbles. Excluding titles each section is exactly 100 words.

Title: Hollowness and Treachery

Pairing: Sara Sidle/Sydney Bristow

Rating: Hard R

Disclaimer: Not mine, never was.

Spoilers: None really for CSI/Midyear of Season three for Alias

Feedback: Is my God.

( Read more... )

Well I reached a milestone of sorts as a teacher;

( I've survived my first death threat )

I think I'm going to squeak this entry under the wire, it's not quite finished but I hope to get the rest done tomorrow.

No title as of yet...
Pairing: S/V (but not in the good way, unless angst and humiliation is good for you)
Rating: This bit R, later NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine because I wouldn't want to meet this Syd in a dark alley somewhere...

Summary: (Which will be ultralame because I am letired) "That’s what was supposed to happen after Wittenberg…I continue 'not caring' how I was used, or by who. Trouble is I find I do care. I care a fucking lot." She waits until she has control again. Until the anger she can barely manage is leashed again. She smiles ironically, "Now everyone at the CIA will learn what…unpleasantness can happen when their best "tool" starts thinking for herself."

( Read more... )

And thank-you to all of you commented on my last entry, I do have an update on that "situation". However I am way too fucking tired and numb to get into it right now. But your comments meant a great deal, so thanks.

Welcome to the wonderful world of firsts that I'll be broaching with this fic...

My first attempt at the wrongness that is cracktrailer, my first RPS and my very first slash in the Alias fandom.

::cries:: I blame myriad69 your honor, it's all her fault, she started me on the crack, then she started whoring my ass out to buy more and the next thing you know I was here...::throws self on the mercy of the court::

Okay so I'm posting this here, unbetaed and hot off the press. I haven't written RPS before so I don't know if I did it "right" (if there is such as word with Cracktrailer RPS...) Oh and I picked the "Hot" mood because I picture Jen looking exactly like that in this story...

WARNING: This may be the nastiest thing I've written so far, NC-17 and there is foul and offensive language including the one mention of an extremely offensive word and ethnic slurs.

( Read more... )

This weekend I took all my bad feelings and poured them into this--its unbetaed but I feel like posting, you know, "sharing the pain" This is for anniesj Day After Tomorrow Fic Challenge. All feedback is welcome and appreciated.

Title: Miserere Mei
Fandom: Alias
Rating: R for violence/language. Also this has a great deal of angst.
Spoilers: Middle of Season Three
Disclaimer: Not mine/ No profit intended
Distribution: My Lj, Annie’s Lj, my website, anywhere else please ask.
A/N: This was written for Annie’s “Day After Tomorrow” challenge at her Livejournal. The premise being that we use the film’s global apocalypse theme to write some angst of no more than 1000 words. I fulfilled the first part of the requirement, not the second. This is fic is about 6X longer than it should be—sorry.

( Read more... )

Happy Belated Birthday to girlnorth I wasn't anywhere near the Internet this weekend so I missed it...::hands you a whacking slice of cake with a candle in it::

So once again the brilliantly mad and all round brilliant lunasky is hosting a fic challenge at her community clandestine_ops. So I think I'm the first to post my story, "Do You Do Windows Too?". It's fluffy, a real departure from my normal style--I'm worried it's so sweet it might make your teeth ache, anyway...( here it is, warning I finished this late last night and only got four hours sleep so I may have missed something, but I just had to be first... )

Well we are getting near the end now....more violence and mayhem and Sloadney. Enjoy and Feedback is always welcome!

Previous parts here
( Getting Near The End Now )

Thought I'd try to update today...then frantically write more at home to keep ahead of myself after French class tonight.

Before I do I shall spam you all with Random Thoughts...

Watched Daredevil last night, truly a craptastic movie that didn't live up to the potential of the comic book at all.

I blame Ben Affleck and his funky gorilla hair, seriously dudes you should see his hair in this film. It's resistant to rainwater and fuzzy like Muppet hair. I kept obessing about it and ruined what meagre enjoyment I could find in the flick and most of that came from watching Jennifer Garner.

When Jen Garner does the "mortally wounded crawl of seduction" over to Ben on the rooftop...GUH! Oh Jen baby you really need to come over to my house and do that for me sometime...I promise to shower you with rosepetals and be your eternal loveslave forever.

And finally...watching Colin "Manwhore" Farrel only cemented more firmly my dislike of this man--both personally and as an actor. How's that scenery taste by the way Colin?

Okay enough drivel from my tiny mind. Here's more of the Dark Fic (lots of violence and angst kiddies!) Now We Are Broken Enjoy and I will try to teach any feedback to do the "crawl of seduction" for me...

Previous parts here

( Read More of Now We Are Broken )

Sweet Sassy Molassy I'm on Fie-YAH!!! Just trucking along with the Paris fic and it's continuation...now this one. Plus I've had the opportunity to read some of the Lovefest fics and I honestly cannot decide who to vote for...each one is *so* good. And they're all so different. Aggh! So I'm maybe not gonna vote because I can't choose, which is stupid I know but...::frets over options:: It's an astonishing wealth of porn; an embarrassment of riches! Anyway back to the Dark!Brutal! Fic...

Okay fair warning kids this is really really dark....::holds your hands::

( Now We Are Broken )