her hands don't go to the moon

The pinch-hit I sent in the other day for the Family Ficathon was for celli. She asked for Alias, where Sydney Bristow interacted with her father Jack Bristow and/or her friend Eric Weiss. After a mad scramble on Sunday, I ended up writing:

In Case of an Emergency
Rated PG.
"Terrorists, Syd. They've taken over your bathroom and they're demanding beer."


Speaking of beer...

I'm drinking some. I thought it might help with the wham-bam-screw-you-lady headache I've had most of the day dealing with stupid people at work, and that I would then feel compelled to write.

Well, the headache isn't so bad now, but so far, I have spent all evening reading my new comics instead of being a productive fannish citizen. I had a *cough* serious coiffure issue with Ultimate X-Men #50, and I still adore Colossus. I quite happily plowed through Birds of Prey #71 (okay, want Babs/Dinah fic now), Batman: The 12 ¢ Adventure #1 (I are Devin fangirl yay!), and Batman: Detective Comics #797, and...

I bought the latest six issues of Ultimate Spider-Man. I have fallen. Curse you, wee Brian Michael Bendis! Curse you, wee Spidey-pimps! God dammit, Peter Paker is a woobie.

I also had an entertaining discussion with cute-pixie-cashier-comics-shop-girl. I bought the first volume of Y: The Last Man tonight. "Where --" she wondered, "in a post-apocalyptic world in which all modern textile production has ostensibly shut down -- does he keep getting diapers for the monkey?"

Er. New Alias story. Spoilers through season 3, "Breaking Point".

PG-13-ish for Arvin Sloane/Jack Bristow slash.

Yes, you read that right. Blame those who encouraged me.

*beams*

Never mind. Blame me.

( Salvation Payment Plan )

Spy porn is a go!

The fandoms: Alias, X-Files

The rating: NC-17. Alex Krycek/Eric Weiss slash.

The summary: Carpe fucking diem.

( Resenting Paris )

This story was written for the Spy Crossover Extravaganza. You know you want to participate in this challenge. Krycek will talk dirty to you if you do.