A Distraction at the Bus Stop

(A/N: Just updating my journal because it's been a while... ^^")



It was introduced to is by a third person. There had been another verb but it had just been going through a phrase. Is was special.


Soon the contractions began and it’s was born.

“It’s got my i,” beamed is.

It smiled weakly. Thank the lexicon is would never know about that liaison with has.

A/N: I wrote this for an Anti-Valentine contest on dA ^^



Mr Edwards doubted he’d be able to remember what Miss Smith looked like once she’d left the office. In fact, he doubted he could describe her now, with her sitting in front of him. She was average. Absolutely and perfectly average. Which was what gave it away to the professional eye. Patently an alter-ego.

Mr Edwards couldn’t believe his luck.

Arch-Enemies was… discreet. No website, not even a sign on the door. After all, it was a highly-specialised introductions agency and all suitable clients found the place through word of mouth. Business rivals made their first acquaintance here, bitter enmity spurring each side on to making more and more money. Songwriters and poets were introduced to highly unsuitable romantic partners, so that after a brief and distressing love affair everyone could go off and make art about how bloody awful their ex was.

This was the everyday, bread-and-butter stuff. But every so often the real deal came along.

“Miss Smith,” said Mr Edwards. He looked down and consulted his notes. “Or would you prefer to be called Superba?”

Miss Smith blushed a little. “I only use that name when I’m crime-fighting.”

“Of course.” Mr Edwards checked his paperwork again. “You know, your questionnaire is rather interesting. I think that’s the first time we’ve ever had a perfect score for ‘goodness’.”

Miss Smith blushed even more and looked down at her hands clenched together in her lap.

“Well, no-one’s ever completely good or bad… I’m not perfect… I do have my days when...”

She came to a complete halt and glanced up at him.

“Yes, all right, I’m a goodie.”

“Miss Smith,” said Mr Edwards. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Moral ambiguity is all very well but there’s nothing like an old-fashioned battle between good and evil.”

He leant forward on his desk and smiled. Miss Smith attempted to smile back.

“So you’re looking for your arch-enemy.”

( Story continues... )

Jerome K. Jerome
Came from a poor home.
But Three Men in a Boat
Kept him afloat.

There was a young artist named Lear.
I made writing part of my career.
And as Jumblies knew,
If old words would not do,
I could make new ones appear.



My limericks still entertain,
Though my endings may seem rather plain.
But it is by design
I repeat the first line
In the limericks that still entertain.



I am an old writer named Lear.
Tragedians have nothing to fear,
But my nonsense and rhyme
Have lasted through time.
When it comes to word-play, the king’s Lear.




A/N: I wrote this for an Author-Off on dA. I won ^^ (But there were only seven of us taking part...)

Fandom: Dear Ladies
Rating: U/G
Warnings: Mild innuendo and rather a lot of puns
Disclaimer: Hinge and Bracket were created by Patrick Fyffe and George Logan. Dear Ladies was written by Fyffe and Logan, and Gyles Brandreth, and produced by the BBC. My story also contains characters and references from the BBC radio series The Random Jottings of Hinge and Bracket by Gerald Frow.

Total: 7,807 Words

This Chapter: 3,623 Words




“Christmas!” declared Evadne, coming out of the kitchen and into the living room.

“Hallowe’en, surely,” said Hilda from her armchair, automatically glancing at the calendar.

“No,” said Evadne, with a hint of exasperation. “I mean perhaps we should start planning for Christmas. It popped into my head as I was making my preparations for tonight.”

( Read more... )

“John,” said Sherlock. “The body is merely transport. Appearances don’t matter.”

“Sherlock,” said John. “We are dressed as a couple of giant teapots.”

“We don’t have time for all this,” said Lestrade, as Donovan grinned broadly beside him. “Get out into the theme park and work out which teacup murdered the manager.”




“That’s her,” said Sherlock.

John glanced discreetly at a yellow teacup. “No teaspoon?”

“Exactly,” said Sherlock. “She’s disposed of the murder weapon.”

The teacup turned slightly in their direction and abruptly made a run for it.

Two teapots gave chase.




“She’s too far ahead,” panted John.

“Police!” yelled Sherlock at the holidaymakers. “Stop that teacup!”

A horde of small girls in yellow and brown t-shirts, and a very attractive woman, detached themselves from the crowd and stampeded after the rogue piece of crockery.

John watched in admiration as they rapidly caught up with the teacup —the children pinning her down by the saucer, while the adult hung onto her handle for grim death.

Sherlock spoke into his mobile: “Lestrade? Come and make the arrest.”




Lestrade beamed at the attractive lady as he shook her hand.

“She’s already attached,” said Sherlock.

Lestrade and the lady exchanged an embarrassed smile.

“Thank you, Sherlock,” muttered Lestrade.

Sherlock ignored him.

“This is Screech Owl,” he explained. “The teacup was apprehended by her Brownies.”




Author's Notes: For thesmallhobbit. Because I've just realised "Brownies" begins with a "b".

Sherlock fanfiction: a 221B - a story in 221 words, final word beginning with "b". Holmes and Watson created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; Sherlock and John property of Moffat and Gatiss, and the BBC.

221B form invented by KCScribbler (KCS).

The Diary of His Supreme and Condescending Majesty, King Stalwart Prettipaws, the One and Only


14th April

The housemaid has just given birth to a second child. It really is too much. So much noise. So much commotion. The footman appears to have forgotten I exist. I had to give the order twice this morning before I was fed.

However. I am the King - I must be gracious about the situation. They may be just servants but it is their home too. It would be cruel of me to expect them to leave at this stressful time. Perhaps I will go and stay in another palace for a while. My kingdom is certainly large enough for me to be able to find something to my liking.

Of course, there have been all those skirmishes with local pretenders to my throne recently. But I think the situation is now in paw. (No-one can yell and fluff themself up like I can.) It has undeniably been stressful though. And now with the staff reproducing… All in all it might be a good idea to get away for a while. Have a little rest. Just for a few weeks, until things have calmed down.


15th April

I’m brilliant. Only took me the afternoon to find the perfect place. Quiet area, large garden, nice couple in late middle age: another housemaid and footman partnership. I interviewed them: she rubbed me behind the ears and he gave me a whole tin of tuna. Entirely satisfactory. I took possession immediately.

The master bedroom is splendid. Enormous bed. Firm but very comfy. As is the convention with my own staff, the servants insist on sharing it with me. (I've never quite understood this strange custom but I must try and be tolerant.)

After we had all got up (I had to insist for several minutes they get up and give me my breakfast. At least they gave me tuna again) I introduced myself properly: explaining my full title and the rules for addressing me. But they’re having a bit of trouble with the language, and can only manage “Bill”.

It’s typical of humans unfortunately – I think they barely understand a quarter of what I say. It could have been worse though. My other servants called me “Lola” for 8 months. Observation not their strong suit.

I eventually became “Lol”. Which makes people laugh out loud for some reason.


( His Majesty's Diary continues... )

It had been an exhausting day. John just wanted to slump in his armchair.

He’d been sitting down for five minutes when the first visitor arrived.

“I wanted to thank you,” said the grateful client. “It’s not much but…” She offered a box of expensive chocolate biscuits.

Sherlock almost snatched them from her. John grabbed them from Sherlock and stuffed them down the side of the armchair.

“You can have them later,” he said. “I’m going to make the lady a cup of tea.”

“Why?” asked Sherlock.

“Because it’s polite,” said John.

While he was making the tea, Mrs Hudson came up. It seemed only hospitable to offer her a cup too, and soon their landlady was chatting to their client.

Then Lestrade arrived to discuss a case with Sherlock.

“No sugar in mine,” grinned Greg.

John sighed and headed back to the kettle.





It was 11PM. Nobody showed any sign of going home.

“Sherlock,” John whispered wearily, “it’s getting late. Everyone’s been here a very long time…”

Sherlock stared at John, bemused and then comprehension dawned.

He turned to the throng: “John’s going out to get Chinese for everyone.”

There was a muddled chorus of takeaway orders in reply.

“Right,” said Sherlock to John. “Did you get all that?”

“Yes,” said John, and went to bed.

(With the chocolate biscuits.)




Author's Notes: Sherlock fanfiction: a 221B - a story in 221 words, final word beginning with "b". Holmes and Watson created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; Sherlock and John property of Moffat and Gatiss, and the BBC.

221B form invented by KCScribbler (KCS).

“The cat did it.”


A bizarre case—woman suffocated in her sleep by her cat dozing on her face.

“Can’t arrest him,” said DI McGonagle. “Better phone the RSPCA, Sergeant.”


Pompom smugly washed his paws.

Handy that a cat isn’t legally responsible for his actions, but can be named sole beneficiary in his owner’s will.




A/N: This story was inspired by a conversation I had with my sister. (We do rather slander the feline lodger. He's actually lovely, and keeps the face-jumping to the bare minimum.)

In the spring of 1313, after 13 years of marriage, it became evident an heir was finally on the way for the King and Queen of Deviancia.

“In honour of our future child, I shall add an extra month to the year,” said the King. “To bring the baby luck!”

The Prince was born on the 13th day of the 13th month.

It was a Friday.

“Really?” said the Queen. “You couldn’t have worked out this was going to happen?”

“My love,” said the King, trying to soothe his wife’s angst. “Let’s not give into triskaidekaphobia!”

But he did feel uneasy, and decided to invite the local fairies to the christening to be on the safe side.




There were the usual presents of handsomeness, long life, intelligence. Then it came to the turn of the youngest fairy. She was desperate to get to the lavatory (fairies have bladders the size of a peanut) and didn’t think carefully about the wording of her gift.

“He’ll be able to absorb others’ bad luck!” she declared. And sprinted to the facilities.

“So he’ll be full of everyone else’s misfortune,” said the Queen beginning to weep. The young Prince patted his velociraptor rattle and grinned like a gummy Cheshire cat, completely unperturbed.

The oldest fairy now stepped forward.

“I cannot remove the gift,” she said, “but I can lessen its effects.  On the Prince’s 18th birthday, when he’s at an a capella concert, a shoe thrown at his neighbour will hit him instead. Whomsoever that shoe fits will be his one true love and they’ll live happily ever after.”




The Prince grew up and reached puberty. Because of his curse, all his friends had miraculously clear skin while he had truly breathtaking acne. But nothing could mar his charming personality.

On 13/13/1331 it all happened as the fairy had foretold, and as soon as the swelling had gone down, the Prince travelled the kingdom, searching for the one the shoe fitted.

Finally, under a lover’s moon, he saw her:

Beauty, his own true sweetheart.




The ceremony was held outside in the palace grounds as the bride had some problems getting up and down stairs.

“They do seem very happy,” said the oldest fairy, tentatively. “And she’s got lovely chestnut hair.”

The King drained his thirteenth cocktail and glared at the fay.

“Did you know it was going to be a flaming horseshoe?” he said.

---

A/N: Written for a contest celebrating DeviantArt's 13th birthday. The story had to be 400 words or less (mine is exactly 400) and had to include these words: Peanut, Angst, Cat, Horseshoe, Moon, a capella, Stairs, Puberty, Acne, Luck, Velociraptor, Cocktail and Triskaidekaphobia.