FF: Counting the Cliches
Fandom: Murder in Suburbia
Pairing: Ash/Scribbs
A/N: I just finished saying I wasn't in the mood for reading femslash when this idea popped in my head and refused to leave. This is - sort of - part of the 'Femslash Advocacy Group' series of stories, but I think it can be read without any prior knowledge. Basically, just silly fluff.
Ash unwound the scroll - a strange choice, in her opinion, but apparently the femslash norm for this type of thing - and began reading through the list of clichés. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows strained in an effort to meet as she read further and further down the list.
"Why haven't you ever tried to force feed me aphrodisiacs?" she asked the accusation clear in her voice. "Or bumped your head and forgotten who you are?"
With a shrug Scribbs dismissed the questions and went back to watching the telly; she had seen the scroll from the 'Femslash Advocacy Group' in the post that morning and had only just managed to stop herself from stuffing it behind the couch cushions and pretending it never arrived. But, knowing her luck and Ash's obsessive cleaning, it would only turn up to haunt her eventually.
"Your father could at least have had the good manners to threaten me with a shotgun if I didn't marry you forthwith."
Scribbs couldn't imagine her cardigan wearing father threatening anyone, let alone someone as scary as Ash. "He doesn't own a shotgun," she said. "He's a member of Greenpeace."
"The two things aren't mutually exclusive," Ash huffed. "Then why didn't he at least threaten to besmirch my good name if I didn't make an honest woman of you?"
"I dunno, 'cause he's not living in the Nineteenth Century?" Scribbs knew that she'd eventually have to ask what was prompting the odd questions but the longer she could delay that particular pleasure, the better. "I'm sure your mum would have had me frog-marched up the aisle and plighting my troth in an instant if you'd let me tell her."
"We are not telling my mother!" The scroll clattered to the floor as Ash prepared to give her list of reasons why mention of their romantic liaison within hearing range of a fellow Ashurst was strictly forbidden.
Scribbs cringed. "Okay, okay, no telling your mum."
Ash appeared slightly mollified and once again reached for the scroll. "I abhor slavery, naturally, but is there any chance you could get yourself sold into the white slave trade?"
"What?" Scribbs did a double take. "Did you say slave trade?"
"It was just an idea." Ash put a cross next to that particular item. "How about aliens?"
"Illegal aliens or 'Beam me up Scotty' aliens?"
"It doesn't say." Ash made a mental note to write to the scroll's author and point out the need for clarification. "Voyeurism?"
Scribbs was intrigued despite herself. "What about it?"
"Have we ever been involved in voyeurism?" The word sounded strange coming from Ash and was accompanied by a look that could curdle milk.
"There was that one time, when we were in the observation van outside Tesco, that those two drunken slappers started slobbering all over each other right in front of us." The thing that had made it stick in Scribbs' memory was the look on Ash's face as the amorous couple started humping each others legs like dogs in heat. "Is that what you mean?"
Another mental note for clarification later, Ash turned to the next item on the list. "We'll have to talk to Sullivan about having us go undercover as lovers."
"I thought you didn't want him to know we were at it?"
"We are not 'at it' Scribbs!"
"Yes we are!" Scribbs looked around the flat as if searching for evidence. "You've had my knickers around my ankles more times than I can count."
That particular visual brought with it a look of feigned disinterest. "I didn't mean to suggest we weren't intimate," Ash explained. "I was just questioning your turn of phrase." A smile lit her face. "At least we've been stuck in a lift together," she cooed. "That's got to count for something."
"Ooookay."
"And we had to share a bed during that retirement home case." Ash looked very pleased with herself. "Not to mention your capacity for overindulging in wine and forgetting you've spent the night shagging me senseless."
"I'd never forget that!" Scribbs argued.
"And you're always getting jealous."
"Me?"
"That's four." Ash ticked them off. "Have you ever had a near death experience and foisted your attentions on me afterwards?"
Scribbs looked both affronted and clueless. "Give me the scroll," she demanded.
Ash gave a look at the tone but passed the scroll over nevertheless. "It's from the Femslash Advocacy Group."
"I know." Scribbs read through the contents. "Clichés?" she asked utterly confused. "What have a bunch of silly clichés got to do with us?"
"They're femslash clichés," Ash explained as if to a child. "According to the 'Femslash Database' to be considered a reputable femslash couple we need to have fulfilled at least fifty percent of these clichés." She pointed to where she'd put ticks next to certain categories. "We're not even halfway there!"
"So?" Scribbs thought the whole Femslash group nonsense was silly and couldn't see a reason to get worked up over their little list.
"So?" Ash looked like she wanted to hit something. "I will not have the likes of Gabrielle and Alex look down on us for failing to reach the minimum requirements." She could see that Scribbs wasn't altogether won over by that argument. "And then there's all the extra sex."
Scribbs' ears perked up. "Extra sex?"
"Of course." Ash tried not to look too pleased with herself but failed miserably. "As a reputable femslash couple we're guaranteed at least seventy-five percent more sex." She paused. "But if you're not interested..."
"We've done the pregnancy thing," said Scribbs, ticking off another item, "and the heated arguments that lead to sex happen weekly when you're in one of your moods." She scrunched up her brow. "And half the station thought we were at it months before you first managed to have your wicked way with me."
"I did not -"
"That's got us up to at least thirty-five percent." She rubbed her hands together. "Come on, Ash, if we get to the station before Sullivan leaves we can knock off half a dozen more of these things before the day's over."
Pairing: Ash/Scribbs
A/N: I just finished saying I wasn't in the mood for reading femslash when this idea popped in my head and refused to leave. This is - sort of - part of the 'Femslash Advocacy Group' series of stories, but I think it can be read without any prior knowledge. Basically, just silly fluff.
Ash unwound the scroll - a strange choice, in her opinion, but apparently the femslash norm for this type of thing - and began reading through the list of clichés. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows strained in an effort to meet as she read further and further down the list.
"Why haven't you ever tried to force feed me aphrodisiacs?" she asked the accusation clear in her voice. "Or bumped your head and forgotten who you are?"
With a shrug Scribbs dismissed the questions and went back to watching the telly; she had seen the scroll from the 'Femslash Advocacy Group' in the post that morning and had only just managed to stop herself from stuffing it behind the couch cushions and pretending it never arrived. But, knowing her luck and Ash's obsessive cleaning, it would only turn up to haunt her eventually.
"Your father could at least have had the good manners to threaten me with a shotgun if I didn't marry you forthwith."
Scribbs couldn't imagine her cardigan wearing father threatening anyone, let alone someone as scary as Ash. "He doesn't own a shotgun," she said. "He's a member of Greenpeace."
"The two things aren't mutually exclusive," Ash huffed. "Then why didn't he at least threaten to besmirch my good name if I didn't make an honest woman of you?"
"I dunno, 'cause he's not living in the Nineteenth Century?" Scribbs knew that she'd eventually have to ask what was prompting the odd questions but the longer she could delay that particular pleasure, the better. "I'm sure your mum would have had me frog-marched up the aisle and plighting my troth in an instant if you'd let me tell her."
"We are not telling my mother!" The scroll clattered to the floor as Ash prepared to give her list of reasons why mention of their romantic liaison within hearing range of a fellow Ashurst was strictly forbidden.
Scribbs cringed. "Okay, okay, no telling your mum."
Ash appeared slightly mollified and once again reached for the scroll. "I abhor slavery, naturally, but is there any chance you could get yourself sold into the white slave trade?"
"What?" Scribbs did a double take. "Did you say slave trade?"
"It was just an idea." Ash put a cross next to that particular item. "How about aliens?"
"Illegal aliens or 'Beam me up Scotty' aliens?"
"It doesn't say." Ash made a mental note to write to the scroll's author and point out the need for clarification. "Voyeurism?"
Scribbs was intrigued despite herself. "What about it?"
"Have we ever been involved in voyeurism?" The word sounded strange coming from Ash and was accompanied by a look that could curdle milk.
"There was that one time, when we were in the observation van outside Tesco, that those two drunken slappers started slobbering all over each other right in front of us." The thing that had made it stick in Scribbs' memory was the look on Ash's face as the amorous couple started humping each others legs like dogs in heat. "Is that what you mean?"
Another mental note for clarification later, Ash turned to the next item on the list. "We'll have to talk to Sullivan about having us go undercover as lovers."
"I thought you didn't want him to know we were at it?"
"We are not 'at it' Scribbs!"
"Yes we are!" Scribbs looked around the flat as if searching for evidence. "You've had my knickers around my ankles more times than I can count."
That particular visual brought with it a look of feigned disinterest. "I didn't mean to suggest we weren't intimate," Ash explained. "I was just questioning your turn of phrase." A smile lit her face. "At least we've been stuck in a lift together," she cooed. "That's got to count for something."
"Ooookay."
"And we had to share a bed during that retirement home case." Ash looked very pleased with herself. "Not to mention your capacity for overindulging in wine and forgetting you've spent the night shagging me senseless."
"I'd never forget that!" Scribbs argued.
"And you're always getting jealous."
"Me?"
"That's four." Ash ticked them off. "Have you ever had a near death experience and foisted your attentions on me afterwards?"
Scribbs looked both affronted and clueless. "Give me the scroll," she demanded.
Ash gave a look at the tone but passed the scroll over nevertheless. "It's from the Femslash Advocacy Group."
"I know." Scribbs read through the contents. "Clichés?" she asked utterly confused. "What have a bunch of silly clichés got to do with us?"
"They're femslash clichés," Ash explained as if to a child. "According to the 'Femslash Database' to be considered a reputable femslash couple we need to have fulfilled at least fifty percent of these clichés." She pointed to where she'd put ticks next to certain categories. "We're not even halfway there!"
"So?" Scribbs thought the whole Femslash group nonsense was silly and couldn't see a reason to get worked up over their little list.
"So?" Ash looked like she wanted to hit something. "I will not have the likes of Gabrielle and Alex look down on us for failing to reach the minimum requirements." She could see that Scribbs wasn't altogether won over by that argument. "And then there's all the extra sex."
Scribbs' ears perked up. "Extra sex?"
"Of course." Ash tried not to look too pleased with herself but failed miserably. "As a reputable femslash couple we're guaranteed at least seventy-five percent more sex." She paused. "But if you're not interested..."
"We've done the pregnancy thing," said Scribbs, ticking off another item, "and the heated arguments that lead to sex happen weekly when you're in one of your moods." She scrunched up her brow. "And half the station thought we were at it months before you first managed to have your wicked way with me."
"I did not -"
"That's got us up to at least thirty-five percent." She rubbed her hands together. "Come on, Ash, if we get to the station before Sullivan leaves we can knock off half a dozen more of these things before the day's over."