The first is a pair of Drabbles for a round robin I started on Twisting The Hellmouth, The Wedding of the Year, set around Dexter Morgan's wedding. This one is a Dexter / Angel / BtVS crossover. Naturally I own none of these shows, and this story may not be distributed on a profit-making basis.
Wedding Gifts / A Lovely Couple
By Marcus L. Rowland
His aunt’s invitation comes back marked "Addressee deceased." Dexter shrugs and crosses her off the list. He's surprised when he glances across the crowd at the reception and thinks he sees her, nibbling a canapé and talking to Harry. Both are dead; is it mistaken identity, or some fluke of his imagination?
Before he can check it out it’s time for another dance; by the time he glances that way again both of them are gone.
Later he’s surprised to find a present with his aunt’s name; razor-sharp kitchen knives. He’s sure they’ll be useful, one way or another.
* * * * *
"They’re a lovely couple," says Lilah Morgan. "You must be very proud."
"He's coming along nicely," says Harry. "My last project was over-ambitous, but this time I think... well, wholesale destruction is good in its place, but fine craftsmanship is just as rewarding."
"And much more likely to stay under the Slayer's radar."
"And avoids annoying the Senior Partners, of course. Canape?"
"You know I can't..."
"Touch things? Of course. One advantage of working for Wolfram and Hart, the post-life package includes everything. Mmmm, these are really rather good."
Harry, AKA The First Evil, glowers but doesn't answer.
No apology for revisiting a theme I've previously explored in my story Family Lawyer
The second is a Discworld / Dr. Who crossover set around the end of the last season. I own neither the Discworld nor Doctor Who, and this story may not be distributed on a profit-making basis.
A Busy Schedule
By Marcus L. Rowland
She looks at the body smouldering on the floor, glances at the dark figure which has suddenly appeared beside her, and says “Harriet Jones, former Prime Minister.”
A hollow voice replies “YES. I KNOW WHO YOU WERE.”
The Daleks leave the house. “Can’t you stop them?” asks Harriet.
“I COULD,” it says, “BUT THEN THEY MIGHT BE LATE FOR OUR APPOINTMENT AT…” an enormous hourglass appears in its bony hand “ELEVEN FORTY-FIVE.”
“Do you have many appointments with them?” she asks hopefully.
“JUST THE ONE.”
“Oh. I was hoping…”
“THERE WILL BE NO NEED FOR MORE.”
Suddenly understanding, Harriet smiles.
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