For any Buffista in a mood to write something cracktastic - I'd love to read a "Dr. Strange and Mr. Norell" crossover.

So, I understand that sometimes a writer is writing in a characters pov or voice, but I'm shocked to come across this and realize it was most likely a woman/girl writing it (and more shockingly, that I don't remember it pinging me when I first read the story years ago), when goes like this:

Something that wouldn't sound like Dean was a step away from getting a vagina transplant, or like one of those girlyass CW shows.

And I know it's probably in-character, and is an attitude canon to the source material. But it has been burning me lately to see this in fic, especially fic that has a special place in my heart from five and ten years ago. I've been given permission to still enjoy Blurred Lines, but it still feels like slap in the face when I'm rereading old favorites.

Dunno what to say about that. It is pretty awful. If you can enjoy it anyway, for what it does well great. If that spoils it for you, you don't have to feel bad about not enjoying it either. Perfectly cromulent reaction Or if you enjoy but enjoyit less p yoou know all reasonable attitudes. I get that there is a real feeling of loss in re-reading something you loved once and having much more mixed reactions.

Ooh, my first Agents of SHIELD fic:

Too Hard to Name It

The whole time she was alone, Jemma kept her spirits up by saying, “That was alien tech. Tech is Fitz’s job. Fitz is coming. Fitz will find a way to get me home. My job is biology. My job is life. I will stay alive long enough for him to find me.” At really low times, Jemma wondered why it was taking so long, but her answer was always, “It takes time. Fitz is working on it. He’s working on it, give him time.”

It seemed such a long time, but the days were not the same length, so weeks and months could not be tracked. Malnutrition, trauma, stress, sleep deficit - all eating away at her higher functions - she could barely remember his face or the sound of his voice. But she kept whispering to herself, “Fitz is coming” like scripture. Some days those were the only three words she said. After a while she stopped saying it aloud, dehydration made it hurt uselessly. But it went round and round in her head, making her try to sleep, making her keep hunting, keep hiding, keep running, keep living.

And then she saw the flare.

Early on, she had calculated how much water her body needed for various levels of activity. Hunting and digesting food takes water. Breathing hard uses up water. Talking uses up water. Running uses water. Hiding uses water. Walking uses water. To check out the flare would use up, possibly waste, the water she had collected from an improvised solar still. But she drank it. And for the first time in a long time, she used her vocal cords: “Fitz is coming.” Her voice crackled. It hurt to talk. But Jemma said it again, and started walking.

This was composed as a comment fic on a gif-set of Gemma waking up with her sharp stick in her hand then going back to sleep on Leo's leg posted by tony-pepper-stark

I finally got around to cross-posting my fic for this year's SPN Summergen challenge: One Winter's Night

It's the winter solstice, Sam is still young enough to be making do with Dean's hand-me-down boots, and a hunt goes wrong.

The Doctor walked across a dark plain. A skeleton warrior rose to confront him.

"Lord of Time," the warrior said, "I am bound to slay whoever I meet with this sword. How may I be free?"

The Doctor said "Release the sword, and you will be free of slaying."

The warrior dropped its sword, and its arms fell to its sides. It stared for a moment, then continued: "Lord of Time," it said, "I am bound to walk in this armor forever. How may I be free?"

The Doctor said, "Shed your armor, and you will be free of walking."

The warrior unbuckled its cuirass, removed its helmet, and pulled off its greaves. When it was done, it fell to the ground and did not move.

After a moment had passed, the warrior spoke a third time: "Lord of Time," it said, "I am bound by this darkness and will never know peace. How can I be free?"

The Doctor said, "Even in deepest darkness, you will sometimes catch a glimpse of light." He gestured at the sky and, for the first time in a thousand years, the clouds and shadow parted and a single star appeared.

The sight filled the warrior's heart with such joy that it wept tears of flame. The flame consumed it utterly, and it never troubled anyone again.

The Doctor continued across the plain. After a while, Harry asked, "How did that skeleton speak with no lungs?"

That is both beautiful AND flippin' hilarious.

chris, I love that!

And Anne, I couldn't help a reread--as good as the first read!

I meant to write something else today, but this came out. Part "Justified" part RPF... The Majority Leader looked angrily at the pretty young intern guarding his wood-panelled sanctum. Crowder had gotten past her and was sitting on the Leader's desk bold as brass. "You can't be in here," he said, but the tone that quieted his caucus made Crowder laugh.

"Vasily says hey," he said, picking up one of his desk toys. "At least, I reckon that's what he said. My Cyrillic, much like my computer skills, is woefully inadequate. I fear I'm something of an anachronism…much like yourself. However, I've got ten thousand dollars and a depth charger that says I can sit wherever the hell I want. Are we clear?"

The leader's voice quivered as he said "I'm not admitting I paid you…but you know, if I had, aren't we done?"

Crowder smiled a wolfish smile. "Glad we understand one another…would hate for you to spend the last years of your last-ever term in this life mired in a syntax discrepancy. I don't owe you this knowledge, but since you asked so nicely, yeah, you and Harlan for A Better Tomorrow are done.I stand before you as a humble Kentucky constituent."

The Leader snorted. "Right."

"Is something amusing you about that?Because, despite my unfortunate incarceration, I've been told I'm photogenic and have a hell of a way with a story. Even more since this one's true, Mitchell."

"My name's not Mitchell."

"Never mind. Basically, your man Brett is bad for my sex life."

"I beg your pardon? I hope you don't think those kinds of favors are gifts with purchase, Mr. Crowder."

"You should have warned me you'd say that…the thought's bad for my dyspepsia. Let me sum up slightly. I spoke out of turn when I asserted that I could be anywhere I want, as I've been barred from Ava's…Delta of Venus until such time as she restores her equilibrium from the…shall we say, truncated…confirmation process…say something so I know you got my drift there, Mitchell. "

"I think I understand." The Leader said, almost talking tough, but his skin taking on a greenish cast, combined with his absence of chin really combined to enforce that turtle image that even Boyd had heard about. He wasn't dumb…he was just pretending he was a lobbyist.

"I rely on her. More than your wife has relied on labor from right off the boat, but alas? Not more than you and Vasily. Gotta warn you, though. Last time I saw my wife this upset, there was a shotgun involved, and when I say that, I'm not overrating my appendage."

"She does that.and security would be here in fifteen seconds."

Boyd got down from the desk and flashed a grin. "Relax…it'll blow over."

SO wanted to stick "Loss of consortium" in here somewhere, as hearing that in Boyd's voice in my head was the germ of this idea...didn't fit, but maybe it's the title.