Me either...all that ego in one room? I'm kind of not sure I can do it, though.

A very short Buffy fic, written in response to a challenge in which I was given 30 minutes to write and 15 to edit. The challenge prompt was "the blood that falls from heaven."

There came a point when Buffy had to admit to herself that being the Slayer was no longer just something she did. Being the Slayer was something she was.

Oddly enough, it wasn't some apocalypse or personal tragedy that drove the point home. It was something much, much simpler, so simple that she didn't think she could explain it to Willow or Xander.

And as for when she realized this?

The date was August 17, 1998, a hot, muggy night for patrol. She was in the woods just a few miles from campus and had stopped for a moment to see if she could hear anything unusual when she felt something warm and wet strike her cheek.

She looked up into the treetops, stake at the ready, and yelped in surprise as another drop caught her square in the eye.

After wiping the wetness from her eye, she spent a good two minutes trying to think of what kind of demon might possibly have clear blood before she realized that it had started raining.

OK, I'm vain. Shoot me. But read this first.

House, no spoilers:

Mornings Are The Hardest

The people at the doctor’s office told him the mornings would be the hardest, in that chipper, office staff sort of way he loathed before he was crippled enough to be this bitter. He has even more reason to wonder what the hell people *smile* at so much. Just grinning away like chimps about nothing. “Looks like *somebody’s* having a blue Monday.” Christ. He can hear it now. Cameron doesn’t smile like a chimp...it’s worse. She’s a true believer. It’s just too sad. She’ll want to be helpful all day now. He wonders how far he could take that. Could he get her to beat the life out of that dingy idiot in the Rehab clinic...she could use one of his canes. It might be worth doing for the irony. Except for Cuddy.He can only push Cuddy so far. He knows. He has a chart.

He grunts, rubs his knee. Hardest implies there are times when it is easier. There really aren’t. Just times when the hell recedes, just a bit. When Forman has to admit he was right, at lunch with Wilson, and, damn it, sometimes when Cameron smiles. If she wouldn’t read too much into it, he would ask her how she smiles and gets her eyes into it too. Has he ever done that? He doesn’t remember anymore; not with this fucking burning arrow in his thigh. Life is funny like that...constant throb drowns out the little stuff.

By some miracle, he makes it to the clinic, finds a bunch of sniffling drones wanting their Zyrtec, dying to swatch their mucus for him.

It’s not quite a punchline; research has borne it out, but none of the patients understand his bitter smile when he says “Mornings are the hardest.”

I've never posted in this thread before. I have almost no love for writing and zero skill for fanfic.

That said, I'm glad some people have Mad Skillz with fanfic - Awesome job Anne and erika both!

thanks...

What Epic said. I don't check this thread often enough. Both of those were excellent! And I really hope to see more House fic, I dig on it.

Also, I found a House/AtS crossover fic somewhere that was developing quite well (lots of snark off between House and Spike) and now I've lost it again and I am bummed. If anyone might know where it can be found, I'd appreciate a heads up.

Thanks, Sail and Epic!

What is it with "House" that it seems to cross over so well with anything?

Signed,
Still wants to see a House vs. old-school Cordy snark-off

Everybody lies and everybody gets sick?

Crossovers Even I Won’t Really Write

Gilmore Girls/ Homicide

The black guy who’d been looking at Lorelai all morning pushed his hat back and finally said “Lorelai Gilmore?”

”Yes. And you are...besides being black in Stars Hollow, which is like...shock theater enough...you have no idea. I had to fight to get the video store to stock “Soul Food.” Not that makes me Rosa Parks or anything. Oh, God, you think I’m awful, don’t you?”

Meldrick smiled and wait for her to run down. “I’m Meldrick Lewis, ma’am. Here to ask some questions about the death of Michel.”

“Your name is Meldrick?”

”Yes, ma’am.”

”Seriously? And I thought I was mad at my parents. Cool hat.”

House/ Wonderfalls

“You made me drive to New Jersey for a ‘sode?” The young woman turned a blue eyed gaze on her immaculately-coiffed mother that embarrassed Wilson because it felt so familiar.

”We care about you dear...we just want you to have the best.”

”Maybe it wasn’t a ‘sode,” The woman said. “Maybe my life is just boring me to death.”

Wilson made a mental note to ask House if he was absolutely sure if he knew how he spent the late seventies.

Dad, who seemed to always be a few steps behind, said “Your mother thinks he’s the best because she has a crush on him.”

”I do not.” But she ran her fingers through her hair anyway.

Wilson pretended that some water went down the wrong pipe and that his files from ’02 were really interesting. He really shouldn’t laugh. He paid for his amusement over that eighty-two- year-old Barrett Browning last year with weeks of moody silence.

I’m a pediatric oncologist, for Christ’s sake...how many laughs do I get?!