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So after a goodly while of idly reading White Collar fanfic from authors I like - [personal profile] sholio  and [personal profile] sam_storyteller, to be specific, although the rest of you lot have been periodic offenders, and I admit to the occasional foray into the AO3 tags after seeing a few White Collar fics recced in a row - I finally decided to watch the pilot episode. It was fascinating coming into a fandom via the fic like that; normally I read a story or two in a new fandom, decide I like it, and then stop reading until I have time to consume canon in its entirety, because I have this thing about consuming all of a given canon, and also I'm quite the spoiler-phobe. So this is a strange new experience for me!

Spoilers for the pilot, if anyone still cares about these things.Collapse )
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Feb. 3rd, 2012

Hi all, sorry about the radio silence and the way I've fallen behind on... practically everything. I owe a lot of people replies and suchlike and I swear I'll get to it. My head's just been all over the place lately; I haven't been able to muster up the focus for much more than mindless TV watching and compulsive tumblring.

On the plus side, what this means is that I got back up to date on Sanctuary.

Some spoilerific and largely disconnected thoughts on season four as a whole.Collapse )
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(The only way I can stop myself from watching Sherlock before Russ gets home is by watching Supernatural, okay?)

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Okay, so. I am BIG into New Years resolutions. I can't get enough of them. I spend, like, a week before New Years listing all the things I want to accomplish in the coming year and winnowing them down to a manageable selection that covers a wide cross-section of my life. Part of this process, of course, involved reviewing last year's resolutions to see what progress I made on them.

Which is when I realize that one of my resolutions for last year was to finally finish my 25 crossovers table. Which. Uh. I very, very much did not. Also I'm going to be cabining for the last day and a half of the year, so time is a bit tight here.

BUT. There is hope! Each fic must only be a minimum of 100 words. I only have nineteen slots left to fill. I can write 1,900 words in three days, easily! But I could use a little help:

If you go to the table and pick one of the unfilled words, and give me a fandom to cross Stargate SG1 or SGA with (anything I've written, or mentioned, or that you have good reason to believe I might know something about...) I will write you a 100+ word shortfic for that prompt and fandom. Feel free to claim multiple words, or to give me additional prompts (pairings, scenarios, quotes, etc) because honestly that just makes my life easier.

Your help is greatly appreciated!

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Dec. 22nd, 2011

I was cleaning out my box of misc childhood paper-based memories today, and I found an entire typewritten page that I think dates to grade one or two, detailing my passionate love for Narnia and all of the feels that I got when all the horses were killed in the last battle. Seriously: “The black dwarfs were the ones who killed them. That was mean. I cried. And I’m criying right noe because just thinking about it makes me cry.” And the whole first part is all about how I’m from Narnia and to judge by what I wrote I think I thought I was Jewel the unicorn? Jewel the time travelling unicorn, apparently, because I also claim to have been ridden by Prince Caspian and killed the white witch? FANDOM. IT STARTS YOUNG. My teacher is all like... what a delightful story? Good, um, expressive language!

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Seven Days in Dreamland

Title: Seven Days in Dreamland [A03]
Fandoms: Firefly, Stargate SG1, Supernatural
Wordcount: ~2,800
Rating: PG
Summary: Sam, River, and Daniel have something in common. And for seven days, they dream.
Notes/Disclaimers: 2001 xoverexchange story for [personal profile] skieswideopen. Many thanks as always to my beta, [personal profile] sophia_sol. I scraped this fic together in between exams and final essays, and thanks to her y’all don’t have to put up with my utter inability to handle tenses when tired. All the fandoms belong to their respective creators and not, you know, me. Set between Firefly and Serenity, but with spoilers for the big damn movie. Set in SG1 mid-season-seven, but with implied spoilers for the Ori plotline. Set mid season three for Supernatural, but with implied spoilers for season four/five.

One the one hand, he knows that in theory, dreams come from one’s own subconscious. If so, he hasn’t the faintest idea what his subconscious is trying to tell him.Collapse ) crossposted from Dreamwidth | comment count unavailable comments on original post
Title: It’s Not That I Didn’t Consider The Death Ray [AO3]
Fandoms: Star Trek (TOS/reboot), Torchwood
Wordcount: ~2,800
Rating: PG-13; some cursing, (heavily) implied sex
Summary: When Jack, Gwen, and Tosh land on the Enterprise by mistake, Tosh realises that misanthropic-doctor-with-a-heart-of-gold is kind of her type.
Notes/Disclaimers: 2011 xover_exchange pinch-hit for [personal profile] snoozing_kitten. Thanks to [personal profile] sophia_sol for the stellar last-second beta. Star Trek and Torchwood belong as always to their respective creators

Don't think of it as lost. Think of it as an extended layover in the United Federation of Planets.Collapse ) crossposted from Dreamwidth | comment count unavailable comments on original post

Meme time!

I've been wanting to do this one for a while. Via about half my friendslist.

Your job is now your Time Lord name. The last digit of your phone number is the current regeneration you are in. The nearest clothing item to your right is now the most notable item in your current wardrobe. The last person you texted is your current companion. Your favorite word is now your catchphrase.

Currently I work as a collections assistant, which is a bit of a mouthful, so I suspect I'd better go with "The Collector". I'm in my third regeneration.

The most notable clothing item in my wardrobe is, ah... welp, it's a toss-up between my burgundy corduroy blazer and my fuzzy teal bathrobe. On the other hand, the two colours look quite lovely together and a Time Lady ought to dress a bit eccentrically anyhow, so let's just say I wear both of them.

My current companion is my Token Conservative Friend, which is pretty sensible of my Time Lady self. I suspect TCF will be the only person standing between me and every sob story this side of the horsehead nebula, patiently reminding me to ask questions and get the whole story and for cripsakes, will you stop being a bleeding-heart liberal for just a minute here? Also, as a guy with an engineering degree who willingly rides a death-trap of a motorcycle, I feel like he'd be a useful dude to have in one's TARDIS. You know. Disinclined to panic when things start sparking and/or exploding. 

My catchphrase is... um... actually my favourite words are all Hebrew and mostly used in the context of prayer/scripture, wwwwhich would be slightly less than appropriate in most of the contexts where one uses a catchphrase, so instead let's go with the phrase I think I say most often: "well, fair enough."

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harpoon epiphany

manually crossposting this, because apparently last night's automatic crosspost was teh fail.


So I'm sitting here in the archaeology lab, sullenly measuring harpoon heads, sick to death of this ridiculously large term-end paper I have to write, when the girl on the far side of the table suddenly says, "Argh, I think the person who made this knife was an idiot. Look at it."

And everyone went over to look and agreed that yeah, that was a pretty wonky-looking transverse knife. Meanwhile, I'm sitting in my seat, staring at my harpoon head, having an epiphany:

Somebody made this.

I mean, it seems obvious, right? And the first time someone handed me an artifact it was all I could think about: somebody made this, a very long time ago, and now I'm holding it. And you hardly dare breath, and you treat every little chip of rock like it's made of glass. But then you handle ten, fifty, a hundred, you handle stone and bone and ceramic and metal and, occasionally, actual glass. You stop thinking about what it is you're actually holding, and you start focusing on ascession numbers, and use-wear analysis, and was this made with a soft-hammer technique or with pressure flaking, and goddammit I still can't reliably tell the difference between antler and bone.

So I'm sitting there with this harpoon head in my hand and it's like I'm holding it for the first time again. I don't have dates for it, but it's pre-Dorset, which means that at the very youngest it's 2,500 years old. Two thousand, five hundred years old. At the youngest. I'm a medievalist; I'm used to dealing with stuff from 400-1600 CE, not stuff from 500 BCE.

So two and a half millennia ago, someone killed a caribou. And they ate it, probably, they they took its antler and then then someone - maybe the same someone,  maybe someone else - spent fucking forever carving it into this ridiculously intricately harpoon head that I'm holding in my hand. And they weren't very good at it, actually, because look here: they drilled the line-hole horizontally from the one side, and vertically from the other, so they don't quite meet up right. Probably they were a young person, just learning to carve. And here you can see how the harpoon broke because they slipped when they were carving the socket for the harpoon shaft, gouged it too deep on the one side and weakened it. Maybe they got to use it in another hunt, before the antler cracked, or maybe they didn't.

And all of this - the caribou, the first hunt, the novice craftsman, the breaking, maybe the second hunt - all of this happened two  thousand and five hundred years ago. Jesus was a distant dream, Muhammad even more so; the crusades not yet even possible to conceive. The Renaissance? Hah, nope. How can you have a snobby pseudo-Roman intellectual revival when Rome is less than a decade old?

Two thousand and five hundred years, guys.

Fuck. Never let me get this jaded again. Never let me start taking this for granted. I don't want to hold history in my hands and shrug; I want,always and forever, to be awed.