Apr. 24th, 2013

hedda62: Harold Finch, half in shadow, text: Oh, Mr. Finch (finch)
I'm going to finish this fic today if it kills me. (Which would be rather inconvenient.)

There are moments when I laugh and feel like doing that meme again where you list "ways you can tell you're reading something by [me]" especially when I write a sentence with nine "and"s in it:

"Oh, John," is all he says, and John translates thank you and how foolish can you be and I don't deserve you and I'm never going to tell you why, and he wants to rise up and pin Harold to the chair and kiss him unmercifully and squeeze the self-pity out of him, and he doesn't move.

(By which you can tell that I didn't resist Finch/Reese, although I think it's going to be self-restraint right down the line. But don't hold me to that. This is not a week for story structure and predictability.)

In completely unrelated fannish news, it's not like my husband is particularly tuned in to how fic works, but he does come up with great crossovers sometimes; out of the blue he proposed Doctor Who/Mad Men and after some discussion we agreed that Joan would make the most awesome companion in the history of ever, and now I want someone to write that. But not me.
hedda62: Harold Finch, half in shadow, text: Oh, Mr. Finch (finch)
Aaaand it's up. All I Know Is Flight, Finch/Reese in the motel room of self-restraint.

Which, heh, reminds me I have to make a reservation for Friday night in Allentown...

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