i run nedxnancy.tumblr.com for my daily fix of nancy/ned action. i love: nancy drew, law & order criminal intent, the fall, dark city, mad men, arrested development, archer, community, justified, lois & clark, star trek, perry mason, jane eyre, eddie izzard, terry pratchett, addams family, apple, bertha cool & donald lam, MST3K, interpol, my morning jacket, st vincent, playmobil, diana gabaldon's cracktastic outlander series, raymond chandler, cillian murphy, wodehouse; alias, chuck, carnivale, pushing daisies, the adventures of pete & pete, tomorrow people (new series), veronica mars, legend of the seeker/the sword of truth, lost, x-files.
or maybe just post a fanvid featuring only her scenes intercut with some vintage goren
OH SON OF A BITCH WHAT
what i should be thinking about: what i’m going to make for dinner, work tasks, sleeping
what my brain comes up with instead: WHY NOT WRITE A LAW & ORDER: CRIMINAL INTENT/JUSTIFIED CROSSOVER THAT ABSOLUTELY NO ONE IS CLAMORING FOR IN WHICH GOREN AND EAMES HEAD DOWN TO HARLAN AND GET INTO A SHOOTOUT BACKING UP RAYLAN AND POSSIBLY HAVE WHISKEY-DRENCHED SEX
There was a time when she’d thought there would be a happy ending for them. Once, when they had been playing at married, a long time ago, before his hair was quite so touched with grey, before Declan. She had thought everything would be before-nephew and after-nephew, while she was pregnant and so miserably divided over knowing this baby was hers and knowing he would never be hers again. Instead everything, even that misery pales in comparison, to what happened once Declan and Jo happened.
He treats her like she’s fragile now. She used to dress in red; she used to tease him during stakeouts. She used to feel invincible in their partnership, back when there was nothing to fight against. Now everything is something to fight against.
But their stars were hitched a long time ago, she thinks, blowing her tea cool before the first sip.
[30 passages from 30 of my highest-traffic fics, Day 29]
“…Before Gage had his meltdown.”
She goes back to her own room to sleep because it would be so terribly clichéd to get drunk with Bobby in a hotel room halfway around the world and then fall into bed with him. She doesn’t feel up to it; when she’s alone, really alone, she just feels bruised, brittle, like all the solid space beneath her skin is just so much air. She only feels heavy when she’s scared, and here, she isn’t scared, and whatever they do, it’ll be over in the morning.
She’s just, finally, reached that warm equilibrium, has just slipped over when she jerks awake to the sound of her keyreader activating.
Immediately she’s half-convinced it’s Jo, and she’s groping on the bedside table for her gun when the door slides open on the security chain, and she recognizes Bobby’s silhouette.
“For God’s sake,” she mutters, heart still hammering in her skull, and tosses back the bedding. He’s looking at his hands when she opens the door, one hand perched on her hip, and he keeps it shouldered open as she uses that bare square of illumination to find her way back to bed.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he admits, taking one heavy step into the room, running his hand through his hair.
in my blood there’s gasoline (http://archiveofourown.org/works/31610)
[30 passages from 30 of my highest-traffic fics, Day 20]