Hey, it's time for another fun round of recs, and this time I went with a classic: amnesia fics! (Hey! I freely admit I am a cheesy dork. Be prepared for upcoming rounds of kidnapping/hostage fic, genderswitch fic, body switch fic, and telepathy fic. God, I love my fandoms.) But I love amnesia fic (and so do all of these incredibly talented authors) so much that I am going to give you a bonus: one very well-known fic and one less publicized fic in each fandom.

( Stargate:Atlantis ) ( Buffy the Vampire Slayer ) ( Due South ) ( BONUS! Good Omens )

Works-In-Progress Meme

Not that I've been progressing much lately. But hopefully, eventually,
these will make it to the finished state:

( WIPs: )

My grandfather is home from the hospital (came home Easter Sunday) and doing much better. I, on the other hand, am being tormented by allergies and sinuses. Hopefully they'll hold off tomorrow evening long enough for me to enjoy my night. I'm going with a bunch of other cast and crew members to watch "The Foreigner" at Orange, TX.

I've also been writing Good Omens drabbles, including a strange sort of mind-meld psychic collaboration with pyro, born of a conversation in which we both confessed our secret desire to see Agnes Nutter/Shadwell fic.

( Crowley feels funny )

( Hastur/Ligur--At least it isn't mono )

( The Them )

( Completely shameless Agnes/Shadwell )

I know I should write more, but I'm tired, my throat hurts, and I'm going to bed.

Benjamin Franklin, while a minister to France, first suggested the idea for Daylight Savings Time in an essay titled "An Economical Project for Diminishing the Cost of Light." The essay was first published in the Journal de Paris in April 1784.

( Here's how he got the idea: )

Okay, so mainly this is just a chance for a GIP, but, you know, also to torment all the non-Becca people out there who haven't seen this yet. Because as usual? Becca is evil and my crack pimp.

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“You know, I knew They’d be a bit upset about all that…” Aziraphale waved his hands in vague circles, “…kerfluffle, but I didn’t think They’d be this angry.”

“Really,” Crowley drawled, looking up from where he’d been poking at his new body irritably, “what on earth could have made Them so upset about the field agents of Heaven and Hell cooperating to prevent the Apocolypse! I have no idea.” He went back to muttering blessings under his breath and examining his new shape with a scowl.

“But still, my dear, isn’t this a bit much? I mean, even for Them?” He sank down into a crouch, edging gently downwards onto the grass until he was sitting. Aziraphale felt himself tilting backwards and quickly braced himself on his hands. Oh dear, yet another drawback of this body, no stability.

Crowley paced as best he could, his knees bending stiffly and his steps short. “You, at least, are still in approximately the same shape as before.” He slewed a glance over at Aziraphale to see if he had properly appreciated the insult, but the angel (and such a little thing as a body couldn’t keep him from thinking of Aziraphale as an angel—or more specifically as his angel, but no amount of torture with white hot pokers and Barney marathons would make him admit that) appeared to be lost in thought. Very thoroughly lost in thought. Forget simple maps or even global positioning devices, this was the sort of lost that first required ascertaining which galaxy one was in. Crowley sighed and returned to trying his hardest to will a black suit onto his body.

Aziraphale was thinking. Very, very slowly. What he was thinking was, “This isn’t right.” No, not the new body thing-—that he could imagine all too well as something his superiors would find amusing (for divine beings they had loathsome senses of humour)-—but this… this…. He struggled to put words to the concept. Thinking. Slowly. It was hard. He gasped as the implication finally revealed itself to him. “Crowley!” He turned to the demon in wide-eyed shock. “I’m stupid!”

Crowley was tempted to mutter something along the lines of “It took you this long to figure that out?” but held himself back heroically. There was always the chance that the angel’s people hadn’t thought to put limits on his powers and he’d end up scorched, and in this body that didn’t seem like a good idea. “You’re not stupid,” he said. “Or at least not any more than you normally are. So what if the brain in that thing is a little slower than you’re used to? It’s like…” he paused, searching in his mind for an apt description, “it’s like driving a Mini when you’re used to an Aston-Martin. Sure, it’s not as nice as what you’re used to, and it will take you a while to get used to how it handles, but it’ll still get you to where you want to go.” He stopped suddenly, feeling foolish. He must have been hanging out with the angel far too much lately. Or maybe this body just had some sort of inherently sweet nature. Yeah, that sounded about right for those bastards Down There.

Aziraphale looked touched, and he smiled up at Crowley. “Thank you, Crowley, that was very nice of you.”

Crowley blanched and scowled. “Don’t mention it.” But that goofy smile still hadn’t cleared itself off Aziraphale’s new face, and he looked like he was about to open his mouth to administer a new set of humiliating comments about Crowley’s ‘niceness,’ so the demon quickly wracked his brain for something to distract the bugger before he got a lecture about all his wonderful inner qualities.

Crowley smirked as he thought of just the thing and flung himself down on the grass beside Aziraphale, pushing the angel back so that he lay breathless on the ground. “So,” he whispered, licking the side of Aziraphale’s face and rubbing his hands over the smooth, curving plane of his bright yellow shell, “care to find out if we really do melt in the mouth but not in the hand?”