Long-term low-grade psychic damage

Today at the beginning of writing I had 21046 words, which looks like a typo. I'm still a good 3000 words shy of 24601, which ought to be titled a Hugo Drabble or some such silliness.

In other news from old fandoms, I'm still incapable of watching that traumatic Reebok commercial without wanting to write someone consensually touching Sidney Crosby a lot. I'm not going to -- that phase in my life has decidedly passed -- but the urge remains.

I'll just file these problems next to the urge to afflict Tim Drake with Obi-Wan Kenobi or vice versa on the grounds that odd-numbered Robins gotta stick together.