(no subject)

[doyle]

Stolen from girlfromsouth:

Give me 1000 comments in this entry. Or whatever, really. YOU, in particular, don't have to supply the whole 1000, but a tiny contribution would be nice. Then let me know if you post this in your journal and I'll return the favor.

Dudes, so this is your chance to spam me with anything! Pictures, lyrics, the word SPAM over and over. Feel free to tell me something about yourself, or screen your comments. Do whatever you want! It's all up to you.

Okay, so I realise 1000 is a tall number so just spam away and we'll see where we get up to. Please entertain me!

Entertain me while I tackle inability to make words come out right and try to get some of these ficathon entries done... You could tell me what strange pairings you're into, since I've been thinking lots about unconventional shipping today. Or anything. Go on.

Also contemplating a game of tag where the first person writes a drabble - 100 words or less - with a pairing and a word or requirement at the end, and the next person writes that one. Might try to instigate a game of that later tonight if the ficathoning goes badly.

ETA: Okay, the drabble tag's here, come and play.

Comments

[xionin.livejournal.com]

oops...

willow/fred

;]

[esile.livejournal.com]

I figured I post it here too. Kind of keeping both threads going and doing my part in the 'I want a thousand posts' bit.

~
Until that moment Fred hadn't felt the loss of a real friend who was also a girl, correction a smart girl.

Cordelia was nice but not her friend. She didn't truly understand Fred or was even remotely interested in what Fred was all about. Which come to think of it is pretty much vice versa too.

And now that Willow was leaving again, Fred knew she was going to miss having someone to really talk to.

“I am already with somebody. Sorry?!”

Oh my, with somebody? She thought I wanted to? I could do that?

A smile crept over Fred’s face.
~

Willow / Xander

[doyle_sb4.livejournal.com]

Excellent, thanks!

Xander/Willow

[dodyskin.livejournal.com]

He looks at them and sees his father. He sees clenched fists and bitten-down nails and grinding manual labour. He uses them to hide behind; he scribbles a shield of not-really and I’m-kidding and it’s-not-serious and I’m-okay. He uses them to talk to the world he shapes with saws and screws. He uses them to cup gently, to cultivate, to help to have to hold on and hand over and clap yes and the only thing that ever stops them shaking is her. Hold on to her always; to let her go would be to have his hands cut off.