(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

The First Slayer

[leni-ba.livejournal.com]

She looks everything around her with new eyes. There’s no room for fear, no place for doubt.

She has skills others only dream of, is connected to Earth and Magic and Spirit, a holy trinity that keeps her apart from those at her side.

Hunting is no longer done for food or clothes, not to protect, not to save those beneath her. She hunts because it’s duty and duty dictates everything she can be. She cannot be a girl, her gender is only a label which was discarded somewhere.

She has stopped being ‘she’ and has become it. THE Slayer.



Next: Mayor, photo album

Re: Mayor, photo album

[firstgold.livejournal.com]

He sits beside the bed, holding a papery and wrinkled hand. It is silent; there are no more curses directed his way, and she looks peaceful. He turns the pages of the photo album, remembering her on their wedding day.

Time stopped when he saw her walking down the aisles. She lived her life for him, yet he stood by as Father Time turned her hair grey and dulled the sparkle in her eyes. He began to regret loving something so fragile.

All he has left is a book of photographs, and the shell of the woman he once loved.


***

Next: Lawson

Lawson

[dodyskin.livejournal.com]

Ashes, all he can taste is ashes as the blood washes over his tongue. Joy, locked in another room, is drowned out by horror, and all he can feel is numb disbelief as he drains this one and rips into the next. He wanders, and checks in, a hook, a lifebuoy in his career. Career, racing wildly, tearing into everything and feeling nothing. Angel was his solid place, his familiar drunk in the street; punished and rightly so. But this is not familiar and this is not right. This is not fair. It’s time to go say hi to daddy.

Next: um, Drogan/Angel 1920's