If he looks like Colin Firth, I'm keeping both the original and the copy.
I'm a greedy girl, I am. But you can come visit, and I'll share the twins.
Spike ,'Conversations with Dead People'
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
If he looks like Colin Firth, I'm keeping both the original and the copy.
I'm a greedy girl, I am. But you can come visit, and I'll share the twins.
I'll bring lemon bread, and some leather....
Sounds like a party to me.
All this, and I have to admit Deb's present is not actually male. Or alive, for that matter. And alas, it does not have cheekbones.
I do think you're really going to like it, though...if I manage to acquire it. I'm still in the hunt and gather phase since this isn't something I can just find at the mall.
t /tease
pftttpfptph!
I've been writing poetry fic, of all things, having finished my Chapter 12 of Matty Groves earlier. The topic being David Bowie song titles, I picked "Eight Line Poem" and went a little odd...
Once again, I am the slacker drabble moderator. In Ohio, it's still Monday, so I'm on time.
Drabble #8 (the blue drabble) is closed.
This week's drabble challenge is: fruit. Oh yes. From the lowly grape to the mighty Ugli fruit -- have at it. Get fruity with your bad selves.
Wheee! Fruit. This should get porny quick. Crosses fingers.
I blink at her in incomprehension. It's not that Jamaica is a totally straight country, but it's hostile to the gay lifestyle. I've been brought up too many different places, too many different ways, to let her stay sheltered. She's open-minded, but she does have some cobwebs to shake off, and a new vernacular to acquire.
I'm walking her through it, as a good modern daughter should. Oh, but it's hard. She's arch, and she's tangential, and she's stubborn. And she knows me.
Suddenly I'm screaming.
"IT'S FRUIT FLY!!!! FOR THE LAST TIME ... STOP CALLING ME A FAGGOT MAGGOT!!!"
inspired by AmyLiz's comment above!
Porn. It always went right to porn with him.
Her eyes fell again to the cucumber she had picked up for the salad and the bunch of bananas she'd grabbed to slice onto her breakfast cereal. Her hands clenched around the yellow plastic of the handle and whitened with her grip. Couldn't even bring home the groceries without some sly comment or crude joke. It was like a disease with him, a twisted obsession. Decent people didn't talk like that.
Sick bastard.
She slapped the Vogue into the shopping cart like a reprimand.
ita, I love the power of that drabble. You really make me feel that tension between the mother/daughter. I love this line: "I'm walking her through it, as a good modern daughter should. Oh, but it's hard. She's arch, and she's tangential, and she's stubborn. And she knows me."