Btw? It was here that someone was asking about lay and lie?

"Lay" is both the past tense of the verb which is "lie" in the present and intransitive, as in, you lie down; and "lay" is also the present tense of the transitive verb. As in, sex, or laying down sticks.

(Lorrie Moore line: a teacher explaining to her writing student, you don't lay down. And then something about feathers in uncomfortable places...!)

Anne, it made me sad. But in a way that felt right. Poor Xander.

Anne, that's great. Wonderful Xander.

Anne, it made me cry. So lovely.

Wonderful Xander insight. Very visual. I loved it.

I think I've got Am writing it! Yeah! Go me!

Go You indeed, you fic-writing-enabler you.

I love your Drusilla.

Anne, I've said this before, but I'll say it again: that's a very good story.

Anne, I'm at work but I really want to comment extensively on this. If I don't come back later with comment, please remind me. Right now, just real quick.

Far too much of his life had been nothing but noise.

This is perfectly lovely. Because it's true. And it explains why Xander likes the quiet.

Anne, I'm at work but I really want to comment extensively on this. If I don't come back later with comment, please remind me.

Sure thing! Extensive comments are more than welcome.

For Fay, only a few hundreds words, first draft, needs more of a lead in, comments welcome:

"Xander," Andrew whined. "When are you going to untie me?"

"Not for a while, nerdy boy. While you tied up, you’re relatively safe from Anya."

"But the ropes are itchy!" He squirmed to demonstrate.

"Look, Andrew," Xander said, coming to squat in front of the chair, "Buffy and Giles—and Annabelle—are out there, in danger. I don’t have time to play games."

"I’ve told you everything I know."

"Have you? I’m not sure I trust you. Perhaps you’re withholding vital details."

Andrew looked at Xander, fear in his blue-green eyes, and for the first time in too long Xander felt the appeal of having power over a fellow human being. This man—if Xander was a man, so was Andrew, technically—was afraid of him, really afraid. And something else.

"Perhaps I am," he heard Andrew say, bravely but still not quite making scary-villain levels.

"I don’t think so. You weren’t close enough to Warren to find out anything interesting."

"You don’t know that! I could be hiding the Death Star plans."

"Like R2-D2? No way."

"I could be!"

"What are you expecting me to do, strip you naked and look for a secret disk drive?"

It suddenly occurred to Xander that he actually had the power to do just that. Something in Andrew’s expression said that they’d both had that thought, and the next thing that Xander realised was that his pants were getting tighter with the idea.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. In front of the chair, on eye level with Andrew (though Andrew had looked away, submissively refusing eye contact and trying to hide a rampant blush), it came to Xander’s attention that he wasn’t the only one finding his underwear unusually restricting.

Then Andrew muttered, "Luke had to take the restraining bolt off first."

It didn’t really matter what that referred to. A course of action crystallized itself in Xander’s mind, became a plan, and without stopping to consider whether this was an Archer-trekking-off-into-the-desert-with-only-Trip-for-company plan or a Janeway-helping-B’Elanna-send-a-message-back-to-the-alpha-quadrent-through-a-wormhole plan, he was putting it into action.

squeals. claps. squeals again.

"What are you expecting me to do, strip you naked and look for a secret disk drive?"

May I tag?