Anyone with suggestions about where this could go and what my happen will be gratefully listened to, and probably taken up on the idea.

(signed, girl who gave her sister a towel for her 42nd birthday, and was somewhat irked when sister didn't get the ref.)

Ah, but is she a hoopy frood?

He hadn't recognised Arthur, and the wacky coincidences were still just under the surface

(moaning with glee)

Plei, Roz makes a nice third in the Plei-Wesley-Voice love.

... Connie, you saw this, right?

HHG slut?

Edit: Yay!

And yay for connie. That's a great rec.

That's a fabulous rec, and well-earned.

Even Jayne was gaping, although by dint of pointing a gun at whatever he was gaping at he managed to make it look quite menacing.

PERFECT!

"Perhaps we should do proper introductions first, captain," Inara suggested. Her presence was evening up the gaping stakes some, as one of Zaphod's heads took time out to admire her.

FUCKING PERFECT!

Honestly, Am, I'm enjoying this hugely!

I was trying to track that rec down because one of the commenters to that LJ sent me an email mentioning it (is the world getting smaller, or is it just me), and I couldn't get to LJ.

I'm not sure of the etiquette of going htere and saying "Thanks," because the writer of the rec didn't mention it to me, and I feel like an even more compleat feedback ho for telling them I saw it. But I've got it bookmarked so I can drool over it.

Thanks, Liz, for showing it to me.

Plei, ita, anyone who does the Sunday 100 - manoman, there are some corkers up, thanks to the Twi's theme. This week's mandated topic is "Death, Deviance, Destruction: Use at least two in your drabble."

I used all three. 100 words, Angel/Darla, porny (by my standards, anyway).

Title: I Hold With Those Who Favour Fire

"You'll do as I say."

He was silent. All his life, his undeath, he had wanted this, waited for it, an unconfessed itch. She had made him, taken him out of his life, shaped him: Darla, golden ice goddess with red lips and black stilettos.

"You'll do as I say, Angel."

She straddled him, the whip in her hand wrapping tight around his neck. Vampires can't suffocate, of course; this was part of the game.

They can die, though.

The stake kissed the wall beyond her heart, as he came, showered in her dust, whispering, "Who's the top now, Darla?"

That's a great drabble, deb. And you're right, it's a good theme-- I gave in and wrote the Caleb fic I've been wanting to read.

Recharging

The familiar female face—the face of the Slayer—faded away. Caleb watched, determined to keep his eyes open.

He felt the heat—desire, greed, and power—the pure energy of the First flowing through him, and it felt good. Or, to be more accurate, it felt bad: huge, undivided, destructive, death filled bad. Evil.

As it came, it should have torn and bruised him, but he gave his soul to it for safety, and the scream he gave was silent, a thing of desire rather than pain—though, in the high of the ecstasy, the two merged to one.

Humbaby, Am, that's hot. Also chilly.

Niiiiiiice.