Spambo

[nny]

Anyone want anything?

I'm sitting here doing nothing, so if you want anything...

I'll upload music, write drabbles, answer questions, hand out hugs, do small dances, tell you how utterly wonderful you are... whatever you want. Now's the time to ask.

I will say, though, it's wise to comment asap because I have a tendency towards forgetting about these things in a hideous and neglectful manner, so later comments may not get a response. ¬_¬



ETA: I've been reminded of icon drabbles I still owe, and those are coming, I promise. I got stalled (Withnail is a difficult bastard) but they are coming.

Comments

[ms-ntropy.livejournal.com]

I want a drabble!
A drabble with...uh...you know...with the um...STUFF!

Or...broccoli cheese soup?

[villainny.livejournal.com]

"NO!"

There was a crash as the dining-room table hit the floor, then another as the door was flung open and smacked into the wall.

"NO NO NO NO NO!"

Wensleydale sighed long-sufferingly, and looked up at Brian's parents.

"Please may I be excused for a moment, Mr and Mrs Brian?"

He was almost drowned out by the thud of footsteps fleeing up the stairs.

"Thank you, Jeremy," said Brian's mum, much the same as she always did, and he nodded politely and swung his legs around so he could hop off his chair.

The painting that hung in the corner by the stairs was lop-sided, but Wensley didn't quite dare straighten it; he wasn't entirely sure that he was tall enough for such things, and his parents always went into conniptions when he touched anything important. Brian's parents were a little more relaxed (they really had to be, what with Brian) but it didn't do to tempt fate.

Brian's feet, as expected, were sticking out from under his bed. He hadn't quite got used to not being able to fit, yet.

"Brian?"

There was some wriggling, and a muffled word that made the tip of Wensleydale's ears turn pink, and the feet disappeared. A baleful eye glared at him from the darkness under the bed.

"Traitor."

"Am not," said Wensleydale indignantly.

"Are too. You're working with the enemy!"

"I am not. I'm just trying to make sure you get something to eat, that's hardly treachorous, is it? Being a traitor would be eating all your dinner while you were hiding under the bed, actually, and asking for your pudding."

A small grubby face moved a little further forward into the light.

"You wouldn't!"

"No," he answered, patiently. "I wouldn't. I'm here, aren't I?"

"But they're trying to poison me," Brian told him plaintively.

"They're really not. I mean - " a sudden thought struck him. "I mean, it's virtually pizza, isn't it?"

Brian stared at him suspiciously. "Pizza's less runny."

"That's what the bread's for, see? You've got the bread to make it less runny, and you've got cheese, and there's broccoli which is virtually almost like green pepper, which you have on pizza all the time."

"What about the tomato?"

"I don't know," said Wensleydale. "Put tomato ketchup in it, or something."

It made Brian come out from under the bed, at least. It was almost a shame that the sight of their child gleefully pouring tomato ketchup into his soup made Brian's parents determined never to serve it again.

[ms-ntropy.livejournal.com]

HEEEE!
Awesome!