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23 October 2010 @ 02:24 am
YES, I SAID I WOULD.  
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THIS IS THE FREAKS AND GEEKS FICATHON:
(No, not for the awesome Apatow series.
Although obviously you can prompt away with those characters and that world all you want, loves.)

A place where we can celebrate those of a less conventional nature. Fun.
Your favourite villian? You bet your sweet arse count as a freak.
Most awesome medical drama? Dude, doctors are geeks, of course they are.


RULES ARE THUS:

1. Is my love a freak or geek?
I don't know, do they feel like a freak or a geek? In your heart of hearts?

For the purpose of this, there are three categories:

THE ARCHETYPES: the ones that without any kind of doubt fit the category.
For freaks, this is: those not accepted by society, yours or their own. For geeks, it's those with an overenthusiastic nature towards things that are perhaps not all that popular (academia, sci-fi, blah-blah) in the grand scheme of things.
FREAKS: Abed Nadir- and probably every character (Community), River Tam, Eric/Phantom (Phantom of the Opera), EVERYONE FROM ROCKY HORROR, lmao.
GEEKS: Leonard, Sheldon (Big Bang Theory), Willow (BtVS), Fred (AtS)

THE INTERESTS: people who may or may not be freaks or geeks themselves but are engaging in freaky/geeky behaviour.
So maybe Quinn Fabray (Glee) is a stamp collector? Maybe Sid and Michelle (Skins) have got together to practise the occult?
It's about celebrating everything weiiiiiiiird.

THE DEFENDED:
AKA: The ones you can justify.
I can't think of every situation. And in all fairness, I wouldn't want to. Maybe you have a favourite play that two people in the entire world have read but you can justify that person as a geek or a freak, ("well, didn't you see them take an unhealthy fascination with the frog? GEEK"). I won't be checking all the entries, that's silliness. So don't fear repercussions. And the way I see it is, if they're a freak/geek to you, they're a freak/geek to me.

2. but... but... how do I get people to write for my freaks and geeks and geeks and freaks?

You comment to this post, you numpty.

FANDOM>> CHARACTER/PAIRING>> PROMPT

Be as specific or as general as you like, have lyrics, settings, activities, a random word as your prompt. Have it written from one perspective, the other, both. Have some romance, or not. Have a slash ship or not. You can be as cracky and delicious as you can because the theme lets you be so general. YOU CAN DO ANYTHING.

Come on, you've done this before.

3. WHEN WRITING FOR SOMEONE, REPLY TO THEIR COMMENT AND HAVE: FANDOM/ CHARACTER/ TITLE/ RATING in the subject line.

4. Do I have to write for this if I prompt?

Erm... No.
It'd be nice if you did.
But I often steal icons from people and I have no intention of learning how to make graphics.
Hence, the crappy graphics made by me.

BUT FEEDBACK FROM YOU IS ALWAYS NICE.

5. NO FANDOM WANK.
Seriously.
You'll just be ignored and deleted. And I've been told that's the best way to deal with bullies, so watch out is all I'm saying.
Ships and characters are precious, don't break other people's toys.

6. SPOILERS ARE A GIVEN. Don't bitch.

7. PIMP. PIMP. PIMP.

If you are graphically-capable, please make me a banner.
I need the help.
OBVIOUSLY.

OH AND HAVE FUN.
BE FLAILY AND CREATIVE.
BE WONDERFUL AND GEEKY. AND FREAKY. AND YAAAAAAAAAAAAY: GO GO GO
 
 
Current Location: on the sofa
Current Mood: ecstaticecstatic
Current Music: 'Stay With Me'- YouMeAtSix
 
 
the business of benefiting hussies: [btvs] the best otp ever—in daguerrotypemarketchippie on October 25th, 2010 05:20 am (UTC)
btvs - dru/spike - the bees made honey in the lion's head - pg-13
As his fingers tick up the ridges of her ribs, she realizes that she has built ladders for him to climb: the bones beneath her skin anticipating the tracks of footfalls and hands aspiring to heaven. Yet she already knows him better than that. No methodical maker of pace, no meter in the palms of his hands that would ascend one after another after another after an other—they slide over her skin greedy as a lion's mouth, biting rough and lovely and full of the songs of things that never learned to sing. She opens her mouth and out the notes fall, another and another and another, caught in the prickling sweetness of senses trapped beneath skin. He pulls her on top of him and the ladder, it sways. Caught in the wind that ruffles skirts and blows black clouds over the sky, that brings lightning and splits trees.

She's never known she was so pliable before.

There is air in the spaces between her bones, not because she needs it, but birds dream of flying all the same and when her back arches as if she dreams of knotting the intricacies of their skin together until they don't remember how to be apart the memories of wings that were never hers tick under her ribs.

The song sings: cuck-koo, like a clock that dreams of forests. There's all sorts of mysteries caught between the minutes if you stop to untangle them: she does not and time stops and she swallows the seconds with their little black tick-mark faces and does not listen to a word they say. They whisper odd, ugly things to her, all angry birds and foxes and vines, but the world is silent now but for the paean of voices: songs skimming over the rough low sounds he hides in his throat. It purrs under her tongue when she places it between ridge and hollow; she can taste it like velvet over a knife.

He drops a kiss on her eyelid, mouth still a little sticky with blood. There is a reassuring savor of heartbeats remembered on his lips.