Well Hi there!

So I abandoned fanfiction a while ago, and sadly this means that most of my stories have not been updated in eons. My new found love of Buffy, however (and a crippling desire to avoid all the essays and dissertation work in my final year of uni) has led me to come back- hat in my hand, like a cheating husband shamefacedly throwing himself on the mercy of his constant wife- and rekindle my love of fanfiction.

This has started on Christmas Eve Eve with the beginning of an ambitious Christmas fic of good ol' Spikey boy, featuring (hopefully) all our favourite Buffy characters.

Dr Horrible's Sing Along Blog is awesome and I strongly suggest everybody youtubes it and watches it,

"ooooh, sarcasm! thats original"

"You're treating a symptom. And the disease rages on. It consumes the human race. The fish rots from the head as they say. So my thinking is why not cut off the head?"
"of the human race?"
"...its not a perfect metaphor"

"oh goodness. look at my wrist, I gotta go,"

Rosencrantz and Guilderstern and Dead

Guildenstern: I think I have it. A man talking sense to himself is no madder than a man talking nonsense not to himself.
Rosencrantz: Or just as mad.
Guildenstern: Or just as mad.
Rosencrantz: And he does both.
Guildenstern: So there you are.
Rosencrantz: Stark raving sane.

Rosencrantz: Shouldn't we be doing something... constructive?
Guildenstern: What did you have in mind? A short, blunt human pyramid?

Rosencrantz: Do you think Death could possibly be a boat?
Guildenstern: No, no, no... Death is "not." Death isn't. Take my meaning? Death is the ultimate negative. Not-being. You can't not be on a boat.
Rosencrantz: I've frequently not been on boats.
Guildenstern: No, no... What you've been is not on boats.

Rosencrantz: I don't believe in it anyway.
Guildenstern: What?
Rosencrantz: England.
Guildenstern: Just a conspiracy of cartographers, then?

Rosencrantz: Why don't you go and have a look?
Guildenstern: Pragmatism. Is that all you have to offer?

Rosencrantz: To sum up: your father, whom you love, dies. You are his heir. You come back to find that hardly was the corpse cold before his young brother pops onto his throne and into his sheets, thereby offending both legal and natural practice. Now... why exactly are you behaving in this extraordinary manner?
Guildenstern: I can't imagine.

Guildenstern: Wasn't that the end?
Player King: You call that an ending? - with practically everyone still on his feet? My goodness, no - over your dead body!

If you leave a signed review I can guarantee I will go on to your profile and see what stories you've written!

Lots of love,
C.Rara (aka 007agentspudette)
xxx