Snagged from [livejournal.com profile] nocturniquette1

If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, (even if we don't speak often or ever) please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me.

It can be anything you want - good or bad - BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.

When you're finished, post this little paragraph in your LJ and see what your friends come up with.
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From: [identity profile] nocturniquette1.livejournal.com


never will forget how awesome it was when we worked as P.A.s on Supernatural and we snuck in homemade extra horny fic in place of the scripts for the table reading...HAH...I think it was genius to hear manly man voices slowly sounding out what were mostly meant to be bestial sounds of reluctance and then slamming need... and it was totally priceless when we had to oil the boys down not telling them it was all fakery until after they had worked up a good bit of sexual tension... shiver. ahhh memories. good thing we were doing body shots that day on the set or we might've been nervous and gone too far.

From: [identity profile] nocturniquette1.livejournal.com


wooooot

*waves penant of happy to be bad with you-ness*

let us concentrate on bass Texas voices drawling out 'nnnnnh' and 'argggh'

mmmm.

From: [identity profile] coiledsoul.livejournal.com


There is no one in the world I like unicorn shopping with more than you. That time you almost bought the one that crapped rainbows? Hilarious!
Edited Date: 2009-08-05 06:52 am (UTC)

From: [identity profile] rivestra.livejournal.com


You remember that summer we ran away? How we ended up outside of Cleveland, just two fourteen-year-olds with less than $20 between them, but we didn’t care? We found that cool park with the big trees and we built a fort in the crook where three branches came together with cardboard and blankets we stole from under people’s picnic baskets. We stuffed ourselves with peanut butter and fried chicken from those same baskets, and watched as the owners tried to figure out where their lunches had gone, giggled ourselves nearly sick with our outrageous made-up dialogue for them.

Later, faces tired from laughing so hard, sated and sleepy, we’d lean back in our blanket-nest and stare up through the shifting leaves, and talk and talk and talk. We’d watch the puffy white clouds chase through the sky, finally turning pink and gold with the setting sun, then we’d snuggle in close to each other and drag some of the blankets over us and keep talking about everything and nothing at all as the stars started to wink at us through the last of the fading light.

We’d tuck in tighter and turn serious with the darkness, all the cares and chaos of fourteen years sharable there, in those moments, snuggled together with the tree and the stars, beyond friends, beyond even sisters, just us for that glorious summer.

You remember, right? How much we cried when my mom finally found us? She wasn’t mad, but we cried anyway. We cried and cried because it was over, and we knew that we’d never, ever be happier than we’d been in that tree.

From: [identity profile] jensens-sporran.livejournal.com


Do you remember meeting on that cruise ship to Jamaica? We had such a marvelous time.

We were both alone and you knew I was gay and it didn't matter. We hit all the shops together. I bought you that beautiful shell necklace.

We got drunk on mai tais and danced for hours in that club on the beach. It is one of my fondest memories of you.
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