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Spuffyficathon
May. 23rd, 2004 06:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
essene_backupI didn't want to find out what would happen to me if I didn't finish by tomorrow, so I put the fire to my muse and forced it to finish.
Title: Discoveries
Written for:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hecatehatethat
Rating: PG-13?
Setting: early Season 5
Author's notes: I know it was fill-in, but I'm still horribly sorry that it took me so long. Yeah, there's some blatant line stealing in here. Unbeta'd so feel free to chime in...
_______________________________
Buffy stared at the stacks of books surrounding her and sighed. It was still a bit of a mystery to her why she was sitting here in The Magic Box instead of at home watching Disney movies while Dawn made brownies. Giles. Somehow, someway he’d tricked her with his tricky ways and British accent, which is why she’d stupidly agreed to assist with cataloging the latest shipment.
He was on the phone with whoever had been at the other end of the shipment, and had been for the better part of the morning. Anya had been helping customers and going over the top in the “too much information” category, as usual. Buffy had made it through one musty column in the time she’d been here, but she still had--she looked at the table again--more than she cared to contemplate, to go.
She reached for the top book on the nearest stack. Stiff, cracked leather met her fingertips, she pulled it down with a sigh and quickly scanned the cover as she scribbled notes: approx. 4x6, gilt edges, brown leather cover, no title
She flipped through it briefly and was surprised to see neat, if cramped, script filling the pages. A journal! She loved journals, always some bit of secret information hidden away, all the juicy stuff that was forbidden to tell, or even think about. She’d even had Willow hook her up with a simple translating spell that let her quickly decipher any human language and most demonic ones. Oh, except for those horribly boring ones where it was a catalog of things rather than thoughts.
Hoping for juice, she eagerly turned to the first page and was delighted to find that this one was in English.
20 July 1867
Mum warned me. But I didn’t listen. I foolishly assumed that it would be different here. That due to their stations and upbringing they’d be mannered, or at the very least polite. Niles Ashbury quickly rectified that illusion. I’d rather go back to Winston Hall; at least there I knew what I was dealing with. Where to avoid. How not to get hurt as badly as the first time. Here? The beatings are not physical, but they hurt all the worse…
Buffy furrowed her brows. This was obviously the journal of a young man who was not very happy. There seemed to be teasing and taunting? Perhaps even physical abuse…but by…who? She kept reading.
28 July 1867
The man is nothing but a brutish galoot. And she looks at him with those fawn eyes as if he’s Adonis. I’d give the stars and the moon and this very veil of life if she’d just look at me like that once. Just once. He spilled my ink well on purpose today. Ruined an entire parchment that I’d spent 2 hours on. Smiled cruelly. With each passing day I become more convinced that he is a devil or a demon of some sort. How can she stand him?
Buffy unconsciously curled her legs beneath her and began to read in earnest now, heedless of the customers flowing in and out, the phone ringing, even Anya and Giles bickering over cost vs. value in the pricing of merchandise. She became engrossed as the man’s tale of longing washed over her.
4 September 1867
I’d hire a Bow Street runner if I could afford one. I think about her all the time. Have even penned some of my clumsy poetry about her. She’s a muse beyond compare. I watch her in the park and feel envy for her parasol. To be wrapped in that delicate palm, just to know the touch of her, even if it’s through kid gloves…
13 September 1867
Mum’s been looking at me with those sad eyes again. She stopped asking about the bruises years ago, she did have Uncle Lester try to encourage me to look into pugilism. I’m beginning to wish I had, rather than find another book to bury my nose in. Now she just bites her tongue and watches me. Sometimes that hurts more than the fists…
Buffy read on, compelled by this soft-hearted man who seemed to accept his lot, yet felt so passionately towards this young woman he wrote about. The years passed by in his entries; he completed University, his deep and abiding affection for his mother remained constant, as did his unrequited passion for the unnamed woman, and there was always the undercurrent of torture by his peers--as well as some truly sappy poetry. His 25th birthday came and went. He used his trust from his long deceased father to travel the continent. And that seemed to be the best time in his life. But lonely. Always lonely.
18 February, 1880
There’s to be a gathering at the Rochesters’ this evening. Mum says to go. I am reluctant, but she pulls me. My sweet Cecily. It’s the first time I’ve penned her name and it’s freeing somehow. As if she’s finally tangible. I have the urge to trace it a thousand times. Etch it so firmly into the paper it can never be removed, for she can never be removed from my heart. Perhaps tonight. Perhaps my light will be allowed to shine well enough for her to see through Niles’ façade.
It was the last entry. There were pages removed--no ripped out--following the entry. Buffy wondered what had been written there. She flipped through the rest of the journal, bitterly disappointed to find nothing else, in the careful script she’d indulged in. On the last page however, was a note in a completely different hand: Found dropped on London Street. Speculated to be the personal journal of William Ackerton aka William the Bloody aka Spike.
Buffy let the journal fall from her fingers with a heavy thud on the table and whispered with wide eyes, “It can’t be….”
*************
She was different tonight. He could feel it in the heft of her blows, the shifts in her stance, the…confusion in her eyes. Usually their sparring left him randy, exhilarated and pissed as all hell. Tonight it was leaving him unfulfilled. She smelled different too. No sweat of anger, no brief flashes of pheromone, no bite in her breath. Tonight she was awash in…uncertainty. Something too close to fear for his taste. There was something wrong with his Slayer. He dropped his fists and stepped back, out of her range.
“What’re you doing, Spike?”
“Think I should be asking that question, pet. This isn’t you, Slayer.” Spike shook his head, “Your heart’s not in it.”
“Oh, so now I can only dust you if I really, really mean it?” She jumped and spun her leg out at him, which he deflected negligently with his forearm.
He moved back again, leaning against a tree. “Wouldn’t want me to get the idea that you didn’t care, would ya?” He cocked his head at her while fished for his cigarettes.
She relaxed her poster and let her hands fall by her sides. Blowing a stray hair from her face she said irritably, “I just don’t get you, Spike.”
“What’s to get? You’re a Slayer, I’m a vampire. You kill my kind, I eat yours.” He grinned wolfishly.
“That’s not all and you know it. Why’d you come back here? Why do you stay? Why do you taunt me?” Her eyes flashed at him and then dropped to the ground, “Why don’t you REALLY try to kill me? I know you don’t try. Your chip never goes off when we fight.” He eyes rose back to lock with his as though she expected to see the answer to her barrage writ large there.
And she was shocked to find it was.
Not certain why, she continued on, “I think I know.” She took a step toward him, “I found something yesterday.”
Spike took an uneasy drag, the flash of orange illuminating his furrowed brow briefly, What was the chit going on about?
“It seems that once, there was a big bad vamp that was a man, used to be a man. A lonely, sentimental, unhappy man. A tragic figure really. And like all tragic figures, he loved, but was not loved in return.” Her voice was bland, giving away no emotion.
Spike let the cigarette fall from his fingers into the grass below. She couldn’t be…no there was no way…
“This man. He had a name.” Buffy moved closer to him. He could see the flecks of green and gold in her eyes, feel the heat of her body.
“The vamp, he had a name too.” Her voice dropped, her eyes narrowed slightly as her head shook from side to side, “The names don’t exactly match, but the personalities do.”
A small, immaculately manicured hand rose to finger the lapel of his duster. Her eyes lit there momentarily and then rose to focus on his once again, “Would you like to know what I know…William?”
Everything stopped. Froze. A perfect still moment just before the chill ran down his spine. And with that chill, long lost habits returned. Spike turned and ran.
After a moment’s hesitation, Buffy followed.
***************
If his heart could beat it would be racing--as it was he was panting and his skin felt too tight. He hadn’t heard that name tied to any sort of reference to himself in decades. And to hear it come from the Slayer’s lips? Rocked him to the core.
Worse? She seemed to know, to know things she shouldn’t, that no one should. Things he hadn’t even told Drusilla in all the long years they’d spent together.
He scanned the crypt and raced towards the makeshift bar for the bottle that was glinting in the moonlight. He’d raised it to his lips and managed some swift gulps before the door opened to let the bane of his existence inside.
“Come to point fingers, have a good chuckle?” He wiped his mouth and let his words drip with scorn.
She didn’t speak. She just looked at him. Scanned him with those woody green eyes and then started to close the gap between them.
He always thought he had her pegged. He was positive one second that she was a spitfire, the next that she was a goddess, the next a fragile creature. That was the problem, he had her pegged and then she’d shift into some new and just as glorious incarnation. Just like now, he’d been certain she was going to taunt him, but now? Now she looked like she wanted to inspect him with a microscope. Bitch.
He was tired of it. Tired of feeling like this, tired of trying to figure her out, tired of playing games. Defeated he said, “What do you want Buffy?”
She came closer, hands twitching as if they couldn’t make up their mind about what their mistress was doing. So tired of all these fucking games.
He growled at her, “You want to stake me? Go ahead. Put me out of my misery. Do it. Take me out of a world that has you in it.”
He ripped open his shirt and bared his chest to her, dared her to do it. Fill the hole in his heart with a shaft of wood. Instead her hand came up to gingerly trace his flesh. Light fingertips danced over his skin, mapping the outlines of muscle and bone.
Hissing he grabbed her arms, “What’re you playing at Buffy?”
She looked up at him, eyes soft as moss and then rose on tiptoe to brush her slightly parted lips across his.
He felt her breath on his lips just before the soft touch of her skin met his. The warmth of her set every nerve ending in his body ablaze. It was like being in front of a roaring bonfire; only he felt it inside as well as out.
Spike moved to cover that hot moist mouth with his own, just like he’d fantasized about night after night, year after year…
“Spike? Spike are you up there?”
He pulled away from Buffy abruptly as the reality of that voice slammed into his brain.
“Bugger.”
“Dawn?” Buffy’s voice was incredulous.
He heard the girl grunt gently as she hoisted herself out from below.
“What’re you doing here Dawn?” Buffy demanded as she quickly moved away from Spike’s arms.
“Yes, bit, what are you doing here?” He generally appreciated the nibblet’s visits, but this one? Ill timed to say the least. He walked back to the bar and grabbed the bottle for another, much needed, swig.
Heedless of the tenuous situation she’d interrupted, she grinned and bounced over to the bar. “I came to hear some more stories. The ones you told the other night were so cool! I told them to the girls when we had the sleepover at Janice’s and…”
“Dawn!” Buffy barked, “You need to go home. Now! Mom’ll be worried. You know you’re not supposed to be out after dark without me.”
Dawn gave her a dismissive cocked hip that was signature of most pre-teen girls, “Mom knows I’m out.”
Gritting her teeth, Buffy approached Dawn with a murderous look and Spike jumped to intervene. Slinging an arm around her shoulders, he walked with her towards the entrance, “I’ll tell you what nibblet. You give your sister a chance to talk to me or beat the tar out of me, or whatever it is she’s here to do, and I’ll tell you the most hair raising, gruesome, shriek-worthy story that you’ve ever heard. Tomorrow.”
Dawn looked at him suspiciously, “You’d rather let Buffy whup your ass than tell me a story?”
Shrugging he said, “What can I say, bit? It’s the only way I can get her to leave me alone.” He grinned at her rakishly.
Dawn laughed and then hugged him hard. “Alright, but it had better be good and I’ll be here at sundown Bleach boy.”
Spike narrowed his eyes at her, “Starting to pick up some of Harris’ bad habits, there bit. Maybe you should come visit more often.”
She giggled and stuck her tongue out at him, “Bye, Spike,” then yelled past him, “Bye fartface!” Laughing hysterically, she dashed out the door.
Spike had barely begun to turn around when he felt crushing hands on his shoulders, which pinned him to the wall to face blazing green eyes, “You really care about her, don’t you?”
No sense in lying now, not when she knew other, more shameful things, “Like she were my own.”
Those pert, blood-filled lips crashed against his again, sending shocks of excitement and passion rolling through his veins. His tongue darted out to test the heat of her mouth and was welcomed with long strokes of her tongue against his.
Then she pulled away. “I’ve got to walk her back. She thinks she knows, but she has no idea what’s out there.”
She looked at him speculatively. “Just like you. I thought I knew, but I had no idea.”
With her hand on the door she gave him one final, lingering look, “I will be back. And when I come? You’d better be prepared.”
She rushed out the door following the direction her sister took. He stood in the frame of the door, he called out, “For what?”
She shouted back, “Use your imagination.”
He cocked his head and let his lips curl; oh his Slayer was in for it now. Yes she was. Yeah, the only thing better than killing a slayer? ..... Humming, he closed the crypt door behind him.
________________________________________________________________
Challenge guidelines:
Timeline: Season 5 or 6
One or Two Things Wanted: Spike & Dawn interaction, Buffy learning something new (to her) about Spike
One or Two things Not Wanted: Spike getting a soul; over the top schmoopiness
Title: Discoveries
Written for:
hecatehatethatRating: PG-13?
Setting: early Season 5
Author's notes: I know it was fill-in, but I'm still horribly sorry that it took me so long. Yeah, there's some blatant line stealing in here. Unbeta'd so feel free to chime in...
_______________________________
Buffy stared at the stacks of books surrounding her and sighed. It was still a bit of a mystery to her why she was sitting here in The Magic Box instead of at home watching Disney movies while Dawn made brownies. Giles. Somehow, someway he’d tricked her with his tricky ways and British accent, which is why she’d stupidly agreed to assist with cataloging the latest shipment.
He was on the phone with whoever had been at the other end of the shipment, and had been for the better part of the morning. Anya had been helping customers and going over the top in the “too much information” category, as usual. Buffy had made it through one musty column in the time she’d been here, but she still had--she looked at the table again--more than she cared to contemplate, to go.
She reached for the top book on the nearest stack. Stiff, cracked leather met her fingertips, she pulled it down with a sigh and quickly scanned the cover as she scribbled notes: approx. 4x6, gilt edges, brown leather cover, no title
She flipped through it briefly and was surprised to see neat, if cramped, script filling the pages. A journal! She loved journals, always some bit of secret information hidden away, all the juicy stuff that was forbidden to tell, or even think about. She’d even had Willow hook her up with a simple translating spell that let her quickly decipher any human language and most demonic ones. Oh, except for those horribly boring ones where it was a catalog of things rather than thoughts.
Hoping for juice, she eagerly turned to the first page and was delighted to find that this one was in English.
20 July 1867
Mum warned me. But I didn’t listen. I foolishly assumed that it would be different here. That due to their stations and upbringing they’d be mannered, or at the very least polite. Niles Ashbury quickly rectified that illusion. I’d rather go back to Winston Hall; at least there I knew what I was dealing with. Where to avoid. How not to get hurt as badly as the first time. Here? The beatings are not physical, but they hurt all the worse…
Buffy furrowed her brows. This was obviously the journal of a young man who was not very happy. There seemed to be teasing and taunting? Perhaps even physical abuse…but by…who? She kept reading.
28 July 1867
The man is nothing but a brutish galoot. And she looks at him with those fawn eyes as if he’s Adonis. I’d give the stars and the moon and this very veil of life if she’d just look at me like that once. Just once. He spilled my ink well on purpose today. Ruined an entire parchment that I’d spent 2 hours on. Smiled cruelly. With each passing day I become more convinced that he is a devil or a demon of some sort. How can she stand him?
Buffy unconsciously curled her legs beneath her and began to read in earnest now, heedless of the customers flowing in and out, the phone ringing, even Anya and Giles bickering over cost vs. value in the pricing of merchandise. She became engrossed as the man’s tale of longing washed over her.
4 September 1867
I’d hire a Bow Street runner if I could afford one. I think about her all the time. Have even penned some of my clumsy poetry about her. She’s a muse beyond compare. I watch her in the park and feel envy for her parasol. To be wrapped in that delicate palm, just to know the touch of her, even if it’s through kid gloves…
13 September 1867
Mum’s been looking at me with those sad eyes again. She stopped asking about the bruises years ago, she did have Uncle Lester try to encourage me to look into pugilism. I’m beginning to wish I had, rather than find another book to bury my nose in. Now she just bites her tongue and watches me. Sometimes that hurts more than the fists…
Buffy read on, compelled by this soft-hearted man who seemed to accept his lot, yet felt so passionately towards this young woman he wrote about. The years passed by in his entries; he completed University, his deep and abiding affection for his mother remained constant, as did his unrequited passion for the unnamed woman, and there was always the undercurrent of torture by his peers--as well as some truly sappy poetry. His 25th birthday came and went. He used his trust from his long deceased father to travel the continent. And that seemed to be the best time in his life. But lonely. Always lonely.
18 February, 1880
There’s to be a gathering at the Rochesters’ this evening. Mum says to go. I am reluctant, but she pulls me. My sweet Cecily. It’s the first time I’ve penned her name and it’s freeing somehow. As if she’s finally tangible. I have the urge to trace it a thousand times. Etch it so firmly into the paper it can never be removed, for she can never be removed from my heart. Perhaps tonight. Perhaps my light will be allowed to shine well enough for her to see through Niles’ façade.
It was the last entry. There were pages removed--no ripped out--following the entry. Buffy wondered what had been written there. She flipped through the rest of the journal, bitterly disappointed to find nothing else, in the careful script she’d indulged in. On the last page however, was a note in a completely different hand: Found dropped on London Street. Speculated to be the personal journal of William Ackerton aka William the Bloody aka Spike.
Buffy let the journal fall from her fingers with a heavy thud on the table and whispered with wide eyes, “It can’t be….”
*************
She was different tonight. He could feel it in the heft of her blows, the shifts in her stance, the…confusion in her eyes. Usually their sparring left him randy, exhilarated and pissed as all hell. Tonight it was leaving him unfulfilled. She smelled different too. No sweat of anger, no brief flashes of pheromone, no bite in her breath. Tonight she was awash in…uncertainty. Something too close to fear for his taste. There was something wrong with his Slayer. He dropped his fists and stepped back, out of her range.
“What’re you doing, Spike?”
“Think I should be asking that question, pet. This isn’t you, Slayer.” Spike shook his head, “Your heart’s not in it.”
“Oh, so now I can only dust you if I really, really mean it?” She jumped and spun her leg out at him, which he deflected negligently with his forearm.
He moved back again, leaning against a tree. “Wouldn’t want me to get the idea that you didn’t care, would ya?” He cocked his head at her while fished for his cigarettes.
She relaxed her poster and let her hands fall by her sides. Blowing a stray hair from her face she said irritably, “I just don’t get you, Spike.”
“What’s to get? You’re a Slayer, I’m a vampire. You kill my kind, I eat yours.” He grinned wolfishly.
“That’s not all and you know it. Why’d you come back here? Why do you stay? Why do you taunt me?” Her eyes flashed at him and then dropped to the ground, “Why don’t you REALLY try to kill me? I know you don’t try. Your chip never goes off when we fight.” He eyes rose back to lock with his as though she expected to see the answer to her barrage writ large there.
And she was shocked to find it was.
Not certain why, she continued on, “I think I know.” She took a step toward him, “I found something yesterday.”
Spike took an uneasy drag, the flash of orange illuminating his furrowed brow briefly, What was the chit going on about?
“It seems that once, there was a big bad vamp that was a man, used to be a man. A lonely, sentimental, unhappy man. A tragic figure really. And like all tragic figures, he loved, but was not loved in return.” Her voice was bland, giving away no emotion.
Spike let the cigarette fall from his fingers into the grass below. She couldn’t be…no there was no way…
“This man. He had a name.” Buffy moved closer to him. He could see the flecks of green and gold in her eyes, feel the heat of her body.
“The vamp, he had a name too.” Her voice dropped, her eyes narrowed slightly as her head shook from side to side, “The names don’t exactly match, but the personalities do.”
A small, immaculately manicured hand rose to finger the lapel of his duster. Her eyes lit there momentarily and then rose to focus on his once again, “Would you like to know what I know…William?”
Everything stopped. Froze. A perfect still moment just before the chill ran down his spine. And with that chill, long lost habits returned. Spike turned and ran.
After a moment’s hesitation, Buffy followed.
***************
If his heart could beat it would be racing--as it was he was panting and his skin felt too tight. He hadn’t heard that name tied to any sort of reference to himself in decades. And to hear it come from the Slayer’s lips? Rocked him to the core.
Worse? She seemed to know, to know things she shouldn’t, that no one should. Things he hadn’t even told Drusilla in all the long years they’d spent together.
He scanned the crypt and raced towards the makeshift bar for the bottle that was glinting in the moonlight. He’d raised it to his lips and managed some swift gulps before the door opened to let the bane of his existence inside.
“Come to point fingers, have a good chuckle?” He wiped his mouth and let his words drip with scorn.
She didn’t speak. She just looked at him. Scanned him with those woody green eyes and then started to close the gap between them.
He always thought he had her pegged. He was positive one second that she was a spitfire, the next that she was a goddess, the next a fragile creature. That was the problem, he had her pegged and then she’d shift into some new and just as glorious incarnation. Just like now, he’d been certain she was going to taunt him, but now? Now she looked like she wanted to inspect him with a microscope. Bitch.
He was tired of it. Tired of feeling like this, tired of trying to figure her out, tired of playing games. Defeated he said, “What do you want Buffy?”
She came closer, hands twitching as if they couldn’t make up their mind about what their mistress was doing. So tired of all these fucking games.
He growled at her, “You want to stake me? Go ahead. Put me out of my misery. Do it. Take me out of a world that has you in it.”
He ripped open his shirt and bared his chest to her, dared her to do it. Fill the hole in his heart with a shaft of wood. Instead her hand came up to gingerly trace his flesh. Light fingertips danced over his skin, mapping the outlines of muscle and bone.
Hissing he grabbed her arms, “What’re you playing at Buffy?”
She looked up at him, eyes soft as moss and then rose on tiptoe to brush her slightly parted lips across his.
He felt her breath on his lips just before the soft touch of her skin met his. The warmth of her set every nerve ending in his body ablaze. It was like being in front of a roaring bonfire; only he felt it inside as well as out.
Spike moved to cover that hot moist mouth with his own, just like he’d fantasized about night after night, year after year…
“Spike? Spike are you up there?”
He pulled away from Buffy abruptly as the reality of that voice slammed into his brain.
“Bugger.”
“Dawn?” Buffy’s voice was incredulous.
He heard the girl grunt gently as she hoisted herself out from below.
“What’re you doing here Dawn?” Buffy demanded as she quickly moved away from Spike’s arms.
“Yes, bit, what are you doing here?” He generally appreciated the nibblet’s visits, but this one? Ill timed to say the least. He walked back to the bar and grabbed the bottle for another, much needed, swig.
Heedless of the tenuous situation she’d interrupted, she grinned and bounced over to the bar. “I came to hear some more stories. The ones you told the other night were so cool! I told them to the girls when we had the sleepover at Janice’s and…”
“Dawn!” Buffy barked, “You need to go home. Now! Mom’ll be worried. You know you’re not supposed to be out after dark without me.”
Dawn gave her a dismissive cocked hip that was signature of most pre-teen girls, “Mom knows I’m out.”
Gritting her teeth, Buffy approached Dawn with a murderous look and Spike jumped to intervene. Slinging an arm around her shoulders, he walked with her towards the entrance, “I’ll tell you what nibblet. You give your sister a chance to talk to me or beat the tar out of me, or whatever it is she’s here to do, and I’ll tell you the most hair raising, gruesome, shriek-worthy story that you’ve ever heard. Tomorrow.”
Dawn looked at him suspiciously, “You’d rather let Buffy whup your ass than tell me a story?”
Shrugging he said, “What can I say, bit? It’s the only way I can get her to leave me alone.” He grinned at her rakishly.
Dawn laughed and then hugged him hard. “Alright, but it had better be good and I’ll be here at sundown Bleach boy.”
Spike narrowed his eyes at her, “Starting to pick up some of Harris’ bad habits, there bit. Maybe you should come visit more often.”
She giggled and stuck her tongue out at him, “Bye, Spike,” then yelled past him, “Bye fartface!” Laughing hysterically, she dashed out the door.
Spike had barely begun to turn around when he felt crushing hands on his shoulders, which pinned him to the wall to face blazing green eyes, “You really care about her, don’t you?”
No sense in lying now, not when she knew other, more shameful things, “Like she were my own.”
Those pert, blood-filled lips crashed against his again, sending shocks of excitement and passion rolling through his veins. His tongue darted out to test the heat of her mouth and was welcomed with long strokes of her tongue against his.
Then she pulled away. “I’ve got to walk her back. She thinks she knows, but she has no idea what’s out there.”
She looked at him speculatively. “Just like you. I thought I knew, but I had no idea.”
With her hand on the door she gave him one final, lingering look, “I will be back. And when I come? You’d better be prepared.”
She rushed out the door following the direction her sister took. He stood in the frame of the door, he called out, “For what?”
She shouted back, “Use your imagination.”
He cocked his head and let his lips curl; oh his Slayer was in for it now. Yes she was. Yeah, the only thing better than killing a slayer? ..... Humming, he closed the crypt door behind him.
________________________________________________________________
Challenge guidelines:
Timeline: Season 5 or 6
One or Two Things Wanted: Spike & Dawn interaction, Buffy learning something new (to her) about Spike
One or Two things Not Wanted: Spike getting a soul; over the top schmoopiness
no subject
Date: 2004-05-23 07:38 pm (UTC)((hugs))
no subject
Date: 2004-05-23 09:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-23 07:42 pm (UTC)*clappy clappy*
I like it. And I'm so jealous that you did this unbeta'd. It's very good and the characterizations are perfect for Season 5. Bratty Dawn, non-depressed Buffy, and sexy just-fallen-in-love Spike.
*sigh*
no subject
Date: 2004-05-23 09:41 pm (UTC)As far as the not being beta'd? Don't be jealous, I'm sure there's errors all over the place...see look! You're beta just found one for me!
no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 07:00 am (UTC)Then I went on my LJ and accidentally called her an Spangel instead of a Bangel. Can I help it if I have buns of Spike on the brain? I blame it all on
no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 08:22 pm (UTC)dirty girl.... ;-)
no subject
Date: 2004-05-23 08:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-23 09:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-23 08:51 pm (UTC)I hate getting tough--probably why I've never run one of these ficathons before from the start and I've often wondered why I took this one over, but then we've gotten excellent ficcys. I'm so glad you got yours finished. ::Hugs::
Will read it and feedback properly tomorrow.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-23 09:39 pm (UTC)Really, thanks for being so patient and understanding. ::hugs::
no subject
Date: 2004-05-23 09:25 pm (UTC)One typo caught my eye. 8th paragraph from the bottom, "sense" instead of "since."
no subject
Date: 2004-05-23 09:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 12:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-24 04:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-25 10:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-06-01 10:53 am (UTC)Thanks!
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Date: 2004-06-23 12:12 pm (UTC)However here is the reason I came over here anyway...I have a community
I would not be insulted if you rejected the invite, I just wanted you to know about it. This is the link to accept or reject my invite.
http://www.livejournal.com/manage/invites.bml
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Date: 2004-07-06 09:35 pm (UTC)And Buffy knows he has a good imagination... Hmm...
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Date: 2004-07-13 05:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-08-06 12:38 am (UTC)This is an interesting take on how these two could've got together at that point.
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Date: 2004-08-06 08:56 am (UTC)