[metafic] Secondary, for tinpanalley

[glossing]

It's tinpanalley's birthday and she is a lovely, effusive, *wonderful* person. I hope today starts off the best year yet for you.

This is a story I would write you, Jessica, if I had the ability.

title: Secondary
summary: Spike didn't come looking for Dawn.
pairing(s): Dawn/Spike. Others mentioned, het & slash.
rating: Adult
disclaimer: Ha.

Comments

[carla_scribbles]

Dude.

[glossing]

Heh, thanks. *g*

[carla_scribbles]

Plus, y'know, what everyone else said. I fail at giving feedback. (Although it's really interesting reading this after drifting away from the fandom, too. Like running into the girl you had a crush on in middle school, except without the crushing embarrassment.)

I think I thanked you for your Vecchio e-mail already, but thank you again -- mostly because oh my gosh were you ever right.

[marenfic]

tinpanalley is loved if you're writing Buffyverse for her.

And wonderful Buffyverse too-- scratchy, lonely adult Dawn is fantastic.

[glossing]

tinpanalley is too awesome *not* to write for, and I found myself with a day off, and so...yes.

Thanks so much!

[sweptawaybayou]

wow.

Just enough words and pain, longing and need and hurt in this to make me ache for your writing in this verse again. As if that feeling had ever gone away.

Lucky tinpanalley and lucky us, for your sharing this fic.

Beautiful and harsh.

Thank you.

[glossing]

It was really interesting, coming back to this universe, but writing it like an outsider. Must ponder this some more.

Thank you so much for such great feedback, Snow. *mwah x 10000*

[netweight]

Man, you can still make me flail over fic set in this verse. :)

[glossing]

*mwah* I'm fairly taken aback that I had any fic set in this verse left inside me. *g*

[lunabee34]

They're both made of leftovers. Afterthoughts, second thoughts, and he's never going to be Angel or Darla or Buffy or Connor. He's no one's son, no one's first. Just like she's never going to be Buffy or anyone else. She's a construct of blood with the weight of reality pressing in on her; he's a monster of blood with the weight of a soul.

And they cleave together. She gave him her arm, he opened his coat and drew her in, and she doesn't answer the phone any more, not when it's long distance.

Jesus, woman. This is just so damn good.

[glossing]

Really? Aww, thank you! I had some random thoughts that came together nicely.