2010 Fic Roundup Part 4: whedonland
Here are all of the drabbles and ficlets that I've written for whedonland. I'm really grateful to this community. It pushed me to write in the first place. I have to put out the warning, though, that this includes the first things I ever wrote, ie I know some of it is bad. But my desire for completeness forces me to post it all. Most are new to my journal.
NFA Drabble - Spike
The spotlight glared yellow in his eyes, blocking out the crowd. The microphone was a lead weight in his hand. There was a deathly quiet in the room, occasionally punctuated by the clink of glasses, a couple of squeaks from someone fidgeting in their chair. They were waiting for him to start. The words bubbled up on his throat, threatening to explode outward, giddy at the prospect of being heard after a century of confinement. He took a deep breath, and spoke. The words echoed across the room, filling the blackness. An interminable wait, then, thunderous applause. He was redeemed.
NFA Drabble - Angel
The first thing he felt was the pain, throbbing in his chest. Pain filled his senses, blotting out all conscious thought. Slowly, other sensations forced their way in. The cold, wet rain tickling his face. Outside? He willed his eyes to open. The alley, yes of course, the battle. He’d survived it. But he hadn’t fought alone. Who else had been there? Spike, he never missed a fight. Illyria, her face filled with rage. And…Gunn, arriving at the last second. Where were they now? He pushed himself up to sitting, willing himself to stay conscious as the pain reared up again. Since when had a battle hurt this much? He looked down at his chest, expecting to see a sword sticking out, and saw nothing. No wound to account for the relentless throbbing. He put his hand on his chest, trying to sooth the ache, and felt beating.
Lover's Walk Drabble - Buffy/Angel
In silence, they walked back towards the mansion, each seemingly lost in his or her own thoughts. His hand hung but a few inches from hers, and she longed to reach out across that chasm and grab it, to feel even the slightest physical connection. But at the moment, it seemed somehow inappropriate. The silence grew heavier with each step. When they reached his threshold, he turned to her. She held her breath, bracing herself for the worst. “Spike’s wrong, you know,” he said. Relief flowed over her. Of course they would be fine. They always were, in the end.
Anya Drabble
Swish went the duster across the blinds. There was no end to cleaning this place. As soon as she reached one end of the shop, it was time to start again. Each knick-knack had to be lifted, inspected, dusted, and carefully put back on its shelf. Some more carefully than others. Face an effigy of Borealius the Avenger north instead of south and you were likely to get a hex for your ineptitude. Next, windexing the jewelry cabinets. Wait, she could have sworn there’d been two garnet amulets in there yesterday. Oh, well, maybe Giles sold one without telling her.
Anya/Xander Drabble
“Xander. Xander. Xander!”
“What Anya? What?”
“Are you asleep?”
“Not anymore. And do you have to wake me like that? I thought we were under attack or something.”
“Well, you weren’t waking up before, so I had to speak louder so you could hear me in your sleep.”
“Well, now that I’m awake, and apparently not going back to sleep, what is it?”
“I’m bored. Play a game with me.”
“Can’t we play a game in the morning?”
“I might not be bored then, and I want to play a game now.”
“As long as I can keep my eyes closed.”
“Fine, but I’m going to remind you of this the next time you want to play one of your special, private games that I’m not supposed to talk about.”
Badfic Challenge - Buffy/Angel
Buffy could sense the love of her life watching from the shadows as she slayed the fyarl demon. She’d felt Angel nearby for weeks. Even though he had never come out to speak to her, his intense gaze was comforting.
She was a thing of beauty, the love of his undead life, swinging the sword over her head. She never needed his help, but he was always there just in case. And in the meantime, he got to admire the view. Her minidress left plenty of leg to admire. One scissor kick almost flashed the whole graveyard. Angel felt the jealousy rise in his chest. No one dare see under his mate’s skirt except him!
With that, Angel had had enough of watching. As the demon fell dead to the ground, Angel marched out of his hiding place. Buffy sensed him a moment before he reached her and turned to face him.
“Been watching long?” She asked.
“Long enough,” he growled as he grabbed her and pulled her in for a deep kiss. Thankfully not needing to breath, Angel held the kiss until Buffy broke away, gasping.
“You know we can’t,” she said with a warning in her eyes.
“Can’t what?” Angel asked, a smirk creeping into his face.
“You know…get all groin-y,” Buffy responded, her frustration growing. Why was he teasing her like this?
“It’s not a problem.” His pronouncement shocked her.
“What do you mean?” she asked warily.
“The curse. It’s gone.”
“How?!” she demanded.
“It just is. I can feel it.” He drew her in closer. She let herself relax against him. She couldn’t believe it. Everything they wanted was finally here. Who cared why?
Dr. Horrible Drabble
It helped to have friends in high places. Moist had never thought of himself as a contender for the Evil League of Evil, and he still wasn’t. But now that his best friend was the League’s new golden boy, he found himself on the guest list for the best evil parties. Henchmen who would never acknowledge him now stopped to chat him up on the street. He even invited Bait along as a plus one to the League’s Charity Christmas Ball, just to show her what she was missing out on the first time. Then he never called her again.
He also got to play sidekick on some fairly good heists. With Captain Hammer incapacitated by grief, it was pretty much an open field on crime. As thanks for help with a bank heist, D.H. tossed him a bag of money, which Moist used to redress his apartment. Had to have a respectable bachelor pad to show the ladies, who now even agreed to come home with him on occasion.
Yes, things were definitely looking up. D.H. was very generous about sharing his good fortune. In fact, Moist saw more of his friend after he was accepted into the ELE than he had before. He was always dropping by to share a new idea or show off some new invention. Sometimes he stayed so late, expounding on his theories, that he just slept on the couch. Moist never mentioned the times he heard his friend crying to himself in the middle of the night. It wasn’t worth dwelling on the past. The future was here.
Connor Ficlet
Connor knew he was a pretty lucky guy. He was going to Stanford in the fall, leaving childhood and two bratty sisters behind. All that stretched before him a carefree California summer. He might even miss this place enough to want to visit during break. Yes, everything in his life was falling in to place.
Which was why he didn’t give it much thought the first time he had the nightmare. He wrenched his eyes open, gasping for air, trying to remember and forget what had awoken him. As the familiar shapes of his nighttime room settled in around him, he willed his breath to slow. The next morning, it was but a vague memory.
The second time came less than a week later. He cried out as he awoke, bringing his parents rushing to the door. Embarrassed to have disturbed them, he assured them it was just a bad dream and sent them away. As he tried to settle back in to sleep, his vision was filled with a lake a fire.
The third time was much worse. Thrashing in his bed, he could not seem to find his way back to wakefulness. He was a boy of five, skulking in a barren wasteland. He slid from stunted tree to stunted tree, staying as small as possible. Suddenly, the reason for his caution came in to view. A giant monster, slimy green and black, towered in the distance. He used his meager cover to stay out of sight.
But then, it turned its head towards him, flashed a mouthful of razor-edged teeth. It was coming for him. He turned and ran as fast as his short legs would carry him. The monster gave chase, grotesque limbs bounding across the landscape. Connor darted from left to right, trying to stay unpredictable. There was a cave ahead, a mere slit in the rock. He would be safe if he reached it.
He felt the creature’s breath on his neck. He was never going to make it. He was going to be eaten, and his father would never know how hard he had tried to reach him. He was going to be eaten, and he was alone, and his father had left him, and why had his father left him to die out here alone?
As the beast’s jaws descended on him, Connor shot straight up in bed. He was drenched in sweat and out of breath, as if he’d truly spent the night running across a scalding desert. Later, after his hammering heart had slowed, he crept down the hall to stand silently over his parents’ bed. These two loving people would never throw him out in the wilderness to die. Why then the nightmares? It had to be the stress of leaving home, nothing more.
Comforted by this simple explanation, Connor slipped back in to bed. He did not sleep again that night, however. He feared too much that he would re-enter that land of death.
Whiskey Ficlet
She had always wanted to be a dancer. She longed to feel the music flow through her, transforming her into a creature of pure movement and beauty. Once, her mother took her to see a local production of the Nutcracker. She was mesmerized by the way the performers glided around the stage. It was a rare happy memory. Usually, her mother wouldn’t sober up long enough to get off the couch.
Dreams never had much place in her life. Sixteen and on her own, the demands of real life meant that dreams had to be put off, until they were but a distant memory. The whiskey helped. It silenced the nagging feeling that she was supposed to be somewhere else.
Tonight, the weight of her unfilled life lead to her to a smoky bar, where she could nurse her disappointments quietly. As she stared at the brown liquid in her glass, she wondered idly how often her mother had sat in just this position, waiting for her real life to begin. Five years of running, and she had ended up right back where she started, drinking her mother’s drink.
After some time, she became aware of a presence next to her. She glanced over and was surprised to see a woman’s slender hand. She turned and found a striking brunette sitting next to her. Warily, she eyed the woman up and down, taking note of her fine dress. The woman gazed back at her with an expression that was both welcoming and intimidating.
“Whatever you’re looking for, you aren’t going to find it here,” the woman said. The girl just lowered her eyes, a silent acknowledgment. The woman went on. “I think I may have what you’re looking for. I can show it to you, and so much more.”
Illyria Drabble
She did not understand this emptiness. A moment ago, he had been there, at worst a nagging reminder of her shell’s former life, at best an entertaining minion that gave her insight to human existence. Now he was gone, leaving some kind of hole in her chest.
It hurt, like a knife stabbing her. Why did it hurt so much, this absence? His was but one of a million deaths she had seen. None had left a hole before. She thought the violence would help. She killed and killed and killed, but the hole only seemed to get bigger. Strange.
Justine Ficlet
She no longer knows if it is day or night. Though she knows the bars of her cage are less than four feet apart, all she can see before her is endless darkness. Her only escape is sleep, when, for a few precious hours, or days, or minutes, she has no way to keep track, she can forget the bite of her bindings, the choke of her gag, the sheer terror that permeates her soul.
Yet even sleep does not provide respite. There have been too many horrors in her life for happy escapes, some of her own making. Unable to even lie flat in her tiny prison, her subconscious provides the release for her sore muscles, sending her running, running through mazes, through forests, always searching but never finding. Most often, she searches for her sister, chasing a figure that forever recedes on the horizon. Sometimes, she follows a man in a brown leather duster, calling to him to wait. He never seems to hear, or else, pretends not to. Occasionally, she searches for a crying baby, looking in every shadowed corner only to find it empty.
One night, or day, everything takes a turn. She is running, as usual, not sure who she is chasing. It is dark, like her waking hours. She can barely glimpse the dim figure ahead of her. Suddenly, the sky booms with thunder. The lightening flashes hide the person ahead of her, and she loses them in the distance. She has to find shelter. The booming is getting louder, closer, as if the sky were coming down to Earth.
She awakens in a cold sweat. As the darkness settles into her eyes, she realizes that the banging is coming from outside her door. Not only banging, but also grunting, heavy breathing. Is there a fight? Has someone come to rescue her?
The banging stops. She holds her breath in the silence. Muffled voices, a man and a woman, drift over to her. Then, light, receding footsteps. The woman is leaving. Heavier footsteps move closer to her. The man. The door swings open, and the light from the outside room momentarily blinds her. Then, he is standing over her, her captor. He gives her long, hard stare and announces, “Let’s go for a boat ride.”
Dawn Ficlet
The slam of the front door awoke Dawn from sleep. After that sudden noise, Dawn heard nothing.
Just when Dawn thought she might scream to break the oppressive silence, soft voices drifted up. One was female: Buffy. The words were inscrutable, but the tone was gentle and unhurried. Dawn began to relax. If Buffy wasn’t scared, she wouldn’t be either.
A second voice, male. Buffy had brought a man home when mom was away. Bad. She would have to tell mom about this right away. Dawn crept down the hall to listen, unseen, at the top of the stairs.
Oh, there was mom now, pulling up in the driveway. Dawn thought that this might be the most exciting night of her 9 years. Sadly, rather than the expected fireworks, Buffy, mom, and Tall-Dark-Mystery Guy were calmly exchanged pleasantries in the foyer where Dawn could finally make out the words. He was Buffy’s history tutor, Angel. Yeah, right. Like Buffy would volunteer for extra studying. Would have to twist his story out of Buffy later.
Mystery Guy, um, Angel, left. Good riddance. Buffy didn’t need one more complication in her life.
But wait, he’s over there, in the living room. Buffy’s saying goodnight to an empty porch. Angel followed Buffy upstairs! Dawn scrambled back to her room unseen, leaving her door open for more snoop-ugh-information gathering. Buffy’s door closed. What could they be doing in there?
Gathering her courage, Dawn crawled down the hall to listen at Buffy’s door. Muffled voices were the best that she could get.
She crouched down in front of the door, concentrating. Suddenly, the carpet at her hands was bathed in light - which meant that…Dawn swung her head up to find Buffy standing over her, hands on hips, look of doom on her face. Dawn felt something akin to fear.
Buffy whispered, “Dawn, we need to talk.” Dawn reluctantly hoists herself off the floor, followed Buffy in to her own room, and closed the door. Buffy is pacing, and Dawn can feel the lecture coming on.
“This is about slayer stuff, isn’t it?” Dawn’s declaration stops Buffy in her tracks.
Buffy responds, “Yes, it’s about slayer stuff, which is why mom can’t know.”
“Why is that guy staying in your room? You’re not having sex, are you?” Buffy cringes.
After a pause, she replies, “We’ll discuss later why you knew to ask that question. And no, Angel’s here for business. I have to keep in him safe from the guys who were following us.
“Can’t I help?” Dawn asks. Her lower lip was becoming pouty.
Buffy feels a stroke of inspiration. “You do help. You keep the secrets. That keeps me, and the world, safe.” With that, she gives Dawn a quick hug and heads back to her room. On the way out she turns and gives one last, “Remember Dawn, secrets are only safe if they’re secret.”
Dawn lays down on her bed. Finally, they’ve given her a job. Maybe she’s growing up after all.
Epitaph, Part 1 Drabble - Whiskey
Alone. Alone for so long. Maybe this is how it had always been. Just her, standing guard over these empty rooms, waiting for…something. She no longer remembers what. In silence, she drifts from room to room, making her endless rounds. There is no one there. There never is. One room draws her more often than the others. Different, it contained a desk, shelves of files, an odd, padded table. She used to spend a lot of time in this room. But when, and with whom? It no longer mattered. She would wait until they came, and then she would remember.
Adelle/Topher Ficlet - Solace
It had started with Bennett. The first time Topher saw a loved one snatched from before his eyes, a small part of his soul left with her, dimming the light in his eyes ever so slightly. It was not for the last time. The exodus to Haven had taken heavy losses. For every survivor they picked up along the way, they lost two, maybe more. It was too painful to keep count. No one took it harder than Topher. His already fragile mind became increasingly detached from his surroundings. The light further dimmed in his eyes, loss by loss, until they became cold, vacant spaces, reflecting nothing but emptiness.
How strange, Adelle thought, that this shell of a person had become her bridge back to humanity. She, who had been accused of having no human feeling, who had gone from queen of all she surveyed to a barely tolerated relic of the time before, and finally to a valued protector of the remnants of humankind.
In the early days of the war, the former dolls did their best to marginalize her. They never attacked, never threatened, just, ignored. It was as though she was so far below their contempt that they couldn't even be bothered to kill her.
If not for Topher, she might just have given up, slipped out of the sanctuary of the Dollhouse to find her end in the wilds of the streets. But to be needed, to be useful, now she would never leave.
Haven lived up to its name. Minus a few skirmishes with would-be scavengers, they lived their lives in relative peace, as people. It was a more pure life than Adelle had ever imagined for herself, rising with the sun, wresting food from the earth. The daily needs of survival left blessedly little time for reflection.
Her empire was gone, and she couldn't say she missed it. Her only concerns now were to plant the garden on time, to store the grain properly to last the winter, and to make sure Topher ate.
This last charge was closest to her heart. From the moment they arrived in Haven, he was her shadow. She found if she gave him direct, simple tasks, she could keep him distracted from his spiraling thoughts.
Two weeks after they arrived, the night terrors began. The compound awoke to agonized cries, sending people running from their rooms in confusion, readying themselves for battle, only to find it was just Topher. Tangled in his sheets, he screamed and thrashed until Adelle fought her way through the gaping crowd to lay a cool hand on his forehead. Crooning softly to him, his breathing slowed, and the crisis ended. Slowly, the gawkers drifted back to their rooms, leaving Adelle with her charge.
Alone in the darkness, Adelle maintained her silent vigil until the first fingers of dawn drifted in through the window. She then slipped back to her room to grab a few precious minutes of sleep.
The next night, the shrieks again resounded through the compound. This time, Adelle was immediately by his side, soothing his fevered dreams. Exhausted from the previous night's vigil, she slipped beneath the covers, her hand firmly attached to Topher's. Finally, his slow, even breathing lulled her back to sleep.
When she awoke, she realized with panic that she couldn't move. Something heavy lay over her abdomen, pinning her to the bed. And she was hot, almost suffocating. Willing her eyes to open, she looked down to find an arm draped over her torso. Still processing this information, she followed the arm back up to an elbow, a shoulder, a face, Topher's sleeping face. She let go of the breath she'd been holding and gently lifted his arm off of her, freeing up her air. She shifted onto her side facing him, gazing at his sleeping form. It was a marvel, given the demons that plagued his mind, that he could look so blissfully innocent in his sleep.
The next night, as she completed her bedtime routine, Adelle wondered if she should just start the night in Topher's bed. It could save everyone a rude midnight awakening. Plus, though she would never consciously admit it, she found comfort in the novel physical contact. She spent a few minutes standing indecisively in her room until she finally climbed into bed. She lay there, far from sleep, waiting for the cry that signaled that she was needed. She passed the time gazing around her small, simple room, tracing the wooden molding that ran around the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plainly painted walls.
Finally, when she thought she could take the waiting no more, she heard a sound. It was not the shrieking she had expected. Instead, it was the soft creak of her door opening. Reaching for the gun at her bedside, she steeled herself for whatever she was about to face.
Just as she cocked her weapon, a familiar blond head popped around the door, followed by a petite silhouette. Stowing the gun back in its place, Adelle waited in silence. Topher's already small form had shrunk even more both from minimal eating and from the way he now carried himself. Where he once strode into a room with confidence, he now slouched, trying to make himself as small as possible.
Tentatively, he made his way over to Adelle's side. To her surprise, just as he reached the bed, he froze. He seemed to be waiting for something. Adelle surmised what it was. She pulled back the corner of the covers. To her relief, he took the invitation. He swiftly crawled inside and immediately molded himself to her side.
It was a child seeking comfort from his mother, or another part of her mind noted, a lover finding solace with his companion. She banished that thought as soon as it crossed her mind. Topher was in no state to even consider such an arrangement, and she would not take advantage of his vulnerability. Relaxing in his embrace, she resolved to share what little comfort they each had to give. It would have to do for now.
Fred Ficlet - Broken Memories
She no longer remembered her name. Maybe she never had a name. Among her meager possessions was a picture of a pretty girl with the words "Winifred Burkle." Part of her thought that girl was her. Another, louder part could find no resemblance between that smiling face and the haunted reflection that loomed up from the puddles in her cave.
Mostly, she didn't think about. The travails of daily life, scrounging food, hiding from her captors, working her equations, occupied nearly all of her waking hours.
Only at night, when the sound of the forest insects lulled her into a false sense of safety, did she allow her mind to wander into the time Before. She remembered a man and woman, tears behind their smiles as they hugged her good-bye. Why would she ever leave people who cared for her?
There was no one to care for her, now. She only had herself, and her numbers, and the ghosts of a forgotten life.
Mini Big Bang - Willow
Willow has had worse days than this. She has had days that suck beyond the telling of it, as Buffy would say. Days where the very act of getting out of bed is overwhelming, where finding a reason to get dressed and eat breakfast is a monumental feat. She has had days whose ends she dreads because she knows that the dawn will be dimmer, not brighter.
Today is not one of those days. Today, thankfully, her autopilot is working, and she is able to drift through changing clothes, brushing teeth, washing face without reflecting on the meaning of these acts. The constant pain in her chest has faded to a dull ache, always there, nagging, but not incapacitating.
Today, she is able to glance at the picture of her beloved on her nightstand without dissolving into tears. She is even able to overhear Dawn saying from down the hall, “Do you think Tara would like this shirt?” without becoming frozen with grief.
The universe abhors a vacuum, and so the empty place in her heart has slowly filled up, first with white hot pain, then aching grief, and now, finally, guilt. Guilt that she can pull on a dress, pour coffee for breakfast, walk into the backyard with her mug to sip it in the morning sun, while Tara never will. Standing in the sun’s warming rays, listening to the chatter of the birds, she realizes, this day is the worst of all.
Wes/Fred Ficlet
Part 1 - Wesley
He was pretty sure she was oblivious to his interest. Alternately, she knew but was deliberately ignoring it, which was far too depressing a thought. It was such a cliché, the geeky high school kid unable to work up the courage to ask out the head cheerleader. Actually, Fred struck him as more of the yearbook editor or student government secretary type than cheerleader. Either way, nerdy boy vs. popular girl or equally nerdy girl, he was still losing out.
So what was stopping him? They were both here, slugging out the hours at Wolfram and Hart, alone in their separate offices, likely the only two souls working this late. He could just walk down the two flights to the lab and…say what? Hi? Any luck with Knox, yet?
No, it was better to leave well enough alone. If she said “no,” that was the end of his dream. Fred would come around, or she wouldn’t. As long as they stayed suspended in this limbo, he could still have hope.
Part 2 - Fred
Boys were so annoying. Actually, Fred supposed Wesley was technically a man, but when it came to dating, he still acted like a boy. Mooning after her, giving her sullen glances when he didn’t think she was looking, going out of his way to make it clear that they were just friends. Why couldn’t he just come out and say it?
Well, that wasn’t really fair. Fred wasn’t about to take the first step, so why should he? That left them both standing still, taking no steps, refusing to be the one to put their heart out on a ledge.
So, here she was, distracting herself with late-night experiments, all alone, while he sat up in his office, equally alone. She should have asked Knox to stay. At least then, she’d have someone to laugh with. Just not the right someone.
Spike Ficlet
Title: Big Mistake
Summary: Post- As You Were: Spike reels from Buffy's break up speech, unable to shake the knowledge that she saw the man inside of him. A stake is starting to look pretty good...
He didn’t know how long he stood there after she left. He was frozen to the spot, his body suddenly too heavy to move. If he had no heart, as she claimed, then why did it feel like something in his chest was breaking? He had never known that a dead heart could bleed.
It shouldn’t be this painful. After all, this wasn’t the first time the ostensible love of his life had tossed him aside like so much garbage. It should get easier, but everything about this felt harder. There was nothing left for him now. Suddenly, he hated her not having the strength to dust him, leaving him alone to face an eternity of torment. Oblivion would surely be better than this.
His eyes fell to the stake on the floor. Covered in dust, it must have been lying there for some time, though he couldn’t remember during which marathon sex session she had dropped it. Mustering his last strength, he bent over and picked it up. It was surprisingly light, fashioned from some inexpensive wood. Its sides were smooth, almost polished, tapering evenly to a perfect point. One of her nicer ones.
It was fitting, to die by her weapon if not by her hand. He turned the point inward and pressed it against his chest, harder, harder, until it pierced his skin through his cotton shirt.
The sharp pain brought reality crashing back in. Since when did William the Bloody give up so easily? He had won her over before; he could do it again. Besides, he could always stake himself tomorrow.
True Blood Ficlet - Jessica
Jessica stares at the body. It had been a son of a bitch to drag back to the house, and now she realizes she has no plan for it here. Oh, why did Bill have to be such a sucky Maker? Why hadn’t he taught her how to do any of this? Or, if he had, she hadn’t been listening at the time.
Her heightened senses detect the beginnings of decomposition. This is bad. Corpses are bad. Dead bodies are bad. Surely it can’t be too late for him to turn. That would be good. No body, no evidence, and a creation of her own to do her bidding. What a relief it would be to boss someone else around for once! There is just that trick of getting him from this dead state to an undead one.
From her vague memories of her rebirth, she knows that she had been buried in the ground. Would the sleeping hole be enough? It was underground, though not under dirt. It would have to do for now. Even with her enhanced supernatural strength, the body was surprising heavy and unwieldy. She can’t drag it further.
One more shove, and down the hole it goes. It lands with a sickening thud. Hopefully, any damage done now will heal in the newly-risen vamp. Lowering herself slowly down, Jessica settles in next to the body. She closes her eyes, praying she’ll wake up in a better world, where she’s not a murderer but a savior.
Dollhouse/Buffyverse Crossover - Faith
Another city, another dive bar. LA wasn’t really so different from anywhere else. You scratch the surface, and you’ll find a lot of grime underneath all of that glitter. Good place to get lost.
A brown haired girl hunched over her drink, her stiff posture sending a clear “do not approach” message to the small crowd in the bar. Not that it mattered much. No one came here to socialize. They came to wallow in peace.
Which was why no one looked up when the sharply dressed woman strolled in. With her well-cut coat and confident posture, she was clearly out of place in this dim hovel. Her sharp eyes scanned the room, finding her target. She made her way over to the girl, settling in next to her on one of the many empty bar stools. She signaled the bartender. “Whiskey, neat.” When her drink came, she wrinkled her nose at the harsh smell of the cheap alcohol, but downed it anyway, suppressing the urge to gag. “Hard to believe they charge money for this rubbish.”
The girl kept her eyes on her drink, pretending that those words weren’t intended for her, the only one within earshot. Undeterred, the woman pressed on. “But then again, one must find solace where one can. It’s strange, isn’t it, how this simple brown liquid can block out the world, numb the memory. But everything always comes back in the morning, doesn’t it?”
The girl pushed back from the bar, not quite making eye contact. “Look, lady, I don’t know what you came here for, but the lesbian pick-up joint is down the street. And you can take your speeches somewhere else. I’ve had enough lectures in my life.”
The woman persisted, turning towards her reluctant companion. “Oh, but I didn’t come here to lecture, Faith. I came here to listen.”
At that, the girl jumped up, moving into a defensive posture. “How do you know my name?” she demanded.
The woman gave a cryptic smile. “I know a great deal about you, Faith. I know that there are things you are running from, things you would rather forget. And I’m here to make you an offer.”
Faith turned to walk out. “I don’t know what you think you know, but you don’t know me. And I’ve already learned my lesson about making deals with strange women I just met.”
Adelle sighed. The girl ran out the door faster than she could follow. But they would find her again, and next time, she would bring the girl home.
Create With Me
Your Choice Drabbles
1. Prompt: Direct
Anya rapped her fingers impatiently on the countertop. She tried cracking her knuckles, popping her gum, but nothing could make the woman in the back corner of the Magic Box turn around. “Try being more subtle,” Xander had said. “People won’t give money to a mean person.” Anya checked her watch. 8:03pm. She marched over to woman. This subtle stuff was for cowards. Time to be direct.
She tapped the woman on the shoulder. “Miss, we closed three minutes ago. My boyfriend hauls heavy objects all day, and he will fall asleep before sex if we don’t get started soon.”
2. Prompt: Bridge
Buffy stood at the base of the bridge. There were no other signs of humanity, just a quaint, wooden footbridge spanning a babbling stream. The urge to cross was very strong. She put one foot on the planks, then another. Suddenly, the bridge stretched dizzily before her, yawning across a raging river. She tried to walk faster, but the opposite shore just moved farther away. The bridge began to shake and sway, toppling her over the edge. The icy water rushed up towards her, enveloping her, invading her lungs. She gasped awake in Xander’s arms, with Angel over his shoulder.
3. Prompt: Copy
Caroline stared into the puddle. Every since her escape from the Dollhouse with Mag and Zone, she barely had time for breathing, let alone vanity. It wasn’t as bad as she feared. At least she was a cute kid. Her imprinted adult personality lent a heaviness to her eyes that added years on to the youthful face. She remembered her original face and wondered if she would ever see it again.
Quickly, she turned away from the unfamiliar reflection. Enough introspection. If she was doomed to be a copy, at least she would try to live up to the original.
4. Prompt: Flight
Faith had never cared for flying. Something about being cooped up in a tiny tin can with a hundred strangers for hours on end. And you couldn’t even smoke! Then there were the tiny drinks. Maybe a normal human could get drunk off those things, but they barely made a dent on her nerves. Her travelling companion wasn’t helping matters, either.
To her right, completely blocking her escape route, was Spike, fast asleep, mouth open. Faith nicked the mini-scotches sticking out of his breast pocket. If he weren’t such a good booze thief, she would have staked him long ago.
5. Prompt: Haunt
Setting: Season 8 (Dawn/Xander)
“Do you ever miss it, Dawnie?” Xander asked. They leaned against a mossy rock on a hillside over looking the Tibetan temple, Dawn’s head against his shoulder.
“Miss what?” Dawn asked.
“Sunnydale. The Bronze, the cemeteries, the old haunts.”
“No.” Dawn answered without hesitation. She snuggled closer to Xander’s side, running her hand absentmindedly across his chest.
Xander lay his hand gently over hers. “What about college? Do you miss that?”
Dawn smiled. She had the guy she had always loved, a place at her sister’s side, and the most beautiful countryside she had ever seen. “I’m happy right here.”
6. Prompt: Lantern
With a shaky step, the patrolman continued down forest path. Something was out there tonight. He held the only light for miles in his hand, making himself an easy target. Even so, he was loath to dowse the lamp, fearing the darkness. He would have to keep going. The next town was only thirty minutes on. He would hole up there for the night, let this evil pass.
He never saw the beast the killed him, slipping up behind him and snapping his neck as silently as death. Another of Angelus’s victims, one more in a long line of blood.
7. Prompt: Denial
Willow snuggled down on the couch next to Tara. It was a rare, quiet night. They had the house to themselves, a bottle of white wine to share, and a movie in the VCR. Willow couldn’t remember that last time she’d had a normal date night with her girl. She sighed contentedly.
Tara ran her fingers softly though Willow’s hair. On the screen, Rhett Butler flirted scandalously with Scarlett O’Hara. “You’ve seen this movie before, right?” Tara asked with a smile. “You know this isn’t going to end well.”
Willow wrapped her arms tighter around Tara’s waist. “I’m in denial.”
8. Prompt: Target
Xander ducked as an arrow whizzed past his head. “Brenda, you’re supposed to be aiming for the target!”
She blushed. “Sorry boss.” The line of slayers broke into giggles. Xander was standing to the side of the archery range, a good twenty feet from where the girls were supposed to be aiming.
“Let’s take five, everyone. Get some water and clear your heads.” Somehow, slayer training always involved near-death experiences. The calling gave the girls strength, but it was up to him to teach them accuracy. A one-eyed weapons coach. Sometimes the universe really did have a sense of humor.
9. Prompt: Spin
Colors swam around her, every color imaginable. They were so close, River felt like she could just reach out and touch them. She spun faster, blurring the colors into one endless rainbow. Faster, faster, until even her graceful feet could not keep up with themselves, and she collapsed on the wet grass, giggling. Above her head, the sky spun on, though she was now still.
Simon lay beside her, having collapsed long before. “See?” he said. “I told you spinning was fun. She smiled in agreement, too dizzy to speak. There was nowhere she would rather be than right here.
10. Prompt: Scream
The flashlight cast deep shadows across Buffy’s face. An eerie silence lay over the two girls. Dawn listened in rapt attention, her chin propped up on her palm. “And then,” Buffy whispered, “he pulled out a chainsaw and cried, ‘No, I am the one-armed man!’”
Dawn flew out of the tent with an ear-piercing scream, running up to the house yelling, “Daddy, Buffy’s trying to scare me again! Buffy’s scaring me!”
Buffy sighed and flopped back onto her hot pink sleeping bag. What fun was camping out in the backyard if you had to let your little sister come along?
NFA Drabble - Spike
The spotlight glared yellow in his eyes, blocking out the crowd. The microphone was a lead weight in his hand. There was a deathly quiet in the room, occasionally punctuated by the clink of glasses, a couple of squeaks from someone fidgeting in their chair. They were waiting for him to start. The words bubbled up on his throat, threatening to explode outward, giddy at the prospect of being heard after a century of confinement. He took a deep breath, and spoke. The words echoed across the room, filling the blackness. An interminable wait, then, thunderous applause. He was redeemed.
NFA Drabble - Angel
The first thing he felt was the pain, throbbing in his chest. Pain filled his senses, blotting out all conscious thought. Slowly, other sensations forced their way in. The cold, wet rain tickling his face. Outside? He willed his eyes to open. The alley, yes of course, the battle. He’d survived it. But he hadn’t fought alone. Who else had been there? Spike, he never missed a fight. Illyria, her face filled with rage. And…Gunn, arriving at the last second. Where were they now? He pushed himself up to sitting, willing himself to stay conscious as the pain reared up again. Since when had a battle hurt this much? He looked down at his chest, expecting to see a sword sticking out, and saw nothing. No wound to account for the relentless throbbing. He put his hand on his chest, trying to sooth the ache, and felt beating.
Lover's Walk Drabble - Buffy/Angel
In silence, they walked back towards the mansion, each seemingly lost in his or her own thoughts. His hand hung but a few inches from hers, and she longed to reach out across that chasm and grab it, to feel even the slightest physical connection. But at the moment, it seemed somehow inappropriate. The silence grew heavier with each step. When they reached his threshold, he turned to her. She held her breath, bracing herself for the worst. “Spike’s wrong, you know,” he said. Relief flowed over her. Of course they would be fine. They always were, in the end.
Anya Drabble
Swish went the duster across the blinds. There was no end to cleaning this place. As soon as she reached one end of the shop, it was time to start again. Each knick-knack had to be lifted, inspected, dusted, and carefully put back on its shelf. Some more carefully than others. Face an effigy of Borealius the Avenger north instead of south and you were likely to get a hex for your ineptitude. Next, windexing the jewelry cabinets. Wait, she could have sworn there’d been two garnet amulets in there yesterday. Oh, well, maybe Giles sold one without telling her.
Anya/Xander Drabble
“Xander. Xander. Xander!”
“What Anya? What?”
“Are you asleep?”
“Not anymore. And do you have to wake me like that? I thought we were under attack or something.”
“Well, you weren’t waking up before, so I had to speak louder so you could hear me in your sleep.”
“Well, now that I’m awake, and apparently not going back to sleep, what is it?”
“I’m bored. Play a game with me.”
“Can’t we play a game in the morning?”
“I might not be bored then, and I want to play a game now.”
“As long as I can keep my eyes closed.”
“Fine, but I’m going to remind you of this the next time you want to play one of your special, private games that I’m not supposed to talk about.”
Badfic Challenge - Buffy/Angel
Buffy could sense the love of her life watching from the shadows as she slayed the fyarl demon. She’d felt Angel nearby for weeks. Even though he had never come out to speak to her, his intense gaze was comforting.
She was a thing of beauty, the love of his undead life, swinging the sword over her head. She never needed his help, but he was always there just in case. And in the meantime, he got to admire the view. Her minidress left plenty of leg to admire. One scissor kick almost flashed the whole graveyard. Angel felt the jealousy rise in his chest. No one dare see under his mate’s skirt except him!
With that, Angel had had enough of watching. As the demon fell dead to the ground, Angel marched out of his hiding place. Buffy sensed him a moment before he reached her and turned to face him.
“Been watching long?” She asked.
“Long enough,” he growled as he grabbed her and pulled her in for a deep kiss. Thankfully not needing to breath, Angel held the kiss until Buffy broke away, gasping.
“You know we can’t,” she said with a warning in her eyes.
“Can’t what?” Angel asked, a smirk creeping into his face.
“You know…get all groin-y,” Buffy responded, her frustration growing. Why was he teasing her like this?
“It’s not a problem.” His pronouncement shocked her.
“What do you mean?” she asked warily.
“The curse. It’s gone.”
“How?!” she demanded.
“It just is. I can feel it.” He drew her in closer. She let herself relax against him. She couldn’t believe it. Everything they wanted was finally here. Who cared why?
Dr. Horrible Drabble
It helped to have friends in high places. Moist had never thought of himself as a contender for the Evil League of Evil, and he still wasn’t. But now that his best friend was the League’s new golden boy, he found himself on the guest list for the best evil parties. Henchmen who would never acknowledge him now stopped to chat him up on the street. He even invited Bait along as a plus one to the League’s Charity Christmas Ball, just to show her what she was missing out on the first time. Then he never called her again.
He also got to play sidekick on some fairly good heists. With Captain Hammer incapacitated by grief, it was pretty much an open field on crime. As thanks for help with a bank heist, D.H. tossed him a bag of money, which Moist used to redress his apartment. Had to have a respectable bachelor pad to show the ladies, who now even agreed to come home with him on occasion.
Yes, things were definitely looking up. D.H. was very generous about sharing his good fortune. In fact, Moist saw more of his friend after he was accepted into the ELE than he had before. He was always dropping by to share a new idea or show off some new invention. Sometimes he stayed so late, expounding on his theories, that he just slept on the couch. Moist never mentioned the times he heard his friend crying to himself in the middle of the night. It wasn’t worth dwelling on the past. The future was here.
Connor Ficlet
Connor knew he was a pretty lucky guy. He was going to Stanford in the fall, leaving childhood and two bratty sisters behind. All that stretched before him a carefree California summer. He might even miss this place enough to want to visit during break. Yes, everything in his life was falling in to place.
Which was why he didn’t give it much thought the first time he had the nightmare. He wrenched his eyes open, gasping for air, trying to remember and forget what had awoken him. As the familiar shapes of his nighttime room settled in around him, he willed his breath to slow. The next morning, it was but a vague memory.
The second time came less than a week later. He cried out as he awoke, bringing his parents rushing to the door. Embarrassed to have disturbed them, he assured them it was just a bad dream and sent them away. As he tried to settle back in to sleep, his vision was filled with a lake a fire.
The third time was much worse. Thrashing in his bed, he could not seem to find his way back to wakefulness. He was a boy of five, skulking in a barren wasteland. He slid from stunted tree to stunted tree, staying as small as possible. Suddenly, the reason for his caution came in to view. A giant monster, slimy green and black, towered in the distance. He used his meager cover to stay out of sight.
But then, it turned its head towards him, flashed a mouthful of razor-edged teeth. It was coming for him. He turned and ran as fast as his short legs would carry him. The monster gave chase, grotesque limbs bounding across the landscape. Connor darted from left to right, trying to stay unpredictable. There was a cave ahead, a mere slit in the rock. He would be safe if he reached it.
He felt the creature’s breath on his neck. He was never going to make it. He was going to be eaten, and his father would never know how hard he had tried to reach him. He was going to be eaten, and he was alone, and his father had left him, and why had his father left him to die out here alone?
As the beast’s jaws descended on him, Connor shot straight up in bed. He was drenched in sweat and out of breath, as if he’d truly spent the night running across a scalding desert. Later, after his hammering heart had slowed, he crept down the hall to stand silently over his parents’ bed. These two loving people would never throw him out in the wilderness to die. Why then the nightmares? It had to be the stress of leaving home, nothing more.
Comforted by this simple explanation, Connor slipped back in to bed. He did not sleep again that night, however. He feared too much that he would re-enter that land of death.
Whiskey Ficlet
She had always wanted to be a dancer. She longed to feel the music flow through her, transforming her into a creature of pure movement and beauty. Once, her mother took her to see a local production of the Nutcracker. She was mesmerized by the way the performers glided around the stage. It was a rare happy memory. Usually, her mother wouldn’t sober up long enough to get off the couch.
Dreams never had much place in her life. Sixteen and on her own, the demands of real life meant that dreams had to be put off, until they were but a distant memory. The whiskey helped. It silenced the nagging feeling that she was supposed to be somewhere else.
Tonight, the weight of her unfilled life lead to her to a smoky bar, where she could nurse her disappointments quietly. As she stared at the brown liquid in her glass, she wondered idly how often her mother had sat in just this position, waiting for her real life to begin. Five years of running, and she had ended up right back where she started, drinking her mother’s drink.
After some time, she became aware of a presence next to her. She glanced over and was surprised to see a woman’s slender hand. She turned and found a striking brunette sitting next to her. Warily, she eyed the woman up and down, taking note of her fine dress. The woman gazed back at her with an expression that was both welcoming and intimidating.
“Whatever you’re looking for, you aren’t going to find it here,” the woman said. The girl just lowered her eyes, a silent acknowledgment. The woman went on. “I think I may have what you’re looking for. I can show it to you, and so much more.”
Illyria Drabble
She did not understand this emptiness. A moment ago, he had been there, at worst a nagging reminder of her shell’s former life, at best an entertaining minion that gave her insight to human existence. Now he was gone, leaving some kind of hole in her chest.
It hurt, like a knife stabbing her. Why did it hurt so much, this absence? His was but one of a million deaths she had seen. None had left a hole before. She thought the violence would help. She killed and killed and killed, but the hole only seemed to get bigger. Strange.
Justine Ficlet
She no longer knows if it is day or night. Though she knows the bars of her cage are less than four feet apart, all she can see before her is endless darkness. Her only escape is sleep, when, for a few precious hours, or days, or minutes, she has no way to keep track, she can forget the bite of her bindings, the choke of her gag, the sheer terror that permeates her soul.
Yet even sleep does not provide respite. There have been too many horrors in her life for happy escapes, some of her own making. Unable to even lie flat in her tiny prison, her subconscious provides the release for her sore muscles, sending her running, running through mazes, through forests, always searching but never finding. Most often, she searches for her sister, chasing a figure that forever recedes on the horizon. Sometimes, she follows a man in a brown leather duster, calling to him to wait. He never seems to hear, or else, pretends not to. Occasionally, she searches for a crying baby, looking in every shadowed corner only to find it empty.
One night, or day, everything takes a turn. She is running, as usual, not sure who she is chasing. It is dark, like her waking hours. She can barely glimpse the dim figure ahead of her. Suddenly, the sky booms with thunder. The lightening flashes hide the person ahead of her, and she loses them in the distance. She has to find shelter. The booming is getting louder, closer, as if the sky were coming down to Earth.
She awakens in a cold sweat. As the darkness settles into her eyes, she realizes that the banging is coming from outside her door. Not only banging, but also grunting, heavy breathing. Is there a fight? Has someone come to rescue her?
The banging stops. She holds her breath in the silence. Muffled voices, a man and a woman, drift over to her. Then, light, receding footsteps. The woman is leaving. Heavier footsteps move closer to her. The man. The door swings open, and the light from the outside room momentarily blinds her. Then, he is standing over her, her captor. He gives her long, hard stare and announces, “Let’s go for a boat ride.”
Dawn Ficlet
The slam of the front door awoke Dawn from sleep. After that sudden noise, Dawn heard nothing.
Just when Dawn thought she might scream to break the oppressive silence, soft voices drifted up. One was female: Buffy. The words were inscrutable, but the tone was gentle and unhurried. Dawn began to relax. If Buffy wasn’t scared, she wouldn’t be either.
A second voice, male. Buffy had brought a man home when mom was away. Bad. She would have to tell mom about this right away. Dawn crept down the hall to listen, unseen, at the top of the stairs.
Oh, there was mom now, pulling up in the driveway. Dawn thought that this might be the most exciting night of her 9 years. Sadly, rather than the expected fireworks, Buffy, mom, and Tall-Dark-Mystery Guy were calmly exchanged pleasantries in the foyer where Dawn could finally make out the words. He was Buffy’s history tutor, Angel. Yeah, right. Like Buffy would volunteer for extra studying. Would have to twist his story out of Buffy later.
Mystery Guy, um, Angel, left. Good riddance. Buffy didn’t need one more complication in her life.
But wait, he’s over there, in the living room. Buffy’s saying goodnight to an empty porch. Angel followed Buffy upstairs! Dawn scrambled back to her room unseen, leaving her door open for more snoop-ugh-information gathering. Buffy’s door closed. What could they be doing in there?
Gathering her courage, Dawn crawled down the hall to listen at Buffy’s door. Muffled voices were the best that she could get.
She crouched down in front of the door, concentrating. Suddenly, the carpet at her hands was bathed in light - which meant that…Dawn swung her head up to find Buffy standing over her, hands on hips, look of doom on her face. Dawn felt something akin to fear.
Buffy whispered, “Dawn, we need to talk.” Dawn reluctantly hoists herself off the floor, followed Buffy in to her own room, and closed the door. Buffy is pacing, and Dawn can feel the lecture coming on.
“This is about slayer stuff, isn’t it?” Dawn’s declaration stops Buffy in her tracks.
Buffy responds, “Yes, it’s about slayer stuff, which is why mom can’t know.”
“Why is that guy staying in your room? You’re not having sex, are you?” Buffy cringes.
After a pause, she replies, “We’ll discuss later why you knew to ask that question. And no, Angel’s here for business. I have to keep in him safe from the guys who were following us.
“Can’t I help?” Dawn asks. Her lower lip was becoming pouty.
Buffy feels a stroke of inspiration. “You do help. You keep the secrets. That keeps me, and the world, safe.” With that, she gives Dawn a quick hug and heads back to her room. On the way out she turns and gives one last, “Remember Dawn, secrets are only safe if they’re secret.”
Dawn lays down on her bed. Finally, they’ve given her a job. Maybe she’s growing up after all.
Epitaph, Part 1 Drabble - Whiskey
Alone. Alone for so long. Maybe this is how it had always been. Just her, standing guard over these empty rooms, waiting for…something. She no longer remembers what. In silence, she drifts from room to room, making her endless rounds. There is no one there. There never is. One room draws her more often than the others. Different, it contained a desk, shelves of files, an odd, padded table. She used to spend a lot of time in this room. But when, and with whom? It no longer mattered. She would wait until they came, and then she would remember.
Adelle/Topher Ficlet - Solace
It had started with Bennett. The first time Topher saw a loved one snatched from before his eyes, a small part of his soul left with her, dimming the light in his eyes ever so slightly. It was not for the last time. The exodus to Haven had taken heavy losses. For every survivor they picked up along the way, they lost two, maybe more. It was too painful to keep count. No one took it harder than Topher. His already fragile mind became increasingly detached from his surroundings. The light further dimmed in his eyes, loss by loss, until they became cold, vacant spaces, reflecting nothing but emptiness.
How strange, Adelle thought, that this shell of a person had become her bridge back to humanity. She, who had been accused of having no human feeling, who had gone from queen of all she surveyed to a barely tolerated relic of the time before, and finally to a valued protector of the remnants of humankind.
In the early days of the war, the former dolls did their best to marginalize her. They never attacked, never threatened, just, ignored. It was as though she was so far below their contempt that they couldn't even be bothered to kill her.
If not for Topher, she might just have given up, slipped out of the sanctuary of the Dollhouse to find her end in the wilds of the streets. But to be needed, to be useful, now she would never leave.
Haven lived up to its name. Minus a few skirmishes with would-be scavengers, they lived their lives in relative peace, as people. It was a more pure life than Adelle had ever imagined for herself, rising with the sun, wresting food from the earth. The daily needs of survival left blessedly little time for reflection.
Her empire was gone, and she couldn't say she missed it. Her only concerns now were to plant the garden on time, to store the grain properly to last the winter, and to make sure Topher ate.
This last charge was closest to her heart. From the moment they arrived in Haven, he was her shadow. She found if she gave him direct, simple tasks, she could keep him distracted from his spiraling thoughts.
Two weeks after they arrived, the night terrors began. The compound awoke to agonized cries, sending people running from their rooms in confusion, readying themselves for battle, only to find it was just Topher. Tangled in his sheets, he screamed and thrashed until Adelle fought her way through the gaping crowd to lay a cool hand on his forehead. Crooning softly to him, his breathing slowed, and the crisis ended. Slowly, the gawkers drifted back to their rooms, leaving Adelle with her charge.
Alone in the darkness, Adelle maintained her silent vigil until the first fingers of dawn drifted in through the window. She then slipped back to her room to grab a few precious minutes of sleep.
The next night, the shrieks again resounded through the compound. This time, Adelle was immediately by his side, soothing his fevered dreams. Exhausted from the previous night's vigil, she slipped beneath the covers, her hand firmly attached to Topher's. Finally, his slow, even breathing lulled her back to sleep.
When she awoke, she realized with panic that she couldn't move. Something heavy lay over her abdomen, pinning her to the bed. And she was hot, almost suffocating. Willing her eyes to open, she looked down to find an arm draped over her torso. Still processing this information, she followed the arm back up to an elbow, a shoulder, a face, Topher's sleeping face. She let go of the breath she'd been holding and gently lifted his arm off of her, freeing up her air. She shifted onto her side facing him, gazing at his sleeping form. It was a marvel, given the demons that plagued his mind, that he could look so blissfully innocent in his sleep.
The next night, as she completed her bedtime routine, Adelle wondered if she should just start the night in Topher's bed. It could save everyone a rude midnight awakening. Plus, though she would never consciously admit it, she found comfort in the novel physical contact. She spent a few minutes standing indecisively in her room until she finally climbed into bed. She lay there, far from sleep, waiting for the cry that signaled that she was needed. She passed the time gazing around her small, simple room, tracing the wooden molding that ran around the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plainly painted walls.
Finally, when she thought she could take the waiting no more, she heard a sound. It was not the shrieking she had expected. Instead, it was the soft creak of her door opening. Reaching for the gun at her bedside, she steeled herself for whatever she was about to face.
Just as she cocked her weapon, a familiar blond head popped around the door, followed by a petite silhouette. Stowing the gun back in its place, Adelle waited in silence. Topher's already small form had shrunk even more both from minimal eating and from the way he now carried himself. Where he once strode into a room with confidence, he now slouched, trying to make himself as small as possible.
Tentatively, he made his way over to Adelle's side. To her surprise, just as he reached the bed, he froze. He seemed to be waiting for something. Adelle surmised what it was. She pulled back the corner of the covers. To her relief, he took the invitation. He swiftly crawled inside and immediately molded himself to her side.
It was a child seeking comfort from his mother, or another part of her mind noted, a lover finding solace with his companion. She banished that thought as soon as it crossed her mind. Topher was in no state to even consider such an arrangement, and she would not take advantage of his vulnerability. Relaxing in his embrace, she resolved to share what little comfort they each had to give. It would have to do for now.
Fred Ficlet - Broken Memories
She no longer remembered her name. Maybe she never had a name. Among her meager possessions was a picture of a pretty girl with the words "Winifred Burkle." Part of her thought that girl was her. Another, louder part could find no resemblance between that smiling face and the haunted reflection that loomed up from the puddles in her cave.
Mostly, she didn't think about. The travails of daily life, scrounging food, hiding from her captors, working her equations, occupied nearly all of her waking hours.
Only at night, when the sound of the forest insects lulled her into a false sense of safety, did she allow her mind to wander into the time Before. She remembered a man and woman, tears behind their smiles as they hugged her good-bye. Why would she ever leave people who cared for her?
There was no one to care for her, now. She only had herself, and her numbers, and the ghosts of a forgotten life.
Mini Big Bang - Willow
Willow has had worse days than this. She has had days that suck beyond the telling of it, as Buffy would say. Days where the very act of getting out of bed is overwhelming, where finding a reason to get dressed and eat breakfast is a monumental feat. She has had days whose ends she dreads because she knows that the dawn will be dimmer, not brighter.
Today is not one of those days. Today, thankfully, her autopilot is working, and she is able to drift through changing clothes, brushing teeth, washing face without reflecting on the meaning of these acts. The constant pain in her chest has faded to a dull ache, always there, nagging, but not incapacitating.
Today, she is able to glance at the picture of her beloved on her nightstand without dissolving into tears. She is even able to overhear Dawn saying from down the hall, “Do you think Tara would like this shirt?” without becoming frozen with grief.
The universe abhors a vacuum, and so the empty place in her heart has slowly filled up, first with white hot pain, then aching grief, and now, finally, guilt. Guilt that she can pull on a dress, pour coffee for breakfast, walk into the backyard with her mug to sip it in the morning sun, while Tara never will. Standing in the sun’s warming rays, listening to the chatter of the birds, she realizes, this day is the worst of all.
Wes/Fred Ficlet
Part 1 - Wesley
He was pretty sure she was oblivious to his interest. Alternately, she knew but was deliberately ignoring it, which was far too depressing a thought. It was such a cliché, the geeky high school kid unable to work up the courage to ask out the head cheerleader. Actually, Fred struck him as more of the yearbook editor or student government secretary type than cheerleader. Either way, nerdy boy vs. popular girl or equally nerdy girl, he was still losing out.
So what was stopping him? They were both here, slugging out the hours at Wolfram and Hart, alone in their separate offices, likely the only two souls working this late. He could just walk down the two flights to the lab and…say what? Hi? Any luck with Knox, yet?
No, it was better to leave well enough alone. If she said “no,” that was the end of his dream. Fred would come around, or she wouldn’t. As long as they stayed suspended in this limbo, he could still have hope.
Part 2 - Fred
Boys were so annoying. Actually, Fred supposed Wesley was technically a man, but when it came to dating, he still acted like a boy. Mooning after her, giving her sullen glances when he didn’t think she was looking, going out of his way to make it clear that they were just friends. Why couldn’t he just come out and say it?
Well, that wasn’t really fair. Fred wasn’t about to take the first step, so why should he? That left them both standing still, taking no steps, refusing to be the one to put their heart out on a ledge.
So, here she was, distracting herself with late-night experiments, all alone, while he sat up in his office, equally alone. She should have asked Knox to stay. At least then, she’d have someone to laugh with. Just not the right someone.
Spike Ficlet
Title: Big Mistake
Summary: Post- As You Were: Spike reels from Buffy's break up speech, unable to shake the knowledge that she saw the man inside of him. A stake is starting to look pretty good...
He didn’t know how long he stood there after she left. He was frozen to the spot, his body suddenly too heavy to move. If he had no heart, as she claimed, then why did it feel like something in his chest was breaking? He had never known that a dead heart could bleed.
It shouldn’t be this painful. After all, this wasn’t the first time the ostensible love of his life had tossed him aside like so much garbage. It should get easier, but everything about this felt harder. There was nothing left for him now. Suddenly, he hated her not having the strength to dust him, leaving him alone to face an eternity of torment. Oblivion would surely be better than this.
His eyes fell to the stake on the floor. Covered in dust, it must have been lying there for some time, though he couldn’t remember during which marathon sex session she had dropped it. Mustering his last strength, he bent over and picked it up. It was surprisingly light, fashioned from some inexpensive wood. Its sides were smooth, almost polished, tapering evenly to a perfect point. One of her nicer ones.
It was fitting, to die by her weapon if not by her hand. He turned the point inward and pressed it against his chest, harder, harder, until it pierced his skin through his cotton shirt.
The sharp pain brought reality crashing back in. Since when did William the Bloody give up so easily? He had won her over before; he could do it again. Besides, he could always stake himself tomorrow.
True Blood Ficlet - Jessica
Jessica stares at the body. It had been a son of a bitch to drag back to the house, and now she realizes she has no plan for it here. Oh, why did Bill have to be such a sucky Maker? Why hadn’t he taught her how to do any of this? Or, if he had, she hadn’t been listening at the time.
Her heightened senses detect the beginnings of decomposition. This is bad. Corpses are bad. Dead bodies are bad. Surely it can’t be too late for him to turn. That would be good. No body, no evidence, and a creation of her own to do her bidding. What a relief it would be to boss someone else around for once! There is just that trick of getting him from this dead state to an undead one.
From her vague memories of her rebirth, she knows that she had been buried in the ground. Would the sleeping hole be enough? It was underground, though not under dirt. It would have to do for now. Even with her enhanced supernatural strength, the body was surprising heavy and unwieldy. She can’t drag it further.
One more shove, and down the hole it goes. It lands with a sickening thud. Hopefully, any damage done now will heal in the newly-risen vamp. Lowering herself slowly down, Jessica settles in next to the body. She closes her eyes, praying she’ll wake up in a better world, where she’s not a murderer but a savior.
Dollhouse/Buffyverse Crossover - Faith
Another city, another dive bar. LA wasn’t really so different from anywhere else. You scratch the surface, and you’ll find a lot of grime underneath all of that glitter. Good place to get lost.
A brown haired girl hunched over her drink, her stiff posture sending a clear “do not approach” message to the small crowd in the bar. Not that it mattered much. No one came here to socialize. They came to wallow in peace.
Which was why no one looked up when the sharply dressed woman strolled in. With her well-cut coat and confident posture, she was clearly out of place in this dim hovel. Her sharp eyes scanned the room, finding her target. She made her way over to the girl, settling in next to her on one of the many empty bar stools. She signaled the bartender. “Whiskey, neat.” When her drink came, she wrinkled her nose at the harsh smell of the cheap alcohol, but downed it anyway, suppressing the urge to gag. “Hard to believe they charge money for this rubbish.”
The girl kept her eyes on her drink, pretending that those words weren’t intended for her, the only one within earshot. Undeterred, the woman pressed on. “But then again, one must find solace where one can. It’s strange, isn’t it, how this simple brown liquid can block out the world, numb the memory. But everything always comes back in the morning, doesn’t it?”
The girl pushed back from the bar, not quite making eye contact. “Look, lady, I don’t know what you came here for, but the lesbian pick-up joint is down the street. And you can take your speeches somewhere else. I’ve had enough lectures in my life.”
The woman persisted, turning towards her reluctant companion. “Oh, but I didn’t come here to lecture, Faith. I came here to listen.”
At that, the girl jumped up, moving into a defensive posture. “How do you know my name?” she demanded.
The woman gave a cryptic smile. “I know a great deal about you, Faith. I know that there are things you are running from, things you would rather forget. And I’m here to make you an offer.”
Faith turned to walk out. “I don’t know what you think you know, but you don’t know me. And I’ve already learned my lesson about making deals with strange women I just met.”
Adelle sighed. The girl ran out the door faster than she could follow. But they would find her again, and next time, she would bring the girl home.
Create With Me
Your Choice Drabbles
1. Prompt: Direct
Anya rapped her fingers impatiently on the countertop. She tried cracking her knuckles, popping her gum, but nothing could make the woman in the back corner of the Magic Box turn around. “Try being more subtle,” Xander had said. “People won’t give money to a mean person.” Anya checked her watch. 8:03pm. She marched over to woman. This subtle stuff was for cowards. Time to be direct.
She tapped the woman on the shoulder. “Miss, we closed three minutes ago. My boyfriend hauls heavy objects all day, and he will fall asleep before sex if we don’t get started soon.”
2. Prompt: Bridge
Buffy stood at the base of the bridge. There were no other signs of humanity, just a quaint, wooden footbridge spanning a babbling stream. The urge to cross was very strong. She put one foot on the planks, then another. Suddenly, the bridge stretched dizzily before her, yawning across a raging river. She tried to walk faster, but the opposite shore just moved farther away. The bridge began to shake and sway, toppling her over the edge. The icy water rushed up towards her, enveloping her, invading her lungs. She gasped awake in Xander’s arms, with Angel over his shoulder.
3. Prompt: Copy
Caroline stared into the puddle. Every since her escape from the Dollhouse with Mag and Zone, she barely had time for breathing, let alone vanity. It wasn’t as bad as she feared. At least she was a cute kid. Her imprinted adult personality lent a heaviness to her eyes that added years on to the youthful face. She remembered her original face and wondered if she would ever see it again.
Quickly, she turned away from the unfamiliar reflection. Enough introspection. If she was doomed to be a copy, at least she would try to live up to the original.
4. Prompt: Flight
Faith had never cared for flying. Something about being cooped up in a tiny tin can with a hundred strangers for hours on end. And you couldn’t even smoke! Then there were the tiny drinks. Maybe a normal human could get drunk off those things, but they barely made a dent on her nerves. Her travelling companion wasn’t helping matters, either.
To her right, completely blocking her escape route, was Spike, fast asleep, mouth open. Faith nicked the mini-scotches sticking out of his breast pocket. If he weren’t such a good booze thief, she would have staked him long ago.
5. Prompt: Haunt
Setting: Season 8 (Dawn/Xander)
“Do you ever miss it, Dawnie?” Xander asked. They leaned against a mossy rock on a hillside over looking the Tibetan temple, Dawn’s head against his shoulder.
“Miss what?” Dawn asked.
“Sunnydale. The Bronze, the cemeteries, the old haunts.”
“No.” Dawn answered without hesitation. She snuggled closer to Xander’s side, running her hand absentmindedly across his chest.
Xander lay his hand gently over hers. “What about college? Do you miss that?”
Dawn smiled. She had the guy she had always loved, a place at her sister’s side, and the most beautiful countryside she had ever seen. “I’m happy right here.”
6. Prompt: Lantern
With a shaky step, the patrolman continued down forest path. Something was out there tonight. He held the only light for miles in his hand, making himself an easy target. Even so, he was loath to dowse the lamp, fearing the darkness. He would have to keep going. The next town was only thirty minutes on. He would hole up there for the night, let this evil pass.
He never saw the beast the killed him, slipping up behind him and snapping his neck as silently as death. Another of Angelus’s victims, one more in a long line of blood.
7. Prompt: Denial
Willow snuggled down on the couch next to Tara. It was a rare, quiet night. They had the house to themselves, a bottle of white wine to share, and a movie in the VCR. Willow couldn’t remember that last time she’d had a normal date night with her girl. She sighed contentedly.
Tara ran her fingers softly though Willow’s hair. On the screen, Rhett Butler flirted scandalously with Scarlett O’Hara. “You’ve seen this movie before, right?” Tara asked with a smile. “You know this isn’t going to end well.”
Willow wrapped her arms tighter around Tara’s waist. “I’m in denial.”
8. Prompt: Target
Xander ducked as an arrow whizzed past his head. “Brenda, you’re supposed to be aiming for the target!”
She blushed. “Sorry boss.” The line of slayers broke into giggles. Xander was standing to the side of the archery range, a good twenty feet from where the girls were supposed to be aiming.
“Let’s take five, everyone. Get some water and clear your heads.” Somehow, slayer training always involved near-death experiences. The calling gave the girls strength, but it was up to him to teach them accuracy. A one-eyed weapons coach. Sometimes the universe really did have a sense of humor.
9. Prompt: Spin
Colors swam around her, every color imaginable. They were so close, River felt like she could just reach out and touch them. She spun faster, blurring the colors into one endless rainbow. Faster, faster, until even her graceful feet could not keep up with themselves, and she collapsed on the wet grass, giggling. Above her head, the sky spun on, though she was now still.
Simon lay beside her, having collapsed long before. “See?” he said. “I told you spinning was fun. She smiled in agreement, too dizzy to speak. There was nowhere she would rather be than right here.
10. Prompt: Scream
The flashlight cast deep shadows across Buffy’s face. An eerie silence lay over the two girls. Dawn listened in rapt attention, her chin propped up on her palm. “And then,” Buffy whispered, “he pulled out a chainsaw and cried, ‘No, I am the one-armed man!’”
Dawn flew out of the tent with an ear-piercing scream, running up to the house yelling, “Daddy, Buffy’s trying to scare me again! Buffy’s scaring me!”
Buffy sighed and flopped back onto her hot pink sleeping bag. What fun was camping out in the backyard if you had to let your little sister come along?