solitary arts

what do I put here?

2021-07-21T01:38:30Z

So writing has been minimal lately as I've started several home improvement projects.

I made the decision to finally get some new flooring installed as my kitties have not been kind to the carpet. I'm going with laminated wood (which you'd think is cheaper than hard wood, but it's not.) After many talks with my uncle, who builds homes, and different flooring people at different stores the laminate just made more sense for me. However, once I decided on new floors I realized I wanted to paint which also lead to me overhauling both bathroom closets.

In the past few weeks I have learned how to remove trim, patch drywall, install corner bead and sort of create drywall texture. The texture is not my strong suit but I'm removing the rest of the builder grade towel racks in my bathrooms this week. I wish I'd decided to to that before I'd painted but oh well. I thought I could live with them and I realized I can't. They are just so bulky and white and not at all my style. Who knew you could have a style for towel racks?

I feel like I should've done some before and after shots. I have some holes in my walls shots from when I took down the first towel rack that was behind a door for whatever reason.

Also electrical is not that scary once you get a voltage tester. I can now install ceiling fans, light switches and outlets.

Wish me luck and sanity! :)

And possibly some writing for the August Fic-A-Day challenge!

for want of friendship & tacos | btvs, captain america | gen

2021-04-24T21:54:59Z

Title: for want of friendship & tacos | Rating: FR13 | BtVS, Captain America, Marvel:MCU | Crossover | 3K

In which Buffy refuses to cook and Steve is just along for the ride. Buffy might've also joined SHIELD but that's not important. Yet.

for want of friendship & tacos @ AO3

moonshot | btvs, anita blake | gen

2021-04-17T20:23:55Z

Title: Moonshot | Rating: FR13 | BtVS, Anita Blake | Crossover | 11K | hostile climate - hurt/comfort prompt

Joyce just wants to keep her girls safe and, well, Dawn wants pizza, Buffy wants Dawn to stealing her stuff and Faith just wants a home. A series of short stories in which everyone gets what they want--except Buffy. (Sequel to Many a Mile).

Moonshot @ TtH
Moonshot @ AO3

Chapter 4 is up and another prompt down.

history for sale | btvs, captain america | gen

2021-02-20T18:24:26Z

Title: History for Sale | Rating: FR15 | BtVS, Captain America, Marvel:MCU | Crossover | Chapter 8: 99 Luftballons

Buffy Summers is a lot of things to a lot of people. Friend. Slayer. Lover. Dead. Hydra Asset. Assassin.

For years her friends thought their Slayer dead. When they learn she’s alive they’ll stop at nothing to save her. Steve Rogers, however, is just trying to keep her from killing his best friend.

History for Sale @ AO3

moonshot | btvs, anita blake | gen

2021-02-15T21:06:35Z

Title: Moonshot | Rating: FR13 | BtVS, Anita Blake | Crossover | 10K | panic attacks - hurt/comfort prompt

Joyce just wants to keep her girls safe and, well, Dawn wants pizza, Buffy wants Dawn to stealing her stuff and Faith just wants a home. A series of short stories in which everyone gets what they want--except Buffy. (Sequel to Many a Mile).

Moonshot @ TtH
Moonshot @ AO3

Chapter 3 is up and another prompt down.

welp I did it again

2020-11-19T02:18:30Z

Hello to anyone who might be still reading my journal! I went ahead and signed up for the heroinebigbang and while I feel a smidgen anxious about it I do believe I can handle 10K words by the end of January. I signed up for Buffy Summers as my heroine (I find it the easiest to slip into her noggin so no need to challenge myself just yet). ;)

However, I've wrote nada this month other than finishing a Faith scene that had been giving my fits. My goal is to get a little written for the 9th chapter of History for Sale tonight. Wish my luck and hopefully I'll come back with an update later this evening.

Update:
I stayed up too late but I got 1300 words written. They need editing something fierce but progress.

moonshot | btvs, anita blake | gen

2020-11-05T00:43:01Z

Title: Moonshot | Rating: FR15 | BtVS, Anita Blake | Crossover | 10K | haunted - hurt/comfort prompt

Joyce just wants to keep her girls safe and, well, Dawn wants pizza, Buffy wants Dawn to stealing her stuff and Faith just wants a home. A series of short stories in which everyone gets what they want--except Buffy. (Sequel to Many a Mile).

Moonshot @ TtH
Moonshot @ AO3

Chapter 2 is up and another prompt down.

Bye, September!

2020-10-04T22:49:39Z

I didn’t write as much in September as I did in August, but I still wrote some and that counts for something. I managed to update History for Sale over on AO3 and I located my old notes for it so I can now finish the story. The next 2 chapters are written and there are 3 more to write before it’s complete and can work on a different WIP. I’m hoping to participate marginally in NaNoWriMo, but I’m not sure I’ll push myself to write the full 50K. Maybe start with baby steps and go for 25K.

I’ve been writing, but mostly Anita Blake. I’m not sure why either, but it’s words to paper—erm—Word and I’m not going to argue. Hopefully, I can finish the next scene tonight in the Faith centric short. Faith is mouthy and suspicious.

Wish me luck and I hope this finds anyone reading it happy and healthy.

fic: cold, naked & alone | btvs, doctor who | gen

2020-09-25T00:14:27Z

Title: cold, naked & alone
Rating: FR13
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and all related characters are copyright of Sydney Newman, C.E. Webber, Donald Wilson and BBC One. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters are copyright of Joss Whedon and ME. No infringement intended.
Note: Part of my nearly forgotten Voodoo Child series.
Prompt: anyariene | BtVS, Doctor Who | Two heroes walk into bar and wake up in the morgue

+

Darkness—lots and lots of it—was not the most calm inducing of environments to awaken in, also, it was incredibly cold.

Buffy Summers sat up, or at least she attempted to sit up, but a hard barrier was in her way and her forehead collided soundly with it. The twang that followed the impact, which she felt all the way down into her jaw, had her wincing and lifting her hands to press against the low-lying ceiling above her. Fingers splayed and palms flat against the cool metal and she ran her hands along the ceiling as she struggled to remember the last thing that had happened to her.

“Goddammit, Jack!” tumbled past her lips before the memory of him opening his trap and getting them shot, again, had even fully registered.

A fist struck the ceiling above her, denting the metal with the sudden realization that she’d woken up in a morgue. Which, granted, it beat waking in her own coffin six feet under, but it still wasn’t high on her fun places to take a nap. She flattened her palms against the dented ceiling and pulled the wheeled gurney forward, placing her feet closer to the door to make for easier kicking.

It was a shame Jack wasn’t on the other side. Moron.

The Doctor had been with them, but he’d wondered off—like the Doctor was wont to do—and Buffy had resigned herself to fruity drinks and titillating conversation. Though, she supposed, resigned was the wrong word, but since she was alone in her head and in this tiny cold corner of the universe she was entitled to be bitchy. Green eyes rolled in the darkness as she pressed the heel of her right foot against the door of the cooler before bringing her knee up towards her chest.

It smacked against the ceiling and she ignored the stinging pain before arching her leg down. It hit the metal, popping the suction and flooding her wannabe prison with light. She blinked, suddenly blinded, but the familiar sound of the sonic screwdriver melted away some of her frustration. Though not entirely and when the person with that screwdriver pulled out her drawer she glared in their general direction, a frown pinching her brows tight together.

The Doctor presented her with wide brown eyes that were focused solely on her face and no other part of her nude form. Buffy sat up, stomach muscles tightening as her arms rose to wrap around her breasts to protect them from the cold and hopefully make the Doctor less uncomfortable. The movement seemed to spur him into action as he stepped back, sonic screwdriver slipping into the pocket of his slacks before he shrugged off the trench coat that flounced after him as he ran.

“Please?” He offered the coat to her while still making incredibly intense eye contact.

She accepted it with a nod and slipped off the cold, oh so cold, table. The jacket was a welcomed warmth as she brought it up her chilled arms and settled it onto her shoulders. It was a bit big around the waist, but she belted it as best she could before inquiring, “So where’s Jack?”

A brow quirked over his glasses and Buffy didn’t like the look of that frown as he replied, “I’m not entirely certain.”

“No?” Buffy sighed, “Idiot.”

“Hey!”

“Not you. Jack.”

“He’s not an idiot,” he sputtered at her glare, “He’s not! He’s just rambunctious is all.”

“Jack’s not a puppy, Doctor.”

“I know that!”

“Do you?”

He scratched at the back of his head. “Mostly.”

Another sigh escaped her. “So this is where we search for him?”

“Yeah.” The word was stated as an apology.

“Do we know where to start?”

His smile was just this side of manic. “Not a clue.”

“Hello, needle, I am the haystack.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It’s that bad.”

“Allons-y?”

He’d made his usually command a question and Buffy rolled her eyes before allowing him to grasp her hand and drag her from the future-y morgue before agreeing. “Allons-y.”

+

The end.

Note: Yes, this is from a 2010 prompt. I'm sorry?

moonshot | btvs, anita blake | gen

2020-09-24T00:56:09Z

Title: Moonshot | Rating: FR13 | BtVS, Anita Blake | Crossover | 3K | touch starved - hurt/comfort prompt

Joyce just wants to keep her girls safe and, well, Dawn wants pizza, Buffy wants Dawn to stealing her stuff and Faith just wants a home. A series of short stories in which everyone gets what they want--except Buffy. (Sequel to Many a Mile).

Moonshot @ TtH
Moonshot @ AO3

Bye, August!

2020-09-02T00:29:51Z

I wrote some things this past month, but none of them fit the criteria of the August Fic-A-Day Challenge so I wasn’t able to post. Drat. I was hoping to actually participate this year. Oh well.

I have still have the hurt/comfort bingo to contend with and those are coming along. And by coming along I mean I’m working on the first prompt. I have written other things, but the stories got away from me so I’m not sure they fit the prompt criteria anymore. Maybe if I squint?

Now that the August challenge is over I’m hoping to challenge myself to a weekly sort of thing. Or bi-weekly. I’m flexible and still getting back into the swing of writing, but I think I need accountability or I tend to flounder.

Well I hope this post finds you all happy and healthy. Stay safe!

round 11 hurt/comfort bingo card

2020-07-09T01:21:20Z

I signed up round 11 hc_bingo. This is my first time particpating so it should be interesting.

My hope is to get at least one bingo done. Baby steps back into writing.

rape / non-con	septicemia / infected wounds	seizures	imprisonment	hiding an injury / illness
orphans	washing / bathing someone	prostitution	haunted	secret identity discovered
slaves	destruction / natural disasters	WILD CARD	rescue	hostile climate
isolation	thirst / dehydration	electrocution	panic attacks	forced body modification
undeserved reputation	food poisoning	crisis of faith	tyranny / rebellion	touch-starved

New Year, New Resolutions & Life Stuff

2020-01-29T03:41:09Z

Be good to myself
Finish what I start
Embrace the creative

I know the first month is nearly over but starting a resolution day one of a new year is always dangerous so I’ve given myself the whole month to sink into them. So far I’m doing meh on the first one but the other two are moving along. No writing done (as of yet) but my spare bedroom is coming together. At some point I’ll post pictures (I really should’ve done some before images).

So the life stuff I couldn't bring myself to talk about last year... in 2018 I lost my big brother to lung cancer. He was diagnosed June 15 and passed away on July 13. It was a short, bitter battle and he was only 40. Goddamnit. On August 15 I had to say goodbye to Thea, my sweet gray kitty, and January 5 (2019) I said goodbye to Gracie, my sweet gray and white kitty.

I lost all inspiration when I had to say goodbye to all of them so close together and the loss of my brother is still like an open wound on my heart. Though a small part of me thinks Doug loved my kitties and wanted them with him. The whole family suffered some pet losses after his passing and he loved the animals so it’s the running theory that he’s hoarding them until we get where he is… not sure where that is but I’m looking into it.

So I’ve adopted two new little assholes…erm… kitties. Rupert, the ferocious fluff, and Harpurr Lee, she’d kill a mocking bird. I’ve never lived with a male cat before. Rupert is all snuggles one minute and pouncing on his sister-cat the next. Harper gives as good as she gets but normally voices a complaint so I intervene. Rupert came into my life after Thea and Harper after Gracie.

Work is work and as stressful as always but they’ve been compensating me nicely so I won’t complain. I do fully intend to take a solo vacation this year. I’m thinking Paris… but will likely settle for somewhere stateside.

All and all that’s how I’ve been and why I’ve been so quiet. Hopefully this post is a good turning point and I start writing more. Even if it's just blog posts for now. If you want to see pictures of the kitties I can link you to my Instagram. They are adorable and Rupert really is terribly photogenic.

Not with a Bang, but a Whimper

2019-02-06T03:29:12Z

So I'm starting this year with a whimper rather than a bang. I'm not sure I want to rehash the terrible of 2018. but I've been away for what feels like ever. Updating my journal or writing, unfortunately, just felt like one more stressor to add to my already frayed self. 2019 didn't start much better than 2018 ended so I'm just going to dive in and ignore the emotional baggage for the time being.

I purchased a new lappy 3000 that looks shiny and new, but I need to download Office so I can attempt to start writing again. Signed up for getyourwordsout and as of my first official check in I've written zero days (but I have hopes for this month and I will continue to try to be hopeful). I just need to focus and write for at least 120 days this year. I'm not concerning myself with a word count, but I do know which stories I intend to focus on.

I made the mistake of starting "The Joy of Tiding Up" which is making my itch to clean out pretty much everything (but I need to finish the book first) and the smarter choice of "De-Stressing Your Brain" which I'm not deep enough into to hazard if it's working or not. I turned to nesting last year to help calm my brain and distract me from all the chaos going on in there. It helped to a degree so I'm continuing on with it into 2019.

I'm also going to attempt a handwritten journal. If it turns out as cute as the tutorials on YouTube I'll share some pictures of it on here. That's all for now and if any of you are still around I hope this note finds you well and happy.

There needs to be more happy in the world. *hugs*

fic:don’t put the blame on her | btvs, walking dead | gen

2017-09-23T17:47:36Z

Title: don’t put the blame on her
Rating: FR13
Prompt: copper
Disclaimer: BtVS and all related characters are copyright of Joss Whedon and ME. The Walking Dead and all related characters are copyright of Robert Kirkman, Image Comics and AMC. No infringement intended.

Summary: Buffy’s outing with Aiden goes about as well as expected—which isn’t at all. Part of the 'nature always wins' series.

+

Congealed blood made for stiff lashes and Buffy Summers could feel the tacky trails on her cheeks. The borrowed shirt was a lost cause. A once pristine collar now molded to the side of her neck with a tear in the fabric where one of the dead had gotten a little too up close and personal for her comfort.

Buffy preferred them at arm’s length—all the better for the bashing of heads.

The blood on her person was theirs, a small comfort that, which meant she stunk of rot and tarnished pennies; it left a bitter copper taste on the roof of her mouth. A few days ago she wouldn’t have noticed, but after her first shower in months she was noticing and the walk back to Alexandria wasn’t helping any.

Sweat gathered along her spine and in other areas as the asphalt beneath her feet resonated with heat. She’d tried the grass, but the crunch of sticks and rocks drew the dead. Ambient noise was no longer a person’s friend and since Buffy was conserving weapons, and her energy, she stuck to the road. She’d lost a knife in the scuffle the previous day and been unable to find it once the dust and bodies settled. It’d been a good knife—dependable—unlike the two idiots that had led her out into the wilderness.

Thoughts of Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle (soon to be) Dead and their FUBAR “test run” lengthened Buffy’s stride into a jog. Her shoulder holster beat a rhythmic pattern against her sides as she made a right at the sign pointing her towards “New Homes Starting at $800K” and she kept a steady pace for the next quarter mile as the wall came into view.

Buffy didn’t slow as she reached the rolling gate and instead leapt. The fence shook under the impact as she scaled the metal rails with her hands. The tarp between the two sections scratched at her fingers until she brought herself up and over. She ignored the shouts and startled looks from those on the other side as she climbed halfway down before dropping the remaining seven feet.

Crouched low and knife pulled, Buffy saw their hesitation and scanned the inhabitants of Alexandria for threats. The one guard on duty, with dreads and a piss-poor attitude, was the only armed person in close proximity. Buffy rose, switching her knife to her left hand, the one closest to watch-man and kept him in her peripheral.

The shouts brought more people and the road leading out of Alexandria and the neighboring lawns filled with them. Their clean faces and neat clothes made her itch as Buffy searched their faces until she settled on one. Aiden faltered as recognition dawned and stare at her with wide eyes and a gapping mouth.

She bared her teeth, the dried blood on her cheeks cracking with the smile. Buffy changed direction, heading towards him. The questions and offers of help from the confused onlookers were ignored. Aiden backpedaled, stumbling to get away and only Deanna’s startled face in the crowd made Buffy hesitate.

A sigh escaped, jaw thrusting forward in frustration as Buffy flung her knife to the ground—the temptation too much with it in her hand—and it sank into the dirt at Spencer’s feet. Stopping his advancement on her six and Aiden sighed, shoulders dropping in relief now that she was unarmed.

He really was dumber than he looked.

Buffy used that idiocy to get closer and his fear turned to concern when he got a good look at her. His eyes may or may not have watered from the stench too, but he still offered her that same smile as the day before. Smarmy with too many teeth. Buffy dropped her smile and cocked her head, watched the concern begin to leak in into his gaze again before she drove a foot into his chest.

He dropped, breathe coming in painful gasps, but he still meeked out a half-assed apology. “I’m sorry,” another wheeze, “I thought you were dead.”

“Correction.” Buffy snapped, “You left me for dead.”

“Buffy!” Deanna’s shout turned her rage on her as Spencer caught her left arm.

Buffy glanced down at his hand on her person before looking. Spencer flinched under her gaze, but held firm. Her brow quirked—at least one of the Monroe children had a bit of spine—before she ignored him to turned back to Deanna.

She knelt next to her son, but Buffy saw no condemnation in her face when she asked, “What happened?”

“We were surrounded,” Aiden coughed, “I tried—”

“I wasn’t asking you, Aiden,” Deanna sounded tired even with the bit of steel in her tone as she clarified, “I was asking Buffy.”

“We were surrounded,” Buffy agreed, “That’s when your son thought I’d make a nummy chew toy distraction while he and his buddy ran away.”

“That’s not—”

“Aiden!”

“You shoved me!”

Deanna and Buffy spoke in unison, but Buffy kept going as she clarified. “I told you we could handle it. Keep our heads and stay back to back.”

“There were too many.” Aiden pushed himself up and onto his feet, only a little unsteady, which Buffy found disappointing, “We should’ve ran.”

“You did run.” Buffy countered.

“How many were there?” Deanna questioned from her place still on the grass, sounding tired.

“Twenty,” Aiden coughed again, “at least.”

“Twelve,” Buffy corrected, “If that. Dawn and me have gone against worst odds. And she is a hell of a lot smaller than you!” Spencer’s grip on her arm tightened, distracting her from the cowardice of his brother.
“Let go before I make you let go.”

There was no threat in her tone, merely a statement of fact, and that bit of spine disappeared as Spencer did as ordered. Buffy stared at him until he retreated into the crowd before turning back to Aiden. His gaze was flitting around the crowd surrounding them as his tough as nails image became tarnished.

“BUFFY!”

The hairs along the back of her neck rose with Dawn’s shriek and Buffy spun to see Aaron pushing his way through the crowd to make a path for her frantic sister. Buffy frowned at the sight and turned back to the Aiden. “You told Dawn I was dead?”

Unlike before the threat was clear in her tone and Buffy didn’t hesitate to drive her fist into Aiden’s jaw. She pulled the punch, much like the kick, for Deanna’s sake. Aiden hit the grass once more, but she’d admit that the sight of him spitting out something hard and vaguely tooth shaped gave her some satisfaction.

Dawn buried herself against her front distracting her from all other things. Buffy caught her under the arms and lifted, bring her up easily and Dawn tucked a damp face against her neck as Buffy turned to Aaron and asked, “Can we go home?”

“Of course,” Deanna stood, brushing her hands along the bottom of her slacks and casting a doubtful look towards her son. Her mouth thinned before she looked at Buffy, “I’ll come by this evening to check on you.”

Dawn’s arms tightened around her neck, cutting off the instant retort that might’ve ruined their place in the community and with Aaron and Eric. Buffy exhaled and agreed, “See you then.”

Aaron reached out, but then seemed to think better of it and instead turned to part the crowd for them. Buffy followed his lead and through the streets and ignored the stares from people who were entirely too childlike to live.

“You called it home.”

Dawn’s careful whisper against her neck had Buffy adjusting her sister so she was on her hip. Dawn’s legs were getting too long for that, but she didn’t protest as Buffy looked up at her. “It’s close enough.”

“I don’t like Aiden.” Warm fingers traced one of the trails of blood and the serious set to Dawn’s jaw made Buffy uneasy. The littlest Summers tended to hold grudges and if Buffy wasn’t allowed to get them kicked out for snapping at Deanna then Dawn wasn’t allowed to do it by attacking Aiden.

“I don’t either,” Buffy agreed, “But he’s my problem.”

Blue eyes narrowed, studying her face before Dawn dropped her chin into a nod, “But if he hurts you again he’s mine.”

“Ours,” Aaron countered from his place in front of them. Buffy stopped when he did and the sisters looked up at him. “You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

She was starting to get why Dawn liked Aaron; he wasn’t the best fighter, but there was hope for him.

“Now let’s get home,” He directed the next bit to Buffy, “So you can shower. You stink.”

She might also kill him in his sleep.

+

The end(… maybe. I feel like this short needs another scene to really finish it.)

huh

2017-09-18T02:01:45Z

I’d hoped to get started back up on tamingthemuse this week. The community had switched to Dreamwidth after the whole LJ user agreement fiasco, but it hasn’t been updated since the middle of August. I was looking forward to the structure of the community even if the words sometimes confounded me.

So I’m going to attempt to challenge myself. I located a random word generator (via a handy-dandy Google search) and it provided me with these 12 words. Over the next 12 weeks I’m going to tackle one a week and write story/scene/chapter inspired by these words. I’m going to go in the order the words were presented to me (no skipping).

Please feel free to join in my madness.

MASTERLIST
1. copper
2. explain
3. ill-fated
4. truck
5. neat
6. unite
7. branch
8. educated
9. tenuous
10. hum
11. decisive
12. notice

fic:maybe she's foolish | btvs, the walking dead | gen

2017-08-03T02:51:55Z

Title: maybe she’s foolish
Author: avamclean
Rating: FR13
Crossover: BtVS, The Walking Dead
Disclaimer: BtVS and all related characters are copyright of Joss Whedon and ME. The Walking Dead and all related characters are copyright of Robert Kirkman, Image Comics and AMC. No infringement intended.

Summary: Dawn still has some faith in humanity. Part of the ‘nature always wins’ ‘verse.

She’d forgotten what it felt like to be clean. To not have dirt and blood speckled across her person; built up in layers and scents. It’d reminded Dawn Summers of the paintings their mom had stared at for hours. Hung in the museums she’d taken them, well, dragged in her sister’s case, to while in New York City. Their mom compared the abstract art to the optical illusion posters Dawn liked and Buffy hated—since she sucked at finding the hidden image—which made Dawn love them all the more.

Their mom’s fascination with expressionists had led to Dawn spending many an afternoon looking for the images in the dirt on her skin. It’d made Dawn feel closer to her.

And it’d all been washed away in a spray of lukewarm water and soap that smelled like nothing at all. There wasn’t a speck of dirt left to search or trace and Dawn knew she should be grateful, but she found herself sniffling in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. The tugging at her hair ceased as Buffy stopped working a comb through it. Dawn turned her gaze on the now filthy shower and the towels spread across the bathroom floor.

She searched for meaning there as Buffy’s hand settled on her shoulder and she pleaded, “Dawnie.”

A sob escaped her and Dawn turned, folding herself against Buffy’s front. The comb clattered to the floor and Dawn buried her hands in the robe Buffy wore. Strong arms wrapped around her shoulders. Holding her as Dawn cried for no reason other than she was clean and it somehow made her feel further from their mother than even death had managed.

The crying turned to sobs and they sank to the floor. Crowded by their discarded clothing and the weapons Deanna had allowed them to keep. Dawn cried until her head ached and the tears fled to be replaced by wet gasps that hurt her chest.

“Breath, Dawn,” Buffy directed, turning her so that she sat cradled in her sister’s lap. She was too big now, but she didn’t dissuade the handling and instead dropped her head onto Buffy’s shoulder. “Breath.” Buffy ordered while running a soothing hand up and down her back. “Just breath.”

A shaky breathe was exhaled and then another, steadier inhale. Dawn blinked, her eyes felt dry and heavy, and she searched the dirt smeared tile lining the shower. She sniffed, inclining her head to the side and studied a particular bit of wall. Her hand rose, as shaky as the rest of her, and she pointed towards a corner of dirt. “Doesn’t it look like a turtle?”

Buffy’s turned and propped her cheek on the crown of Dawn’s head, “A little.” She wrapped her arms around Dawn, who relished the too brief, too tight squeeze that followed, before Buffy stated, “We need to finish working out those knots.”

She pushed herself up, dragging Dawn with her, and retrieved the comb in the process. Dawn found herself settled once more in front of the shower, turned away from the mirror, as Buffy restarted the gentle process of detangling her hair. Soft tugs that worked from the bottom up until Dawn swayed a little with the movement and stifled a yawn.

A knock at the door, tensed her shoulders and Buffy’s hands fell away. Both sisters turned to take on a possible threat as Aaron’s voice, more hesitant than the knock, carried through, “Girls? Dinners almost ready.”

Dawn glanced at Buffy, saw her frowning at the door—likely more confused by the civility than the offer of food—and so she assured Aaron, “We’ll be right out.”

“Okay,” there was a pause and Dawn thought he intended to add more to his reply, but then she heard his retreating steps as he headed downstairs.

“I like him.”

“You like everyone,” Buffy countered and looked down at her—not as far down as she used to Dawn would like to add—and scoffed, “And you always did a soft spot for lost causes.”

“He’s not a lost cause!” Dawn shot back and focused on the useful distraction of Aaron and Eric’s offer. “He’s kind,” Dawn lifted her chin in challenge, “and that’s not a bad thing.”

“It’s not bad,” Buffy sighed and glanced at the door, “It’s dangerous.”

“So’s most things nowadays.” Dawn countered.

Cutting off the impending squabble at the knees; Buffy turned away from the door (and Dawn’s argument) to retrieve her shoulder holster and knives. She shrugged it on over the robe—looking utterly ridiculous—and Dawn retrieved Buck, snapping it closed and dropped it into the pocket of her own robe.

She didn’t know the make and model of her knife, but it had Buck stamped on the handle. It was small enough to fit in her hand, but with a retractable blade long enough to deal with the dead. Snub-nosed knives weren’t good for much, but Dawn found herself missing the familiar weight of her gun. Watching Buffy absently rub where she normally kept the Mare’s Leg, which kicked like a mule, was a comfort.

Her sister looked in the mirror, patted at the roots of her hair with a frown line forming between her brows, before squaring her shoulders and motioned Dawn to head out. Dawn smirked, since allowing her to go first meant Buffy at least marginally trusted their hosts, and Dawn liked the idea of Buffy trusting Aaron—at least a little.

Dawn inhaled at the top of the stairs, stopping to give Buffy wide-eyes over her shoulder, since the scents coming from downstairs were amazing. Much better than the rabbit they’d split a few days ago. “We’re not sharing.”

A hand settled between her shoulder blades and Dawn skedaddled before Buffy shoved. Her foot falls were a little too heavy, a little too quick, but she was pretty sure bread was one of those scents wafting towards them and her stomach growled in acknowledgement. Dawn reached the bottom with a thud and she turned to the back of the house and the kitchen.

The sight of the table brought her up short. Buffy muttered a curse and slid to the side, having been an impatient shadow at her back, and bounced into the wall rather than Dawn. It brought them shoulder to shoulder and both stared, confused and a little awed, by the nicely arranged table with a steaming pot of something in the center.

“Dawn,” Eric turned to greet them with smile that Dawn liked leaps and bounds better than Deanna’s, “Buffy,” he moved to side and motioned them towards the table. “Sit, sit. Make yourselves at home.”

The gnawing feeling in her stomach brought Dawn forward first, but she paused to frown at a hamper full of clothing, it took up the seat at the end of the table that was closest to them. “Jesse brought those for you.” Dawn looked to Eric in wonder even as he clarified, “For the both of you. She wasn’t sure if any of it would fit, but it’s clean.”

“Clean works.” Buffy offered and played with a bit of lace on one of the shirts, “Clean is always good.”

“Can we eat?” Dawn urged, her stomach reminding her that clothing was great, but food was better.

“Of course,” Aaron’s voice turned her head and Dawn watched him carry a basket to the table and set it down before unwrapping the cloth on top to reveal bread. Fresh bread.

“Are you serious?” Dawn sputtered and went to take a seat.

“Dawn,” she hesitated at Buffy’s tone, a warning that made her frown before noticing she tried to take the chair closest to the window.

“Right,” she sidestepped and commandeered the next one before demanding, “What are we eating?” Eric laughed and Dawn blushed, “I mean it smells really good.”

“Stew,” Aaron offered as he reached for the serving spoon, “It’s made it with goat meat. I hope that’s okay.”

Dawn glanced at Buffy who shrugged and offered, “We haven’t had any Billy Goat Gruff as of yet.”

“Maybe some troll,” Dawn offered and beamed when the men laughed.

Her bowl was filled and Buffy shared the bread—big sisters were way better at the sharing thing in Dawn’s opinion—before she snagged a bit of the meat from the bowl with her fingers. It had an edge of vinegar that Dawn enjoyed and it was warm. So warm and filling as she pulled out a piece of potato and then an onion.

Dawn was busily licking her fingers when she caught Buffy’s amused face and she casually waved her own spoon. Dawn swallowed and ducked her head before snagging her spoon. She caught sight of Aaron; who also looked amused and Eric was beaming.

“I take it as a compliment.”

“It’s really, really good.” Dawn assured him.

“Try the bread,” Buffy offered and then added, “In the stew.”

Dawn obliged, tearing off a corner of her piece before dipping into the sauce. The bread was warmer than the stew and it melted on her tongue. Dawn didn’t speak another word until her second helping was gone and her third slice of bread was devoured. Her stomach lost that hollow feeling and she propped her chin on her hand as she watched Buffy finish her meal.

It was then Dawn noticed, “You have wine!”

She got a side-eye for that and Buffy quirked a brow as she took a sip from the glass Aaron or Eric had obviously poured for her. “Pretty sure the age restriction on libations went out the window when the dead started walking the Earth.”

“Libations?” Dawn parroted and grinned. “Can I try some?”

She glanced back and forth between the adults and her sister before Buffy casually offered her the glass she was drinking from. Dawn swirled it like she’d seen their mother do and sniffed it. It didn’t smell as good as the bread, but it wasn’t terrible. She took a hesitant sip and her nose wrinkled. “Bleh.”

Buffy accepted the hurriedly returned glass and smirked into as she took another sip of her own. “That’s gross,” Dawn declared before questioning. “Since when do you drink?”

“I’ve had a Seagrams or two before.”

“College party?” Aaron questioned.

Buffy nodded and returned the glass to the table. “We put Skittles in it.”

“Oh,” Eric laughed and shook his head, “Sweet on top of sweet.”

“I was fifteen.” Buffy argued, “I didn’t know any better.”

“Still don’t,” Dawn assured her with a smile.

“Funny.”

“I thought so,” Dawn retorted and reached for her water—a much better choice over the red stuff her sister was drinking.

“How old are you?” Aaron questioned.

Buffy tensed up, perhaps not to Aaron and Eric casual observation, but Dawn knew when her sister was uncomfortable. Most people lost respect for her (and acted stupid) once they learned her age. Dawn inclined her head as Buffy lift her chin in response to the question before admitting. “Seventeen.”

“We think,” Dawn tacked on and caught the frown from the men, “We’re not entirely sure on what the date is.”

Eric supplied it and Dawn and Buffy exchanged glances before Buffy nodded, “Still seventeen then.”

Aaron smiled, “Perhaps we shouldn’t have offered you the wine,” and as responses to Buffy’s age went that wasn’t the worst they’d ever gotten.

“Nonsense,” Eric countered, “In Italy the children have wine with their meals,” he waived a dismissive hand, “I don’t see why it’d be an issue. Especially now.” He directed his gaze to Dawn, “And how old are you? A well preserved twenty-five?”

Dawn definitely liked Eric. “Twelve.”

“Soon to be a teenager,” he glanced at Buffy, “certain you can handle that?”

“No,” Buffy admitted and reached for the wine again.

“Have you thought over our offer?” Aaron raised his brows and his smile was a welcoming thing as far as Dawn was concerned.

Eric added, “We’d like you to stay here. With us." He smiled and inclined his head, “I’m sure you’ll get some other offers. More,” he hesitated and Aaron offered him an encouraging nod, “More normal. Nuclear family types. But I think you’d do well with us. I think we’d do well with you.”

“I do too,” Aaron added, bringing the girls’ focus back to him, but his gaze was directed at Buffy. “I was hoping we could barter.” He inclined his head, “Free room and board in exchange for your help out there.”

“Outside the walls?” Buffy questioned for clarification.

Aaron nodded. “I have an idea of what I’m doing out there, but I know I could do better. Be better. I think you can get me there quicker than I’d get there alone.”

Dawn knew it was Buffy’s choice, she followed her lead in most things, but Buffy turned to her and asked, “What do you think, Dawn?”

“I think they cheated and fed us.” Dawn countered honestly and then trusted her gut. “I like them. And I want to learn how to make that bread.”

“It’s not the worst idea.” Buffy admitted, “I have a date with Aiden and his buddy in the morning to test my skills,” Buffy rolled her eyes before directing her gaze to Aaron, “but afterwards you and I can go out.”

“Is that a yes?” Eric grinned.

“It’s a yes.” Buffy agreed.

Dawn beamed before raising her glass, like she’d seen their mom do at dinner parties. “Cheers!” Their wine glasses met with her water glass with a pretty sound that made Dawn’s full stomach warm.

today means amen - sierra demulder

2017-06-16T01:52:03Z

welp

2017-06-15T00:37:32Z

I wasn’t feeling the love because I’d forgotten to actually join the het_banghelp community. I’m a little slow on the uptake sometimes, but apparently they do twice weekly check-ins. Hopefully, that will help me keep on track.

Now to just get myself writing tonight… *stares blankly at the cursor*

Damn thing is mocking me.

that went quickly

2017-06-01T02:42:55Z

My niece is graduating high school tomorrow. I'm proud of her because I know she hates school and this graduation was questionable last year, but she was also just to my knee and in diapers a few days ago. I swear.

I know she'd be incredibly embarrassed by her aunt remembering when I used to call her Stinkerbelle (because my god did her diapers stink) and that my favorite photo of her is of her "reading" the newspaper on the toilet when she was being potty trained way back when.

Now she has a boyfriend. Now she's graduating high school. Now she's considered an adult in the eyes of the law. I'm horrified by these concepts. Not because it makes me feel old (it does a little), but there's this big wide world out there and she's got to learn how to manage it. She barely managed high school.

Can't I wrap her up in bubblewrap and put her in a closet until she's 25 and ready to deal with all the shite that comes with living? (I know that would make it worse, but I'm still tempted.)

Do they sell cards that say "Welcome to adulthood. Yeah. We knew it sucks. But welcome anyway."

blows dust off

2017-05-11T02:07:04Z

Let’s just ignore that my last update was in August, shall we? ‘Cause that’s sad and I have fantastic, fabulous news that also sort of explains my absence.

MY BIG BROTHER IS CANCER FREE!!!

In October D was diagnosed with stage 4 small cell throat cancer. He had 9 weeks of radiation and chemo and kicked its ass right into remission! (The doctors and nurses had something to do with it, but it was mostly D.)

I’d written a couple of posts tell you all (or anyone that’s still around) what was happening, but I deleted them rather than posting. I’m not good with the emotional shit when it comes to my own life. One day I’ll get better at it… or maybe not. *shrugs*

But all that is for another time because my brother is cancer FREE!

fic:normal(ish) life | btvs, captain american | gen

2016-08-15T01:40:01Z

Title: normal(ish) life
Series Title: we ain’t ever getting older
Rating: FR13
Disclaimer: Captain America and all related themes are copyright of Marvel Entertainment and Stan Lee. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related themes are copyright of Joss Whedon and ME. No infringement intended.
Synopsis: Buffy comes down with a not so slight case of the transtemporal.
Note: Like I needed another series… sigh

+

“Beth!”

A brow quirked and the corner of Buffy’s mouth followed its upward momentum as she watched her boss step out from the back. His voice might’ve been of the booming variety, but his frame was slight. Shoulders perpetually hunched after years spent manning the griddle and a wife that waved a mean spatula given the right provocation.

His smile, however, was always welcoming.

Buffy didn’t mind the few teeth missing along his left side, but Henry tended to keep the patrons on his right if he could help it. A pencil was tucked behind her ear as Buffy looked around at the few still loitering. Most were taking up space at the counter, but all had their bills neatly placed in front of them—just as Vera had taught her.

One of their regulars was engrossed with the paper, but his coffee was dangerously low. Edwin needed a refill before he headed into one of the local factories for the late shift. The Owl Diner was open twenty-four hours, but Buffy usually ended her day as some of her best customers were beginning theirs. Henry was snagged by of those customers and Buffy used his distraction to grab the coffeepot.

Edwin smiled as she topped him off and tilted his head towards the latest bit of decor. “Tell Vera it’s the best one yet.”

Buffy glanced at the painting and tried to fight a smile. “She doesn’t need the encouragement.”

“Sure she does,” Edwin snorted.

The peach colored walls were covered with paintings of owls. The newest addition was ordinary enough, but the artist had spent a substantial amount of time on the bird’s eyes. Making them large, detailed and an ominous orange that unsettled the soul. Buffy preferred the salt and pepper shakers shaped like owls littering the counter.

At least they were cute and not nightmare inducing.

She shared a smile with Edwin as he added a generous dose of cream to his coffee. While he stirred Buffy propped a hip against the counter, easing some of the ache in her lower back after spending too many hours in heels. The two-tone pumps were adorable, but painful after working a full shift. Henry’s uneasy chuckle brought her upright and she returned the coffeepot to the warmer.

Her boss disentangled himself from a messy conversation about the current war efforts and Edwin glanced at his watch before mutter a curse—or what passed for a curse nowadays. He left the money on the counter and tapped the coin beside his coffee. The wink that followed shook her head before she made a shooing motion.

Henry was still extracting himself so Buffy busied herself collecting Edwin’s money. The dime next to the coffee was slipped into the pocket of her dress— big spender today as he usually left a nickel—before she crossed to the till and finished ringing him out. The hard to press keys weren’t kind to Henry’s arthritis, but they made Buffy smile and she liked the sound the coins made when she closed the till.

The familiar jingle lifted her spirits and reminded her of Anya. Buffy patted the smaller jingle of her tip pocket in memory of her. Money stretched further in this decade, but she’d found it impossible to find a job in her skillset in the six years she’d been sequestered here. Theft had been her primary source of income and clothing until she’d been offered work by Henry and Vera.

Buffy had fallen asleep on the couch in Andrew’s apartment in Brooklyn in 2006 and woken up in the same apartment in 1937. In a world (apparently) without monsters and in time when women didn’t seem to be considered much. If at all.

This lead to jonesing for something undead or demonic—she wasn’t choosey—to slay. Her nose wrinkled as she’d taken to jogging in the early mornings in an attempt to burn off some of that frustrated energy with her hair tucked up while wearing her neighbor’s old clothes.

Steve wasn’t much bigger than her and had left her with some of his things when he’d finally been accepted into the military. What they planned to do with an asthmatic who weighed less than her, but still somehow managed to be unfairly taller, was anyone’s guess.

A rough thumb rubbed at the crease between her brows and Buffy’s frown eased into a smile as she looked up her boss. He dropped his hand and stepped back before stating, “Vera’s running late,” he cleared his throat, “But if you’d care to head out now I think that’d be alright.”

Buffy saw they’re customers had dwindled to two while she’d been was lost in thought. An exhale turned into a raspberry at her own distraction before she nodded. “I’ll collect the bills and straighten up first.”

“Good, good,” He pulled out an envelope from the pocket of his too loose slacks and handed it to her. “I know Vera usually gives out pay, but since you’re off tomorrow…” he trailed off and his face flushed with color.

“Thanks, Henry.” Buffy smiled, knowing that reading was difficult for him and writing even more so as she accepted the envelope. She slipped it into her apron without peeking. Vera would fix any mistakes and they’d keep it between them. “Now get back into that kitchen. The evening rush will be here before you know it.” She tipped her head towards their customers, “I’ll check in with them before I go.”

“You’re a good girl, Beth.” Henry’s use of the name he’d technically given her made her smile widen.

She’d been in want of a job—see desperate—and Henry had been distracted when she’d introduced herself. He’d assumed her name was Beth Day and Buffy, painfully aware of how unusual her name sounded in any day and age, hadn’t bothered to correct him. If she’d known she’d still be working for him two years later she might’ve reconsidered.

Henry returned to his rightful place behind the griddle and Buffy set about collecting the bills from the departing patrons and welcomed the few that arrived. Coffee and menus were delivered and the counters cleaned until Vera breezed through the back door. The knowing smile on that lined face told Buffy that Vera knew very well that she’d found busy work to keep herself around so Henry wouldn’t have to worry about anything other than food prep.

Buffy inhaled the dry scent of clove as a kiss was pressed to her cheek. “You should be home with your feet up.” Vera’s words were chiding, but the arched brow, dark against her pale features, meant business.

A hand was presented to her, palm up and fingers making an impatient motion. Buffy frowned at her before her eyes widened and she retrieved the envelope. Vera cast a quick glance towards kitchen before she looked over the check. Her eyes softened before she returned it to the envelope. “He took care,” she handed it back, “Now go home. I will handle these rabble-rousers.”

The customers closest to them smiled at Vera and one ventured a comment about the newest painting which earned him a piece of pie and the envy of those that hadn’t thought of it first. Vera greeted a few of the regulars and welcomed the new faces. Buffy might’ve kept watching her in fascination if Vera hadn’t snapped a towel in her general direction.

A universal sign to get gone if ever there was one and Buffy ducked into the back.

Henry winked and offered a wave with his oversized spatula, reserved for hash that was equal parts butter and potato and deliciously terrible for you, as she passed him. They exchanged goodnights as she punched her time before gathering her purse from the cubby all the waitresses used and left.

Blissful quiet surrounded her as the door closed. Not much noise permeated Henry’s sanctuary, but it was nice to leave it all behind when work was done. The alley behind the diner was enclosed by factories that blocked the ambient noise of city for a few blissful moments. In cooler weather, when there was strong breeze, Buffy could smell the ocean. It never failed to make her smile.

It also never failed to make miss home like a phantom limb. A subtle ache that never quite left her no matter how long she’d spent in this world. A sigh and she rolled her shoulders back before making the short walk to the street. Her apartment wasn’t too far and she could ignore the subtle aches caused by too many hours on her feet. Slayer healing would make her right as rain by tomorrow, but in the here and now all she wanted was to follow Vera’s advice.

“Ma’am,” her mouth pulled down with that moniker, “Mind if I walk you home?”

The cadence was familiar and the offer didn’t feel threatening, but Buffy wanted to maintain the relative quiet and replied, “I’m good,” which came out bitchier than she’d intended so she tacked on a, “Thanks.”

There was a snort, also familiar, and the voice stated amused, “Never implied you weren’t.”

Apparently the quiet would have to wait until she was home; alone and without interruption.

Buffy inclined her head at her would-be escort. He was leaning against the wall, one boot braced on the brick at his back and there was a whole lot of the color tan on his person. From tie to button-up shirt covering a broad chest down to dress slacks that looked starched within an inch of their lives. The physique was impressive—she’d give him points for dedication without the aid of CrossFit—but she frowned at him until the foot dropped and he stood up straight under her scrutiny.

The movement force her to look up (and up) to see his face and she watched him sigh, shoulders hunching and her eyes widened as they meet with a pair of blue eyes that gathered at the corners when she got it. “Son of a...” His smile dropped a notch and Buffy took a step forward and then back. “Steve?”

“Buffy, it’s me.” His use of her name, her actual name which only one other person knew, cemented the notion that this stranger was indeed her neighbor and the closest thing she had to a friend.

“Did you make a wish?” The question came out as more of a demand.

He laughed, hands slipping into his pockets as he folded in on himself in embarrassment. “I’m sorry?”

It was so perfectly Steve in such a completely different body that Buffy was forced to shake her head again. “How?” She blinked, frowned, “When?” and tacked on another, “How?” for good measure.

“All good questions and I’d like to answer them,” his head inclined, “So how about that walk?”

Buffy searched a face that was vaguely Steve-shaped, mouth flattening into an unwelcoming line, before she shrugged, “I guess.”

He frowned. “You don’t sound entirely certain.”

“You don’t look entirely like Steve,” Buffy countered before starting to walk. He fell in step beside her and Buffy watched as the few other people on the street gave them a wider berth. Steve took up a lot of space now and she barely reached his shoulder—in heels.

She didn’t like that. Not one little damn bit.

Rather than grouse at him some more she settled on the direct approach and asked, “So what’s the what?”

“The what might take a while,” Bucky might’ve grasped her vernacular quicker than Steve, but he’d caught on eventually. “Let’s start with the how and work our way into the why.”

“How works,” Buffy side-eyed him and smirked, “Were magic beans involved?” He looked at her with such exasperation that it made her laugh. “What? You did sorta sprout like a bean stock. Which; unfair.”

“I thought that might bother you.”

She didn’t need to see the smirk to know it was there. Buffy jerked her chin up and prompted, “You were talking about the how…” She trailed off and waited for him to fill in the blanks as they made their way past the factories and into the neighborhoods.

Steve’s gaze swept the street from time to time searching the shadows in a way that made her chest ache as he spun his tale. It took the entire trip home and up to her front door for Buffy to learn about science, which smacked of magic, and technology that sounded frightening and a smidge sketchy. She also fully intended to pry him for details about this Peggy he mentioned all casual like. There was a story there. Most definitely.

“So basically you let Doctor Frankenstein have his way with you.” Buffy stated as she unlocked the door.

“Dr. Erskine was a good man.”

His tone turned her around. The glare Steve was attempting to pin her with was sort of impressive, but she’d fought bigger, scarier things and while Steve was bigger he was in no way scary. However she’d known him long enough to know he was quicker to anger while he was hurting. She’d stumbled through that particular quirk in his personality after Bucky had enlisted and he couldn’t.

She reached out, catching the arm closest to her and fought not to wince at how solid it was beneath her fingers. A small part of her had expected it to be some sort of elaborate illusion. She pushed those thoughts back so she could tell him, “I get that he meant a lot to you. I do. But you could’ve died and I like you very much alive.”

His shoulders dropped with his next exhale. “He believed in me.”

“I know of a few other people who believe in you,” Buffy quirked a brow.

Steve frowned, “I’m explaining this wrong.”

Her head shook and Buffy stepped back to finish opening the door. She dropped her purse and keys on the small table beside the entryway that led directly into the kitchen. She hit the light switch. It fizzled and brought for the faintest scent of burning before muted light flooded the one room apartment. Cabinets lined the right side of the wall above her sink and stove and the only other door in the apartment was on the left and led into the bathroom.

Buffy frowned down at her dinette set. It’d fit Bucky and Steve from time to time, but now it seemed woefully undersized. “Have a seat. I’ll make some coffee.” She caught Steve’s frown and guessed, “You’ll make coffee?”

“A better plan,” Steve reminded her that she sucked in the kitchen without the aid of modern appliances.

He made his way around her and set about boiling some water. Completely comfortable in her home and unafraid to take over if give half the chance. Buffy shrugged and moved passed him into the area reserved for her bedroom that consisted of an overstuffed chair that was missing a leg and balanced precariously on a stack of books and the lumpy mattress that masqueraded as her bed.

She retrieved her tips and paycheck from the apron before draping it across the back of the chair. The shoes were removed next and the balls of her feet ached as she pressed them against the wooden floors. Rising on tiptoe and rocking back down to stretch out the abused muscles and fend off their need to cramp. She crossed to the dresser to prop the envelope against the mirror to remind herself to deposit it before dropping the tips in the bottom drawer of her jewelry box.

“You like to dance,” Steve brought her attention back to him and ducked his head at the look she was giving him. “I told you about Senator Brandt finding a better use of my time.”

Buffy nodded, “He saved you from becoming a lab rat.”

Steve frowned, but pushed onward. “Well he thinks I can help by selling bonds.”

“Selling bonds?” Buffy parroted in confusion.

Steve exhaled and Buffy got the distinct impression he was more comfortable talking about his time as some doctor’s science experiment than what this senator had signed him up for and he confirmed it by blurting out, “I got you an audition.”

Buffy blinked, frowned. “What?”

Steve glanced at the aluminum coffee pot as if he could will it to boil and distract him. It didn’t and Buffy rolled her lips inward to hide her smile as he turned back to her. “There are dancers and since you like dancing I thought you might be interested.” He took a step towards her, hastily adding, “You’ll get to travel. You and Bucky used to spend hours talking about the different places you’d like to see.”

Buffy held up a hand and Steve tampered off as she tried to register the exact offer. Steve might get tripped up on Buffy-speak from time to time, but she was fluent in anxious Steve. “You’re going to be traveling around the country selling bonds to the American people and you want me to be your backup dancer?”

Derision. There might’ve been some in her tone.

Steve frowned as if he didn’t like how she’d worded that, but couldn’t find fault in it either. He sighed before adding, “It pays $31 a week.”

Well that was a kick in the teeth since she only made $25 a week currently. Including tips. Buffy sighed before entering the kitchen and taking a spot at the table. She motioned Steve to do the same. “Tell me more.”

He sat and started to his pitch again, but with more confidence and details. Oddly fitting stage name aside Steve made it sound like some grand adventure and that they’d be doing right by their country. Buffy had always been a sucker for enthusiasm.

“I’m going to regret this.”

“No, you won’t,” Steve countered and then grinned, “It’ll be fun.”

Captain America was a damned liar.

2016 August Fic-A-Day Challenge

2016-07-10T19:38:00Z

Just a friendly reminder that the twistedshorts August Fic-A-Day Challenge will be upon us soon. The title of the challenge is pretty self-explanatory, but the basic concept is to write 31 short stories(between 300 and 3000 words) and post them each day in the month of August.

New participants and readers are welcome!

fic:(no title)|btvs|gen

2016-05-04T01:44:52Z

Title: (no title)
Rating: FR8
Disclaimer: BtVS and all related characters are property of Joss Whedon and ME. No infringement intended.
Note: This is a comment_fic prompt inspired drabble. Please see prompt at the bottom.

Synopsis: Dialogue only challenge; Buffy and Oz.

“Hi, Oz.”

“Hey.”

“How’re things?”

“Things are good.”

“…”

“You?”

“Can’t complain. I’d actually like to, but it seems counterproductive.”

“How so?”

“I work with teenagers. They all have excellent hearing and are nosy.”

“Ah.”

“How was Tibet?”

“Quiet.”

“Little jealous of that.”

“I get that. Monks are mostly non-verbal.”

“That sounds delightful.”

“Otherwise, how’ve you been?”

“Tired.”

“Coffee?”

“You mean outside. Where there are other adults? Doing adult things?”

“Adult things?”

“You know. Such as… adulting.”

“Adulting is hard, but we manage.”

“Coffee. Please.”

“I’ll drive.”

“I’m never gonna live down high school, am I?”

“…”

“Whatever. Let’s go.”

+

Prompt: BtVS|Buffy Summers and/or Daniel "Oz" Osbourne|reunion

fic:mercy|btvs, the walking dead|gen

2016-04-30T16:58:17Z

Title: mercy
Rating: FR13
Disclaimer: BtVS and all related characters are copyright of Joss Whedon and ME. The Walking Dead and all related characters are copyright of Robert Kirkman, Image Comics and AMC. No infringement intended.
Note: This is a comment_fic prompt inspired short. Please see prompt at the bottom.

Synopsis: Doing the right thing was dangerous at the best of times. This was not the best of times.

+

Curiosity might kill the Slayer. Eventually.

She knew—for a fact—that the living were just as dangerous as the dead and yet, even with that knowledge, Buffy Summers found herself running through the woods towards the sound of someone calling for help. The desperation in their cries, and that shred of decency that still remained inside of her, forced her head first into trouble.

It wasn’t the first time and it definitely wouldn’t be the last.

A steady pace and pumping arms made her regret the decision to loosen the waist strap of her pack as it beat mercilessly at her lower back. The weight of it hindered her movements, but not her stride as she kicked up the leaves and dirt beneath her boots. The cries became whimpers and she heard their struggles as they pleaded for their life over the hungry groans of the dead.

It’d been a long while since she’d run into someone who wasn’t comfortable with the new world order and in need of saving. Nowadays those among the living were a little too comfy with how the world had tumbled head first into chaos.

The trees gave way and Buffy hesitated before entering the clearing, scanning for hostiles of the living sort before her shoulders rolled and the pack slid down her arms to fall at her feet. She drew the kukri from the sheath at her waist which Faith had acquired the blade during her travels to Nepal. She’d been unwilling to question the how at the time. Now she regretted the not knowing, but it felt right to kill as many of the dead as she could with it.

Buffy stepped forward, towards the massive rock with a frantic man atop it, and the few dead surrounding. She ran a critical eye over the gluttons and hazard they were months old and easy pickings. The kukri was a curved blade made for hacking and so she did. Cleaving the head of what had once been a woman in two with enough ease that Buffy added at least a year to her estimation.

The next stumbled towards her, teeth snapping as a putrid scent permeated her personal space. Once upon a time she would’ve tossed out a mocking turn of phrase at her (not really) opponent, but her quips were lost on these creatures and the living always took them the wrong way. Instead she caught the side of its head, winced at the warm feel of its flesh against her bare skin, before slamming it face first into the rock.

It dropped and she turned to face the creeper coming up from behind as the clearing filled with people and she muttered a curse. The blade flashed, catching the dead across the jaw as it made to take a bite of her. Buffy spun out of reach, her boot finding its knee as she passed and bone cracked with dry sound that wrinkled her nose. It stumbled and she drove the kukri forward into its face. Following it down and using gravity to her advantage as the blade sunk through bone and into brain.

A gunshot drew her gaze up from that ruined face and she saw the overabundance of the living. They’d removed the last two semi-threats and now watched her as warily as she watched them. The man on the rock continued to tremble. Buffy pushed herself up and pulled her blade free with the squelch of congealed blood. The violence level hadn’t lowered with the removal of the dead and Buffy resisted the urge to pull her gun since that would likely turn this scenario bloodier—for all of them.

“Clear!” The shout drew her attention from the many to the one and the order, “Keep watch,” had her guessing tall and lanky was the leader of the group.

“Come on down,” another order, but this one directed at the cowering guy on the rock. The leader looked towards Buffy and blue eyes narrowed before he asked, “You two together?” His tone implied he didn’t think so, but a back step was taken as the other guy slid off the rock.

The one she’d helped swayed and then squatted to vomit and make the already foul smell of the clearing worse. Buffy got a good look at him as he rose and her brow quirked at the clerical attire and all black in a Georgia summer was just asking for heatstroke. He wiped at his mouth, as if niceties were still the norm, and exhaled a shuddering breath before leaning against the rock that’d saved his life.

“Th-thank you,” he directed the first to Rick and then he nodded to Buffy, “Thank you.” He straightened his jacket, tugging at to sit straight on his shoulders before he offered, “I’m Gabriel and I-I don’t know this young woman,” his mouth quirked a bit, “Or you.”

“And you?” The question was directed at Buffy and continued, “Just heard someone in trouble and thought you’d lend a hand?”

The derision in that southern drawl stiffened her spine, brought her chin up as she countered, “Didn’t you?”

“Dad,” a kid muttered, but mostly all Buffy saw of him was hat.

The reprimand seemed to take the hostility down a notch or two, but trusting this leader was not and he hammered that notion home when he asked, “How many weapons you got on you?”

The urge to snap at him about business and how strangers should mind it was swallowed. Buffy frowned at him instead and muttered, “I don’t need this,” she nodded to Gabriel, “I’m glad you’re alright,” before she turned, dodging around the guy with the crossbow and plethora of squirrel carcasses to snatch her pack that he’d been side eying.

“Wait!” Her shoulders tightened under the weight of the pack and she looked back at the still frightened preacher in the center of a pack of wolves. “Wh-where are you going?”

She glanced around the hodgepodge group and frowned before admitting, “Terminus,” there were enough signs for the place that it wasn’t like she was giving away a secret.

“No!” One of the group stepped forward, drawing her focus to his dirt smudged face. A pretty, and equally dirty, woman took his hand and he spared her a smile before he explained, tone calmer, “It’s gone,” his head shook, “It was never really there to begin with.”

“Meaning?” A brow quirked because that explanation was empty of all details and utterly useless to her.

“They were cannibals.” The leader offered, slipping his gun into the waistband of his jeans before needlessly explaining, “We stopped ‘em.”

Her lips quirked and Buffy felt an inappropriate laugh tickle the back of her throat, but it was Gabriel’s horrified look that tipped her over the edge and she began to giggle. A belly laugh followed and it left her gasping in the dirt with a group of strangers surrounding her.

The laughter turned and tears blurred her vision. Buffy exhaled through her nose, a harsh burst that burned, and she sniffled before she looked up to find a redheaded man squatting well outside her personal space with an assault rifle across his lap. He studied her a long moment and she returned the scrutiny, lingering a bit on a rather impressively groomed mustache, before his mouth quirked and she looked up to meet his gaze.

“You handled yourself pretty well,” he stated with a nod to the dead near the rock, “We could use people like you and something tells me you could use us. We’ve got a mission…”

He snagged her full attention with that one word and Buffy listened because she’d learned a long time ago the mission was what mattered. The mission kept you going when nothing else could. When nothing else was left.

+

The end.

Prompt: "BtVS, The Walking Dead|Any, Buffy Summers|she was the only one left when she came across the group"

solitary arts

what do I put here?

for want of friendship & tacos | btvs, captain america | gen

moonshot | btvs, anita blake | gen

history for sale | btvs, captain america | gen

moonshot | btvs, anita blake | gen

welp I did it again

moonshot | btvs, anita blake | gen

Bye, September!

fic: cold, naked & alone | btvs, doctor who | gen

moonshot | btvs, anita blake | gen

Bye, August!

round 11 hurt/comfort bingo card

New Year, New Resolutions & Life Stuff

Not with a Bang, but a Whimper

fic:don’t put the blame on her | btvs, walking dead | gen

huh

fic:maybe she's foolish | btvs, the walking dead | gen

today means amen - sierra demulder

welp

that went quickly

*blows dust off*

fic:normal(ish) life | btvs, captain american | gen

2016 August Fic-A-Day Challenge

fic:(no title)|btvs|gen

fic:mercy|btvs, the walking dead|gen

blows dust off