Hi there Rachel, no problem at all about the gaps, I’ve got a pretty big screen at work so I should really just stop complaining especially as it works best for you and that is what counts!

I’m pleased to see the introduction of Giles, you know, I’ve always found him very useful in writing fics, you definitely need a mentor figure and he’s such a great one, fun and easy to write.


I don’t know, Tupperware can be pretty damn scary, especially when you open it up and find there’s something living in there after not having opened it for months!

Great little teaser with Spike, I wonder what he’s up to? Whatever it is, I think he might have an important part to play in the story.
Thanks for another great update!

_________________
Willow Van Helsing...saving the world since 1777 │ Van Rosenberg II - Lord of Ice and Shadow

Well, I'm not so much of the violence, so the frying pan is definitely out. But I'll send you a pm if I notice anything sneaky. Deal? Actually, I'm a big fan of angst, and I have a feeling that your fic will not disappoint on any level. You're off to such a great start, and you've got Kat beta-ing for you, which ought to keep things lively. So, yeah. Color me happy.



Great image! Love it.

I like your use of bugs when talking of Spike in the past few updates. It really gives me a grimey feeling about him.

And, holy suntanned vampires, batman! He can go into the sun? Really? What in the frilly heck does that mean?

Excellent use of the MaGoRD again, too. Giles sounds just like Giles. Can't wait to find out more about Tara.

Intriguing story you've got here ... but you've left me a little confused??? Is Tara alive or dead? Also where's Xander??? Keep on writing!

_________________
Patience is a virtue I have yet to acquire
-- me

I am my beloved and my beloved is mine
-- King Solomon's Song of Songs

Only reality can escape the limits of our imagination
-- Rivka Galchen, Atmospheric Disturbances

Man is nothing else but that which he makes of himself
-- Jean-Paul Sartre

jay/wt4evr: Oh, Cavewoman speak, I know it well. I’m honoured to have reduced you to such ends Again, thanks for reading!

katjetson: My favorite scene of ‘Band Candy’ was when he nagged Buffy to punch Ethan and then when she finally did, he punched the air and jumped and hissed, “YES!!” I rewind it every time I watch it cause it’s so darn funny. You’re the best.

wimpy0729: Willow and pain just seem to go together too easily, huh. I’m hoping to fix that eventually. Spike’s missed the sun, but he’s a little pasty and should get some lotion just in case. Tara’s a pro knitter by now, she’s spat out some awesome hats and socks by now, rest assured. I hope I keep you anxiously reading Enjoy the update!

Alcy: Really? Huh, I’d never guess Just kidding, I love your Giles, I really do. And yes, Tupperware? I’ve recently had to get a new container of baking soda for my fridge because I can’t figure out where the smell is coming from. Yuck. Lastly, Yes. Spike is very important here, you’ll find how just how much soon enough Thank you so much for reading.

taraslove: I’m not partial to head-wound inflicted headaches, so yeah, a PM sounds dandy. Poor Giles is a little lost, too. The Scoobies are starting to crash and burn, aren’t they? TV made ‘em seem so much more put together. Lies, I say! The plot with Spike thickens, soon it’ll be ripe, but not quite yet. I’ll pull that string a little while longer. Thanks for reading.

LittleBit: All will be answered in due time, I swear. Xander will make his appearance, I assure you. I’ve got a tender little soft spot for him, and he’ll be here aplenty. Thanks for reading!


Email: rsietz@gmail.com
Rating: PG-13(language)
Disclaimer: Joss and ME own their characters. I’m just adding a little bit of spice. And not making a profit.
Spoilers: This is heavily steeped in canon, so be wary of all of it.
Feedback: Yes, please! This is my first story, so please feel free to scribble away with red pen. It’s highly encouraged.




[center].::Lotus::.[/center]


“Hello?” Xander asked as they walked. “Earth to the Buffster. You in there?”


Realizing that someone was talking to her, a sudden “Huh?” blurted out of her mouth.


“Well that was enigmatic. Maybe a little overacted, but with just a bit more ‘oomph’, I think you’ve got some definite Broadway material there.”


Glancing over to him at her right, she apologized. “Sorry Xander. I guess I zonked out again?”


“Yeah sure. Either that or your excitement is just pouring out your ears in all new fun ways. Everything alright in there?”


They turned the corner passing the tail end of town and started up the long sloping hill. Kids blurred by on roller blades and bicycles as they walked, the sunshine warming their backs like a slow, cozy winter fire.


Picking at the loud, crinkling plastic wrapping in her hands, Buffy shuffled on, noticing the grass peeking through the cracks in the sidewalk; stubborn little weeds. “Yeah, I was just out a little later than usual last night, checking things out. You know, no biggie.”


Xander recognized that tinge of the sluggish self-hatred Buffy carried. He knew it because he was just as stuck in the quicksand of regret as her.


There was nothing that haunted him more in his life – not seeing his best friend ashen and unconscious laying bruised and battered on a hospital bed, not staring at the pavement alone and benumbed on Christmas eves, and not even the betrayal that brimmed in Anya’s eyes as she stood emptily on the alter – than the moment Xander, champion of Scooby blind daring and courage, stood motionless in that sunny backyard on the worst day of his life.


But what could he possibly say? No words would make his sticky feet move those months ago, and nothing he could say now would distill the hanging cloud that smoldered above them. It was a deeply ingrained Scooby habit to save the heavy emotional drain for apocalypses and demons rather than on conversation. It took precious resources to keep up fighting the forces of darkness, let alone the effort of trying to live in the light.


Squinting against the sun, he swept the unspoken conversation away with a silent agreement, “Yeah, no big.”


Buffy was grateful for Xander’s willingness to sacrifice the topic. She just didn’t feel like getting into it. Not today.


They kept walking, stuck in a comfortable silence, each wrapped in their own tiny pockets of grief. The sign for the cemetery snuck up on them as it always did, taciturn and massive.


Buffy hated the sunlight that day. It mocked her relentlessly as her friend lay cold in the ground. Buffy hunted the dark and the evil, but she could do nothing to chase away the shadows that hung under Dawn’s eyes or the scars that lingered on Xander’s face; more potent and obvious in the sunshine than they had been the night before.


Buffy squeezed her sister closer to her.


She glanced over at Willow, who had mutely insisted she dress herself that morning, as she sat in the only chair with her hands clasped tight, knuckles shining whitely and trembling in her lap. A constant stream of tears trickled down Willow’s face as she looked ahead blankly, lost and irretrievable, and Buffy wondered if she’d ever see her best friend again.


It wasn’t often a fallen or dearly departed Scooby member had a remnant of them left in Sunnydale. Most drifted away like dust to Angel in L.A. or were possessed in the dark by demons. It was almost a morbid rare treat to be able to visit a grave.


Again, Buffy was slightly startled when they stopped walking, having arrived at their destination, and Xander spoke softly. “You know, I didn’t think it would be this hard.”


Nodding solemnly, she said, “I know. Me either.”


Xander reached to pick up the old bouquet of brilliantly mixed zinnias, petals browning slightly at the tips like burnt paper edges, that rested against the tombstone. “She still doesn’t talk to me, but I know her like the back of my hand. These are hers.”


“Anya?”


He bowed his head in affirmation and with a forced chuckle said, “She probably did research on appropriate graveside manner.”


Buffy gestured down at the mixture of flowers in her hand, “Well, these aren’t exactly a dime a dozen at the grocery store, either.”


He shrugged. “Well, what’s the few extra bucks? We made a promise, Buff, and an elephant never forgets. Or shirks his duty. Or, you know…isn’t an elephant.”


Xander faithfully went to the floral shop in town every Monday and Friday to tenderly collect a mixture of ferns, phlox, irises, and orange blossoms. It had been the only thing Willow asked of him before she left. Somewhere he knew, best friend deep, that Willow didn’t think she would ever be coming back.


He upheld her wish, but always added a single dark crimson rose just for her. It just felt right to him.


Cradling the old zinnias in his arms, Xander replaced them with the fresh bouquet as he sat down in the grass cross-legged beside Buffy.


She stared at him for a long moment.


Then, taking a deep breath, Buffy began.


“Hey, Tara.”

[center]~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~[/center]

Accidentally knocking the pots to the floor with a clatter, Tara cursed loudly as she burnt her fingers on the stove.


“Shit!” she hissed, and shoved the throbbing digits between her legs and clamped her thighs together.


The morning light shone in through the window over the sink in the Summer’s kitchen, soft like a lullaby, as Tara tried to prepare breakfast.


Ella Fitzgerald kept Tara company every morning, rain or shine, happy or sad, empty or full, pancakes or cereal, ready or not. It chased the silence away, if only for a little while, and jazz was something Tara clung to. Like the last remnants of a tube of toothpaste, Tara squeezed up the only inheritance she had, furrowed deep in her heart.


Mornings at home with Mom had been such a rare delight and Tara treasured them more than anything. Her father and Donnie always left early to work the farm, so Tara was left alone with her mother for a few precious hours. The house would sing with happiness, smug and full of cookies and magic.


Her mother would hoist her on a stool and hold her protectively from behind like a mama bear at the kitchen counter. She would sing with Lady Ella under her breath, and it tickled the backs of Tara’s ears. Flowers danced on the windowsill as they wove recipes into blankets of solace that Tara would wrap around herself during the long dark nights under lock and key.


Flour, jazz, honeysuckle, and daffodils would stick to the underside of Tara’s heart when Father worked a dark magic all his own. Try as he might, however, nothing was more powerful than those happy mornings bathed in light and love.


Trying to shake the icy burning that licked the tips of her fingers and heart, Tara shook her head and went to the sink to wash.


“Morning, you,” Tara heard in her ear as a soft body molded into hers from behind. “Funny shapes today?”


Tara smiled, feeling Willow’s grin ripen in the crook of her neck. ‘How is it she fits me so perfect?’


The glass she was cleaning slipped from a lax grip and shattered into tiny fragments along with Tara’s carefully conceived morning procedure.


Jerked out of her thoughts, as her back echoed a phantom Willow-warmth, Tara realized it wasn’t enough this morning. She had grown too comfortable with the routine. Her brain had relaxed in habit and her heart was beginning to think.


It was too much.


Barely remembering to turn off the stove, Tara left the kitchen in a flurry, crunching over the broken glass, and hurried to the front door.


She needed to get out. The house was oppressive and caved in on her slowly with faulty routines, patterns, and habits designed to keep her calm. Tara barely had time to realize she was panicking; it struck dart fast, unseen until it hit. Her breathing labored and spots danced behind her eyes as she leaned heavily against the banister in front of the door.


She just needed to get to the door.


With a lasting burst of desperate strength, Tara leapt towards the door and grabbed the doorknob as she fell.


Fresh air flew through the air as the door swung open. It blew the crazy and the panic out of Tara like sifting sand in the wind as she lay collapsed in the doorway with one arm hanging off the threshold.


The hysteria fled after a few moments as a lazy breeze gently blew Tara’s sweaty hair into the draft. Her mind cleared slowly, defogging like a mirror after a steaming shower, and her breathing returned to normal as she listened to her heart calming.


Thump-thump. Thump- thump. Thump – thump.


Taraheart, she thought as her eyes brimmed with a fresh wave of tears and her throat thickened and swelled.


No. I will not do this here. Now now. Tara forced the tears and sobs down with a deep swallow.


She knew absolutely no one was watching, but Tara felt self-conscious sprawled out like a lunatic in the doorway of the house. Stranger things had happened in the Summers’ home, she knew, but not in this place. Tara stood and brushed her hands off on her pants, staring forlornly at the long expanse of the lawn in front of her.


I need more eggs.


She needed to collect herself before going out again. Too unnerved to do the shopping now, Tara hugged her arms, rubbing her shoulders in cold comfort, and turned to go back inside.


The door shut firmly behind her.

_________________
Lotus

Betadibs!

You've done wonderful things here, Rach. First, there's the balance of empty banter trying desperately to ease the discomfort of loss and pain (for all the Scoobies). (Can I say a small thank you for keeping Anya alive.) Xander's quip about the elephant never forgetting was spot-on Xanman funny, and him adding an extra rose to Tara's grave was spot-on Xander loyalty and love. Leave it Willow to still take care of her girl when she can barely take care of herself. Seriously heartbreaking stuff. I can feel the grasp you have on your characters with just this simple scene.

And then poof! We're back in weirdo Tara dimension.



Just the "morning, you" part was enough to break me. Fuck.



It's a funny image, and it's all "true dat", but still one of desperation. Everyone is hurting so much and I can really feel it right here {{Kat says, pointing to her heart}}.

The angst-o-meter is totally spiking in the red. That said, this is wonderful bit of storytelling, and while I love a good ole heartbreak, I can't wait for the sweet reward of the Kitten Board policy of "... and they lived happilyy ever after...".

Wow, another heartbreaking chapter. Everyone is so tore up and you make us feel it right along with them. All your characters are very spot-on and I love it when a writer is able to do that.

Now, everything was so sad, but this one really broke me.



But as sad as this was, I loved it. This may sound morbid, but I was angry that on the show they never showed anything about Tara's funeral. The last thing we saw was her being taken out in a body bag, and nobody went with her. I hated that even though she was gone, she was so alone. That just infuriated me. So thank you for giving us this little glimpse, even though it tore my heart out (again). And also Buffy and Xander visiting the grave was sweet, and it seems even Anya knows proper graveside etiquette. Again, proof that your characters are so perfectly done.

I'm still trying to figure out where Tara is, but it seems like she's in a place identical to the Summer's house, etc., but she's trapped there all alone. I hate it when Tara's alone, can you tell?

Anyway, great job again. I can't wait to see where you're leading us with this story.


Wimpy

_________________
Pam aka Wimpy0729
Restlessness ~ Quickies - The Lovers, The Dreamers & Me

"There was plenty of magic." ~~ Tara

You are weaving quite the story here ... I'm enjoying it immensely!

_________________
Patience is a virtue I have yet to acquire
-- me

I am my beloved and my beloved is mine
-- King Solomon's Song of Songs

Only reality can escape the limits of our imagination
-- Rivka Galchen, Atmospheric Disturbances

Man is nothing else but that which he makes of himself
-- Jean-Paul Sartre

Crikey! I completely missed this until just now. Why didn't anyone tell me? I'm slipping.

This is such an intriguing story. I love hearing how everyone is dealing with Tara's death. It's sad and beautiful that they all go and talk to her. And Anya always brings her flowers, even though she won't see Xander. I like Anya. Always have.




I can't say why exactly, but this paragraph just lept at me. Her heart was beginning to think. Very poetic. I love it.


And this made me nervous:



How does she know that, exactly? Is she all Beetlejuiced in the house and can't go out 'cause the sandworms will get her? She needs eggs, for crying out loud! She needs Willow!

This is such a great story. Sorry I missed your update. I'm evil.


Ooh, ooh! And I love the word 'taciturn!' It's a good word.

katjetson: I think Xander is a really underrated and underused character in fic-dom(at least on the KB). He’s fiercely loyal, loving, funny, and brave and his relationship with Wills is so deep and complex. Best friends since they were what, five? I miss that TV didn’t show us more of it. Joss kinda put him and Buffy on the same pedestal, and I’m not sure if thats the case. Anyway, moral of the story is, I love Xander.

Yeah, everyone’s hurting so much, it’s hurting me, too. I’m getting all burden-y with massive amounts of sad. So I’m also really looking forward to the happy ending. Talk about a salve for our achy breaky hearts. Again, great story! I’m so glad you posted

wimpy0729: Hey Wimpy, thanks so much! I’m glad you feel the characters fit right. They’re so important to the story and to each other, it makes me feel all kinds of fuzzy that I can replicate them here in some recognizable form. Thanks.

Yeah, the funeral? Beyond sad. I couldn’t look farther into it because it was too painful. I only peeked far enough to see that one flash of what Buffy saw. I agree, it was a disgrace the way Tara’s body was treated after she died. I don’t care if Willow’s all dark, show some respect, people. Gah. /rant.

Anyway, thanks so much for reading and your feedback. It’s nice to know what’s really resonating, and helpful for keeping me on track.

LittleBit: Hey! Thanks so much for reading, I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Enjoying the story, at least, not the massive pain, cause there’s a lot of it. I hope you like the update!

taraslove: Pish posh, you could never be evil! Evil for your writing-y goodness, maybe, but not for missing an update. Better late than never, right? Miss as many as you like, my friend, they’ll be waiting for you whenever you get around to them.

You like Anya? Me too. I like her a lot. Besides Tara, she’s my favorite non-core(Will, Buff, Xan, G-Man) Scooby. I hope you like this update just for that reason.

Tara’s heart isn’t happy when it thinks, as you can tell. I love it when things jump out at me, and am glad I could do that to someone else. Beetlejuiced is a really good way to think about it. I had totally forgotten about that movie, but it totally makes sense! Lordy, does she need Willow. And Lordy, does Willow need Tara. Soon soon soon.
I was thinking today how good of a word ‘aqueous’ is. Thanks so much for reading, I love that you do. Enjoy!


Title: Lotus
Author: Zooeys_Bridge(Rachel)
Email: rsietz@email.smith.edu
Rating: PG(for now)
Disclaimer: Joss and ME own their characters. I’m just adding a little bit of spice. And not making a profit.
Spoilers: This is heavily steeped in canon, so be wary of all of it.
Feedback: Yes, please! This is my first story, so please feel free to scribble away with red pen. It’s highly encouraged.



[center].:: Lotus ::.[/center]



Nothing had been worse than those first few hours.


Was it a nightmare? Spike didn’t even know. He thought he had just gone crazier, if it were possible. It had been months since he had retained any sense of lucidity for longer than a few minutes, so how could he tell? The hissing voices of his past victims surrounded his every thought and stirred up a dust cloud of raucous torment that led to constant headaches.


But no. That wasn’t even the worst of it, was it, Spikey boy?


His heart. Oh, how his heart had ached. It rotted inside him with a dull throb, blackness and evil oozing from ventricles and arteries like sewage. He could feel it poisoning him slowly. It done seeped into his soul, laying waste to whatever virtue and goodness lay within.


That was why he had tried to cut it out. That was why it burned. After all his hard work, his soul was being ravished, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.


But here….here it had all stopped. The discordant buzz in his brain hadn’t reared its nasty head. A giant mute button had encapsulated Spike’s mind. It confused him at first, but then sunk to a deep dread. Could it have gone? If the voices had fled, had his soul gone with them? It was just so quiet.


The noise had been there for so long that Spike thought he had lost his hearing. Which was why Sunnydale hadn’t seemed so odd at first. But then, slowly, ordinary sounds seeped into his ears. He heard the leaves rattle in the breeze and a scattered chippering of birds, but nothing more.



Which begged the question: Where was he really? Spike wasn’t even sure anymore.



After staring blankly into the sun for a moment, Spike had blinked and scrambled into the shade out of dark habit. Safe behind a veil of shadow, he then tentatively thrust his hand into the sun and snapped it back. Satisfied that his hand didn’t sizzle and pop like frying bacon, Spike let out the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.



Experiment completed. It was time to go exploring.



Slinking out of the alleyway, Spike was taken aback as he scouted.


It looked like Sunnydale but didn’t sound like Sunnydale, for there were no human fingerprints to be found. No screeching traffic of cars, no indistinct smattering of voices, no music parading from a restaurant window, and no patterns of life in the air.


It felt like Sunnydale, but didn’t smell like Sunnydale. It couldn’t have been.




There wasn’t a scent of warm blood anywhere.



Something was wrong. Deadly wrong. Determined that the simmering sauté of anxiety wouldn’t get the best of him, with a snarl Spike headed to the only place he ever expected to find answers.


Slayer…

[center]~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~[/center]

With a whoosh, the automatic doors opened and blasted an air-conditioned gust onto sweaty skin, creating the pleasant cooling sticky sensation that only summer can bring.


Rubbing her arms in a vain attempt to chase the growing goose bumps from her flesh, Dawn grabbed a shopping cart and started meandering towards the supplies.


Anya accompanied her, looking skeptically at the products in front of her, as if suspecting they were all incompetent. “So.” she said, “Have you given any more thought to my spectacularly-prepared suggestions?”


Dawn rolled her eyes, “Anya, you’ve cut out every single coupon from the newspapers and magazines for the last month and flagged the best deals with hi-lighters and post-its.” Scrunching up her face, she added as an afterthought, “And it’s barely even September.”


Seeming quite pleased with herself, Anya started parading down the aisles, admiring the colorfully-labeled rollback prices along the way.


“Well, you can never be too prepared. Careful and well-researched purchasing is the cornerstone of American capitalism. You don’t want to jump in all willy-nilly into the market, do you?”


Despite knowing it was best to ignore any discussion about free enterprise with Anya, Dawn stubbornly refused to give in to her quips. “I’m not jumping into anything. It’s just back-to-school sales. They’re the same every year. Chill.”


All prior happy feelings of consumerism gone, Anya huffed, “Everyone keeps telling me that, but I don’t understand.”


Slightly confused, Dawn asked, “What, back-to-school sales?”


Waving Dawn’s question away with a flick of her wrist, Anya continued, “Chill. You use the word so casually but do you have any idea what it’s like trying to pretend everything is perfectly normal all the time? I can’t chill.”


Awareness crept upon Dawn as she recognized the simmering anger behind Anya’s voice. It was a bitter frustration that pressed upon the chest like a slowly turning vice. The hurt it left behind in its destructive grip left nothing sacred. She knew because it had ensnared them all.


Anya continued, the pent-up rage within her pouring out into the helpless aisles of Target. “Things just keep getting worse for you humans, how can you stand it? I’m…riddled with these unpleasant feelings and memories and I can’t do anything about it! I visit Tara twice a week, and I don’t understand why it still doesn’t feel any better.”



It kept spilling out, unbidden and unending, and it was all Dawn could do to stand and watch helplessly with somber understanding.


“This ache isn’t going away and none of you will talk about it! My god, don’t you ever tire of bottling everything up?”


The tension was palpable. It wore thin on restraint and stoicism by testing even the furthest limits of Scooby self-control. It cracked them slowly. Differently. They were each caught in the deepest muck and drowning slowly. This time, no one was coming to rescue them.


How did we get so lost?


Willow was gone, nursing and rehabilitating in England with Giles, and Dawn didn’t know if she was ever coming back. Even if she made it back to Sunnydale, Willow would never really come back. Not without Tara.


Buffy, on the other hand, was so laden with guilt, it was a miracle she was still standing. Dawn could see it press on Buffy’s shoulders in the morning when she didn’t think Dawn was watching. How could she have missed it before? Blinded by admiration and sisterly jealousy, Dawn had mistaken the sad and lonely burden of the Slayer for glory and celebrity. She was glad, now, to have escaped that fate. She could grow and be loved and have a life all her own, safe from destiny and circumstance.


Anya and Xander….well, they danced so finely around each other, Dawn wasn’t sure where they stood. Hell, Anya and Xander weren’t even sure. Tangled in the past, they simply couldn’t figure out how to unravel and just forgive themselves. And each other.


And Tara…..Tara was dead. There would be no more milkshakes and movies, no more morning couch cuddles or pancakes. A great warmth was gone and Dawn had never felt so utterly alone.


It was all so wrong. For such a long time nothing felt right, and Dawn was starting to get scared. Was this all her fault?


It is, isn’t it?


It started with Glory.


But no….


…It had all started with her. No Key, no Glory. It was that simple. She could see the consequences of her existence topple like falling dominoes.


Oh God.


It was impossible, this hurt. It hammered and pounded and made her head swim.
“Anya,” Dawn choked, clutching her chest.


Snapped out of her reverie, Anya turned with apologetic eyes towards Dawn, who was leaning forcefully on an aisle.


“Anya. I know,” Dawn exhaled heavily, a plea in her eyes and understanding in her breath. A silent request lingered in her gaze - to escape the heavy phosphorescent lights and the clammy air-conditioning. She wanted to go home.


Feeling foolish for her random explosion, Anya gently put an arm around Dawn’s shoulders and without another word, they abandoned the shopping cart and exited the store, fading into the summer wash of customers and cars.

_________________
Lotus

ugh I missed an update :(
my god you're quite a writer here you made the characters come alive the previous update was heartbreaking and this one too
Keep them coming?

_________________
|| Fanart...sort of || Short poetry || A little bit of smut never hurt anyone | Nothing left | Promise || Text ||

When I saw you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew. -Arrigo Boito

Yay for update-y goodness... I really hope that Willow soon finds a way to bring Tara back... I wonder what is Spike's role in all this...

_________________
We few, we happy few. We band of buggered.

Posting While Nude Improves Your Mood.

Wow, you did it again. Especially this time with Anya's little rant.



This reminded me so much of her reaction to Joyce's death in The Body. Even though that ep was so sad, her breakdown in Willow and Tara's room was what really made me sob like a little bitty baby. So when she was saying this about missing Tara, I could just picture her doing it, and it caused the tears to just flow.

But I'm still curious about Spike, like in some other Sunnydale dimension. Is he gonna find Tara? Hmm. Can't wait to find out what's gonna happen.

Great job again.


Wimpy

_________________
Pam aka Wimpy0729
Restlessness ~ Quickies - The Lovers, The Dreamers & Me

"There was plenty of magic." ~~ Tara

Hi Rachel,

I've missed a few updates but I'm starting to catch up now. I've told you before - you certainly belong here. Your characters sparkle. You've got them pegged so perfectly, I can picture each and every sequence. The dialogue is utterly fantastic; I can see I'll have to take notes from you!

Congrats on finding a beta. Katjenson rocks, so I'm sure you two will do a fine job together. I love reading more of this story, with the layers of mystery and intrigue. I can hardly wait to see how it all pans out!

You're doing fabulously. Keep up the great work!

Phoenix

I'll never tire of the 1200-plus-years wisdom of Anya Jenkins, and you, dear Rach, have captured it here perfectly:



Hammer meet nail's head. Seriously, you just snap-shotted like, seven years of Buffy the Vampire Slayer in one sentence.

And this... this horribly heartbreaking statement:



Heartstrings meet the pull. This is pretty much how I felt watching season 7. The character of Willow, even when she was in front of her trusty laptop, looked terribly lost.

I really can not wait for our ladies to see each other again. You're making it so we're aching along with them each. torturous. minute. of. every. single. day.

Goddamn, this is good.

Oh god. Is Spike in the Sunnydale that Tara's in?

IS HE?????????????????????????????????????????????????????




Oh, and the MaGoRD goes to Anya this time around. She's perfect.

Hey Rachel,

I really like your writing style as well as the layout..,and I'm agreeing with the others here: jolly good dialogistic skills. Furthermore, breaking the chapters into character portrayals seemed to add more depth to what you wished to convey. I am unsure why but you were making me think of the concept of similarity whenever you presented any two characters in an interaction scene. This came up as a direct opposition to how Willow and Tara were relating to each other affectively.

Story bookmarked,
Vi'

You write pain well ... I almost felt the pain that Dawn felt in my own chest. Great work please keep writing!

Oh and things are slowly starting to make sense ... lol

_________________
Patience is a virtue I have yet to acquire
-- me

I am my beloved and my beloved is mine
-- King Solomon's Song of Songs

Only reality can escape the limits of our imagination
-- Rivka Galchen, Atmospheric Disturbances

Man is nothing else but that which he makes of himself
-- Jean-Paul Sartre

I've been wanting leave feedback here for ages, but everyone has said all the things I want to say, and probably much better than I could.

This story is amazing.

The scoobies dealing with their grief and guilt is heartbreaking, and Tara's little slips into remembering Willow are so touching, and I'm really hoping that Spike is in the same place as her and they can both find their way back.

And after the exchange with Dawn and Anya, I'm very curious about what Dawn thinks she knows, and more importantly what she is going to do.

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People grow through experience if they meet life honestly and courageously. This is how character is built. Eleanor Roosevelt

Aahh! posting went kafloey and did it thrice. Pay no mind here.

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Lotus

Aah! Posting went kafloey and did it thrice! Pay no mind here.

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Lotus

All right, first the fb, then the section. Everyone, Happy Hump Day, praise the lord it has come. I dunno about you, but I kinda need this one, so here's hoping every little bit helps. Enjoy the update!

jay/wt4evr:
Thank you so much! I’m trying to be a writer, so I’m glad I’m succeeding enough to give life to these characters and that they seem to be real enough for you guys. Yeah, that heartbreak? Lots more to come, sorry. It’s too good to pass up, but the reunion will be that much sweeter. Thanks for reading, enjoy the update!


Zampsa1975:
I hope we see how Tara comes back, too. I’m still working on that part. It’s hiding somewhere in my brain and scatters when I try to pin it down. But duh, it’ll happen soon enough, so I’ll try to grab that bad boy by the horns.


Wimpy:
I love Anya. She’s such a great character to write, and I think some believe she’s easy and simple, but really? It’s easy to get caught up with talk of orgasms and money, but that’s not all she’s about. She’s so much more complex than that, isn’t she? She sees so much more that we think. And besides the w/t goodness that was their first (and loooooong overdue) kiss on the show, Anya’s breakdown brings me to tears too, and I think it’s one of the most honest, innocent, heartbreaking events on the show. Thank you so much for your kind words, they really mean so much. Again, thanks for reading, and enjoy the update!


Tara the Pheonix:
Hey, you! I’m so glad to see you again! Not that I don’t see you, what with the updatey magic of The Lamb and all, but…you get the idea.

From such a prolific mouth of engrossing and lyrical quality such as yours, I thank you for your kind words. I love these characters so much more when I write, because(and this is a little bad, but..)sometimes, when I’m watching the show I get impatient for w/t screentime and skip a little, so here I get to slow ‘em down a little bit. Anyway, you need no tips from me, f’reals, your writing is so addictive and wonderful. I’m all kinds of flattered that you think so, though Thanks so much for commenting on little ol’ here, enjoy the update!


katjetson:
Kaaaaaaaat. Hi. What’s up. Oh, your incredibly busy life? But you still manage to spend time on me? Aww, shucks. Seriously, stop being so awesome.

*Ahem* Anyway. Your fb still cracks me up, and apparently that’s a common trend on the Board. Your words are golden and make me all fluffy inside- in a totally not Build-A-Bear creepy way. Just happy fluffy. I said it before and I’ll say it again; I love Anya. And Willow. And Tara. So let’s ache and see where they end up, shall we?


taraslove:
Hey, Jude, right to the point this time, huh? You’ll find out real quick. I thought I was being a whole lot more sneaky when I was writing, but you guys are too smart for your own good. Dangnabbit. Anyway, love that you post, love that you read, enjoy the update, k?


nimloth:
Hey, Vi’! You know, half the time I don’t even realize what I write, so I’m glad I have online friends now to point things out to me. What you said is really interesting, about W/T relating to each other affectively, it’s true isn’t it, how the little dialogue snapshots give us so much more insight to the characters? I wish the show did it a bit more. Anyway, I like doing it, but hope when a bigger Scooby Gang scene comes up I do it the same amount of justice. Thank you so much for your meaningful fb, I’m absolutely flattered you bookmarked this. I hope I don’t disappoint! Enjoy the update!


Little Bit:
Thanks so much! I’m a sucker for the angst, so it’s no surprise I’m exploiting the crap out of it here. I’m glad things are starting to piece together now, hopefully this update will help a bit more, enjoy!


Paint the Sky:
Y’know, I’ve been such a floater/lurker here for so long, I still can’t believe that the things I’ve said in fb are being said to me, I really can’t. Really, thank you so much for leaving some here, it means a lot that people are reading and replying and that it makes them hurt, too.

You said what you wanted to just fine, don’t underestimate yourself! You’re quite the writer, missy! I’m still a bit behind on Saturday Mornings but I promise, I’ll get to it(* slaps self * bad Rachel!), and that little bit of Writer’s Block did you good! Real good. Plus, we totally benefited

Again, you make me blush with your words, honestly. Ages? Really? Amazing? Really? * bows * Thank you, friend. Please enjoy the update.



Title: Lotus
Author: Zooeys_Bridge(Rachel)
Email: rsietz@email.smith.edu
Rating: PG(for now)
Disclaimer: Joss and ME own their characters. I’m just adding a little bit of spice. And not making a profit.
Spoilers: This is heavily steeped in canon, so be wary of all of it.
Feedback: Yes, please! This is my first story, so please feel free to scribble away with red pen. It’s highly encouraged.



[center].:: Lotus ::.[/center]


Woke up and wished that I was dead
With an aching in my head
I lay motionless in bed
I thought of you and where you'd gone
and let the world spin madly on
::The Weepies-World Spins Madly On::


The quiet suited her.


It soothed and whirled in the wind as it caressed her, gently blowing wild her hair and rubbing raw her skin.


The wind didn’t speak. It didn’t quietly cower like the Coven or blatantly forgive like Giles. It simply blew the broken pieces of Willow into blessed nothingness as she sat.


The wind was. And as far as she was concerned, it was the most welcoming thing on earth.


The tree was her furthest hiding spot from the cottage. Sometimes, when the prospect of living seemed too daunting and paralyzing, she needed the quiet growth and easy seclusion of the woods for company.


The magick lessons, of course, didn’t help. The magick was where it all began. And ended. There was nothing Willow wanted to be farther away from than it.


A part of her was innocently fascinated with what the Coven taught her. How it was all connected - Gaia and the root systems; like millions of tiny computer wires in a vast network. But every tendril she followed in the system drew to a forsaken shuddering end. It might have all been connected, but none of it led back to Tara.


So what was the point?


The interest ended there.


She engaged them, of course. The good student was too deeply ingrained to ignore, and it proved useful. But this time, no dormant hopeful innocence hid underneath. The driving force wasn’t thirst for knowledge or geekish habit, but an empty inevitability.


All she wanted was a silent solitude; to be left alone and meditate until nothing remained. But they pressed with their magick and teachings, so she had no choice but to learn.


“Willow, you must try to focus.”


And because she had nothing left, she did. She took deep breaths and tried to imagine the edges of her sight hazing into white. But white just made her think of red. Faltering, she looked desperately into Ms. Harkness’ eyes, her own pleading and begging and raw with fear.


“Willow, stay away from the red. Listen to my voice. Hum with me.”


Weakly, she had forced her vocal chords to vibrate. Small and fragile at first, but with Ms. Harkness’ hum resonating in the background, Willow inhaled and started again low. She didn’t have the strength to tighten the pitch, but the deep strum grew strong and steady on it’s own.


The hum encompassed her, filled her bones with a resonating rhythm, and drugged her mind. Willow sunk into the vibrations in her chest, down into the dark, and a warm tendril pulled forth and surrounded her in a giant yawn.


Nothing existed in the black except the safe and the pulsating warm. Willow was no more or no less than a hum.


Slowly, percolating drops of consciousness seeped into her mind, collecting and forming shape. It was several hours later that Willow fully came into herself again.


Her eyes fluttered open into the dusky light and she saw the patient, tender face of Ms. Harkness wearily smiling back at her proudly.


Willow hadn’t understood until later, as she lay in bed in the dark, that she had relearned how to fall asleep. Away from the nightmares, Willow circumvented her way to slumber. Safe from the white, red, and inevitably, the blue.


Willow sat up straight as she inhaled fully, stretching her and back and lungs. She stood and balanced herself on the tree, momentarily dizzy and lightheaded.


When the fuzz around her vision cleared, the long green stared in front of her; speckled with grass, shrubs, and wildflowers.


With a lasting breath, Willow began the long trek back.


It’s time to learn.


[center]~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~[/center]


“Will, it’s time you learned how to do this,” Tara began patiently.


Approaching the counter with more than a hint trepidation, Willow asked timidly, “Are you sure? My cooking skills are kinda not so great. Remember the George Forman grill? It’s not so George Forman-y anymore.”


Tara smiled at the memory of the deceased kitchen appliance’s demise. How did she end up getting an entire bowl of brownie batter on it in the first place?


“Which reminds me, sweetie, lesson number one: grilling, baking, and cooking are three very different things.”


“Uh, right. Okay. And sautéing is….?”


“A type of frying,” Tara answered with a half-grin. “But don’t forget the roasting, boiling, searing, poaching, braising, and deep-frying.”


A look of blank awe smacked Willow across the face. “Wow. That’s uh… a lot of terms.”


God, she’s too cute. Her smile never faltering, Tara nodded as she twisted around and reached for the cabinets. “Mhmm, so we’d better get started.”


“Tara?” Willow squeaked.


Tara retracted her arm and turned around to face her girlfriend, who had backed herself into the island counter in the middle of the kitchen. “Yeah, sweetie?”


Biting her bottom lip, Willow glanced down at her feet before nervously asking, “What if I can’t cook it right?”


At that moment Tara fell in love with Willow all over again. Right down to her jittery, bouncing toes encased in fuzzy pink socks.


Seeing Tara’s lazy smile grow even wider, Willow grew puzzled. “Why are you smiling? This isn’t smiley-face material. This is…I-could-start-a-fire-and-burn-the-house-down material. Not at all with the good.”


Crossing her arms, Tara asked, “Willow, can I ask you a question?”


“Of course.”


“What’s sodium chloride?”


“Um, the ionization of sodium and chlorine atoms?”


Nodding, Tara questioned further. “Good. And what is the square root of pi squared.”


After a moment of contemplation, a baffled Willow squeaked, “Uhhhh, pi?”


Opening a cabinet door, Tara pulled out a bowl and a large wooden spoon from the drawer near her thigh. Slapping them on the countertop next to Willow, she slid close to her lover, feeling their legs and hips melt together like warm chocolate. “And how did you know both of those answers?”


Growing incredibly distracted by the lips dancing in front of her eyes, Willow offered, “Three quarters of a bachelors degree and a handful of mediocre classes in high school?”


Putting her arms on the counter on either side of Willow, Tara leaned in and whispered, “Follow the formula.”


Gulping, Willow’s brain wasn’t making the neural connections necessary to catch Tara’s point. “Following. the…….what?”


Pulling back with an extremely satisfied look on her face, Tara grabbed the bag of flour and placed it into Willow’s capable hands. “The recipe for salt requires synthesis of the ingredients sodium and chloride. For the other, you had to first multiply 3.14 by itself, then divide that by itself to reach a conclusion, yes?”


Willow nodded.


“All you have to do in order to cook is break down the recipe into an equation. It’s no different than a science experiment or a math problem. Follow. (kiss) The. (kiss) Steps (kiss),” Tara finished, punctuating the last three words by kissing Willow on the nose.


The pieces finally clicking into place, a warm confidence poured into Willow, and her face blossomed into a brilliant smile. “How do you do that?”


Tara gathered Willow in a loose embrace, “Well, it was easy ‘cause I love you so much. But I’ll admit, I had an ulterior motive.”


Looking up into Tara’s eyes, the redhead implored, “And what might that be exactly?”


“Well, where would you be when you want to pamper your poor, sick girlfriend who’s stuck in bed with the flu and you don’t know how to make pancakes?”


With a burst of laughter, Willow pecked Tara lovingly on the cheek and began gathering supplies and ingredients with a vivacious flourish.


Soon, buttermilk pancakes were sizzling in the pan and Willow was stirring another batch of batter in a bowl. The kitchen was pregnant with love, and the air was laden with the warm scent of baking. Blissfully content, Tara soaked up the smell of a perfect Sunday mo-


Tara’s eyes fluttered open to the sunshine dancing through the window blinds. She lay under the blankets, still a bit groggy from her dream. It had been so easy for the memory-smell of pancakes to sensually waft her into consciousness. She let the familiar heaviness settle into her heart like it did every morning, but suddenly her eyes snapped open.


Wait, that’s not right. Where’s that smell coming from?


Slinking out of bed, Tara yanked her bathrobe from where it hung on the wardrobe and was pulling it on when every single nerve in her body jumped in alarm.


Tara froze.


A clang. It may have been muffled through the floorboards, but a definite and resounding clang reverberated throughout the house and shattered her world.


Tara’s pulse pounded in her ears as she stood motionless, but she was soon jolted into action as she heard indistinct mutterings join the clattering downstairs.


No. It’s impossible.


Scrambling to the door, Tara flattened one palm against the hard surface and cracked open the door. The cool air from the hallway blew onto Tara’s face and she closed her eyes with joyous rapture.


It had been so long, oh so long since she had heard those sounds. Tears leaked from her eyes as Tara stood clutching the door, soaking up the ordinary noises, thinking them more beautiful than any birdsong or opera.


It was almost unrecognizable, this feeling. So foreign, Tara had long given up any expectation of seeing it again. Something as simple as hope had abandoned her. Yet here it was, sizzling and glowing and welling within her, as she let herself believe her waiting might be over.


At last. This is it. Let her come claim me.


She was about to swoop down the stairs in excitement, but a sudden fear expelled her delicate hope, causing Tara to pull back. Was it all another trick? A dream? For all Tara knew, she could still be asleep now, floating on the tendrils of fantasy, only to again wake with a horrible and consuming emptiness.


But the smell. It pulled her from her misgivings and she took a first step into the hallway. Hardly breathing, as if it would shatter the possibility of the moment, Tara slowly crept down the stairs, each step bringing her closer to the euphoric noises in the kitchen. Slinking across the floor, Tara’s heart resumed it’s rapid fluttering as the sounds in the kitchen grew clearer. It nearly thumped out of her chest when she saw a body at the counter.


Finally. My Willo-


Whatever hope had blossomed inside Tara earlier, in an instant burned to ashes. The metallic taste of copper invaded her mouth and her heart dropped into her stomach. The smile that had graced her face withered into a grotesque twist when the figure turned to face her.


As Tara wavered in the doorway to the kitchen, Spike turned around, spatula in hand, and watched her fall to her knees.


“Oh, you. Need more eggs,” was all Tara heard before she blissfully let blackness claim her.

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Lotus

wow that's intriguin!!!! I really lik it!!
and for the triple posting if you want I can delete this post, you delete two of yours and edit the first

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|| Fanart...sort of || Short poetry || A little bit of smut never hurt anyone | Nothing left | Promise || Text ||

When I saw you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew. -Arrigo Boito

Great update-y goodness... Reading about Tara's dream about Willow's cooking career, and then when Tara woke up and she tought that Willow was making pancakes for her was heartbreaking... I hope that Willow soon is able to make pancakes for her beloved girlfriend...

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We few, we happy few. We band of buggered.

Posting While Nude Improves Your Mood.

Oh, again with the heartbreaking, but at least we got some happy memories mixed in here. Poor Tara though, waking from her dream, thinking it was coming true, only to find Spike there instead of Willow. That had to be such a shock, so no wonder she passed out. I can only hope that Spike's presence in her world can somehow help her to bring the two worlds together, well eventually anyway.

More soon please.


Wimpy

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Pam aka Wimpy0729
Restlessness ~ Quickies - The Lovers, The Dreamers & Me

"There was plenty of magic." ~~ Tara

Hello, Miss Rachel,

I've been enjoying your story so far, well written, great dialogues, as everybody agrees, an intriguing plot. I wonder about Spike, he seems... awfully domestic and rather human in Tara's world. Tara and Spike - that's a rare interaction.

Well, I'll keep coming back for more, and I wish you a... happy, productive writing process! (hm, that's not exactly postcard material, but you know what I mean.)

To be honest, I've always felt like in another time or place, Spike (or at least William) and Tara would go well together. Like, I can imagine William writing poetry about Tara's effulgence . And Spike can be quite a sweetheart, at times.

And, of course, great oogly updatey moogly! I love it all! Please continue to serenade us with your words.

My friend, you're doing so well here. And by "well," I mean you're crushing me to itty bits. The pain Willow and Tara feel without each other is almost too real. I found myself gasping at this:



Eff! Oof!

They're both just going through the motions (losing all their drive?) and I want so desperately for them to mystically find each other. Perhaps once they get back together they can lick pancake batter off each other's bodies? It's got my vote.

We haven't talked about this, but I suppose we should -- did your Willow flay Amber Benson's boyfriend? {{shiver}} Or? Danga shoot, I'm a bad, bad beta. (With a big, big heart and wonderful, wonderful intentions.) Let's talk in email.

So yeah, the "better times" memory was a wonderful distraction from all the PAAAAAAAIN! There's just so damn much of it. The end of Willow and Tara has a way of causing such sucky feelings in the heart.

I couldn't help but stiffle a giggle and wonder if Spike had on a "Love Bites" apron.

Hello

I lost track, I'm sorry

This is still fantastic. I truly love it.
Each 's pain, all this unsaid things. Once again Anya is the great.

It is heart breaking to see how they all feel guilt. Well not all.
What I mean it is heart breaking to follow their rout to guilt land. Especially Dawn's.

And Tara, poor Tara. As well as poor Willow.

It hurts.

Yet I love it. Lol

Friendly,

Julia

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Broken Dolls |The Stadium's Goddesses | Seeds Of Beauty

"Joie est mon caractère, C'est la faute à Voltaire; Misère est mon trousseau, C'est la faute à Rousseau." Gavroche. Victor Hugo, Les Misérables (chap. XV)

I am so SLACK with not leaving feedback for this delicious fic, I should totally be hung or something.

This is mega cool and angst-riddled and has hints of Tara the Phoenix's metaphoric-almost-lyrical words and it's good. I especially like Spike being a nutjob instead of his slimy, smarmy self (though I probably speak too soon) and of course, Tara-centric dialog of any form for even a bit is totally yay or even squee-worthy for me.

So yeah, Squee!

Ash

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There is one who creates, there are many who destroy. Either way, I don't like tall buildings.

A much needed emotive scene I feel Rachel, for helping enhance our own inherent grief about Willow's loss. When you spoke about the need to learn, I thought about how very true that stood for these two women. There are so many possibilities for growth to be undertaken through trial and pain, just like the lotus's passion for thriving in difficult conditions.

The juxtaposition of the two pancake-scenes seems well thought out and equally well written. It's a beautiful way of portraying their love and honestly, you did a good job there.

What I have liked best is the way this chapter evokes strong but different emotions not only in the characters but also in each of us. It helps in not commodifying our feelings - us as the non-lovers of these two women who are yet capable of feeling so much for them. Lovely.

Regards,
Vi'