As promised, a Happy Birthday update to the lovely
Foomatic! Wish her well, lots of balloons, cake, and partyhats
Hey everyone, sorry for the monster delay. The semester keeps getting busier and busier at it progresses, but I promise as soon as it’s over I can full-scale devote myself to writing this story again. Y’know, and not have anything else to scapegoat… But anyway, thank you all for being so patient and gentle. Means a lot. Without further ado, some overdue feedback and then the update!
Zampsa1975:
Thank you, I hope Willow is strong enough to face Sunnydale, too. Guess we’ll find out!
Paint_the_Sky:
Thank you for your kind words! Really, I’m glad Giles seems right to you. I always thought there was so much more to Giles than the show let on. They kinda showed this whole side to him in the beginning and then forgot about it. I mean, hello? Ripper could have been taken so much further than Ethan Rayne visits once in a while. Sheesh.
Wimpy0729:
I really got such an impact from just the quick snapshots of England in Season 7, and I wanted to impart the physical sensations I felt. It’s amazing how much we can extrapolate with so little. On the KB we’ve made worlds with just the little bits and pieces of Tara we saw, but immediately she’s as real as she was on tv.
I promise to make with the fixing asap. It’ll be a long road until everything is fine and dandy, and it might take a while for me to bring you there, but I promise to do it. I can’t just leave our girls in such a state, now can I?
Foomatic:
Hey there, friend! I can’t tell you how much you reassure me in every thing I do. It gives me a little squishy boost of confidence and means the absolute world to me. I hope you know that. I feel like we’re on the same train here, waiting to see what happens and equally as emotionally invested in it. Thanks for sitting with me on the long ride, keepin’ me company and makin’ it not so scary : ) And again, Happy Happy Birthday!!
spells42:
Hello, and welcome to the angsty fb that is here! You’re a wonderful feedback-er. It’s what you say, not when you say it that counts, and you coloured me blushed with your kind words. Thank you for reassuring me about emotion convey-ability. I worry sometimes it might be too much, so I’m glad it doesn’t seem that way.
I love that moment when you finally escape the city/suburb life and you realize you’re saturated with nature. It’s such a powerful moment, and it means so much, even if it is small and seemingly insignificant.
So again, thank you for reading and commenting, I hope you enjoy the update.
EmsInNz:
Omg, I know, talk about quiet! It just makes me feel even more guilty for not posting faster when there’s such a long lull on the board. I think he was vocationally more connected to Buffy, but felt equally as connected to all his little kiddies. How could he not? And even if he doesn’t really feel that way, it’s my story so I’ll do what I damn well please with Mr. Giles! Joss be damned! Then again, I guess that’s what the boards all about, huh?
katjetson:
Y’know, I feel like I have this extraordinarily high pedestal to fill with everything I write now. Especially because I don’t know exactly what I did to make it that enjoyable, but I’ll do my best. I just hope I can bake s’more ‘heavenly pie’ for you. If not, lemon meringue might have to suffice, k?
And I love it when you fb and tell me all about the moments from the show that resonate and you love, because I get to go back and see what you were talking about and relish those moments too. So thanks.
satinpaper:
*blushes* Well, hey now, I feel like a shmuck for a) not remembering what I wrote and b) forcing you to remind me that I said it in the first place. So….my bad, I hope I don’t say something that dumb again.
Anyway, thanks for all the supernice things you said, they make me happy. I hope the update makes you happy, even though it’s like a month overdue.
nimloth:
I really do so enjoy reading your comments. They provide so much insight to me and illuminate things to new levels, and I’m very grateful for the heartfelt thinking you must put into it. I love the relationship Willow and Giles seemed to forge, just in the few quick shots we saw of them in England. It’s a shame, they seemed to discard it almost immediately by the time she went back to Sunnydale. It could have been so great. Alas.
taraslove:
Hey there, you. Thanks for being here and still reading. I’m sorry after so long all I do with an update is keeping pounding the hurt in a little more, but I hope when the shit clears the end will be that much sweeter for it. You flatter me, you really do. Thank you so much, my friend. Enjoy.
LittleBit:
Wa-nah-naaah! I’d normally not tell anything, but for the sake of clearing up a few things going on, I’m going to spill and say no, the Coven doesn’t know anything about Tara. Willow is going home because, as Ms. Harkness ever-so-gently broke to Giles, there’s not much more they can do for her in England. But also, the First is on the way and Willow needs to be there and help. Thanks for reading, and enjoy the update!
db:
Ok, phew. I’m always worried that I’m saying lots of words without doing much with them. I’m glad you can tell stuff is still happening and that it goes at a good pace. Whew. Right, that PM….I’m on it. Soon as possible. Thanks for reading and commenting, it’s all so wonderful.
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]
The afternoon light was heavy with gold as the hours slowly matured into early evening, saturating the air. Shadows stretched across the floor, reaching and crawling under furniture and up walls like a slowly spreading coffee stain(desperate victim). Twilight was coming, and Spike was tired. The sun was sucking all the energy from his bones, gathering enough strength so it wouldn’t crash into Japan as it passed below the horizon.
He sunk deeper into the couch, cushions billowing like clouds, and absentmindedly flipped through a
Better Homes & Gardens that had been lying out on the table while Tara fussed about in the kitchen making lunch. It had been hours since either of them had eaten. Eventually Tara wiped her eyes dry at the stubborn insistence of their stomachs. Besides, the crying had to stop eventually.
For one thing, Spike had had enough emotion to last him for another two hundred years as far as he was concerned. But strangely it hadn’t bothered him as much as he thought it would. He felt a strange calm settle upon him like fine silk at the mere recollection. He might not have known where he was-or, for that matter, why he was, but for now, he had a purpose: hold Tara.
So hold her he did.
And he felt strong and good. But their growling hunger had interrupted the lonely spasms of heartbreak, so then came resolve and sandwiches.
He was busy admiring a particularly well organized bathroom arrangement when from the kitchen he heard Tara call, “Spike, do you want regular turkey, or smoked?”
Not bothering to glance up from the magazine, he didn’t miss a beat. “Smoked.”
Spike continued to mindlessly page turn, but the words twisted and blended into a tangle of text. Overcome by a sudden dizzy spell, his head reeled and the magazine fell from his grasp. He vaguely heard another yell, muffled but loud, from the kitchen, “Hey, Pop Tarts or Fruitloops?”
As soon as it began, his nausea ceased, and Spike found himself balanced precariously at the edge of the couch. Trying to shake off the strange feeling, he shouted back, “What are you playing at, Blondie? I said I wanted smoked.”
A moment later, Tara entered the living room carrying two pale blue ceramic plates, toppled high with potato chips and the sandwiches of choice, and a frown plastered on her face. “Spike, who are you talking to?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it abruptly and glanced over his shoulder. Seeing nothing, he turned back around to look at Tara who had sat down across the table and was staring at him worriedly. “Spike?”
Tiny alarm bells rang in the back of his brain, a long-forgotten sensation from his humanity, but he stubbornly ignored them and instead pressed, “So you didn’t offer me breakfast foods just now?”
Tara shook her head, the crease in her forehead furrowing even deeper, “No, I-I didn’t. Are...are you all right?”
Her anxiety is bloody contagious. Broads got enough on her shoulders. Not gonna do her any good worrying about me too.
He let loose a perturbed scowl and shoved her useless concern away instead shoving an open hand towards the tray. “ ’Course I am. Now quit your worrying and give me my meat.”
[center]~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~[/center]
There is a magic, delicate moment, sometime during the inescapable night, when time and space blend together like watercolor.
It had been hours since darkness descended and cast the world into weary shadow, pronouncing the deep tired that seeped into Tara and Spike’s bones. It was an exceedingly draining day, and sleep was long overdue.
As the haze of unconsciousness fuzzed Spike’s mind, he could no longer recall how long it had been since he’d shut the lights, peeled down the sheets, and crawled into bed. Sleep hummed in the back of his brain, pressing behind the eyes like a faint headache. He recalled, somewhat curiously, how foreign the sheets felt, weighing down his feet at the cliff of the bed. The fabric, although soft, seemed laden with starch when texture rubbed against his skin as he turned onto his stomach and flipped the pillow over to the cool side.
How long had it been since he had lain in a bed? It felt alien, having no chilled stone slab beneath him. Despite the warmth of the layers, the mattress remained distinctly cooler, reminding him, even in sleep, where he had come from- a tattoo of cotton.
But this moment, this delicate wire of transubstantiation, soon began to work it’s magic.
In that tissue paper veil that shrouds sleepytime thoughts in embryonic cocoons, Spike disintegrated like paper pulp into a vat larger than himself. Soon, feeling passed beyond sensation and the bed and everything on it ebbed into the ocean of numb. It could have been Dreaming, but there was no sense of self in this place.
No, this was something far greater in which the being known as Spike traveled. It was beyond Space and Time itself.
On and on he tumbled, passing milky nebulas and streaking stars, floating gently through space. It was then that Infinity stretched out with its smoky tentacles, encased him in a haze of possibility and spat him out into the sun.
It was bright, it was sudden, and it sizzled. As the offending pain bored into his flesh, identity smacked back into him like a wet sock and Spike the Vampire was returned to the world.
And there he sat, crumpled up behind a restaurant alley, dumped rather unceremoniously by unknown forces. He stared dumbly at the crust of black-nail polish clinging stubbornly to his cuticles as the voices slowly trickled back into his head. The loudness again overtaking his mind distracted him from the sun while steam slowly started billowing out of the sleeves of his jacket.
His eyebrows furrowed in a weary confusion as a crowd only he could hear pounded in his eardrums. It was familiar, this feeling, and that made him more nervous than anything. Panic grasped him as he raised his head and queried to the empty alleyway, “Mommy?” before his legs crumpled and darkness overtook him.