I liked that
Good!
That's actually turning into an intensely cool little series of vignettes.
Thank you! I think I shall continue them at some point.
that's delightful interplay.
Thank you!
It was a long held wish of mine that Spike would - for lack for a better phrase - grow a soul.
That would have been a very interesting way for ME to take the story line, and it's one I like to see played with in fanfic.
this is good. The still Spike. Still evil. Even with a soul.
It's drawing on my theories concerning the still-evilness of Angel, post-souling. And it's fun to do it to Spike, who's a little more self-aware than Angel (mostly!) and can see it.
Well, with Angel, we all know that it's the man that needs killing, not the monster. It's canon. And with Spike - really, William was not a bad man...
with Angel, we all know that it's the man that needs killing, not the monster. It's canon. And with Spike - really, William was not a bad man...
One of their fundamental differences. As a friend says: Liam was bad, William was sad. She likes to go on to compare Darla (bad) and Drusilla (sad), and how that makes Angelus/Darla and Spike/Dru such natural pairings. She isn't a slasher, so I don't take the conversation into why Angelus/Drusilla, Angel(us)/Spike and Darla/Drusilla are more interesting for thier differences.
Am, could you let me know if and when "In Re" gets posted, and where?
I will do, deb. I haven't heard anything yet.
How about some M*A*S*H stuff, Deena?
Well, there's this.
"What, Again?"
Why am I doing this to myself?
Falling in love again.
I mean, I’ve known for years that falling in love only ends in hurt, even if you manage to pick a relatively conventional object for your affections. People I love leave me—and before you cry, “oh, Hawkeye, that’s not true!” in your best comforting-friend voice, let me give you a few pieces of evidence.
Firstly, my mother. I know it was ‘natural causes’, not my fault, or hers: but that doesn’t change the facts. I loved her, and she died.
My father nearly left me, too, you know. He was so wrapped in his own grief it took him years to reach out and notice mine.
Stop looking like you pity me, you with your comfortable wife. These are facts; I’m not upset. See? Calm.
Secondly, Robert in ninth grade. I can’t even remember his full name now, but at the time I was head-over-heels in love with him. He didn’t care—although he probably, I hope, didn’t know. He never let me play on his soccer team, and the next year his parents moved to Texas.
I’m telling you because if you’re going to pretend to be my friend, you ought to know.
Of course, I’m drunk as well: though I don’t think I’ll regret this when I’m sober.
Thirdly, Carley. She knew how I felt, all right. She said she loved me; she said we’d get married when I had enough money; and then she walked out on me. You met her; you know how lovely she is. I was going to spend the rest of my life with her, but she walked out.
Fourthly (It’s a word. I’m drunk and I say so), there was Trapper.
Yeah, I loved him. Didn’t you guess from the way I talk about him? I joked to hide it, but I loved him and he left without so much as a goodbye.
Who is it now? As if I’d tell you. I’m not so drunk I don’t think you’d tell him.
It might be. Might be a her, of course. Slip of the tongue.
Nah, I’d have to be crazy as well as drunk before I told you how I feel about… Top my glass up, would you? Thanks.
