Two years ago I had a family with me. I even laughed and didn't feel like I was betraying Buffy's memory. Gunn and Wesley got into a not-fight about the Revolution, Cordy just shook her head and pretended she wasn't having a good time, and Fred sat in a corner, big-eyed with uncertainty until the fireworks started and she started naming the chemical compositions of the colored fires. I wonder if she even remembers what day it is, down there in her lab. Gunn is--I don't know where Gunn is. He's alone a lot, these days, though he always seems to be listening to something none of the rest of us can here. And Cordy--she was gorgeous that night, the evening breeze in her hair as she let out little squeaks of delight when an especially loud firework burst in the air. She tried to deny doing anything so plebeian, but we all saw her.
A big fountain of blue and red sparks just went off over at the pier. The piercing colors hurt my eyes a little, but I can see them burn longer than humans can. I hear someone say, "That one was lovely," and it sounds so close . . .
I don't turn at the sound of footsteps on the rooftop, but I do pick up the cold beer Wesley sets down on the balustrade in front of me. We don't speak, except to say, "Can you hear the car alarms going off with the impact of the sound waves?" and "I didn't know they could do that shade of green."
The Irish who got too noisy about silly things like basic human rights were shipped across the Atlantic.
But were there such a thing as basic human rights? I mean, was that even a concept then? Because I get the feeling that it's a much more modern invention, and even your Founding Fathers' concept of human rights had a much more narrow definition of human than we'd consider acceptable today. Most of them came because there was no food, didn't they?
Bridget McAllister had been terrified and hid her face in my shoulder at the noise, and later she thanked me very sweetly for protecting her. Her cries were not those of pleasure the next time I paid her a call.
Oooh.
Whatever, we watched the fireworks together, not saying anything other than "Pretty" and "Oh, look, that building's on fire."
Ahhh.
But, no, I always get to remember everything.
Oooh.
Two years ago I had a family with me.
Ahhh.
s.a. made me do it.
When Good Fic Writers Go Bad.
Willow/Snyder S&M non-con. Badfic. These are your warnings. Please take them seriously. It's a trainwreck sort of piece.
well written, really horrible story. ugh. That was painful. I'm not sure why you'd call it badfic, though, really. Can you 'splain?
well written, really horrible story. ugh. That was painful. I'm not sure why you'd call it badfic, though, really. Can you 'splain?
Because there are people who write this sort of stuff seriously, as a whole sort of genre, and I can't take it as goodfic at all. It's exploitation fic, plain and simple. There's no point, no insight, just ick.
Ewwwwwwwww. Well written, as Deena pointed out, but still Ewwwwwwww.
There's no point, no insight, just ick.
"Ick" about sums it up.
Plei, I love you. You are a wonderful, talented writer.
Don't ever do that again.
Please.
I'll probably never post it again, though I will probably write such stuff to get s.a. off her ass and writing when she's told me to do so.
Maybe because it's you, but I liked bits of it, the red anger, the mention of the books, the desire for more magic, the unwillingness to forgive Buffy. Yeah, it's exploitation, and I really hated it with a sick to my stomach nausea type hatred, but there are bits that are worthwhile. I think that's the you and the well-written part.
edit: I said too much, didn't I? I think you should write and post anything you want to write and post. Though, next time you say badfic, I'll probably give it a pass.
What is it about this that would make S.A. get writing?
