It's nice to know that other people feel the same way, SA. OTOH, there's part of me that really wants Buffista feedback on some of the stories I've written for fandoms that seem to fall off the group radar, while at the same time I'm a bit nervous about what that feedback would be like.

FYI, I actually did a little work on the CSI/BtVS crossover and a silly little CSI/dS crossover last night.

t tries to keep self from jumping in chair; fails

Woot! I don't think you quite realize the pure love I have for that universe you built.

And I don't talk about it here, 'cause of many previous discussions about RPS.

I'm sorry to hear that. I'm got used to feeling that all fandom is fair game for Buffistas that I forget that there's whole chunks of it we don't deal with here. ( t tangent I've been thinking about some of my early experiences with fandom, things I came across before I met fanfic, and realised that if I was still into those things now, I'd be writing fanfic, and that fanfic would be RPF, probably RPS. It's... odd. Especially since when I first met RPF, my gut reaction was 'no! that's nasty!" Which is rather odd and now looks slightly crazy. t /tangent )

there's part of me that really wants Buffista feedback on some of the stories I've written for fandoms that seem to fall off the group radar, while at the same time I'm a bit nervous about what that feedback would be like.

I felt like that the first time I posted M*A*S*H stuff here. Turns out that wasn't as far out as I'd thought it was.

Greg doesn't read my fanfic because he doesn't understand the attraction of writing it. He doesn't mind that I write it, in fact anything that will get me writing is a good thing as far as he's concerned, but he doesn't read it. He asked when I plan to toss it for original fiction since it's served its purpose by priming the pump. No one else in my family reads anything I've written. I shared a couple of original pieces with my family and then realized that it made me uncomfortable, even though they liked it.

I shared a couple of original pieces with my family and then realized that it made me uncomfortable, even though they liked it.

I know how that feels, even though I did write one children's story that made my mom, dad, and stepmom all cry. My mom doesn't realy care for fantasy/science fiction or anything else that has a high "woo-woo" factor, and therefore a lot of my writing is not going to appeal to her. (She doesn't look down on it. It just doesn't appeal to her, and she sometimes wishes it did, since she knows that there is some well-written stuff out there.)

I finally told them about the fanfiction thing, and explained to them that it gave me a chance to write, be "published", and receive feedback in a way that didn't carry the pressure of trying to be an original author.

I'm sorry to hear that. I'm got used to feeling that all fandom is fair game for Buffistas that I forget that there's whole chunks of it we don't deal with here.

t shrug Well, the way I figure, I use Buffistas for something else. The Jossverse is so worked into my every thought process that it's natural for me to be here, even if not everything I'm into has a niche here.

I finally told them about the fanfiction thing, and explained to them that it gave me a chance to write, be "published", and receive feedback in a way that didn't carry the pressure of trying to be an original author.

And you know, for me, from spending my life watching my mum struggle with the publishing world, it really doesn't hold any appeal for me (at least, not right now).

Willow, the Vampire slayer, chunk 2:

After I left Giles' apartment, I went to visit Xander. The written schedule for training with Giles (fighting with weapons Mondays and Fridays, fighting without Tuesdays and Thursdays, nighttime graveyard retcon and supervised patrolling on Wednesdays, and all weekend to research) was folded snug in my pocket.

I heard things crashing and people shouting as Xander opened the door. It wasn't even five yet, but his parents liked to start early. He smiled apologetically as he caught my eye; after 11 years, he knew me too well to have to make the half-joke he would give anyone else. Xander never wanted to talk about what happened at home. I think he thought that bad as living it was, talking about it would be worse. We were each other's respite.

Without saying anything, we fell into step with each other. I knew where he was going; since we were about 8 or 9, we'd pooled my allowance and the change from the cash Xander's parents gave him to buy them smokes and ice and hit Nick's Arcade almost every summer afternoon. I played skee-ball, collecting the tickets for a huge stuffed animal each summer, and learned the cheats to ace Ms. Pacman; Xander moved impatiently from shoot-'em-up to shoot-'em-up, Jesse sometimes at his heels, occasionally pausing to mock my girly game (even though my initials, WDR, took up the entire top 10 on my game, and Xander's ALH had only been listed one day for one game, when Double Dragon was new.). When we needed a break, we got chips and soda and sat at a sticky table.

My mom would have killed me if she knew I was doing something so violent in such a male-oriented space. She wouldn't even let me have a joystick for my computer because she said they were phallic symbols encouraging male dominance. I think that made it even more fun.

But that day, we didn't go near the games. Xander got cans of Coke and sat down beside me at the same sticky table as last week.

"So what did the G-man have to say?" His tone was light, but the look in his eyes wasn't. He was making this harder than it needed to be. Someone had spilled fruit punch on the floor; I stared at the sticky red stain. I looked up, into his dark eyes. "I'm her. Or, she's me. Xander, I'm the slayer. I had that dream with Buffy and the stake, and, and Giles checked with a seer, like I told you, and I'm the slayer now." I was awed all over again.

Xander drummed his fingers slowly on the table. "Oh-kaaaaay. Wow. You think you know a girl, and then she comes out with this ability to fight demons. You aren't gonna fall in love with a vampire now, are you?"

A flash of anger shot through me. This was the best thing that had ever happened to me; it made me special and strong, instead of a little weakling computer nerd girl. And my best friend couldn't even pretend to be happy about it. He's jealous, I thought. Can't handle that I'm special now. I glared at him.

"I just figured you should know." I slammed down some change for the soda and walked out of the arcade.

He'd already left a message on the machine when I got home.

Hi, Will, it's me. Um, I know I wasn't exactly Mr. Sensitive at the arcade. Sorry 'bout that. It was just … kind of a lot to take in. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay? And if you wanna go kill things that go bump in the night, you have my full support.

Normally, I would have called him back, chirping out that, oh, no, it was okay, I was expecting too much, and by the way did he have any homework I could do for him? But he said tomorrow; I decided to let him wait while I did some Internet research on vampires. I went to bed late, engrossed by a hidden section on the NIH web site about caring for humans with supernatural wounds.

The next month flashed by. Studying with Giles was fun; I couldn't beat him in a fencing match yet, but I could flip him over my shoulder and smash him into the mat, which kinda made up for it. And the books he had me reading about demons were way more interesting than the wildflower manuals I had been studying earlier that summer.

He mentioned Buffy only once, late one Sunday as I came to return the five books I'd borrowed for the week.

"I've never seen a Slayer this eager at the books. Buffy-" and he stopped himself, but I knew what he would have said; Buffy hated the research part. I could picture her roaming the library, reading a page than standing to do a backflip, polishing her silver cross necklace, examining her fingernails, and occasionally asking if we knew what she had to kill yet.

Xander … Xander was still being kinda weird about the whole thing. He came to a few training sessions, acting as a sparring partner after Giles was winded. But he didn't seem to want to patrol with us, or go to the arcade, or even just hang out at the Bronze, and he was never home when I called. He told me he'd found a job at Hot Dog on a Stick in the mall so he could save money to buy a car, which had been his obsession since he had turned 16 that April.

I started hanging out with Amy Madison instead. Even though she wanted to spend waaay too much time in the weird shop that sold herbs and pipes and Grateful Dead posters, at least I was pretty sure she wouldn't freak about the slayer thing, though I didn't exactly tell her.

I could picture her roaming the library, reading a page than standing to do a backflip, polishing her silver cross necklace, examining her fingernails, and occasionally asking if we knew what she had to kill yet.

This made me choke up.

Oh, re the SO or anyone reading anything I write? I hand it over immediately. I have no hidden writing, fic, slash, original fiction, anything at all. You want it, here, I want inputinputinput.

No issues at all on that one. Just the reverse.

That's a great sentence, but now you've quoted it, I notice a "than" that should be "then".

Yup - then.

But it's so very much my girl Buffy in her innocent days that it made me tear up.