Probably. He has to live and get his own show, Connie. I think the guys were just being consoling when they said that...they do that, sometimes.

Probably. He has to live and get his own show, Connie.

Yay! I always root for the wrong side.

Hopefully he eats the COW guys.

And there is no right or wrong side when dealing with HLOTS. None.

erika, you need to write one where Kay has a quickie one-nighter with Whistler.

Thanks for the kind words and edits. All fixed.

So, victor, you should totally put ASH's MI-5 character in there too ...

I'd be tempted, but I havent watched it yet.

Which, all things considered, is probably for the best.

Serial:

Although, now that I think of it, an Oz story featuring Scott Evil could be funny.

an Oz story featuring Scott Evil could be funny.

kind of want this.

I was gonna say that, Deb. "Homicide" is all about the shades of grey and stuff. Kay/ Whistler would be some funny shit.

Kay/ Whistler would be some funny shit.

"Her hair is - electric."

Here's my drabble. Theme this week is games. Lighter than my usual drabbles....

WitchScrabble

"Stupid letters."

Buffy looked at Willow over the Scrabble board. "Oh, come on, Wil. You kick my ass every time we play. Your letters can't be all that bad."

"They can. They are." Willow rearranged a few tiles, looking disgusted. "Damn. There's something here - just give me a minute, OK?"

"Sure." Buffy grinned. "As long as you want."

Willow squinted at her rack. Actually, there was something familiar about those letters. Inspired, she made one final adjustment.

"Flamina!" she announced, and burst out laughing as the spoken spell conjured a burst of flame. "And on a triple word score!"

You know, having written the first of "Five Things That Should Have Happened in Sunnydale", and having had it be ghost-themed, I think I might actually do a second one. I have this charming mental image of Veruca - or Oz - eating Glory, as Ben.

That would have been an interesting spin.

Decided to do it.

The Second Thing That Should Have Happened in Sunnydale

He never knew precisely when it was going to happen, not until it was too late.

From the time he was born, Ben had been dealing with that simple truth: the intruder who owned one half his mortal life was not, herself, a mortal. Nor was she considerate. When she was hungry, or needy, or sometimes just because it was Tuesday or raining, she would take his body and his soul, the things that made him Ben, and with a single gesture of infinite contempt, shred him like forbidden documents. This was the reality of sharing his earthly shell with the hellgod Glorificus. She had all the power in their conjoined state; he had none.

He walked home from the hospital in his blue scrubs in the warm spring evening, thinking, wishing, remembering.

There were times he wished he had the courage to die. That would destroy her. Ben was sure of that, and had been sure, since the day he'd threatened to throw himself from the roof, and watched the panic come up in the eyes of her minions, felt their greedy hands pulling him back, as they wheedled and cajoled him back into cowardice. His minions, too, of course. He didn't want them, the scabrous little trolls; more than once, he'd woken in a sweat of pleasure, pleasure that came from dreaming about twisting their hideous little heads until he felt their necks snap.

He could do it, if he had the courage. It would be a simple matter, with a medical degree and access to every drug, dangerous, psychotropic, opiate or otherwise, in Sunnydale General's pharmacy. No need for histrionic gestures, just an old-fashioned stirrup cup, the modern equivalent of hemlock.

He cut across the park, dappled by shadow and starlight.

Glorificus was up to something. She was planning something, and whatever it was, people would suffer and die. He thought how much he hated her, how much he needed her, how much he wished to be rid of her. He thought how weak and pathetic he himself was, to lack the courage to do the noble thing...

Breathing at his heels, hot and unpleasant, took him by surprise. Ben turned, thinking it must be another of Glory's filthy little friends.

The power of the fur-covered body that brought him down was beyond his experience. Rank breath, yellow claws slashing deep into his chest and belly and groin. Ben looked into yellow eyes that were nevertheless human.

A werewolf. He was going to die here, torn apart by a man who shared his body with demon.

The last thing Ben knew before Oz ripped his throat out was a flash of warm, delicious irony. And the last thing he heard was an enraged screaming, coming from deep within the walls of his belly, as his own shared demon died with him.

• * *