Grr. Trying to come up with a name for a vengeance demon is quite tricky. The story I'm working on is set post BtVS S7, so I can't use Halfrek or Anyanka. I'm guessing that the best thing to do would be to look for a Nordic/Russian sounding name and tinker with it a bit.

Something with consonants in. Sarek. (No, he was a Vulcan.) Emlekah (what my brother used to call me when I was in a bad mood. My real name, Emma, plus 'little Karen', because Karen was an older girl we knew who shouted at everyone.) Barlok. Bradin.

I like Emlekah. That's a very cool name.

Sorry for not posting my appreciation for the most recent works in here. My computer broke and then I lost internet access for awhile last night. All is well again and I'm still enjoying everything.

I haven't watched anymore than the first two episodes of HLotS yet. Maybe if I've been good and packed a few boxes today I can treat myself to another episode tonight.

Well, I'm glad you liked them. When I read that I was all proud and then it was like "You didn't write them, you idiot. Chill!" If (or I suppose I should be positive and say "when") I write something that more than say, 30 people read, I expect I'll be kind of obnoxious about it.

Am-Chau, could I possibly borrow the name you suggested for my vengeance demon?

Hey, ya'll. I've been doing some short one-shots, trying to get back into the writing groove, and I'd appreciate any comments/grammatical advica you could give me on some of this stuff. I tend to have a blind eye against mistakes for the first month or so after I've written something.

Morning (Smallville)

Lex survives on routine, if only because the world demands it of him. Up at six, office by nine, lunch meeting with any of the current major world powers at half-past noon, manipulative social calls at four, brief dinner at eight-thirty, attendance at annoying yet visible parties at nine-thirty, climb into bed at midnight, have intense and passionate sex with Clark Kent at any available moment in between.

It's a grind, but he loves it. He lives for the moments when he can break from his schedule and slip into a closet like some nervous intern, dropping to his knees or pressing Clark into the wall, raining kisses through panting breath on his forehead. It's not as though there's any real danger, considering his entourage knows him well enough to both avoid and protect the places he and Clark slip into, and anyone stupid enough to walk in would be quickly handed a confidentiality agreement and a pink slip; but the thrill is almost there anyway.

The schedule he is on, that they are both on, makes those small moments that much more special and important because it feels as though they are bucking the system, even if it is one of their own invention. Lex looks at Clark and is silently thrilled that there is one person in the world who understands how this works for them, that it must work for them, and is happy in the carefully maintained rut they are in.

SA! I tried to respond at LJ and the buggery system won't let me post; it's giving me:

[Error: SMTP RCPT command failed: : Temporary lookup failure at /home/lj/cgi-bin/talklib.pl line 1184 @ w14]

Bastards. I lurve the way the story is going, though.

Ick. Well, most of this stuff is complete, story-wise. I'm just working on beta-passes and sense-making now.

Two others, I'ma taking my time.

This Time (Buffy, c. season one)

It starts with curiosity.

She's begun to understand Giles's habits, his patterns of living: she knows that when she comes in at two, he'll be stirring cream into his coffee, and if she pokes her head into the library before ten he'll just point irritably towards the center of the floor, her cue to begin the sets of kicks and punches he's walked her through.

They are still learning each other, a new Slayer with her Watcher, but even after a month in Sunnydale she's noticed how easily they fell into their roles. They bicker, but it's mostly good-natured. He knows what he can put her through, what her limits are, and how to push them. She spends more time with him than she has any one person, and while seeing Xander and Willow are the highlight of her day, she's growing used to their routine.

That's when she notices the books. There are books everywhere, occult encyclopedias and roughly translated volumes of prophecies and almanacs, with the rare literary novel mixed in. But she's seen the books Giles is most engrossed in, and they're all of the same nature: small, brown, hand-bound. A date imprinted on the top, from year to year. There's always a different one, unless one volume is especially thick, and more than once she has to bang something loudly on the circulation desk to draw his attention from the worn pages.

She goes to the library one day, at an hour she knows he will be out, and finds one of the books lying under files loosely stacked on Giles's desk. She takes the book in her hands, feeling its weight and gently rifling the pages with her fingers. The cover reads 1587-1604 and when she's reading she realizes this is something she vaguely knows from history, but it's even more important that this is part of her past. Her lineage.

She doesn't notice when Giles walks in, when he sees her and sees what she is reading. He stands, visibly frustrated, and cleans his glasses. For a moment he seems stuck in indecision, but he finally leaves, and Buffy lifts her head, thinking she's heard something when the soft brush of the swinging door settles.

Later, she carefully places the book where she found it, and when she walks home her head is filled with the words of another Watcher about another Slayer. She feels desperately lonely, though it's paired with the realization that she is perhaps less alone than she has ever been in her life. Buffy is finally starting to realize what being the Slayer means, and suddenly she runs, flying down the sidewalks and through the graveyards, cutting through the forest and reaching the bluff where people come to make out and have sex. She looks over Sunnydale and understands the concept of duty, and it is the tales of other Slayers that make her feel whole.

The next day, she comes into the library at two and Giles is stirring cream into his coffee. On the table there are stacks and stacks of small brown volumes, and he motions for her to sit down and starts to explain just where she came from.