Baynar is such a sweetie!

Poor, poor Xander. I wish I could say more, but coherency has gone bye-bye. Wonderful stuff!

While I have nothing to add creativity-wise, may I say how much I enjoy reading what everyone here has to contribute? I've found it interesting, intriguing, and thoroughly enjoyable. Thank you!

Well, you're welcome. And, wrod.

Not really vanity girl...just thrilled to have remembered a back way to linkage. And save somebody a Nilly, one day, maybe. Part one AU Band Candy/Homicide: [link]

[link]

[link]

[link] [link] Part 6:
[link] Newest:
[link] [link]

When You are Tired of London is up at the site.

OK, so, everything up is wonderful.

But I'm lost in erika's. Lost as in cooing and gurgling and aint nobody better find me and drag me way lost. Joyce and Kay doing lip gloss!

So, Nestra had this challenge thing.

"I give you the Virtues Challenge. In the fandom of your choice, write seven 100-word drabbles, one based on each of the Seven Holy Virtues of Christian theology. These are: Prudence, Temperance, Faith, Hope, Charity, Justice, and Fortitude."

Seven Holy Virtues: Wesley

Prudence

His watch was a fifth of a second off.

Wesley frowned, staring at the smooth glass of the crystal. A fifth of a second could mean the difference between life or death, winning or losing. He'd have to take care of that.

He double-checked his paperwork. All in order. Double-checked his luggage. Sorted, packed, and well within any weight limits -- no small feat when one was bringing over a number of irreplaceable texts on demonology. Whatever paltry collection Mr. Giles had assembled simply wouldn't do, given the circumstances.

Four hours until his flight. He'd replace the watch in Sunnydale.

Temperance

Sacked.

His hand shook as he poured another shot of cheap American whisky into his glass. They'd sacked him. His father had given him the news. He'd sounded almost... gleeful.

Buffy had stopped the Ascension, yet they'd still sacked him. Her Watcher.

He swallowed, grimacing at the taste.

"Who the devil do you think you're kidding? You were never her Watcher." He'd only ever been in the way. The glass was empty. How had that happened?

They wouldn't pay to bring him home, neither Council nor his family. A failure. A fool.

Wesley pushed the bottle away. He'd show them.

Faith

If he can keep her from killing him, Angel will come for him.

He tells himself this as the blows from her fists and feet turn his body into a solid mass of bruises, as the glass slides through his shirt (he can't afford to replace it, damn her), beneath his skin, into his soul (it doesn't matter that he deserves this, Angel will come, he will, he will).

She grinds against him, licking, touching, destroying as she goes. Can't show her that. No. He has to be brave, a man.

When Angel comes, it's for her, and Wesley shatters.

Hope

When the understanding comes, it drives the pain from his battered body for a moment.

Of course.

Shanshu. To live and die. To become human. Angel will become human. He'll live. Wesley tries to wrap his mind around it, after he's spent what feels like a lifetime but was in reality only a handful of days trying to accept the idea of Angel dying.

If his ribs didn't feel like he'd spent the week on the losing end of a battle with a mule, Wesley would laugh. Instead, he feels his face crack into a cautious smile. Angel will live.

Charity

"Virginia, I can't."

She shrugs. "What's the big deal? I mean, if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't even have the money. Daddy would have fed me to the Goddess Yeska."

"As much as it pains me to remind you, it's not as if he didn't try." Wesley looks at the floor, the walls, at anything other than her face. "I'll come up with the money for rent, don't worry about it."

But she's already got her checkbook out, and is searching in her purse for a pen. "You guys will be fine without him. How much do you need?"

Justice

If he could have willed his heart to stop, his breath to cease, he would have.

After Angel leaves, he tries his best to die. He's dead inside, but his body cannot, will not, match his mind. He closes his eyes and tries to feel the weight of a pillow, the weight of a child, the weight of his guilt.

He does not die.

Fred cuts out whatever was left of his heart, and he does not die.

Wesley stands in his doorway, everything he was contained within the cardboard box in his arms, and wonders how the dead survive.

Fortitude

Sharp axe, dull thud.

She would have liked the first, hated the second. Lilah hated for anything to be dull.

Sorry comes too little, too late. But then, he'd never expected it to come at all, now had he? He allows himself the time to mourn what might have been, had things been different. He calculates the time down to the second, understanding that it will make the difference between rash and rational.

She's beyond redemption now; Angel isn't. Wesley understands what he must do, and understands he isn't strong enough to do it on his own.

He needs Faith.

Plei! With the drabbling!

With the me falling over and sleeping now. I should have some stuff for you in the next week, I hope and pray. Not drabbles.

Yay!

Also, sleep.

Because sleep is good. I have plenty to entertain me for the moment. Then the attention becomes all yours.

Hotay! But now I want to do 7 drabbles, except my brain is the consistency of tapioca and anyway, yours is all the way best.