erika, you're worthy, trust me.

"Jewish Heaven's Boca, Kay."

It's a pity my throat isn't allowing genuine sound right now....

Um, I'd just like to take a minute to apologize to all of the hardworking rabbis and other spiritual types whose research I read through and stole from to make that joke. Yes, it took me an hour. I'm sorry...my fictional avatar made me do it, I swear.(Still feeling quite fortunate you guys don't believe in Hell, strictly speaking. And thanks for being so thorough...made things really easy for this Google-having heretic.) Much love, Erika the Goyish xxoo

I love you, Anne.

Your style is *so* suited to the Jossverse. This is very, very ME.

Now I want to know why Halfrek wasn't around when Xander was a kid. It's complicated isn't good enough.

Anne, lovely twist. I want to know what's next, too.

Wow, two great stories in here! I like the line about Paris being "pretty and old and nice if you ignore the French people" -- not because I'm a fan of franco-bashing, but because it's SO Anya.

And I'm interested in Mama Numero's #6 as well. I agree that the story feels very ME, Anne.

Just catching up here, and loving Anne's luchadores' mama's story, connie's Xander and Anyanka in Paris, and erika's deft H:LotS-BtVS crossover. Fantastic, all of them.

Oh, and Victor? Still waiting for more of yours. I loved Gunn, English and Angel returning to S-2 footing, sorta.

Thanks. And yes, both reading and writing have been a thrill this week. Anyone have any thoughts about what Ripper would say about stake fighting to somebody who...let's be kind, prefers battles of a more verbal nature? He's kind of eased back into his Giles persona some. And he and the Munchkin? Not exactly bonded. But the stake is the weapon of choice, besides beheading, which, unless he could do it with a withering retort, our detective friend is not going to master. And besides, that's disgusting. What is he, some kind of animal? Attila the Freaking Hun? How many years of British society and there's two choices: poke it in the heart with a big wooden stick or lop its head off with something sharp... he can see why the Industrial Revolution was such a shock, now. (Sorry, couldn't resist...) I don't know anything about fight scenes, though. Seriously.

Two drabbles, about which I have mixed emotions. The theme was autumn:

Gunpowder Treason
Wesley took Connor on a cool day in early spring. But in his hospital bed, he looks out the window and thinks about another season altogether. His heart and head feel like autumn, chill winds and rain, crunchy leaves and bonfires. Guy Fawkes Day.

As a schoolboy, he made and burned effigies and watched the fireworks, hot cider warming his hands. Then, it was delightful; now, it makes him sad.

Wesley stares at the L.A. spring. Wonders if he can be forgiven. I see no reason/For my sort of treason/to ever be forgot, he thinks, turning to face the wall.

Missing You
Buffy missed Angel most that fall, when the air and leaves crisp. Sheer force of will took her through the summer, propping her up through training sessions and shopping trips and a vacation with her dad. “You’re coping so well,” her mother said, and she smiled, cool inside.

But his gone-ness became much more real in November, as she hugged her sweater a little closer at night (and he wasn’t there to give her his jacket) and did her homework (and he didn’t recite the poems or scrunch up his forehead at the algebra).

And that’s when she cried again.

I like them. My brother, had he been my sister, would have been Autumn, probably.

LJ, they're both lovely things.

I'd look at one thing: in the first one, it read at first that he was watching the Guy Fawkes bonfires with both hands shoved in a keg of hot cider. I suspect it wasn't the liquid warming his hands, but rather the warmth coming through the mug.