In a weird bit of synchronicity, this weeks Open on Sunday theme is Hands.
Lay Your Hands on Me
“Touch me.”
“Buffy...”
“I know. It’s all bad, evil, soul. I know. I really do.” She pauses, quiet, desperate. “Touch me.”
He cups her chin, his hands slipping between her and the moonlight. The flesh of his fingers, marble-cold and just as pale, slide up, the tips coming to rest against her cheekbones. They’re wet. Something about the night, no one and nothing but them, has got to her. She’s weeping, not even bothering to push it back.
“Touch me.”
“Oh, God,” Angel whispers, “you know we can’t do this.”
He lays his hands on her. She brings them peace.
But I needed to hear it cause I've been feeling more like Gordon Pratt today. A relatively repellent little loser that crawls out from his corner to tell the world he is smarter than they are, even though accomplishment-wise he way doesn't deliver.
Erika, this is so far from being you that I shudder to contemplate. In just my own experience, from the selfish to the not so: you gave me an insightful, helpful, painful beta that provided me with the tools to make a pretty decent idea actually work as a story. You've always got supportive, kind things to say, no matter how crap your own life is being at the time. You lobby for the benefit of yourself and others, though you'd be entirely justified in saying it was just too much trouble. You engage this community. You write beautifully. You offer what you have to offer all the time. I've heard of H:Lots discs and other kindnesses. You're a giver, and a good friend. You're not, and never will be, a Pratt.
It's a good thing for you you didn't...he was into some kinky shit.:) I guess I just feel like "a big fake" sometimes. And I flunked math.(not all my fault, but what would Pratt say? Same thing.)But then the Munchkin blew his head off. All better.(Maybe the AniMunch will take care of my Inner Pratt, or at least my inner prat.)
I've shocked people with my vocal support of that theory, btw.Mostly SVU people...they've softened Munch over time, I suppose. They always ask whether I *really* believe that. No. I post it cause I don't. I didn't believe it at first either, but Mrs. Bernstein being the neighbor and the case landing with crime fiction's hottest codependent...well, we don't need to go into that again.But Timmy could go out, see personally that the sky was blue, and if somebody said "No, it's not." strongly enough, he'd get sick to his stomach and say "Ok,"
I'll go you one better than that, Deb...the *criminals* aren't throwaways either...which is partially where "Blue" went wrong.(It pains me to say that like slagging a college friend, but mostly they did just kind of talk to Skel Number 5, Tough Guy No 4, Slutty Chick,and Rotten Parents. Oh, and the kind of Overtly Crazy people seldom seen in the wild.) Compare that to Vaughn Perkins...no contest.(He's the criminal but I remember his name, for one...keep coming back to that one, don't I?) But even his mom, who could have ended up being the same, well, "baby's mama" we've all seen bunches of times says "Can't none of y'all say I didn't love him."
They came close to the Evil Mastermind Serial Killer thing in season 4 with that interstate sniper deal, and trying to make us think he caught Charisse G.(Pissed me off, and I sound like I'm trying to make a wiki with all these titles and junk, huh?) Of course, Charisse pisses me off anyway...rejecting Gee as often as she does, but those are my father issues and too big for this post.
Oh, my.
Crossposting with Great Write, because I am an excited woman.
Roz Kaveney had the livejournal "post something you'd like to do with me" meme, and I posted, "co-write something."
She said yes, please, in the short term, this is absolutely something we can do together. What follows:
Me: SQUEEE! I'm completely and totally open. Do you fancy a joint fic, or some genuine fiction together?
Roz: Yes, and yes. We should do a fic together as a way of finding out how collaboration between us works. How about post-Chosen, post S3 BtVS/Six Feet Under crossover?
We should try and write something serious together.
And FAY! When you pop in next, you must send Roz your Faith/Willow. It will make her week.
Good news on Roz, Deb. I hope we get to read the result!
Also, I posted Part One of this a long time ago, but here's part two:
Buffy Vs. The Justice League
Part Two: Blue Moon
Willow and Xander fell instinctively behind Buffy, as the man in the cape walked cautiously toward them.
“Who are you,” said the man, “and what are you doing on the watchtower?”
“I’m sorry,” said Buffy. “I really don’t answer questions from guys in spandex. It always ends in heartache.”
“Y’know, Buff” said Xander, fidgeting. “Maybe we should back off, here. I mean, this really could be Batman.”
Buffy never took her eyes off the man in the cape, but Xander could feel the stare she would have shot him.
“I’m just saying,” he said.
“Fine,” said the man in the cape. “Let’s do this the hard way.”
The man in the cape lunged at Buffy, moving so fast that Buffy barely saw him pounce. She pivoted, grabbed his arm, and threw him toward a wall. But instead of crashing, the man rebounded off the wall, spun in the air, and landed on his feet, dropping a small capsule has he landed. Quickly, the room filled with smoke.
“Oooh,” said Buffy. “This is gonna be fun!”
Buffy closed her eyes, and tried to listen. She could feel Xander and Willow, behind her. Their hearts were racing. There was an almost imperceptible heat radiating from Willow. She was preparing to do something. Good. She couldn’t sense the…
Suddenly, there was a sudden movement beside her as a fist slammed against her head. She tried to dodge, but she wasn’t quick enough. She fell with a thud.
“Ow,” said Buffy, jumping immediately to her feet. “That hurt, you Wanna-Creature of the Night!” He was strong she thought, but definitely human.
“Fuck,” she said, under her breath. “But I don’t think I can spare the kid gloves.”
“Clear!” shouted Willow, and suddenly the smoke was gone. The man in the cape was startled, but recovered quickly. Not quick enough. Buffy landed a punch almost immediately, knocking him to the floor.
“Zip, pow, BAM!” she said. “Quick, Boy Wonder! To the Batcave!”
Buffy was on top of him, her knees locked around his torso, her hands pinning his arms down. He was immobilized.
“OK, caped crusader. Who are you.”
It was hard to discern an expression through the mask, but Buffy would swear that he was puzzled.
“I’m Batman,” he said. “I thought you knew.”
“”Beep, wrong answer,” said Buffy. “There is no Batman, except George Clooney in that sucky movie. No Batcave. No millionaire Bruce Wayne and his trusty, tight-pantsed ward.”
She could feel him tense beneath her.
“Buffy…” started Xander. Buffy began to look up, when suddenly she was ripped off of Batman by an unstoppable force.
It took Buffy a second to get her bearings, but when she did, she saw she was being held aloft by a muscular man in a blue leotard wearing a red cape.
“Oh, no,” she muttered. “Don’t tell me.”
“She’s not exactly the Joker, is she Batman.”
“Careful,” said Batman. “She’s tougher than she looks.”
“Superman,” said Buffy, beginning to laugh. “‘Look! Up in the Sky! It’s Superman!’ Superman?”
Buffy was guffawing now, laughing hysterically.
“And who, disguised as Clark Kent, fights a never ending battle for, mom, baseball and whatever, Superman.”
A horrified expression fell across Superman’s face, but Buffy just kept on laughing.”
“She knows…” started Superman.
“So it seems,” said Batman.
“Where’s Aquaman,” laughed Buffy, “off talking to the fish?”
The two super-heroes looked positively bewildered. Tentatively, Xander stepped forward.
“Uhm, hi. My name’s Xander. I, uhm, I think I can help.”
