beams

Thank you! Yay! Delighted you enjoyed it, pet - and I'm sure there will be more hot girl-on-girl action before too long. 'Cause - hot.

Yeah, just that one little short you wrote was sizzling enough to convince my literotica-addicted friend that fanfic is an excellent place to look for more hotness. The next day, she cried to me about the lack of good femslash in the fandoms she has any interest in (which does not, for the record, include Buffy, but does include HP.)

Karl got me thinking...even though I'm breaking a promise by doing this, so it is Bad and Wrong. It's a Willow ficlet, sort of innocently 'shippy on a few levels.

“Do you want to be punished?”

Yes and no. She feared that one day he would take the lid off that contained British temperament of his, but she hoped for it, too. Not the same way she had when they researched in high school and she took occasional guilty pleasure in his chastisement of Buffy and Xander because it showed she was the only one who *understood*.

She loved Miss Calendar because she wanted to be Miss Calendar. She was *so* lucky. Nice place, nice car, great powers, and Giles. Sometimes she hated Miss Calendar.
But she’d been sixteen then, a mixed up kid, who hadn’t yet written her college essay on “My Most Life-Changing Experience” about Miss Calendar’s murder.

I was nowhere close, she thinks now. But she’d had nightmares then too, for a while. Her mother had even tried to find her a Jungian therapist for a while, dreams not really being a behaviorist’s stock in trade. But then Willow just told her mother she didn’t require a lot of sleep, which Mom thought would look really good on her college applications, and everything was fine where Dr. Sheila was concerned.

(Sometimes, Willow made Tara laugh by doing imitations of her mother on one of her rampages, and she’d call her Dr. Sheila. Tara was shocked at first, but it was worth it because Tara had a wonderful laugh. Like jingle bells in one of those specials she watched at Xander’s house. Sometimes when she thinks of never hearing that again, she thinks she did the right...No, if she thinks that, she’ll never sleep again. )

Giles looks at her so warmly she wants to die.

Right here, in this beautiful countryside.But Giles has faced enough death. Living is the least she can do.

Oh, now that's lovely. Bless. And excellent inclusion of Mrs Rosenberg, Bad Mother Extraordinaire.

I'm glad you liked it, Fay.

Oh, Erika. It's wonderful. I'm proud to have been the grain of sand to that particular pearl.

I'm glad you liked it...I guess I'm still Willowish.

Damn, that piece had me just nodding like bobblehead, saying yup-yup-yup.

erika, I want to take that fic home with me and love it and squeeze it and hug it and call it George. Beautifully done.

Thanks. Although I totally made my "No Fic" pledge the "No New Taxes" of 2004. I'm just hopelessly fic-fixated.Dr. Rosenburg could probably find a group for me, too.(She's probably a really great therapist, is probably the weird part of it.)