From: owner-buffyfic@lists.xmission.com (buffyfic-digest) To: buffyfic-digest@lists.xmission.com Subject: buffyfic-digest V2 #288 Reply-To: $SENDER Sender: owner-buffyfic@lists.xmission.com Errors-To: owner-buffyfic@lists.xmission.com Precedence: bulk buffyfic-digest Tuesday, August 4 1998 Volume 02 : Number 288 In this issue: BUFFYFIC: The Other Side of Midnight (1/1) BUFFYFIC: DIscuss: Fantasies BUFFYFIC: "Secrets" (1/2) BUFFYFIC: "Secrets" (2/2) See the end of the digest for information on (un)subscribing to the buffyfic or buffyfic-digest mailing lists and on how to retrieve back issues. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Mon, 3 Aug 1998 23:41:53 EDT From: Subject: BUFFYFIC: The Other Side of Midnight (1/1) Title: The Other Side of Midnight Author: Noodlebrain Distribution: Just ask me first, k? Spoilers: You all know Buffy ditched Sunnydale. Summary: Oh, just read it. Buffy doesn't return home in this one. Disclaimer: Everything but the story belongs to the Joss-entity. The lyrics belong to Screaming Fist. Notes: I have never heard this song, but the lyrics just struck me so much that I had to write. Unfortunately, the song is not available on any album. // On the other side of midnight Where shadows walk and walls are breathing Sacrificing innocence, Mother-Satan leaves me bleeding Child, scream the rage// --from "Scream the Rage" by Screaming Fist ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It was a crash of thunder that defied the limits of simple sound. It shook houses on their foundations; beams of wood and metal girders squealing and rattling in protest. Streetlights blinked out, their globes of illumination flickering and dying like some bizarre harbinger of doom. Car alarms went off as sonic aftershocks echoed through the air. It wasn't any simple thunder- this was the thunder of ungodly fury, in a storm that no man would brave. It was a good thing that Buffy never seemed to be very much in God's favor in the first place. Seated on a low stone wall on a darkened avenue in a storm- battered small town, she held a stake in one hand, slowly twirling the tip of it against the palm of her other. She sucked in a slow, measured breath, enjoying the way that the feel of the rough, dull wood grinding up against the her comparatively soft and yielding flesh kept her hyper-aware of stark reality. She kept grinding, almost believing that if she stopped, she'd fall asleep. Getting enough sleep was an awful task. She hunted by night. Sometimes, she slept in the day. Sometimes, she traveled in the day. Trying to accomplish all three activities in twenty-four hours often left her feeling more exhausted than if she didn't sleep at all. So mostly, she just traveled and hunted. Hunted and traveled. Buffy could imagine what the others were saying; could see Willow, driven to tears by what were by now probably full-blown daily arguments between Giles and Xander; could see Xander angrily condemning her for ditching her responsibilities by running away and leaving them to fend for themselves against the Hellmouth; could see Giles angrily defending her, but being equally angry at her in his heart. What did they know? Did they think she could actually stop hunting? They'd never seen it. While they were sound asleep, enjoying the relative luxury of nightmares, even being treated to an occasional erotic fantasy dream, she was fighting. Always fighting. Midnight to them was then end of the day. They'd never known what it is was for her; would never know the other side of midnight. What should have been her comfort zone, the buffer between each stressful "day in the life," was hell. A hell she was condemned, through no fault of her own, to repeat every day, most likely until she died. Didn't matter what town. Didn't matter whether she had friends, lovers, or blood-sworn adversaries, or no one at all. She'd always have to fight, to hunt. It was just easier when there was no one. Looking down, she realized that she'd stopped grating the stake up against her palm. She'd drifted off into introspection, regardless of the stinging raw skin where the grain of the wood had abraded her. She felt the twinge in her conscious before she heard the twig snap. Stupid leeches, she thought. Don't they ever watch horror movies? She exhaled loudly. "I'm over here," she said to the to the dark night, anxious to get the fight over with. For tonight, at least. As the muffled sound of wet thuds and smacks filled the rain- drenched air, Buffy cursed at no one in particular. At the residents of this small town, perhaps, who would remain ignorant of her fight for their life. Maybe at the powers that be, for casting her to this fate. Or even at her friends back in Sunnyhell, condemning _them_ for the simple fact that they were once smack dab in the middle of her world, they remained oblivious to it. It wasn't their fault, of course, but she had to rage at someone. She had to scream, why had she been left alone? None of it would ever matter, though. She was forever abandoned on the other side of midnight. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Full song lyrics: "I will sing the pain give voice to the madness Of tearing flesh and unending sadness Child, scream the rage I want what you cannot, Could never begin to give me Tell me that you lied Take it back If you must apologize Child, scream the rage You cannot know, cannot begin to touch The anger, pain, and fury Deepest burning pits of hell Cannot contain the torment I feel Child, scream the rage Guilty in the first degree Of childhood, and being needy Sentenced by a Judas-court The goddess-whore is judge and jury Child, scream the rage 'Reject it from the very start to kill the child's soul and heart' Insanity the legacy of drunkard, whore, and pederasty Child, scream the rage On the other side of midnight Where shadows walk and walls are breathing Sacrificing innocence, Mother-Satan leaves me bleeding Child, scream the rage I want back what's taken from me Innocence, trust, and purity How can you rape a child? How can you steal a smile? Child, scream the rage The scars tell a story 'Mommy doesn't love me and this world, this society's got no place for me, no place for me' I totally reject everything you ever put inside me Throw it in your face, your demon-eyes, your lies, and pseudo-grace Child, scream… I will sing the pain, give voice to the madness Of murdered souls and unending sadness Child…" --Screaming Fist, "Scream the Rage" lyrics used without permission Feedback!!!! Comments of any kind, JMHnoodles@aol.com ------------------------------ Date: Tue, 04 Aug 1998 10:36:54 -0500 (EST) From: "Azzy :)" Subject: BUFFYFIC: DIscuss: Fantasies Hi there, I wanted to tell you all, that while the last few parts of the Fantasies storyline is roaming around in my head, it's going to be a while before I can get them to to the list. I'm moving, and I have to wait till I get a new account before logging back onto the list. But as soon as I can I'll have the fantasies story finished up and ready for your approval, or disapproval maybe. :) Thanks for all the great input you've been giving me! :) :P :) :P :) :P :) :P :) :P :) :P :) :P :) :P :) :P :) :P :) :P :) ;) The Universe has Aislynn Denny sense of Humor. bd16281@conrad.appstate.edu - -Callista "Children of the Jedi" ------------------------------ Date: Tue, 4 Aug 1998 11:28:04 EDT From: Subject: BUFFYFIC: "Secrets" (1/2) Disclaimers: Standard disclaimers apply. Distribution: Eventually Sarah's archive. All others, check with me first, please. Feedback: To KylenRevik@aol.com, whether it be good, bad, or anything in between. Note: Takes place prior to "Angel". ~ "Secrets" Losing one's keys could be such a pain in the _ass_, Xander thought silently. Especially when your parents were out of town for the weekend and you had absolutely no way of contacting them. Buffy was at Willow's, and he had been pointedly informed that this was Girls' Night Out, and he was not welcome to attend. So he was stuck here until either very late at night, or tomorrow morning. And he didn't _want_ to be, especially now that darkness was falling. He was hoping there were no vampires out tonight. At least, not over here. Maybe some would go terrorize the shopping mall, or maybe they would decide to take a vacation. Whatever, so long as he didn't wind up having to fight them armed with nothing but the cross he'd taken to wearing under his shirt on a thin gold chain. Somewhere past midnight, Xander found himself drifting to sleep in the darkness, propped up against the back door. Lucky for him, he thought, that it was a warm night. All was well until the moment he reached that point between being awake enough to think rationally, and actually being lost in sleep. At that point-- just as he teetered on the edge of consciousness-- Xander heard something crack in the bushes, and he shot directly upright. "No vampires. No. Uh-uh. No." He swallowed nervously, his eyes glued to the point in the bushes where the sound had come from-- until a small squirrel ran out from the bushes, pausing for a moment to meet Xander's eyes. The teen managed an uneasy smile. "See? No vampires. I'm going to sleep now. Yes. Sleep good. Being awake and listening to every sound that happens by, bad. Very bad." Repeating the mantra in his mind, Xander finally managed to push himself into something resembling sleep. * Quiet laughter snuck into Xander's dream, waking him only slightly. It was several seconds before he realized that the giant cheese that had been chasing him through his dreams had turned into the blonde vampire who was now kneeling before him, and another few seconds before he realized he was no longer dreaming. He choked. "Darla." The moment he realized who she was, he felt his pulse quicken. She smiled, nodded. "That's right, kiddo..." She reached forward, her fingertips brushing his neck, gentle for barely a second before she jerked his head violently to one side, bending and letting her lips touch his neck. An involuntary shudder swept through him, and Xander jerked away from the light touch. His hands fumbled under his shirt and pulled out the tiny cross, the chain snapping and flying out into the grass while he clutched the metal of the charm itself. Hissing, Darla drew away, releasing him. Her game face melted away, and Xander found himself staring up into her eyes once more, shivering again. "Put that away," she snapped. "Yeah, right." "I don't need my _teeth_ to kill you." The glimmer of light on steel flashed in the corner of Xander's eyes, and next thing he knew he was staring at the blade of a large knife. "Impressive, isn't it?" Darla sighed, stroking the sharp-edged blade with one finger, ignoring the thin stream of blood that began to trickle down her palm as she finished the action. "I love playing with knives...though so many people say it's not healthy." She drew her hand from the blade, and pointed its tip toward him. "What's your opinion?" she asked. Xander managed a weak smile, then shook his head. "Opinion? I don't-- I don't have one, actually..." "Sure you do," she said with a slight smile. "Everybody's...got..." She moved forward, and Xander's arm slowly pulled back as Darla teased the blade out, back, out again-- always with the hint of a threat to strike him around the cross, always with the possibility that if he didn't pull back, she might not cease her advances. As his back ran up against the wall, Darla hit his wrist with the hilt of her blade, and he felt the cross drop from his fingers. "...an opinion," she finished, letting the knife rest against the soft, thin flesh of his throat. "Uh--" He licked his lips nervously. "Look, ah, maybe we could, well, aren't you not supposed to, well, slit my throat, because--" "Shh," Darla said, laughing a little. "I won't. Just wanted to get some atten--" She broke off, and Xander heard a rustling in the trees. As the knife left his throat, he felt Darla push him away and turn toward the figure that leapt from the branches. "There you are!" the blond vampiress called with a smile, speaking to whoever it was who had just appeared. Xander's eyes crossed the distance between himself and the new arrival, and he breathed a sigh of relief mixed with annoyance when he realized it was Angel. Relief, because now he wasn't going to die. Annoyance, because he would now owe his life to Angel, of all people. "Leave him alone," Angel called to Darla, moving toward the porch and pushing Xander out of the way. "Whatever you say, dearest," Darla replied, laughing again. As the two, vampiress and man, circled each other, Xander found himself staring slack-jawed. It wasn't until they had maneuvered so that Darla had her back turned toward Xander that Angel's eyes focused once more on the teen. "_Run_, you moron!" he shouted. Xander's brow creased, but he fought the urge to repudiate the charge of harboring moronic qualities, and instead he turned and let his feet pound against the pavement in rapid-fire succession as he sprinted away from his back porch. ~ More to come. Comments to KylenRevik@aol.com, please! ------------------------------ Date: Tue, 4 Aug 1998 11:28:12 EDT From: Subject: BUFFYFIC: "Secrets" (2/2) Disclaimers: Standard disclaimers apply. Distribution: Eventually Sarah's archive. All others, check with me first, please. Feedback: To KylenRevik@aol.com, whether it be good, bad, or anything in between. Note: Takes place prior to "Angel". ~ Darla grinned at her childe as he shouted for the human boy to run. She let a slight laugh pass her lips. "Forget the kid, Angel baby." Nails sharpened to razor-like tips raked across his cheek as Angel feinted, and he smothered a cry of pain at the burning sting that rose along the paths Darla's nails had followed over his flesh. She stepped back to admire her handiwork, and crossed her arms across her chest as a smile slipped smoothly across her lips. "Come on," she repeated, her features still smooth-- a show of the control she could exert over her vampyric qualities. "If I fight you, I'll win." A sharp, bitter laugh rang in Angel's ears a moment before he felt Darla's stiletto heel embed itself in his stomach. He choked, doubling over at the sensation-- it was as if someone had slammed a sledgehammer into his gut. As he tried to overcome the sensation, fight back against the nerves that shot pain through his body-- even as he felt the puncture wound from the stiletto begin to heal itself-- Angel heard her give a sneering scoff. "I made you," Darla snapped as Angel began to straighten. "You haven't got a prayer." His eyes met hers, his gaze cold and hard. "I haven't had one of those in a long time," he replied, the pain slowly fading, the only sign that there had been a wound being the newly-made hole in his cotton t-shirt. "And it seems to me you'd be better off to quit talking and see if you can back up your words with something a little more substantial than a high heel." Darla rolled her eyes and shook her head, then took a step toward him and moved her hand to rest against his shoulder, though it almost covered the place where his heart had once beaten without the prompting of a recent feeding. Her face moved in next to his own. "You wouldn't hit a lady, would you?" She offered him a slight smile, though it contained more bitterness than Angel would have expected from his old mistress, the one who had created him. In response to her question, he caught her wrist and shoved her backward, slamming her against the wall of Xander's house, not letting himself wonder where the teen had gone and how safe he might be there. "I'd hardly consider you a lady, is the thing." He was only centimeters from her then, and both of them had shifted into the vampyric face while the words had been exchanged. "Then I guess I'm gonna have to prove it to you." Darla smiled, whispering through her teeth and through slitted eyes. "Fine by me." Before Angel had the opportunity to push away, he felt her nails running over his shirt, pressing down and shredding the fabric, and she moved closer to attach her teeth to his lips and puncture his flesh. As her teeth penetrated his lips, Angel felt a rough jerk, as though he were being pulled from the reality he knew into one created specifically by his sire. A world in which the only logic was hers, and the only reason to do anything at all was for her approval. He knew what was happening, intellectually. He had heard other vampires speak of how a sire could exert power over its childe by another exchange of blood. But that had been long after he had left Darla's side, and he had never thought she might come back to do this to him. All the parts of him that Darla had put there so many years ago began to cry out for that which had created him. He was sinking into a rapture, knew no escape, and couldn't have cared less had he discovered he would never find one. It was enough for him to be simply here, joined to her across a bridge of blood. Darla was slowly pushing against him, running her tongue over his lips and letting the fingers of one hand run through his hair while the other scored and tore at the flesh of his chest through the t-shirt. Blood rushed upward from the tiny tears, toward the air, toward freedom, and toward her. He could already feel the wetness between himself and his sire as she sucked at him, her tongue darting quickly in and out of his mouth, down his throat, around his teeth, moving without pause. He was fighting, but not hard enough. He hadn't fed tonight, he didn't have enough blood to sustain him if all she did was take. She pulled a hair's breadth away as he thought that, and she smiled. "Right here, baby," she breathed, pushing him, and Angel found that somewhere in the moment of the kiss she had moved around him until he was the one with his back to the wall, and Darla was the one pushing him against it, pushing herself against the stickiness that had soaked through the tatters of fabric until it was plastered against both their flesh. A low growl beginning in the back of his throat, Angel yielded, letting Darla push him down toward the porch floor. Letting her wipe away the messy, wet strips of cotton, the rags that had once provided adequate covering-- and were now only a reminder of an obstacle that had been no more than an illusion to grant him a pathetic sense of security. Darla straddled him, resting atop his body, no longer sucking blood from his lips but instead simply letting her tongue slip across his blood-covered skin, lighting the cold flesh aflame with the heat she had stolen from his own blood. Everything about her hammered and pounded its way into his mind, obscuring any ability he might have possessed in the way of thinking clearly. The way she slit her wrist with one of the sharp nails that had already shredded the skin of his chest and taken tiny shreds of his flesh along when it moved on to its new objective sent shivers up his spine. The motion of her lips, her tongue, her hands, the scent of his blood pulsing inside her, the way she pushed it against his lips and buried his face in her arm and at the same time dipped her head to lap at the pool of blood gathering upon his chest-- it was enough to send him into spasms of euphoria. All of it assaulted him in a continuing whirl of emotion and color and sensation he couldn't even describe, all of it pulling him further and further into the sound of her newly gorged heart beating, pulsing, her tongue darting in and out in quick forays against his skin, the sounds, the steady rhythms beating across the natural sounds of night. He wanted to cry out in ecstasy when her fangs pushed through the already torn and mutilated flesh of his chest, but instead he closed his own powerful jaw around her thin wrist, fangs splitting four new holes around the slit that was already starting to heal. Though vampyric blood lacked the sweetness of human, there was an unmistakable bitterness that he hadn't tasted in decades, and the flavor held an attraction all its own. In thick gulps, the nectar filled his mouth, and his muscles worked like those of a baby to pull it down his throat as quickly as he could. He could feel Darla's hair against his skin as she too gorged herself on him, and it was already thickly caked with drying blood when Angel felt a sudden absence of weight on his body. His mind slowly began to recover from the clouds and haze that had swarmed across and through it, and let itself open to the clarity of what was unfolding around him. The lips that had worked to drink of her flesh found themselves suddenly drinking in only the cool night air, and in shock Angel heard the sounds of blows and heavy breathing. He left the pathetic excuse for a shirt behind on the slatted boards of the porch as he rose to watch the events crashing into reality around him. "You-- little-- _skank_!" the Slayer shouted at the vampiress, each word punctuated by a kick or a punch. From where he stood, Angel couldn't see Buffy's face-- but he had the feeling he already knew the way the fury in her eyes must be burning its way through Darla's expression. Realizing her prey had regained his senses, Darla glanced toward Angel for a split second, and he felt his heart leap into his throat. His chest, all but healed, threatened to burst again when he recognized the look in Darla's eyes-- the one that said she had a secret, and she was willing to share it. He tossed another look toward Buffy, then glanced back at Darla and shook his head, hoping his sire, so recently thwarted, might show a shred of mercy and not unmask his true identity to the girl he was more than a bit afraid he might be falling in love with. He wondered if it was possible for Darla-- soulless, petty Darla-- to understand something like love, to understand how much he would be willing to do to keep from ruining whatever potential he and the Slayer might have. "Angel." He glanced up at the voice, as Buffy ran a hand over his arm. He looked around. Apparently, he had missed Darla's departure. Buffy's hair was in a state of disarray, however, and her breath was slightly quicker than usual. "Yeah?" he asked. "You okay?" the Slayer asked. "Xander, he came-- he said...and it looked like that bitch was _mauling_ you or something..." Her voice trailed off, and Angel found himself confronted with the questioning gaze of a woman he cared for, respected, and admired-- and he realized he had no way to explain to her what had happened. "I'm fine," he replied. She sighed, shook her head. "Look," she said, "I realize you're into the whole macho-vampire-killer thing, but Angel..." "I can take care of myself." "You're only human. I'm the Slayer. You shouldn't have--" She cut herself off in midsentence, no doubt realizing that had Angel not stepped in when he had, Xander would have made Darla's next meal. "Everything was under control," Angel said, measuring his voice carefully. "She was--" "It was _under control_," he said, cutting her off sharply. Then he shook his head. "Buff, I'm older than you, and I know what I'm doing." "You," she snapped angrily, "were _making it_ with a _vampire_ on _Xander's back porch_." Both of them fell silent. Angel stared at her, taking in everything about her, everything from the pained light showing in her eyes to the way her posture, defiant and strong, seemed to scream that if he was going to do this to her, she wasn't going to let herself take it. Part of him wanted to retract his earlier statement, to tell her it wasn't something he had planned on happening, that he had only tried to save Xander because he knew what Darla was capable of and he knew losing the teen would have hurt her too badly. But down the road of truth lay more than he was willing to reveal. *I. Am. A vampire.* He winced at the thought, and at the realization that he could never let Buffy learn his true nature. "I'm sorry," he said softly, shaking his head and knowing there was no way he could make himself say more than the paltry apology. Knowing that the chances of Buffy accepting that were tiny, if not pathetic and almost non-existent. With a sigh, he took a step away from her. "So that's it?" she asked. "You try to fuck some vampire bitch, I save your ass when she starts tearing you to pieces, and you vanish into the middle of the night?" "I'm Mister Cryptic Guy, remember?" he heard himself replying, his voice filled with enough acid to compensate for the way his heart and soul were screaming at him to make things right, to admit what he was and to make amends to Buffy in any way possible. "Oh yeah," she replied, shaking her head. "Forget I asked." "There're some things you're better off not knowing," Angel snapped, before his mind could kick in and remind him that speaking such a thought aloud, to Buffy of all people, was most likely not something he should be doing. "Your sexual habits with _them_ being at the top of the list," she hissed back. As the Slayer turned her back on him, Angel had to bite down hard on his lip to keep from moving after her. He was almost unable to believe the strength of his desire to stop her from leaving, to stop her from thinking he and his sire, who she didn't _know_ was his sire, had been engaged in...what she thought they had been engaged in. And he could hardly explain that, without letting her know why it was that Darla was willing to knock him down, slash him to bits, and all sorts of other things-- without killing him. As she vanished into the shadows of the nighttime, Angel allowed himself only one statement: that the path he was taking was the right one, that if Buffy were ever to learn of his true nature, it would be the beginning of the end for all of them. Four words were the only reassurance he allowed himself. *It's better this way.* THE END Copyright 1998 Rachel Brody Comments to KylenRevik@aol.com, please. ------------------------------ End of buffyfic-digest V2 #288 ****************************** To subscribe to buffyfic or buffyfic-digest, send the command subscribe buffyfic-digest or subscribe buffy to majordomo@xmission.com. You will need to go through a confirmation process, and the listowners have to manually approve your subscription request, so it may take some time. To unsubscribe, send email to majordomo@xmission.com with unsubscribe buffyfic-digest or unsubscribe buffyfic in the body. Back issues of this digest can be found at: ftp://ftp.xmission.com/pub/lists/buffyfic/archive/ Dalton Spence has also provided an index of the buffyfic archive at: http://www.hwcn.org/~ag775/BUFFYFIC.HTM For help, contact Jill Kirby (jtkirby@mcs.com) or sah (romana@mindspring.com)