ftp.xmission.com/2014.06.ftp.xmission.com.tar/ftp.xmission.com/pub/lists/buffyfic/archive/v02.n288

Internet Message Format | 1998-08-03 | 28KB

From: [e-mail] (buffyfic-digest)
To: [e-mail]
Subject: buffyfic-digest V2 #288
Reply-To: $SENDER
Sender: [e-mail]
Errors-To: [e-mail]
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: <[e-mail]>
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, screamà

I will sing the pain, give voice to the madness
Of murdered souls and unending sadness
Childà"
   --Screaming Fist, "Scream the Rage"

lyrics used without permission


Feedback!!!!
Comments of any kind, [e-mail]

------------------------------

Date: Tue, 04 Aug 1998 10:36:54 -0500 (EST)
From: "Azzy :)" <[e-mail]>
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.                              [e-mail]
- -Callista
     "Children of the Jedi"

------------------------------

Date: Tue, 4 Aug 1998 11:28:04 EDT
From: <[e-mail]>
Subject: BUFFYFIC: "Secrets" (1/2)

Disclaimers: Standard disclaimers apply.
Distribution: Eventually Sarah's archive. All others, check with me first,
please.
Feedback: To [e-mail], 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 [e-mail], please!

------------------------------

Date: Tue, 4 Aug 1998 11:28:12 EDT
From: <[e-mail]>
Subject: BUFFYFIC: "Secrets" (2/2)

Disclaimers: Standard disclaimers apply.
Distribution: Eventually Sarah's archive. All others, check with me first,
please.
Feedback: To [e-mail], 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 [e-mail], please.

------------------------------

End of buffyfic-digest V2 #288
******************************

To subscribe to buffyfic or buffyfic-digest, send the command

    subscribe buffyfic-digest

    or

    subscribe buffy

to [e-mail].  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 [e-mail] 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 ([e-mail]) or sah ([e-mail])