My ritual sacrifice (with pie) went very well, and I return home with full intentions of writing until my fingers fall off this week (as well as doing a few other minor work related projects before the holidays and putting up the Christmas decorations). However, somehow, without warning I find that I've been
nominated at the SunnyD Awards in
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(and congrats on the much-deserved win!)
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As for "bliss"... unfortunately the only instance of the word I can find is in a really plotty bit, and I don't want to give anything away yet. So you get a second choice.
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OK, so for my second pick, I choose... "passion"
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Bad Buffy brain. She tried to remind herself of every single--very good--reason why Spike was absolutely repulsive and dreaming of being engaged to the bloodsucker was a sign that she’d spent far too much time in his company.
“Well, if there’s not gonna be any violence, I’m going to bed. Wake me up when Passions comes on,” Spike said, wandering toward the door.
Buffy grimaced. Passions: reason number five thousand seven hundred and eight.
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Bloody hell, Spike thought, and stopped breathing.
“Oh, god, what’s that smell?” Buffy said, covering her nose with her hand.
Spike reached inside and flicked on the lights. He half expected her to scream. She didn’t. After all, she was the Slayer. This was her bread and butter.
Spike took in the scene at a glance. It wasn’t altogether unusual, really. He’d seen its like before. Hell, he’d participated.
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“This is the place,” she announced, staring up at the flickering sign.
“What makes you so certain?” he asked.
“Because it’s just oozing sleaze,” Buffy said. “Definitely Ethan’s kind of place.”
“It’s oozing something,” Spike agreed, deciding he didn’t really need to breathe while they were inside.
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Got another choice?
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Congrats on the nominations btw, they are truly well-deserved!
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By the time Buffy had made it back downstairs, he was in the kitchen, chucking celery from one vegetable drawer to the next to make room for the rest of his stash. "You made coffee," she said with a frown. "How come you didn't take a nap?"
"Too hungry to sleep," he said. It was partially true, at any rate. Critically he eyed the heap of blood bags in the cooler and the size of the vegetable drawer. There was no way they'd all fit; she hadn't been stingy. If he didn't hate her so bloody much, Spike could have kissed the Slayer for that. Instead, he concentrated on packing the bags in as tightly as he could.
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Also: whoooo on the nominations!!!! You deserve them for sure.
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“How do I know you aren’t lying?” she asked, suspicious.
Spike smiled at her, slowly. “Cause I don’t lie that often. Truth hurts, baby. Weapon of choice.” That she could believe. “Besides, not like I knew he’d told you some rot about being fangless. He killed a few more than that when he was all soulful. If it makes you feel better, though, I’m sure he felt really bad about it.”
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