March 18th, 2016

Night

Drabble: Can’t Always Get What You Want

Title: Can’t Always Get What You Want
Author: Quaggy
Word Count: 100
Pairing: Buffy/Giles
Last line prompt: "He wasn't the man she wanted"
Notes: I'm really sorry. I wanted the last line to be "Not like that." I thought it would be a good prompt. But the drabble had other ideas about what would be a good ending. But if you want to use "Not like that" as the prompt instead, I for one won't object!


He wasn't the man she wanted as a girl. She’d been too blinded by the dark and mysterious. But like the song said, you get what you need. She needed someone strong and calm when her world went insane. Someone to call her out when she was being stupid and yet never lose faith in her, in who she was. Someone who’d trust her with even the ugly parts of himself. Who wouldn’t see her strength as his weakness.

But she never would have believed that Giles could ever need her. Not like that. Not until he practically screamed it.

 
Night

Drabble: New Job Frustrations

Title: New Job Frustrations
Author: Quaggy
Word Count: 100
Last line prompt: "It wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind "


It wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he found out he was to be posted to the Hellmouth. Becoming the epitome of the tweedy British stereotype. Hiding all his academic degrees that a librarian hired by the Californian public school system just wouldn’t have. He would even have to drive an old banger of a car to better fit the image.

He was leaving behind London, a job he loved at the British Museum and the promise of starting something up again with Olivia.

All for a Slayer he knew nothing about. She had better be worth it.

  
giles, tea

Drabble: When the Spell Lifted (Rupert Giles/Anya Jenkins, PG, Length: 100)

Title: When the Spell Lifted
Author: feliciacraft
Characters/Pairing: Rupert Giles/Anya Jenkins (BtVS)
Setting: End of Tabula Rasa (Season 6)
Prompt: Last line from previous drabble to be used as my first line: He didn’t like it.

When the Spell Lifted

He didn’t like it, the return of his memories, an onslaught of experiences intimate and foreign: of youthful aspirations turned unfinished business buried deep; of a tumultuous liberation twined with innocence lost; of expectations and responsibilities, duty and loyalty, and always the mission, above all.

He missed it already: the gutted version of himself unburdened by his past; the warmth of her body pressed into his own — the quiet reassurance of another’s love firmly in possession, knowing not their shared history, but that whatever it’d been, whatever it’d be, they’d face it together.

Now. What’d he gained, but more loss?