help me name a ficlet
Dec. 27th, 2002 12:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
timepiececlockI wrote this short, moody, Buffy stream of consciousness fic.
I need a name. I'm thinking something to do with marks, or possession, or price. I dunno. Any ideas are welcome.
Takes place sometime after BotN, assumed immediately after Spike is rescued/returned/found/escapes/whatever. Assuming that he is eventually.
Also, I couldn't decide whether to put the italic thoughts as separate paragraph fragments or just jam them in between the sentences. For this I chose separate fragments. You'll see what I mean; think of that too.
---
Hands crept up the wretched, tumbled body, the tips of her fingers grazing new scars. Ugly sigils cut into his flawless skin, spiteful markings that whispered
ours now, ours now
in runes she couldn’t read but in a language of possession with which she was deeply intimate. She wanted to burn him again, just to make their marks disappear. To say
mine! always mine!
but burning was for crosses and she couldn’t think of crosses without seeing the smoke and his naked shoulders, without knowing at last her full potential as an Evil Thing.
In the months before, before she walked and It happened and he left, in those months he’d worn her marks with pride even as he hated her for their infliction. Hated himself for not once asking her no.
Ever the puppy, the dog, the slave. He licked her ankles when she kicked him, and breathed kisses on her stomach when her nails tore flesh and skin. The same perfect, flawless skin he’d once worn, before she became his lover. The skin he’d regrown, unmarred and unmarked, in the months when he’d lost her.
How funny, how strange, that insanity and lovelessness made him perfect, made him beautiful, made him something to be adored. Her hate made him a man, become a man. How comedic it seemed to her then that her sex made him broken, her trust made him an animal, and even now, even when she wanted to do something, to perhaps be something— her belief made him suffer.
Love a man and he changes. Give yourself to a man and he returns nothing. Lean on a man and he betrays. Trust a man he tries to take what isn’t his. Believe in a man and he disappears.
Cry for a man, and he is restored, but never quite the man who left.
A warrior’s finger finds a smooth stretch of porcelain skin, and traces a heart there. The chest rises and falls and she wonders why. She traces letters in the heart on his breast. Was this where he tried to scratch it out? She’d like to give him new markings, girly things that murmur of affection and hope. Hearts and stars and initials and smiles. She’d cut his hand and cut her own, then watch the fusion drip from between grasping fingers and then they’d be bloodbrothers and nothing could keep them apart. forever after. No force in the world could take that away.
Old eyes in a young face watch the body shudder, and she considers perhaps he’s been marked enough. He’d never needed her blood to know what forever means, but he’d do it anyway, if she asked. He’d give her every drop, he’d revel to see the rivulets of life flow together, even outside their veins, because it’d mean forever to her, and she is ever the world to him.
But she’s all grown up now, and it’s time to give him the world without asking a price.
--
Thanks. Any other comments are welcome as well. But I REALLY need a title.
I need a name. I'm thinking something to do with marks, or possession, or price. I dunno. Any ideas are welcome.
Takes place sometime after BotN, assumed immediately after Spike is rescued/returned/found/escapes/whatever. Assuming that he is eventually.
Also, I couldn't decide whether to put the italic thoughts as separate paragraph fragments or just jam them in between the sentences. For this I chose separate fragments. You'll see what I mean; think of that too.
---
Hands crept up the wretched, tumbled body, the tips of her fingers grazing new scars. Ugly sigils cut into his flawless skin, spiteful markings that whispered
ours now, ours now
in runes she couldn’t read but in a language of possession with which she was deeply intimate. She wanted to burn him again, just to make their marks disappear. To say
mine! always mine!
but burning was for crosses and she couldn’t think of crosses without seeing the smoke and his naked shoulders, without knowing at last her full potential as an Evil Thing.
In the months before, before she walked and It happened and he left, in those months he’d worn her marks with pride even as he hated her for their infliction. Hated himself for not once asking her no.
Ever the puppy, the dog, the slave. He licked her ankles when she kicked him, and breathed kisses on her stomach when her nails tore flesh and skin. The same perfect, flawless skin he’d once worn, before she became his lover. The skin he’d regrown, unmarred and unmarked, in the months when he’d lost her.
How funny, how strange, that insanity and lovelessness made him perfect, made him beautiful, made him something to be adored. Her hate made him a man, become a man. How comedic it seemed to her then that her sex made him broken, her trust made him an animal, and even now, even when she wanted to do something, to perhaps be something— her belief made him suffer.
Love a man and he changes. Give yourself to a man and he returns nothing. Lean on a man and he betrays. Trust a man he tries to take what isn’t his. Believe in a man and he disappears.
Cry for a man, and he is restored, but never quite the man who left.
A warrior’s finger finds a smooth stretch of porcelain skin, and traces a heart there. The chest rises and falls and she wonders why. She traces letters in the heart on his breast. Was this where he tried to scratch it out? She’d like to give him new markings, girly things that murmur of affection and hope. Hearts and stars and initials and smiles. She’d cut his hand and cut her own, then watch the fusion drip from between grasping fingers and then they’d be bloodbrothers and nothing could keep them apart. forever after. No force in the world could take that away.
Old eyes in a young face watch the body shudder, and she considers perhaps he’s been marked enough. He’d never needed her blood to know what forever means, but he’d do it anyway, if she asked. He’d give her every drop, he’d revel to see the rivulets of life flow together, even outside their veins, because it’d mean forever to her, and she is ever the world to him.
But she’s all grown up now, and it’s time to give him the world without asking a price.
--
Thanks. Any other comments are welcome as well. But I REALLY need a title.
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Re: Ohhhh, Kawy liiiiiiike...
Date: 2002-12-29 10:14 pm (UTC)Either that, or deliberatley over-long titles, which can be fun too.
Some of the short titles I've used in the past for fanfic:
Aquarius
Aftershock Reverberations
Blood Link
Sparring
Schism
Falling
Fire Night
Voices
Today, Today
Obsession
Burn
Hero
Future Dreaming
Mercy Gift
Responsibility
Field Report
Memories
Red Peace
In case you were wondering--yeah, I was looking at a list for all that. It's from a variety of different series that I've written for on fanfiction.net