She wanted to swim in that thought for awhile, try to figure it out, try to figure him out, like he was a person, a man who sang low, sweet love songs to his not-quite-daughter, a man who wiped his glasses too much and knew everything in every volume in this bookshop.
She thought she finally knew what the library must've felt like. Willow said musty and modern and comforting and scary all at once, and like it was new for all of them, but at the same time like they'd been doing it all their lives, and Giles was like the hippest teacher in the history of the world and also "oldy moldy and kinda dull, you know?"
24,000 words already in the demonic-transformation soulbonding wingfic. And I am still working out the main bloody conflict plot thingie. Oh crap.
It occurs to me that I'd better start working on my Summer of Giles story now, hadn't I, given the pace at which I write these days. I know what I'm…
I enjoyed this comment on the anon meme about why fandom seems to ship the same thing over & over: it's because we sort of have one ship and we tend…