His telly's on, filling up the room with a light glow that's sending shadows dancing across the crypt walls. They're not watching it, of course. Not really. Just sitting there, mimic of a normal night. Pretending, both of them. Buffy staring at it blankly. Spike staring at her, watching her watch nothing.
And he knows it'll end soon, because there's only so much of this torment he can take. She comes to him every night. Shows up at his crypt at a predictable hour, strolls inside without so much as a respectful knock at his door.
End of story.
She comes, they play out their game of awkward and uncomfortable silences. Breaks in conversation. Big elephant in the room in the figurative form of her death, of her resurrection. Of his love for her. And the inevitable happens, where they shuffle to the couch he'd pilfered over the summer. He clicks on the telly, run-down and near-busted thing that it is, and she brightens up a little. Minutes, hours pass. Idle chit chat. He asks about Dawn. How's she's doing in school, who's the newest boy band she so disappointingly fancies. Buffy shrugs, mumbles what passes for an answer. More silence ensues. And then she's ready to go. Stands up abruptly, frowns down at him when the remembrance of what he is and who she is and where they are comes back to her, and in the next minute is gone. Out his crypt door and fading into the surrounding darkness-- like she'd never even been there in the first place.
Or sometimes they just skip watching TV all together. Sometimes she's just there for a few minutes before she flutters back home.
It's your variation of a bloody theme, and it plays out every night.
Like his little crush on her is forgotten. It's what it is, right? A crush? Probably what she tells herself. Justifies it in her head before coming here. Ol' Spike's been a good dog. Hasn't said a word to her about love. Hasn't pressed his feeling's onto her, hasn't mentioned them one bloody time since she came back. Happy enough that she's alive to not try to get her to admit she feels something for him. Just happy that she's here.
Right. And he was, for the first week or so.
She comes to him every night with her hair all prettily pulled back, smelling soft and familiar. Sharp around the edges with the pain of where she'd been that summer. Been suppressing it, not telling her friends. Far as Spike can tell, he's the only one who knows where exactly she was all that time. 147 days, in Heaven of course. Where else would she be? And he's the only one she bares the secret of this to. Sort of condemns him, in itself. Is it trust that had her telling him? Not bloody likely. It's more like... the need to get it off her chest. To tell someone before keeping it locked up inside broke her completely. He knows what that's like. Hell, he'd been telling Clem about his feelings for the Slayer long before anyone else knew. Long before it was the topic of conversation for the Scoobies, before the whole bloody demon population found out.
Kinda ironic that she'd been spending all that time in Heaven, when he felt like he'd spent it in his own personal Hell.
Funny, too, having her back. Never had he had her like this before. Never. She'd never come to his crypt and just sat on his couch, watching the telly. Being with him.
Of course he didn't particularly have a couch back then...
Point is, the Slayer hadn't ever been up for social visits. More business-like, with the duty and Chosen One stature. And now, here she is. Sitting next to him, like they're... what? What's it she tells herself? Or, more interesting the matter, what's it she tells her little mates before she comes here? Probably doesn't tell them. Off to patrol is probably the excuse. Vamps to kill. Demons to slay. Routine to act out.
Which is fine. He doesn't care what they think, anyway. Too nosey as it is.
But it's getting old and he's tired of it. He has feelings for her, dammit, so why the hell should he just have to sit here, pretending like he doesn't? He doesn't even know which conversation to have, where to even start. She knows he loves her. She knows he'll never leave her, that he'll be the one to stick around for good this time, but he also knows that she couldn't care less about that. It's just expected out of him. Predictable, lovesick Spike. Here for her every needing way, happy to be used, because he's just that desperate for any bit of attention she throws his way.
Right?
Okay, partially right, but hell. Wouldn't kill her to let him in on what it was she was thinking every now and again. How she felt. He used to pride himself on how well he knew her. How he always knew exactly what was going on in that head of hers. Knew her better than she knew herself, most times. And now? Now he was as clueless as ever. Oh, he knew she felt something for him - she was here in his bloody crypt, wasn't she? - but what it was exactly was the Million Dollar Question.
"So," Buffy says, her sudden voice yanking him out of his thoughts.
He turns towards her, half-expecting her to have been talking to herself, but she's looking right at him. "Yeah?"
She must've seen something in his response that she doesn't like, because the next second she's pushing herself up and off the couch. "I should go," she starts, pausing awkwardly. Her head swivels to the side and she looks intently, uncomfortably, at his crypt door. "I, uh, yeah. I should go."
He's on his feet the next second, standing beside her. Their bodies just a few inches apart as he steps closer to her. "Stay," he tells her, his voice surprisingly low. Guess that conversation was gonna be had tonight, then.
Her eyes dart back to his, and even in the shadows of his crypt he can see a light blush tinting her cheeks. Hits him with a bit of lust, too. So long since he'd seen something like this from her. Girly reactions. "I can't," she rushes to say, and if he was any more pathetic than he was right now, he'd almost bet it sounded apologetic. "You know that."
He takes another step closer, those inches dwindling down from plural to singular. He's close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her body, making him mad with want, dizzy with desire. "Why not?"
"Dawn--"
The next step has his body against hers. His hipbone meeting the curve of her waistline, pressing into her stomach. So close, his duster is being flattened in the space between them. The only thing between them. "She'll be fine," he insists.
Her heart's pounding in his ears, echoing down into his own throat. Things are changing between them, and he feels it. Too far to retreat, though. Too far in to take it back, to back away and let her leave. To drop it like he hadn't meant it.
"I can't, Spike."
And her saying his name like that, well, it pretty much guarantees that there's no way they can continue this game of theirs. No way he can just keep seeing her, acting like one of her sodding mates and nothing more.
With nothing to lose, except maybe his unlife, he ducks his head down, watching as he raises his arm up to hers. Feels his own nerves start to kick in when she tenses at his touch, but ignores it all the same. Slowly, just barely, he rakes his fingers up and down her arm-- the smooth, silky part just below the sleeve of her fancy blouse. Keeps watching them as they do so, encouraged by the way she hasn't pushed him off of her. Without raising his head, his eyes jump back to meet hers. Gets lost in them a second or two, just caught in the way she's looking at him. Tells her pretty much the only thing he's capable of saying, then:
"Stay."
"Spike," she says again, breathlessly. Her eyes flutter shut and she leans into his touch.
Coherent thoughts, self-preserving sort of thoughts like 'she'll stake you, mate', pretty much shut off at that, and every bit of borrowed blood in his body starts flowing to more centrally located parts. The pitter pat of her heart has picked up in speed and it only adds to his own anxiousness. He takes in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her. The soft hint of flowers, no doubt from some fancy brand of shampoo that she probably can't even afford to buy. Trace of perfume, adding another layer of sweetness. Bit of sweat and, underneath it all, her arousal.
Encourages him a bit.
"Dawn'll be safe," he tells her softly, his voice coming out deep and rumbling. It feels warm, coming out against her. "Got both witches to look after her. Besides, they probably think you're out slaying." He smirks then, rolling his hips into her a little. Hardens when her eyes fly open at the contact and she lets out a little gasp. "Can help you with the slaying, you know."
She falls back a step, putting some space between them. "What are you doing? Are you... is this...?"
He doesn't show the annoyance he feels at her words, at her actions, at the panic in her voice. Keeps it casual instead, knowing that he has to tread lightly. One wrong thing said, and she'll bolt. So he turns it back around on her. "What do you think it is?"
A spark flashes behind her eyes and she pulls away from his touch completely. "I think it's you being suicidal, that's what."
He smirks. Can't help it. It quickly hardens when he realizes she isn't joking. "Ohh, that's right," he drawls, defensive and hurt. "Forgot about this, haven't you? Been keeping quiet, not saying a bloody word how I feel about you."
Disgust contorts her features as she shrinks back even farther. "I don't want to know how you feel about me."
He snorts, more than just a little offended. "And why's that? I thought we were the best of friends now, what with your nightly visits and all. Been bonding over Leno... sharing secrets..."
"That's different," she's quick to justify. "This is different. I'm not... we're not..."
"Not what?" he shoots back. "Not doing anything that blips on your radar screen as meaning something?"
She huffs, breathing out a deep, frustrated breath. "Couldn't you just have left it the way it was? I thought we were okay with things? I thought we were okay with this?"
"Okay?!" His eyebrows shoot upwards incredulously. Anger quickly starts taking over as he closes the gap between them. "Okay for you, never mind the one of us here who has feelings."
"Spike--"
"Never mind the fact that I love you, and that's okay? Just sitting here, acting like I don't?" He laughs suddenly, humorlessly, making her flinch back from the harsh sound it creates that cuts like a knife through the crypt. "You can be a real bitch sometimes, you know that?"
"Gee, thank you," she replies sarcastically, all but rolling her eyes. "And this successfully concludes our fun night. Now if you'll--"
He grabs her arm as she goes to spin around, and instead draws her back to face him. "What're you so scared of?"
"Newsflash, Spike: I'm not scared."
"Then what is it? You can't still be hung up on 'it's wrong'."
"Hung up?" she cries back disbelievingly, pulling out of his grasp with a sharp tug of her arm. "What exactly do you think has changed between us? Enlighten me, Spike-- did you happen to stumble across a soul during my brief death stint? Did you turn human, suddenly grow a conscience?"
"'Cause that's the only way I could love you?" he retorts just as loudly, with equal venom. "After all I've done, and you still don't believe me?"
Her shoulders sag, most of the anger fading from her eyes. "I know you feel... something... for me--"
"Are you completely daft? I love you. You think I spent an entire summer with the Scoobies, just for the fun sake of being around 'em? Think I watched over Dawn, bloody patrolled, fought by your side, because of... what? A little something I felt inside?"
"Yeah, but... you can't just--"
"I can! I can do, feel, whatever I bloody well like! Can love whoever I like. I thought we already had this conversation?"
"Oh, when? Last year, when you chained me up? Yeah, let's have a fun reminiscing party about that."
Spike has the decency to feel a stab of shame at the recollection of his not-so-brilliant attempt to convince Buffy that he was in love with her. Still, though. "I've changed since then, and you know it. Otherwise, you wouldn't be showing up here every night, looking for your daily dose of cold comfort."
"Comfort?" she laughs sarcastically. "You think that's what this is? This is you, comforting me?" She takes a step forward, her gaze locked with his. Eyes burning into his. Pushes herself right up into his personal space. "This is me, Spike, being alone. This is me looking to get away from my friends. To get away from bills, duty-- obligations. You honestly think I come here just to sit with you?"
"Then here's your own bloody newsflash, Slayer," he growls lowly, refusing to back down. "I don't own the only crypt in this town. You want some alone time, there're other places to get it. You want to break away from your perfect, normal life, drown away your sorrows, shut out the bloody world-- there're other ways to do so aside from playing the role of poor little lost girl at the Big Bad's crypt." He breathes out in annoyance, shaking his head some. "You've got yourself so convinced that you don't feel a thing for me, but look around, Slayer. You're here. I haven't asked you to come, you do that all on your own."
"Again, me with the wanting to be alone--"
"Except you're not alone! I'm here, and you bloody well know it." His tone turns deliberate, teasing, and he smirks cruely, leering just a bit. "I see the glances you throw my way... I hear that heart of yours starts to tick a bit faster when we're together. Can feel those blushes you try so desperately to conceal and, hey, 'nother fun little newsflash, Slayer-- I can smell just how not alone you think you are."
Her eyes widen comically. "What are you--"
"Ohh, forgot about that, haven't you? Mighty thoughtless of you," he purrs, stepping into her. His voice drops down seductively, his mouth hovering near her ear. "Vampire, love. Nose picks up on all sorts of interesting things, like... each and every time you have a particularly naughty thought."
She pushes him away, making him fumble a step backwards. "You're disgusting."
He laughs as he straightens. "Doesn't make it any less true. And you don't seem to have a problem with it, do you?" His words finish on a murmur, equally patronizing and full of raw, unbridled emotion. One of his hands comes up and he slowly, casually starts to brush the upper part of her arm again. "Tell me... who's it you're thinking of that gets you all hot and bothered? Can't be the Poof, seeing as you've already had your romantic reunion with him. Don't think you've made any new... friends... since coming back. So who is it, Buffy?"
She hesitates, just long enough to let him know that he has her completely figured out, and she knows it. Just long enough to let him know that this feeling, this want, is mutual. "I don't know what you're talking about. There's no one--"
"Yeah, there is." He pauses, mock-consideration. "'Less it's Leno that's turning you on?"
Her face crinkles cutely in disgust. "Okay, that's just gross."
"You can't sit here and tell me you don't feel a thing for me. That's bollocks, and we both know it."
"What I feel for you isn't... this."
His fingers brush harder as his motives became bolder. Up and down her arm, both fully aware of what it is he's doing. "And what exactly is this?"
"You, with the 'stay', and the petting my arm like we're... like we're touching buddies or something."
His eyes light up at that. Interesting choice of words, especially seeing as he's still doing the 'petting' and she hasn't made any effort to push him away. Again, anyway. "So, we're not buddies... what exactly are we, then?"
"What do you want me to tell you?"
His hand stops at that, and he gets serious quick. "How about the truth?"
She sighs, deflating. "I don't know what the truth is, okay? And I don't want to know."
"You know I love you--"
"Yeah, yeah. Vampire Spike, with his unfortunate love for the Slayer, pained and tormented by it."
"No," he says, frustrated with her flippant response. He grips both of her arms in earnest, squeezing tight, determined to get her to listen. To hear him. "Not that. I love you. Why can't you just admit it?"
"Because it's wrong!" she shouts, pulling out of his grasp and backpedaling to get away. She stops once she's put a reasonable distance between them, and just stands there staring at him for a few seconds. "You're not supposed to love."
Pain and anger creep into his voice. "Oh, well then. S'pose just 'cause the great Buffy says I'm not supposed to, I won't."
"Spike--"
"You think I wouldn't stop loving you if I could?" he asks angrily. "I've tried to stop loving you, Slayer. You think this is what I want? Think I like trailing after you and your every bloody command? I'm a vampire, pet. Know it more than you do. But it's there, I can't get rid of it. I've tried. Tried everything to get it to go away, and it won't."
She waits, breathing in deeply. Tries again. "Spike--"
"You were gone, you died, and you know what I did?" He snorts out derisively, flooded with memories of how he spent his summer vacation. "Baby-sat kid sis, because I made a promise. I should've high-tailed it outta here the first second you..." His voice wavers, he doesn't want it to, so he stops. Breathes out. "I'm a monster, right? It's what you said. Evil, soulless. I should've been out there, free at bloody last with you gone. But I wasn't, I was here."
"I know--"
"No, I really think you don't," he cuts in dismissively. "You think it's so easy for me? Think just because I love you it all falls in naturally? I've given up everything for you. You remember how I was before? Reputation, respect in the demon world. Was evil, through and through. But that changed when I fell in love with you. I've turned my back on everything. I stick around here, god knows why, and it doesn't mean a thing to you."
"It does," she insists softly. "Spike, I know what you've done, and believe me, what you did for Dawn, what you've done for me..." She lets her words fade as she takes a few hesitant steps towards him. "I know you've changed, but it's the chip, Spike."
Spike snorts, his gaze hardening. "Right. S'pose I oughta thank Finn for that, then?"
"You know what I mean,“ she tells him tiredly. "You said it yourself-- you're a vampire. You are evil, the chip just stops you from being able to act it out."
"No, you stop me from acting it out," he insists almost desperately. "I'm not saying I don't crave a spot of violence every now and then, but I told you before... you treat me like a man... and that makes me want to be better. Makes me think I can be better." He takes his own step forward, lowering his voice. "Let me prove it to you."
"Why can't you see that this could never work?" she asks, frustrated and upset. "You don't have a soul. I could never trust you--"
"Trust me enough to watch over the Bit, don't you?"
"That's different," she quickly defends. "You can't hurt her, not with the chip."
"Not just the chip, dammit." He breathes out his annoyance. "I would never hurt Dawn, and you know it. It has nothing to do with the chip. And I would never hurt you."
"Spike," she sighs, closing her eyes as he erases the space between the two of them again.
"You feel something for me," he tells her lowly, his voice making her eyes flutter back open.
"It's not love."
"But it's something?"
"I don't know," she admits.
Spike decides that that isn't answer enough. Supposes maybe she needs some help in figuring out what it is exactly she feels. So he kisses her. Before Buffy has time to register his movement, he's grabbing her by the upper part of her arms and pulling her body into his, his lips slamming into hers the next second. There's an instant protest on her part, words she tries to speak muffled against his mouth, but he refuses to let her go.
She's stiff against him for the longest moment, tense like some nervous school girl. Like the virgin he knows she isn't. But then she lets out this breathy little moan against his lips, her hands flutter at his sides to awkwardly grab at the lapels of his duster for something to hold onto, and it takes everything in Spike to not thrust his hips forward like some depraved kid getting his first taste of a woman. Instead, awed that this is even happening, that he's currently not a pile of dust swirling at the heels of her booted feet, he lets his own hands trail down to rest at her waist. Cool fingers sink into warm curves as he tugs her closer, clutching her against him, desperate for more contact.
Too soon, it ends. Both break apart with a gasp, both wide-eyed, both staring at each other.
Buffy's hand shoots up to her mouth and, without breaking eye contact, her fingers absentmindedly touch the swollen skin of her lips.
Spike, for his part, tries to get a good grip on his breathing. Remembers that he doesn't actually need to breath, so he controls it pretty easily.
"You kissed me," she finally finds her voice, hand falling limply back down to her side.
Responses tear through his head. Some sarcastic, some sincere, some completely amazed and entirely flattering towards her. He settles for the more sophisticated, somewhat breathless, "Yeah."
"You kissed me," she repeats, her tone more incredulous this time around as it starts to fully sink in.
He adds a shrug with his response. "I seem to recall you being a willing participant."
Her eyes sparkle at that, a bit of self-righteousness flashing across. "Have you gone completely insane?"
Spike nearly laughs, it being so damned typical. Instead he draws his shoulders up, chin held high. "So-- this where you flounce away now, virtue fluttering? Maybe threaten me, throwing out your perfected brand of a dusty ending if I so much as try it again?"
Confusion skirts across her face.
He expects her to turn around and flee. To whip around without so much as another word - threats aside - and retreat back to the safety of a house he hasn't been invited back inside of since she'd been brought back. Expects a shot to the nose. Fury, anger, disgust.
Instead she takes a step forward.
And then another one, closer still, until the small gap between them is closed.
His breathing picks up again, damn useless reaction, his chest starts rising heavily-- anticipation worse than a healthy douse of holy water would be. Just stands there, watching, wondering if he's dreaming this. Wondering if she's got a stake tucked somewhere in those blessedly tight jeans of hers that'll be pulled out in the next passing second, because this sure as hell is borderlining on unbelievable.
Buffy just stares at him. Emotions playing behind her eyes as she searches his.
Not a game, he wants to tell her. This is real. Except he's not exactly sure it's real, because even in his most realistic of fantasies, Buffy never actually ends up staying.
"Spike," she says, his name coming out so quietly he can barely hear it. Feels it more than anything, all warm breath across his neck.
"Buffy?"
He's still not sure what's happening. Not ten minutes ago she was barely aware he was even in the same room with her. Not five minutes ago she was looking to bolt. Not two minutes ago she was backing away from him, teeth barred and fists all but brandished.
Spike knows no matter how this night ends, things have already changed between them. And maybe he's screwed it up for the worst. Maybe she'll never come back, never sit at his side again. Never play out these awkward nights of small talk. Knows that's more likely than her accepting him into her life. But bugger if he cares, because she's slowly leaning towards him, lips leading the way, her head tilted back, and every bit of logical thought had pretty much already been shot to hell the first second she'd willingly kissed him back, so who bloody cares about something he can deal with tomorrow when the reality of today is much more appealing.
Their mouths meet again slowly, bit of hesitance on both sides, this being so new, but he quickly makes up for it, grabbing at her waist. Pulls her into him. Crushes her against him, their lower halves colliding. Her body fitting so easily against his.
He wants to take it slow, wanting to feel every bit of her that she offers him, but passion gets the better of him. He's been wanting this for so long, been dreaming about it for even longer, that he's driven by his single-minded need for her. And when she parts her lips, he slips his tongue through. Their eyes are closed, hands are freely roaming, tongues equally dueling.
He senses her need for air so he pulls back, resting his forehead against hers. Eyes still squeezed shut, chest heaving unnecessarily. His hands are gripping her upper arms tight, his fingers curling around them to hold her close. To keep her there.
When Spike opens his eyes, he finds her staring up at him. It makes him feel uncomfortable, being so close, being so open, but he offers her a soft smile. Testing the waters. He tries to keep it as genuine as possible, even though he's feeling pretty damned smug right about now.
And then all of a sudden her eyes widen. Realization comes steamrolling through. He feels it in the way her entire body tenses against him, how her heart starts hammering wildly. She pulls back quickly. Snapping their connection, breaking the moment.
“Buffy,” he tries, but it’s already too late. She’s already across the room, at his door, and he’s glued in that same spot.
Instead of immediately flying out of his crypt, she pauses in the doorway. Looks at him, then, her eyes meeting his. Fleeting, understanding. There’s so much pain and uncertainty in what he sees that it takes every shred of his remaining self-respect to not erase the distance between them and scoop her up in her arms. But that requires effort and motivation and right now all he really wants to do is curl up with his favorite bottle of Jack Daniels and erase this night, this moment, from his memory.
“I can’t do this,” is all she offers, right before she bolts.
There’s a roar at the back of his throat just begging to be let loose, but he stifles it. Swallows it instead and shuffles towards the bottle of Jack near his fridge. Takes a long, choking drink out of it before he wills himself to his comfy green chair, collapsing onto it, suddenly spent and tired.
His lips are still tingling, his chest still warm.
He takes another swig, desperate to get her taste out of his mouth. Funny, that. Would've thought he'd revel in it. Now he wants nothing to do with it, with the reminder of what just played out between them. He should've known she'd react that way. He's a fool, a sodding idiot, to think otherwise. What'd he expect? A relationship sparked here in the very dusty confines of his crypt? She was the one who told him before that he was beneath her. Like that changed because she took her otherworldy sojourn to the Great Beyond? Clarity obviously didn't follow the bitch back from the grave.
And, yeah, bitch.
Spike surges from his chair, anger bubbling dangerously within. Close to the surface, needing an outlet. The Slayer had him by the bleeding shorthairs and it pissed him off to no end. Who the fuck was he to get this pathetic? To mourn her death, to celebrate her sodding resurrection? Vampire, here. Soulless vampire. And, more than that, the killer of her kind. The pages of history books stacked high in Watcher's dens around the world were decorated with glorified images of some of his greatest defeats, colored in that pretty shade of blood red. He was sin personified, and damn well liked being that literal incarnation. More than just liked it-- reveled in it. Was proud of it.
So why does he love her? Why won't these feelings just go away?
Spike turns on his heels, hurling the bottle of Jack as hard as he can against his crypt wall. Only mildly satisfied in the way it explodes into a shower of glass shards, falling and blanketing his floor.
He needs to kill something. Needs to eat, needs to feed, needs to hunt. Needs a reaffirmation that he's soulless and evil and entirely incabable of all things good. Needs it, because what else is he? Can't have Buffy. Can't be good enough for her, no matter how hard he tries, so what's the point of it all?
Frustrated, Spike collapses onto that second hand couch of his. On her side, where it still smells of her cocktail variety of girly scents, strong and intoxicating as ever. Where it's still warm.
His head hits the cushions behind him with a groan, and he stares up at his crypt ceiling.
She'll be back, Spike decides. Dawn'll need rescuing or Xander'll piss off some demon or other... and she'll be back. Sooner or later. And Spike'll help, because it's what he does. Because he can't turn away from her, not when she's so fully a part of him now.
Because it's Buffy, and he's the fool who fell in love with her.
squawks
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!