Hiraeth (pronounced [hiraɪ̯θ])

 
     Hi, 

          this is the beginning of a long project to transfer all my stories over to A03; something my hero  has been wanting me to do for a long time. I'm sure she will have something to say about this in her own time. While I can keep the many 'verses straight in my head, pretty much, she and many others cannot ~ would that I could do that in my real life! ~ so as part of my need to get myself into a better state of mental health I am trying to do what I think maybe I have feared, and it is freaking me out today as I take the first steps on this road, and that is getting a bigger audience for my stories I still recall, as elisi can testify, how much getting simply nominated for awards a couple of years back freaked me out). 

   Anyway, I am going to be going through the stories in the order they were written/posted - with exceptions for stories I wrote before the internet, as a mass thing anyway, existed. Also there is one story written in that early period after 'Seeing Red' sparked me into writing again that need such a total rewrite that it would have to be considered a new story. 

   That said I am therefore starting with the second completed story I wrote back then. There were a couple of things i felt I needed to change from previous versions, one of which is very much in the same category as that which has prevented me posting that first completed story on lj/dw. 

   This then is where I take that first scary step. 

   May the Goddess grant me the time to complete it and indeed add new work to it,

 

 

   TITLE: The Dance of the Happy Little Toaster

   AUTHOR: kerk_hiraeth

   FANDOM: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Willow POV missing scene post-New Moon Rising)

   LENGTH: 650;

   CHARACTERS: Willow Rosenberg;Tara Maclay;

   'SHIP: WillTara (or Willow/Tara)

   A/N: This is the morning after the moment Tara blew out the candle at the end of New Moon Rising; there are several references – to a Beatles song; the 'Puppy' episode(s) of Ellen; also to a movie, referenced in Something Blue, that I had not seen yet at the time I wrote this. Shortly thereafter I did get to see The Brave Little Toaster (1987) at the Dundee Contemporary Arts (or the DCA as it is known); which I loved as a more melancholy kind of children's film than seems commonly to be the case (actually suiting better, in hindsight, the WillTara relationship than this story does now).

           The last line is unashamedly stolen (I believe the PC term is 'homage') from what, I think, was the first lesbian (indeed Queer movie of any kind) I ever saw; that film was Lianna (1983).

 

 

     She was naked! In Tara's bed.

 

   The sudden enormity of her situation made her giggle, albeit quietly.

   “Wow!”

   She gasped; hushing herself instantly.

 

   It had been wow!

 

   They'd been intimate before; they'd been half-naked before, but it had been nothing more than high class, chocolate frosted, necking.

   Last night had been low class, chocolate; honey filled, hi-caffeine... lust-lovin'

 

   Wow!

 

   She glanced over at the peaceful face of her lover.

   Her lover.

   Tara was her lover.

   Trying not to laugh out loud, Willow wondered if she was now an 'official' lesbian; if Tara would get an official Ellen 'I've turned a straight girl' toaster oven.

   Giggling once more, she smirked as she noticed the tiniest bit of drool on Tara's cheek.

   If she wasn't so frightened of waking her, Willow would've kissed it away.

   Wow.
   Then she stroked some hair away from Tara's face; daring to kiss her, ever so softly; ever so carefully; ever so daintily, on the forehead.

   Closing her eyes, Willow breathed the still sweaty scent of her lover.

   Her lover. Tara was her lover.

   Wow.

   It was a fact now. No going back.

 

   She snorted as she fought back a laugh.

 

   Hell, she wanted to shout; cry out.

   She contented herself with another gentle kiss; chaste, on her lover's cheek.

 

   Her lover. Tara was her lover.

 

   She held her breath as Tara stirred slightly. Then, for several minutes, she simply took in the sight of Tara's breathing... in... out... deep in sleep.

 

   'O Goddess, but she was beautiful!'

 

   “She loves you; yeah, yeah, yeah.”

 

   She felt almost too happy, she felt... drunk.

   She wanted to tell the world.

   She felt like dancing and singing.

   She wanted to testify.

 

   Instead, for over half an hour, she had to be content with simply watching Tara's breathing; gifting herself of the slightest of kisses; on the cheek; on her forehead.

   Once, daringly, on the lips.

   She even stroked her shoulder.

 

   Finally she felt forced to action; she could no longer stay silent.

   Her lover, she told herself again.

   “My lover; Tara Maclay is my lover.”

   Whispered, she still hid a grin wider than the Grand Canyon behind her hands.

 

   Was it possible to be too happy?

 

   Nuh-uh!

 

   She felt compelled to laugh; to cry; to shout; to scream.

   She could not even begin to decide which.

   She knew disturbing Tara's peaceful sleep would be an unbearable crime.

 

   She wondered if Tara was dreaming about her.

 

   Carefully disengaging herself from the covers, Willow reluctantly clambered out of bed.

   Away from Tara.

   Picking up a discarded t-shirt; she grabbed her overnight bag and, taking one last look at Tara's face, she wandered slowly down the hallway to the showers.

   There, despite the early hour, she took the most wonderful shower she had ever experienced.

   She ran her hands; exploring, over a body that she had never known before.

   Touching her lips; brushing fingertips over her nipples; stroking her belly; teasing herself – hissing at how ready she was – between her legs.

 

   Everywhere Tara had touched her.

 

   Eventually she stepped, dripping, from the shower and stood naked in front of a mirror.

   She placed a finger on her tongue; tasting it.

   Just to see if it felt any different.

 

   It tasted like it was fresh from the shower.

 

   She was almost disappointed, but she finally felt free to let out the long suppressed laughter.

 

   For several more minutes she stared; finally drying herself, at the face in the mirror. Studying the inane grin on the face of a woman she could hardly recognise.

 

   Yet seemed to know for the first time.

 

   She seemed to be glowing.

   Was she glowing?

   She chuckled.

   Of course she was glowing.

   She was fresh from the shower.

 

   Fresh from her lover. Her lover Tara Maclay.

   She repeated it aloud; laughing as she brushed wet hair from her face.

 

   Then staring defiantly into the mirror; she declared.

   “Willow Rosenberg eats pussy!”


      kerk hiraeth