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het_reccersFandom Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer / Supernatural
Pairing: Buffy Summers/John Winchester
Fic Title: I Lost Two Cities, Lovely Ones
Author: [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com]
Link: http://ishieland.livejournal.com/8546.html
Rating/Warning(s): R / sex
Genre: Crossover, Angst
WIP?: No
Special Rec: 27/30
Why This Must Be Read: With great characterizations, and storytelling, this author just makes this pairing work. John serves as a wonderful narrator and both he and Buffy's voices are spot on. [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com] has done a great job here as always.
He doesn't have to wait long. The tapping echoes from somewhere overhead and he catches a glimpse of the orange streetlights bouncing off of leathery wings far above his head. Definitely not something he recognizes. He's shifting his weight from one foot to the other, trying to figure out if he has enough time to run for it or if he's going to have to go on the offensive, when he sees her.
She's tiny, maybe just barely tall enough to reach the pedals when she drives and dressed up like she's on her way to a party or a dance club or whatever the hell it is that young, blonde girls do on a cold Wednesday night in Cleveland. As he watches, she stumbles on an uneven section of concrete and upends her purse all over the sidewalk. When she crouches down to scoop everything back into the little bag, she teeters a little on her heels and the big brown leathery thing lets out a squawk and dives straight for her head.
John's up and running before the little "Danger! Danger!" sign goes off in his brain. He scoops the girl off her feet and over his shoulder in a really sloppy fireman's carry just as the flying thing's talons hit the spot where she was standing.
And for his trouble, does he get an armful of whimpering, grateful girl? Hell, does he even get a thank you?
No, he doesn't. What he does get is an "Are you kidding me?" in his ear and what feels like a freight train derailing right in his temple.
When he wakes up for the second time that night, he's sprawled across a narrow bed in a pretty fancy room. At least, he assumes it's fancy. All he can see is light coming in from a tall window and part of the ceiling, but it's more than twelve feet above him. He's no expert on architecture but he's been around enough to know you generally don't see that kind of thing in flophouses. He rolls his head to the side to check out the rest of the room and nearly vomits all over the pillow. He gingerly presses on the side of his head where the pain is worst and feels the mother of all goose eggs rising up.
"If you're going to barf, could you at least aim for the trashcan?"
He fights against the tidal wave of nausea that's about to drown him and peers across the room. The girl is curled up in an armchair, her blonde hair haloed by the light outside.
"Where am I?"
"Um, duh? Bed, walls, ceiling? Pretty sure those add up to a bedroom."
He grits his teeth. "Thanks, I never would have figured that out."
She's silhouetted against the window when she stands and he can practically hear her eyes rolling. There's a whisper of noise, metal on metal, and a thunk as she bends down to put something on the floor. His brain hobbles around for a few seconds before it places the sound:
She's got a fucking sword.
"Oh, damn," he groans. "You're the Slayer."
"Just a Slayer these days, but wow, you are really on a roll tonight. Maybe you should try out for Jeopardy!"
Pairing: Buffy Summers/John Winchester
Fic Title: I Lost Two Cities, Lovely Ones
Author: [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com]
Link: http://ishieland.livejournal.com/8546.html
Rating/Warning(s): R / sex
Genre: Crossover, Angst
WIP?: No
Special Rec: 27/30
Why This Must Be Read: With great characterizations, and storytelling, this author just makes this pairing work. John serves as a wonderful narrator and both he and Buffy's voices are spot on. [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com] has done a great job here as always.
He doesn't have to wait long. The tapping echoes from somewhere overhead and he catches a glimpse of the orange streetlights bouncing off of leathery wings far above his head. Definitely not something he recognizes. He's shifting his weight from one foot to the other, trying to figure out if he has enough time to run for it or if he's going to have to go on the offensive, when he sees her.
She's tiny, maybe just barely tall enough to reach the pedals when she drives and dressed up like she's on her way to a party or a dance club or whatever the hell it is that young, blonde girls do on a cold Wednesday night in Cleveland. As he watches, she stumbles on an uneven section of concrete and upends her purse all over the sidewalk. When she crouches down to scoop everything back into the little bag, she teeters a little on her heels and the big brown leathery thing lets out a squawk and dives straight for her head.
John's up and running before the little "Danger! Danger!" sign goes off in his brain. He scoops the girl off her feet and over his shoulder in a really sloppy fireman's carry just as the flying thing's talons hit the spot where she was standing.
And for his trouble, does he get an armful of whimpering, grateful girl? Hell, does he even get a thank you?
No, he doesn't. What he does get is an "Are you kidding me?" in his ear and what feels like a freight train derailing right in his temple.
When he wakes up for the second time that night, he's sprawled across a narrow bed in a pretty fancy room. At least, he assumes it's fancy. All he can see is light coming in from a tall window and part of the ceiling, but it's more than twelve feet above him. He's no expert on architecture but he's been around enough to know you generally don't see that kind of thing in flophouses. He rolls his head to the side to check out the rest of the room and nearly vomits all over the pillow. He gingerly presses on the side of his head where the pain is worst and feels the mother of all goose eggs rising up.
"If you're going to barf, could you at least aim for the trashcan?"
He fights against the tidal wave of nausea that's about to drown him and peers across the room. The girl is curled up in an armchair, her blonde hair haloed by the light outside.
"Where am I?"
"Um, duh? Bed, walls, ceiling? Pretty sure those add up to a bedroom."
He grits his teeth. "Thanks, I never would have figured that out."
She's silhouetted against the window when she stands and he can practically hear her eyes rolling. There's a whisper of noise, metal on metal, and a thunk as she bends down to put something on the floor. His brain hobbles around for a few seconds before it places the sound:
She's got a fucking sword.
"Oh, damn," he groans. "You're the Slayer."
"Just a Slayer these days, but wow, you are really on a roll tonight. Maybe you should try out for Jeopardy!"
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