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At long last, I can reveal to the world that I am responsible for the Cleveland Hellmouth
written for the Yuletide 2008 challenge for binz.


Bob and Harry take a road trip to help Spike and Xander deal with some very unmixy things on the Cleveland Hellmouth. (29,847 words!!!)
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Spander: Fairy Dust

Spike Premier
Fairy Dust
by Miriam Heddy

"Huh. Ew." Buffy looked around and dusted off her hands, then wiped them on Xander's jacket.

"And when did I become your personal hand towel?" Xander looked down and frowned. That was never going to come out.

"Well I'm not wiping it on me. Do you have any idea how much this skirt cost? "


"And did you see that?" Buffy waved her hands in the air. "What was up with that? Aren't they supposed to go 'poof'? It's not right to just change the rules mid-Slayer."Read more...Collapse )

Title: Pons Asinorum
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Adult
Fandom: Buffy The Vampire Slayer
Disclaimer: No profit but pleasure.
Summary: The first time was pants.
Warnings: None.
Notes: Thanks to

herself_nyc for betaing it.  The title is Latin for "Bridge of Asses."




Title: Let's Not Talk About It And Say We Did (57 K)
Author: Miriam Heddy
Recipient: heuradys
Fandom: Regenesis
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Over the years, David had observed that there were some conversations you just couldn't avoid. And somehow, Bob was responsible for nearly all of them.
Written For: Yuletide 2006 (and with a gold star, no less!)

If you're at all surprised this is my story you just haven't been paying attention to my recent Peter Outerbridge fixation. And now that you do know it's my story, you want to read it, right? And you want to post one of those comment thingies on the Yuletide page so that next Yuletide, when I sit down to write another story, I can look back at the 06 page and reminisce and be cheered and encouraged to write another 9000 word monster.

Oh, and as nobody guessed it was mine, I'm not obliged to write that drabble. But I've started something anyway, because hello, fannish obsession in progress.

Fic: Quickening (Larry/Charlie)

Do not ask me why, because I can't justify this, even to myself, except to say, "LJ MPREG DAY."

by Miriam Heddy

That very night was anomalous, an aberration of the soul so deep as to shake him for hours afterwards, and he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, considering what it all might mean, beyond the obvious, of course.

He'd been pregnant, though in point of fact, on a scale that was defined at one end by Aunt Louise the Flesh Eater and on the other by amnesia, hosting an apparently healthy fetus somewhere between his kidneys was not especially alarming, despite the incongruity and sheer unlikelihood of it all--the nagging realization during the dream that it was a dream breaking through, though not enough to waken him. No, it was actually the strong urge to urinate that woke him, finally, just as he was getting used to the very odd idea and all its repercussions on what he'd long considered a life doomed to bachelorhood, with himself the terminus of his genetic line.

The dividing cells were metaphoric, of course, almost certainly his subconscious warning him of an impending idea--something remarkable, he hoped, as he'd been sorely lacking in remarkable ideas lately.

The part that still troubled him was that Charles Eppes had been the father of the natal cluster, and had been absolutely disinterested in the news, and so he'd been alone in the doctor's office with its antiseptic white walls, the bad art, the cold slick jelly on his bared midsection and the pressure of the ultrasound wand against his abdomen. He woke before seeing the image, and was glad of that.

The next morning, whatever brilliant idea the dream promised failed to show itself, and was possibly scared off by the two theses he had yet to read, and by lunchtime, he was beyond boredom, and still a little irritable to find that Charles' disinterest in their mutual progeny seemed symptomatic of a more general problem that extended well into his waking life.

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Read my many other Numb3rs slash stories on my webpage!


Fic: Terpsichore

By Miriam Heddy

When I sit, you sit. When I kneel, you kneel. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera!

"So what're you two up—"

"Charles, please reassure me on one point. You do know how to count to three in base ten?"

Alan frowned, stopping midway down the stairs. Neither of them had heard him, which was not surprising considering the volume of the music. Most of the subtlety of "The Blue Danube" was lost when the music was up so loud you had to shout to be heard. Alan sighed and sat down on the stairs, not sure he really wanted to come down after all. He'd almost gotten used to the house transformed, covered in plastic and melting ice, the dining room table squeezed out by scaled dioramas of murder scenes. But this?

At least there was no blood. Yet.

"I can count, Lawrence. The problem is not with my counting."

"Fine, well, let's just try this again, shall we? This time, you lead and I'll just try to keep out of your way."

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SLASH: Solving For Another X

Because I needed to cheer myself up a bit after Dark Matter.

Solving For Another X
By Miriam Heddy

Charles was encouraging, naturally, and though a week ago Larry quite honestly had no intention of asking Megan out on anything that might remotely be considered a date, his intentions seemed, finally, to be entirely irrelevant, as Charles and Amita had so helpfully made themselves scarce, and, alone with Megan, he'd found himself putting forward the proposal, expecting that she would say yes, of course, if only out of courtesy. They were friends, and he valued her friendship, and that was enough—more than enough—and anything more than enough was, by definition, too much.

Though she was quite beautiful in the candlelight, and he enjoyed himself, he had to admit, despite his reservations, or perhaps because of them—Ethiopian being a far better choice than Italian, especially as the restaurant mimicked European conventions to the point of candlelight and silverware. Charles' input in his choice of dining venue had been most helpful, and he was delighted to find his dilemma had caused Charles to momentarily set aside both the case and his moping about Susan (or was it Amita this week? Or perhaps some combination of them both, transformed into an idealized woman Charles would, naturally, come to conclude hovered just out of reach, tantalizing but inaccessible, and therefore that much more highly prized.)

Read this (and my many other Numb3rs slash stories) on my webpage!


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