Title: Acrylic Dreams (2/?) Author: Foxhunt2blue Summary: Written for the FG Anniversary Edition Challenge #30. AU Universe where Angel is a reclusive artist and William is a young writer determined to write a book about an artist who should be older than he appears. Rating: NC-17 (all over rating) Pairing: Angel/Spike, Angel/William Disclaimer: Our wonderful Joss created them I had nothing to do with it—wish I had. Frankly the boys would be a lot happier with me as their mama! *web Feedback: Please feed the baby slash ho' cause she can be quite pathetic. She cries all night if she doesn't get her daily dose of feedback. *giggle E-mail: foxhunter2blue@yahoo.com *** Exhausted beyond words William drove down Widow's Walk, back through town, and to the outer edge where the Wayside Inn stood. The soft glow of lights eased the tightness in his gut as he pulled into the small private parking area and shut off the engine. Leaning his head against the steering wheel he let out a breath he hadn't been aware that he had been holding. "Bloody bastard," he whispered. There was something wrong, William thought, something had happened at the top of Widow's Walk. What he couldn't say, but whatever it was had left a sheen of cold sweat along his spine that even the night breeze couldn't dry. Lifting his head he stared up at the night sky and shivered. "Sodding man thinks he can keep me from Angel he has another bloody thing coming." Pushing open the door of the car he hit the button to close the convertible's top, then popped the trunk. With a faint sigh he stepped from the car and closed the door behind him walking around to the trunk and pulling his luggage out. Shutting the trunk he made his way around to the front entrance of the inn bags in tow. *** The Wayside Inn was a comfortable, homey place. A two-story white clapboard house with working shutters painted the blue-gray of the sea that churned on the beach below. Neatly manicured lawn and a brick sidewalk that led to a wide porch with lounge chairs scattered among potted flowers. The inside was even homier than the outside of the inn if that were possible. Part of the reason was Darla Mackenzie the proprietor. She greeted William at the door with a wide smile and even wider sapphire eyes beneath a loose fringe of golden blonde hair. Dressed neatly, yet casually in faded denims and a simple white tee shirt she guided him to the check-in desk. "I was beginning to worry Mr. Danridge. Check-in time ends in fifteen minutes." William dropped his bags on the floor and picked up the pen scribbling his name on the appropriate line along with the time and date. "I am sorry for worrying you Ms. Mackenzie. I was delayed coming into town." She smiled wide and leaned in close. "I have to say that I've read all your books." Raising one brow William studied her with amusement. "And exactly how did you...?" Her cheeks turned a soft rosy pink. "Well, I had no idea who you were until your editor called. I've been a fan of," her voice lowered, "...Willow Keating for some time." She giggled softly. With a faint sigh William rolled his eyes. "I must look into killing Faith when I return to London." Darla's eyes widened. "Oh, please don't blame Ms. Alexander. I can be quite persistent when I want, too." Chuckling William smiled at Darla winking. "Fear not milady---fair Faith shall live to see another day." He bowed with a dramatic flair. "Now if you would be so kind as to show me to my room I'd be bloody grateful. It's been quite the tiring day." "Reggie!" Darla called over her shoulder. A thin dark skinned teenager appeared and gathered William's luggage. "What room Ms. Darla?" "The Forest Room." Darla smiled. "And please do be careful Reggie try not to wake mother." "Yes, ma'am." Reggie winked at Darla, then turned to William. "Come on, sir. Let's get you all settled in." Grabbing the keys from the counter Reggie bounded up the stairs and William followed with a soft chuckle. "Good night Ms. Mackenzie I shall see you in the morning." Darla's eyes narrowed as William vanished around the bend in the staircase. "Indeed you shall." She whispered. *** He sat brooding in the wing back chair---before the fire----a glass in his hand. In front of him the fire danced and writhed against the soot covered bricks of the fireplace. Behind him the rising wind rolling off the ocean rattled the windows in their casings and somewhere a loose shutter banged against the house. All he could think of though was the stranger that had invaded his silent haven earlier in the evening. Taking a sip from the glass he shuddered as he lifted his dark gaze to the portrait that hung above the fireplace. Eyes the color of a stormy sea looked back at him from a pale perfect face of marble. "William..." he sighed softly. Could it be just a coincidence? Or could it be true? Could his lover have been reborn? This boy William was just a bit older than Spike when he had met his mortal end. He slumped in the chair his eyes locked on that beloved face. And the name, he thought, that had to be a sign as well even if Spike had chose to leave it behind. Almost thirty years since he had lost Spike and it still burned in his gut like a red-hot ember. He remembered each moment with a clarity that made the ember burn hotter and brighter. That pain was so vivid he caught himself often caressing his stomach as if in search of a mortal wound---a physical mark---that would mirror it. *** New York City, 1976. Spike had been on his way back to their flat in Greenwich Village when he had crossed paths with a slayer that rainy night. He had managed to escape her with but a few minor bruises and cuts, yet Angel had been furious. Contacting the Watcher's Council---the imbeciles that were suppose to be in charge of the slayers---he had chewed Rupert Giles' ear off. The Watcher's had known of him and Spike for almost a hundred years. They had made a pact with him and his lover---a simple one. In exchange for information and help in times of crisis they would make sure that every slayer was educated in the history of the two vampires who were constant companions. He and Spike were different they were cursed beings. Vampires with souls---they were not killers, they hadn't been for quite some time. Rupert had made promises. His promises turned out not to be worth the energy they took to voice. On the subway exactly a week later the slayer had confronted them both. Apparently she had went rogue when her Watcher, a man named Pryce, had been murdered by a band of roaming punk vampires. She hadn't just been rouge though. She was insane with grief seeking vengeance for the death of the man whom had not only been her Watcher, but her lover as well. A slayer is terrifying to face for any vampire, but an insane slayer is a nightmare no one---human or vampire---wishes to ever see. They fought side by side as they had always done. It had been towards the end of the fight that everything had gone to hell. Somehow she had managed to separate them locking Angel in one car as she fought with Spike in another. Angel was quick, but not quick enough. The slayer had shattered Spike's spine and he couldn't stand. He had been crawling towards Angel one hand stretched out when the slayer had shoved a stake into his back and through his heart. Their fingers had brushed just as Spike's heart was pierced. Cobalt eyes widened and a choked gasp had escaped his lips. "Angel..." Then there had been nothing, but a swirl of dust. *** Blinking he looked down at the roaring fire trying to shake away the memories that drifted in and out. He had almost killed the girl---then and there--- except for one thing. As he had wrapped his hands around her throat he had heard it, a faint pulse. She had been pregnant. Swallowing hard he closed his eyes as that memory sharpened. In that split second he had pushed his need for vengeance away and had grabbed instead the ring that was all that remained of his lover. Black onyx and silver---an elaborate letter 'A' carved in the stone. A signet ring identical to the one that hung around his neck side by side with it. His hand crept up to his throat, fingers tangling in the silver chain. Tears shimmered in his eyes as he began to hum to himself, a song that reminded him of a life he had possessed long ago. Entr'acte symphonique and Scene. It had been his lover's favorite part of Tchaikovsky's Sleeping Beauty. It had been the awakening. It was the moment when the prince had awakened the beauty from the evil spell. *** He was walking through a park in the rain. Suddenly the hair at the base of his neck prickled up and he frowned. Turning he saw a gorgeous woman her wild curls the color of amber and her skin molten caramel. Her eyes were brown, but a golden brown that seemed not quite human. "Monster..." she hissed. "Slayer." He whispered softly. She moved like a cat smooth, silken, and dangerous. "All your kind should be put down and that's what I'm here for---putting you down." Flipping the butt of the cigarette he'd been smoking he smiled wickedly. "Don't think so, luv. If you've been trained all right and proper you know me now don't you." She circled him her eyes never leaving his face. "Yes, I know you demon spawn. Just like the others. Beautiful face, but inside nothing. Nothing but a withered black heart." Suddenly he was worried. Slayers for a hundred years had been told of he and his lover Angelus. No slayer was to harm them for they were different---they were protected. There were no others like them. The woman moved closer and as she did everything blurred---shifting to another place. He was on the tube. Another man was with him and they were fighting the same woman, yet this time she was different. There was a madness in her golden brown eyes. He could feel the sting of each blow and yet he knew he had to fight on. Everything seemed to swirl and shift around him once more. This time when the fog cleared he was on his stomach dragging himself along the floor of the train unable to feel his legs. Behind him he could sense her, the one that called herself Slayer. Her heart like a pounding sledge hammer, the scent of her blood filled with the ancient power, and her breath ragged---strong with anger and exertion. That's when he saw the other man again. The door exploded out with the sound of shattering glass and shrieking metal. He stood in the door his face hidden by the flickering neon glow of the lights and the moving shadows as the train barreled through the tunnel. The only things he could see were his eyes---dark liquid chocolate edge with gold ice. A hand was reaching out to him---strong, pale--- long slender fingers barely brushing his as he reached out towards that hand. Somehow he knew there was safety in that hand. More than safety. There was love, desire, and immortal passion in that pale hand. Then there was nothing, but pain. *** "ANGEL!!" William sat up amidst the tangled sheets with a scream of anguish. For a moment he sat frozen wide eyes staring at the wall across the room with it's rich silk hunter green wallpaper. His heart danced wildly against his ribcage as he fell back against the soft down pillows his hands scrubbing frantically at his tear filled eyes. "Bollocks..." he moaned as he blinked, then slowly focused on the ceiling. It had been ages since he had experienced one of his nightmares. Actually not since he had been at Oxford to be honest. He'd been in his last year at Oxford and a group of his fellow students had decided to wander their way to London for the weekend. *** London, Spring 1997 It was midnight at least and more than likely later than that, but Charles was insistent that they find yet another pub or club to visit. Wes was thoroughly shit faced and bolder than Will had ever seen him. Who knew that the little geek was a façade erected to hide the pervert inside. He hadn't a bloody clue where they were at and he was the only one even half way sober. Glancing over his shoulder he shook his head in disbelief at Wes. Darling pervert that he was he had picked up a little red head at the last pub---an American student if he remembered correctly. Wes now had said red-head pinned to the filthy brick wall and his hand half way up her skirt. "Bloody hell, Pryce!" Will growled. "Get a room now, mate!" Wes snorted as he turned. "Jealousy does not become you William..." he mumbled. The slurred words were quickly followed by a series of hiccups. The little red-head let out a high pitched giggle. That's when it had happened for the first time. One of his odd nightmares visited him while he was awake. Suddenly William Danridge was stone cold sober. *** It was the same alley, but it wasn't. The distant clatter of carriage wheels echoed through the thick fog that slithered through the narrow cobblestone streets. He turned around terrified when he realized that his companions were no longer with him. A soft hissing sound drew his gaze upward to the streetlight that stood on the corner---a gaslight? "What the bloody hell?" William swallowed hard as his vision cleared a bit more and he began to make out faint forms moving through the misty streets. "Where the bloody hell am I?" His voice caught in his throat as he watched a man in the company of two ladies walking down the sidewalk. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in the finest of wool suits. His hair was long---just past his shoulders---and swept back from a broad brow. Dark eyes like molten ebony glittered as he threw back his head laughing. "Angelus, my dear boy..." there was the soft amused chuckling of the woman at his side, "...why must you tease Drusilla so? She's not one of us in all ways. You mustn't promise her things that are impossible." William's eyes focused on the woman walking next to the man and he found himself drawn into the sea-blue eyes surrounded by soft loose golden curls. The gown she wore was a deeper shade of blue than her eyes and its low cut neckline just emphasized the pale creamy mounds of her breasts. "And why can she not be siring a childe of her own me love? 'Tis old enough now she is and I grow weary of her childish need for me presence. I canna deal with her when she gets this way, Darla." Darla glanced over her shoulder with a tight smile. Her eyes narrowed as they settled on the younger woman behind them---dressed in deep burgundy velvet and cream silk. From beneath a feathered bonnet thick dark sausage curls peaked and wide dark eyes flickered from left to right from the milky pale face hidden in the shadow of the bonnet. Slender pale hands clutched a china doll to her chest like a frightened child. "Mist whispers...telling me secrets..." she whispered softly in a childish tone. "Do be quiet Drusilla." Darla snorted with a shiver. William watched with wide eyes mesmerized by the three companions as he followed them through the streets. He must have passed out and this was an alcohol-induced dream. "They are whispering grand-mum." Her dark eyes narrowed as she moved around Darla and smiled up at Angelus. "Daddy...can you hear them?" "No, love. Now don't be forgetting that you're the special one sweet dolly." Angelus leaned down brushing his lips against her pale cheek. "Tell da' what they're saying childe. What are the mists whispering me baby girl?" Drusilla cocked her head and smiled shyly. "They say a golden boy is coming, daddy." She swirled around her wide velvet skirt flaring out as she laughed. "A boy who sings to the heart, but is silenced by the winter. He looks at the world through jewels of the prettiest blue. Like the sea during a storm..." she began humming softly. "He rides the frozen wave of a broken heart into the arms of a dark lover." Raising a brow Angelus chuckled at Darla's annoyed expression. "Aye my darling dolly. I've promised ye a childe of your own---now haven't I?" Drusilla smiled her eyes flickering with a darkness that William couldn't describe. The only word that came to mind was 'evil'. "Daddy...grand-mum..." she shushed them with a slender finger pressed to her curled lips, "...the mists can hear him crying...poor shattered boy of gold and jewels. He's coming...he's coming..." she sang out as she danced. *** William woke in the emergency room of a London hospital in a cold sweat. His friends all now stone cold sober as well surrounding him with terrified expressions. Later after much poking and prodding William was allowed to leave with the insistence that he check in with his own personal physician in two days. The drive back to Oxford was a silent one. Once back in the dormitory William had finally spoke to Wesley. "What happened, mate?" Wes shook his head in confusion. "Honestly I don't know. You just suddenly collapsed to the ground and your eyes rolled back in your head." "Did I say anything?" He picked at the blanket on his bed. "As a matter of fact you kept mumbling about angels." *** William swung his legs over the edge of the bed swiping the dampness off his face with the back of his hand. Taking a deep breath he wandered into the bathroom flicking on the overhead and moved to the mirror. All the color had drained from his face and his eyes were haunted by the return of the nightmares. The nightmares were so vivid he could almost feel the pain where the crazed woman had thrust the stake into his back. Turning on the faucet he leaned forward splashing icy water over his face, then turned off the water standing straight and staring in the mirror. "Why now?" He mused out loud. "Why would these sodding dreams be back?" Staring at his reflection he swallowed hard and made the decision. "Call her tomorrow." Turning away he flicked the switch letting the darkness close in on him again. *** Standing in front of the easel he let out a faint pain-filled sigh. Thirty years. He'd started this one nearly thirty years ago in that tiny bohemian loft that he'd shared with his lover. Drifting on his memories he remembered the day he'd began this one---remembered as if it were just minutes ago. "Will..." he whispered, "...my sweet boy." Tears welled through his thick, dark lashes and down his face. Sometimes he cursed his memory and other times he was thankful for it. Opening his eyes he focused on the yellowed canvas and the faded charcoal. "Loved ye more than ye'll ever know, me beautiful boy." His voice cracked and deepened with the edge of a brogue he hadn't spoken in a century. *** New York, Greenwich Village, 1976 "Lazy thing..." Spike rolled over with a put upon sigh, then burrowed deeper into the thick comforter. When he finally spoke his voice was muffled by layers of material and goose down. "And who bloody well kept me up half of the day, peaches?" Sliding beneath the covers Angel smiled at Spike as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. "Well who found the need to stroll around naked as the day he was born?" Lifting his face from the waded pillow Spike grinned wide his eyes twinkling. "Liked what you bloody well saw didn't you, pet?" Suddenly Angel was on him with preternatural speed, flailing arms and legs followed that pounce tangling in the bedding. Laughter and deep roars filled the muffled cavern beneath the comforter as the two men fought for dominance playfully. "Bastard!" Spike barked. "Whore!" Came Angel's muffled reply as Spike pushed his face into the mattress. "Slut!" "Pansy!" The sound of flesh against flesh echoed through the room as they slapped at one another. "Bloody ponce!" "Yep! And damn proud of it!" Another flurry of laughter and both men tumbled off the bed in a tangled heap with the torn comforter twisted around them. As Angel's head appeared Spike sneezed loudly. "Sodding feathers..." he mumbled. Laughter exploded from Angel as he reared up eyes locked on the cloud of drifting goose down. "Well there goes another comforter." His gaze lowered to where Spike lay sprawled beneath him, his platinum hair dusted with feathery white down. He smiled wider. Another loud sneeze exploded from Spike and he scrubbed at his face. His sapphire eyes narrowed at the smile on Angel's face. "What you staring at, mate?" Leaning in Angel's mouth claimed his in a deep, soft kiss, then he drew back. "You..." he whispered, "...always you...no one else my beautiful boy." He leaned back in kissing him harder and deeper. Spike's arms slid up his fingers tangling in Angel's long dark hair. "Ponce..." he whimpered against Angel's demanding mouth, "...need to get rid of that hair. You'd look better with spiky hair." Chuckling Angel pulled back. "Next thing you know you'll have me wearing eyeliner and have blue tips in my hair." "Live a little, luv." Spike snorted. "Don't see you complaining about my eyeliner." Pushing himself to his feet Angel reached down grabbing Spike's hand and yanking him to his feet. "Complaining now, boy. You look like a damned raccoon." He broke out laughing at the hurt pout Spike directed at him. "Well you do, Will." "Then I guess I'll need to wash my face." Spike raised one slim dark brow. "Care to join me pansy boy?" He turned with a sway of his hips and headed for the bathroom. "Take it or leave it, peaches." With a roar of laughter Spike ran for the bathroom Angel close on his heels. *** "Good morning Mr. Danridge." Glancing up from his cell William nodded at Darla as she waved at him. "Good morning ma'am. May I ask if there is somewhere I could perhaps relax at---a garden perhaps?" "Why of course. We have a lovely garden out behind the house with a number of walking paths." She frowned and cleared her throat. "Are you okay Mr. Dan-ridge?" "Yes...I didn't sleep very bloody well last night." He turned to go only to feel a gentle hand caress his shoulder. Looking up he smiled at Darla. "Don't worry it was just the jet lag catching up with me." Nodding she smiled back. "Breakfast buffet is open in ten minutes." "I'm not very hungry." Heading out to the lobby, mind distracted, he didn't notice how Darla lingered in the doorway. *** "Hey, Tara..." William slowly walked down the rock path that wove between the swaying grasses, "...it's Will." He pressed the cell to his ear tightly. "Will what's wrong?" Her usually soft voice tightened with worry. He shook his head taking a deep shallow breath. "I just need to talk that's all." "Don't lie to me William. I've know you long enough to smell a lie at twenty paces." Looking up his gaze focused on the vibrant blue splashes of sky that seeped between the tangled limbs of the sugar maples overhead. He hated this so sodding much he'd thought it was over. "Tara I'm sorry...perhaps this wasn't a good idea." "Oh, no you don't mister!" A soft chuckle escaped William as he settled down on a rock by the path. "It's the dreams, luv. Thought it was done, but last night I had another one. Almost seven years..." he choked up, "...seven years Tara." "Hush now, Will. Everything will be fine." Biting his lower lip he sighed softly. "Tara...how's Red doing?" "She's fine, Will---why?" "I need her to find some information." He ran his hand over his face. He'd been to New York and he recognized the skyline from his dream. "What kind of information?" Inhaling deeply William ran his fingers through his tousled hair. "I need to know where I was born." "William you know you were born in London." "Do I Tara? I honestly don't know any bloody more whether I'm coming or going. I think maybe these dreams..." he swallowed hard and closed his eyes behind his aviators, "...that these dreams are connected to my parents somehow." "But, William you never knew your parents. Your mother and father were in a car accident. You know that your adoptive parents told you that much. Your birth father died in the accident and your birth mother died from her injuries after giving birth to you." "I know what Rupert and Jenny told me, Tara. I don't know why, but for some reason I just feel these dreams are linked to my parents. Just please ask Red to do her magic, pet." "Of course William I'll ask her to do this, but promise me if anything happens you'll call us." "Of course Tara...I promise, luv." "Good. And I'll have Red call as soon as she has anything---okay?" "Okay. I'll talk to you later, pet. Oh and could you tell your little sis I said hi." He smiled as he rubbed at his damp eyes. "I'll do that William. Dawn will be tickled to know your thinking of her. Take care and may the Goddess protect you." "Take care Tara." He flipped his cell shut and sat there quietly staring out at the distant ocean. "It's because of you isn't it?" He whispered softly. "Some how you and I are connected." *** Fingers flying he dipped the broad brush into the paint blending and smoothing it until it was the perfect shade of pale cream. Slowly he began to brush the paint over the canvas filling in the charcoal sketch. In the background Tchaikovsky's 'Sleeping Beauty' played as it had been for most of the day. This particular section was the Pas de quatre, the wedding. He hummed softly as the image slowly began to form on the age yellowed canvas. The music softened and faded then rose again; Variation III: La Fee-Saphir. As the music danced around him he smiled. Lifting his hand he swiped the back of it across his forehead leaving a smudge of cobalt blue across his pale skin. "I don't know how or why, but you've come back to me." He sighed softly his other hand lifting the silver chain at his throat rubbing it gently. "But I have to make sure it's you---don't I?" *** Driving up the winding road William began to hum softly to himself. A sparkle of amusement danced in his eyes when he realized what he was humming. His adoptive parents were quite wealthy and his mother Jenny had been a patron of the arts until her death when he was sixteen. He remembered her favorite composer was Tchaikovsky and she had taken him to his first ballet at the tender age of five. Tchaikovsky's 'Sleeping Beauty'. He clearly remembered watching in silent awe as the prince wed his beauty. The most vivid image he had was of his adoptive mother's bright smile as he asked about the winged women who danced across the stage on feather light feet. One had been dressed in gold, one in silver, one in shimmering sapphire blue, and the final one in white covered with sparkling diamonds. His thoughts drifted back to the present and he realized that he was on Widow's Walk heading to the top. He pushed back his aviators and blinked against the fading light. He had lost hours, he thought, hours that had melted away in a swirl of colors. Head swimming with the knowledge that he was being drawn back to the cottage he had visited last night. He knew that the man he had spoke with was his only link to Angel. A link that screamed at him with an alien voice and yet that voice was familiar. As if he had known it from the moment of his birth. The sharp ring of his cell caused him to jerk losing control of the car for a moment. By the time the second ring came he was pulled over on the side of the road. "Danridge." "William it's me." His brows rose in surprise. "Father to what do I owe this call?" "No need to stand on formality, William. I received a disturbing call today from your friend Tara." Gritting his teeth William slumped back against the headrest. "Look I don't know what she told you, but I'm fine and..." "I need you to return home, William. I need you to tell Ms. Alexander that you've changed your mind about this project." Rupert's voice was firm and even. With a growl William slammed his fist against the steering wheel. "No." "Excuse me?" "I said no father. This project is important to me and you've always been supportive. I don't understand why this would be any bloody different." "William please...trust me on this." "No, trust me father." He flipped his phone shut and turned off the ringer. "Damn you, Tara..." he tossed the phone in the back seat and shifted gears roaring out onto the road in a cloud of dust. *** New York, Greenwich Village, 1976 Spike stretched out on the bed with a soft purr and rolled on to his back looking up with wide sapphire eyes. One brow rose in amusement at Angel's expression. "What's wrong, peaches?" Spike blew Angel a kiss. Rolling his eyes Angel picked up one of the charcoal sticks on his art supply table. "How am I suppose to sketch you if you don't stay still?" A soft chuckle escaped Spike as he rolled back on his stomach his chin resting on his palms. "Fine ponce... won't move then---how's that, pet?" "Better." Angel grinned wiggling his brows in a suggestive way. "And you act like I'm the sodding perv!" Laughing he moved the charcoal across the brilliant white canvas in long smooth strokes. A soft sway of a smooth spine, the long line of a pale throat, and long slender legs. Looking up from the canvas Angel's eyes narrowed as he sucked on his lower lip. "Like what you see, pet?" Spike purred softly. "Too much..." Angel whispered as the charcoal slipped from his fingers. Moving to the bed he stripped off his jeans and stepped from them, then kicked them to the side. By the time he was on the bed his cock was rock hard and all he could think of was fucking Spike through the mattress. "Hey, pet." Spike reared up on his knees giving Angel a perfect view of his own erection straining against his belly. "What happened to posing and painting?" Angel dived forward pinning Spike to the silk sheets with his aching body. "There's always tomorrow you pain in the ass..." he leaned in kissing Spike hard and fast with a growl. Tomorrow never came. Not for Spike. TBC ===== Once I had the rarest rose That ever deigned to bloom. Cruel winter chilled the bud And stole my flower too soon. Annie Lennox Love Song For A Vampire (from "Bram Stoker's Dracula" Soundtrack) http://www.geocities.com/rose_liz2001/Dark_Fantasies.html http://www.livejournal.com/~angelstart/ http://groups.yahoo.com/group/FAN-FICTION-UTOPIA/join