Recs in Alphabetical Order

Blood and Water (Rheanna)
Epiphany series (The Brat Queen)
Losing My Religion (Kita) New
Miles to Go (Rachel Anton)
The Other Half Lives (Yahtzee)
Putting Down (Sheila)
Restaurant Dogs series (Jane St Clair)
Shattered Image (Wolfling)
We Came, We Sang (Shrift)
Wishing to Be Snow (Jennifer-Oksana)
Year of Grace (Ellen)

Blood and Water by Rheanna

Why you should read this: Solid characterization, snappy dialogue, and an interesting plot. The relationships between the main characters are right on target. The author has a good grasp of all of the character's voices, and of Cordelia's in particular.

Angel took a left and turned off the boulevard, on to one of the quieter side streets. "I'll leave you home. Then I thought I might drop by Wesley's and see if he's turned up anything useful."

"Do you want help?"

"No, it's okay. It is your night off."

"Good," said Cordelia firmly, "because I wasn't offering. Angel, let me sum up my understanding of the situation. Number one, a lot of nasty, blood-sucking vampires are sick. Well, so what? Since when do we run the Undead Red Cross? Number two, and this is the really crucial point, no one is going to pay us for doing this. Jeez, anyone would think you're not in business to make money."

"I'm not."

Cordelia settled back in the convertible's front passenger seat and gave the long, resigned sigh of imminent martyrdom. "You might as well get Wesley and let him bring his books back to mine. Most of your library is there anyhow."

Angel looked at her. "You don't have to - "

"I know. But it's either that or watch late night movies and feel even more depressed than I already do about how my date ditched me. Did I mention my date ditched me?"

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"You said that already."

"You told me Todd ditched you already," Angel pointed out.

Cordelia frowned in mock petulance. "I need consoling, and you're not even trying."

"I am trying," he protested. "It's just that I don't have a lot experience with this kind of thing. 'I'm sorry to hear that' pretty much exhausts my repertoire."

If you like this story, you might also like: DreamWalk by HonorH.

Epiphany series by The Brat Queen

Wesley/Angel. Diverges from canon after the end of the episode "Epiphany" in season 2. This series contains several story arcs.

Why you should read this: The Brat Queen is one of the best Angel writers out there - her Angel and Wesley voices are *so* good that you'll swear you're reading scripts from the show. (Granted, they would be NC-17 rated, slashy scripts, but still...) Her plots are intriguing - the second story arc blew me away - and her sense of humor is well-developed. Now, obviously, you should go and read the entire series, especially since you won't consider it time wasted. But if you have limited time and want to read just a few of the most valuable gems, I'd recommend Everybody Fell (the story that started the series) for its sheer brilliance, Easter Interlude for its humor and marshmallow peeps and hot sex, and (I know, if you have limited time this doesn't help you) the entirety of Arc Two: Moving In, which starts with The Next Step and continues in Transition, Overlooked, Changes, Starting Over, The Smallest Detail, Just Friends, Alienation, At A Loss, Unknown, Present, Imperfect, Recovery, and finally concludes with Anniversary. And I really am terribly sorry to have to rec the whole arc like this, but I can't in good conscience rec any single story from Arc Two by itself. You need to read the whole arc. Just trust me. I think you'll be glad you did.

From Easter Interlude -

"Angel's gotten it into his fool head to try fixing the electricity," Wesley explained. Finding nothing that he liked in the first bag, he proceeded to search through the second.

Cordy shot Wesley a questioning look. "Why is Angel fixing the electricity?"

"Because you can't afford a repairman," Angel said. He pulled himself out from under the desk and propped himself up on his elbows. "And someone thinks it's a good idea for a mortal to be doing this."

Wesley pointedly refused to look at him. "Someone knows more about electricity than certain vampires do."

"What's so hard?" Angel asked. He turned, appealing to Cordy. "I know how to cut power off. Isn't fixing it just doing that in reverse?"

"Don't ask me," Cordy said. She sat down on Wesley's desk and began emptying the other bags. "I didn't take shop back in high school.

" "Yes, and neither did Angel," Wesley said. He began to help Cordy sort through her purchases. "Which is too bad, because then he might remember that electricity really isn't that much different from fire."

"Is it?" Cordy asked.

"If anybody is going to get shocked," Angel said, "it's going to be me."

"Thus proving," Wesley said, "that on the list of non-functioning vampire organs we can now add Angel's brain."

If you like this series, you might also like: Talk With Your Hands by James Walkswithwind or DIY by Hth.

Losing My Religion by Kita

Angel. Wesley. Spoilers through the end of Ats S3. What happens to Wesley - and Angel - over the summer.

Why you should read this: Because it's gorgeous and full of despair. Kita knows how to write, and more importantly, she knows how to write Wesley and Angel. This story is like poetry, an exercise in the beauty of pain and solitude. It's powerful and unique and utterly spellbinding.

Two hours later he will walk past the bedroom, and see the three of them together. The vampire on one side of the mattress, Cordelia on the other. Connor tucked between them, the only one still awake. His arms wriggle in the air like little hungry fish.

Angel is barefoot.

And it will occur to Wesley that should this - any of this- go horribly wrong, he will have to be the one to fix it, because there is no one else. Certainly not Cordelia, with her pink lipstick smeared in pale kiss marks across the cotton pillows. Not Fred, yet much too fragile to be considered for such a task. And not even Gunn, who can match Angel blow for blow in carefully staged fights in the hotel's halls, but has never once laid eyes on the real Angelus. It will be up to Wesley, and the simple prayer that luck and years of study will pay off in one vicious thrust. It will be up to Wesley because Angel trusts him. And, more importantly, Angel trusts him not to return that favor.

He shuts the hall light off, and turns to go. Hears a gruff whisper- "Wes-"

Does not turn around.

Wesley believes in the mercy of silence. 

If you like this story, you might also like: Other stories at Kita's site, Slashing the Angel.

Miles to Go by Rachel Anton

Angel/Spike. Spoilers through "Tomorrow" and "Grave." Freshly-souled Spike goes to L.A. to see Angel when he realizes he's not ready to return to Sunnydale. Or, in Rachel's words, "Two souled vampires with a long way to go."

Why you should read this: Because by all that's holy, Rachel knows how to write Spike and Angel. Her understanding of the relationship between the two characters is flawless - she never puts a word wrong. The character's voices are just wonderful, especially Spike's. Gah. And the smut is scorching.
I don't think I'm even capable of explaining how much I like this fic. It's so close to perfect that it hurts - stark and painfully honest.

"You were Dru's boy," he says. "I didn't make you."

"Oh no, you're wrong about that, mate. Dru might've bit me, but you're the one what made me." Made through a decade that lasted a century, through blood and fire and fist and cock and cold, steel shackles, through every woman he's ever loved that Angel got to first. He was forged in the depths of hell, made full and real by a monster, and everything he is, everything he was, everything he's becoming can be traced back to this brutish, ignorant lout. And somebody's gotta pay for that. Somebody owes somebody some-bloody-thing.

"I can't help you, Spike."

"Who says I want your help?" Help is, in fact, the last thing he wants. He doesn't want to be saved, doesn't want to be some half-assed notch on Angel's redemption bedpost. "I'm giving you a golden opportunity here. Take out your aggressions, get all puffed up and manly, free of charge, no waiting. I know you want to. Everybody wants to."

He's actually surprised there isn't a line around the block of people wanting to kick his sorry, scrawny little hide. Maybe he should advertise.

Angel turns around finally, and gives him a long, strange look that Spike can't decipher. It isn't anger, and it isn't desire, and it isn't disgust, and those are really the only sorts of looks he's gotten for as long as he can remember. He thinks it might be pity, and that's enough to turn his stomach.

If you like this story, you might also like: Boy by Kirsty.

The Other Half Lives by Yahtzee

Wesley/Cordelia. Well, sort of. Takes place during the first season of Ats at some point between "Sanctuary" and "To Shanshu in L.A."

Why you should read this: Yahtzee writes a sharp snarky Cordelia and an uptight uncoordinated Wesley, both of which are entirely necessary in a S1 Angel fic. This story very easily could have been an episode - the characterization is solid and the plot fits in nicely with the kinds of things the show was doing in its first season. The writing is so smoothly done that I wasn't even aware that something was going on "behind the scenes" in the story until everything became clear. This is a fun, well-written story with a little bit of mystery and a little bit of romance.

"Helloo? The slayage done?" Cordelia looked up from her magazine and smiled one of her million-megawatt grins as she saw them come in.

"We have a lot of slayage left to do, but we're done for the time being," Angel said. "But Wesley's hurt. Come and take a look at this, will you?"

Cordelia hurried forward to see to the wound; Angel took the excuse to step away from the sight or smell of the blood. "Eww. What happened?"

"Well, it's all a bit cloudy, but I think it may have had something to do with fighting demons," Wesley said. "Not nearly so crucial as taking the Cosmo quiz."

"Excuse me, but you may recall that I spent the evening shopping for reference books for someone who shall remain nameless but is really bitchy when he gets hurt."

"Are we expected to throw a parade?" Wesley was being a bit cutting, Angel thought; then again, humans were so susceptible to pain. Cordelia, strangely enough for her, seemed to understand.

"Now, hold still, Wesley. Hmm. It's not that bad, really. I don't think you need stitches. The cuts aren't deep; there's just a whole lot of them. What gives?"

"Spines on their palms," Angel said. "Like cactus needles."

"Yowch," Cordelia said. "I'm afraid I've got the first-aid kit at my house."

"Why did you take it home with you?" Angel asked.

"Well, I was trying some do-it-yourself fringing on the drapes, and I needed some little scissors, and I thought, hey, the ones for bandages would be perfect --" Cordelia looked sheepish for a moment. "Not exactly the best-case setup for an emergency."

"Oh, no, it's ideal, so long as we do all our demon-fighting at your house," Wesley said.

"I don't think that would be safe, Wesley. My coffee table could probably take you."

If you like this story, you might also like: Captive of the Soul, also by Yahtzee.

Putting Down by Sheila

Gunn/Wesley. Author's summary: "In which Gunn has a craptastic day."

Why you should read this: Because Gunn and Wesley spend most of the story chained naked to a ceiling. And there's lots of sharp dialogue that makes me want to laugh out loud. I'm trying to think of some clever food comparison for this story, which is short and sweet and funny. Hey, if you think it's so easy to write all of these reviews, *you* try it! All right, I think I'm going to go with pudding cup. Yes. This story is like a pudding cup. Chocolate.

"You realize that when we get out of this, I'm going to have to kick your ass."

"For a bad joke?"

"Ain't no way I'm letting that go unpunished."

Wesley smiled. "You make such lovely promises."

"Pervert." But Gunn was smiling back, and somehow, being naked and chained to a ceiling was back in the land of No Problem. "I don't suppose you got a plan."

"Of course I have a plan."

"C'mon. Gimme."

"Get free. Don't die. Go home."

If you like this story, you might also like: Contrapuntal, also by Sheila.

Restaurant Dogs series by Jane St Clair

Wesley/Gunn and Giles/Ethan. Stories in the series are:

Chaparral
Restaurant Dogs
Wired
Raspberry Swirl
Oceanus
Watchtower
Glass

Why you should read these: These are beautiful stories, slick like a warm summer rain. (Shut up. What, I can't use similes?) They have an astonishingly dream-like quality that draws you in to the stories. Not huge amounts of plot, but that's really not the point - reading these is being inside of Gunn's head. Poetry in motion, baby.

From Wired -

Wesley doesn't look over at him. The hand slung in his lap has china in it, some kind of basic mug that's steaming even in this heat. He keeps looking out the window, every so often brings a hand up to the screen and runs his short nails down it, paying close attention to the tiny wire-scream that it makes. Then drops the hand and drinks with the other one. And doesn't look over at Gunn.

Not even when Gunn gets up and stalks over. He knows what he looks like naked, or at least what kind of thing he looks like. Big, dangerous. Longer legs even than Wesley's, more muscles showing. Slick. If it's an out-butching contest, he wins, but topping Wesley in the butch department is a hollow victory. Like out-sensitiving Cordelia or out-smiling Angel. Or not. Because he isn't even a contender in either of those categories, and radiating sheer masculine threat is what Gunn does naturally.

He has to hook fingers under Wesley's chin to turn the man towards him, and when he does, he can see all the little lines that were smoothed out last night and this morning by whatever Wes was channelling. Wesley, in spite of his almost childish insecurity, isn't young. Not middle-aged yet, but definitely grown up.

Jostles Wesley's arm, and gets to find out that it's tea in the mug and not coffee when it spills and Gunn can really smell it for the first time. Wesley's expression is utterly British, just blank but with a brittle edge underneath. Big hurt blue eyes behind the dark wire rims.

He doesn't quite have words for what's wrong with Wesley right now. He suspects that it has something to do with being English, and a lot to do with being a wizard, but mostly just to do with being Wesley, who's got a lot of raw nerves and always has a few of them screaming. But he steps in for a second and lets Wesley's face fall forward against his belly. White skin against black, and black hair brushing over him.

If you like this series, you might also like: Mountain High by Kath.

Shattered Image by Wolfling

Wes/Gunn. Gunn and Wesley's reconciliation after the events of "The Price."

Why you should read this: Because, like all of Wolfling's stuff, this is unbelievably good. She nails the characters, especially Wesley. I'm particularly fond of reconciliation stories myself, and this is one of the better ones out there.

"Go," Wesley growled, without turning around.

Some instinct was telling Gunn that if he did leave now it would be for good, no getting back even a shadow of their friendship. It was that instinct, that fear, he spoke from.

"No."

Wesley spun back, anger the only emotion Gunn could make out in his expression. "I said-"

"And I said no," he interrupted. "I'm not leaving. You want me out of here, Wesley, you're going to have to throw me out."

"You think I won't?" There was a dangerous glint to Wesley's eyes.

Gunn crossed his arms. "I *know* you're going to have a fight on your hands if you try."

If you like this story, you might also like: Trust, Layer by Layer by JustHuman.

We Came, We Sang by Shrift

He had no intentions of letting Wesley go talk to Angel without leaving his scent all over him. Marking Wesley. Primitive and all, but Gunn didn't care. Just because he liked fighting with Angel didn't mean he liked Angel right about now.

If Angel was giving his friends and employees the boot, Gunn figured the vampire couldn't mind him claiming one for himself.

"Why are we doing this?" Wesley asked, mouth pressed against Gunn's neck. Gunn tried not to shiver and give away how much he liked the hot breath on his skin, Wes still smelling like gin from the bar. Gin and blood and smoke.

If you like this story, you might also like: Just Around Midnight by Kate Bolin.

Wishing to Be Snow by Jennifer-Oksana

Cordelia/Angel/Wesley, in a way that you'll understand once you read the story.

In the beginning, before all this got really complicated, there were always three of us, just the three of us against the world. First, there was Angel, and it's weird how time sort of makes him seem more romantic than he ever was. I mean, that was back when he was all super-dorky. He didn't quite like having me there, either, all loud and brash and unforgettably part of the Sunnydale period. But at the same time, cuz you know how people are, he did. Because without me there, he didn't have any reason to smile at all.

So, yeah, second, there was me. You know me. And I keep thinking back to the way I used to be, the pretty little thing with the long dark hair and not a clue about how things were really like. I mean, kicking ass even like that, but yeah. I probably almost got myself killed a thousand times, but you know, I got to be the heart of the operation, even before the visions that were ever-so-ironically given to me by a good-bye kiss.

Third, there was Doyle, and I don't forget that, because forgetting Doyle is a bad thing, a very bad thing. Because Doyle was my friend, and I love him and I miss him still. But I have to admit, sometimes the kiss he gave me good-bye and the kiss Wesley gave me hello seems to be part of this unbroken continuum of things. Like an arrow pointing to the fact that Doyle was never going to be with us very long, and Wesley was always our third guy. The guy who made the three of us the three of us.

If you like this story, you might also like: Regrets, We All Got 'Em by Kassie.

Year of Grace by Ellen

Doyle/Angel & Doyle/Cordelia. AU - starts immediately following "Parting Gifts." The Oracles agree to restore Doyle to life after his hero's death, but there's a catch: He only has a year to live. Switches POV between Angel, Cordelia, Doyle and Wesley.

Why you should read this: Because you miss Doyle and there's just not enough Doyle-fic out there? That's why I read it in the first place (well, also because someone I respect recommended it - thanks, Katta) and now I go back when I need to have a good cry. This is an emotional story, and the fact that you get to see inside each of the character's heads in turn means that you are treated to all the heart-wrenching details.

"There's somethin' you're not tellin' me."

They both looked up at me then. Angel had guilt written all over his face, not that there's anything unusual in that.

Cordelia looking down, though, not meeting my eyes - that was bad. That was very bad.

She hadn't let go of my hand in an hour, and that was just not Cordelia. Sweet, yeah, but not right. By now she should be yelling at me, or insulting me, or something.

I'd been awake for an hour and she hadn't said anything nasty to me yet.

Warning: You might want a box of tissues close at hand if you're going to read this one.

If you like this story, you might also like: Almost a Very Good Life by Andrea.