#side eye buffy … well i just think she’s neat

[cullen-collective]

do it. write it. do it

Say. Less. 

*

There’s never anyone actually interesting in these chats. 

There’s me, who actually wants to discuss music, the way it feels, the lyrics’ poetic meanings, the way the drums crash like they’re my own heartbeat. And then there’s guys who might want to discuss that, but are probably here for the other occupants of the forum: girls obsessed with band members. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against them, and I fully understand geeking out over Pete Wentz (although I’ve always been more of a Stump girl) or Gerard Way or even Chester Bennington. I just keep having to switch to new forums when it’s clear that no one else wants to talk about the music, but instead have guys who claim to look like Adam Lazarra scam the email addresses and photos off those girls. 

Which brings me here, to another new forum chat, scrolling through older posts about who drums harder: Travis Barker or Mike Kinsella, as the chat scrolls by on the right side of the screen. I was mindlessly scrolling, mentally agreeing or disparaging the opinions of other posters, too scared to comment. This site was pretty neat, and the account I’d had to create to post comments and chat had spaces for a list of my favorites, which I’d happily included. It also had a little bio, which I’d filled in with my name and age, as well as one of my favorite lyrics.

I kept one eye on the chat as it went, keeping up with the current discussion of how best to cut your bangs. I typed up a quick note that the best way to cut your bangs was to see a local hairdresser so you didn’t end up with Buffy season three bangs instead of the side-sweep you wanted. 

Emo-ward: But is it really, truly in the spirit of punk rock if you don’t cut them yourself?

HellsBells: I think to be a real punk, you’d probably need to like different bands. To be alt, you can visit a salon or resign yourself to botched hair. 

Emo-ward: Seems like the majority is going to choose the second option.

HellsBells: Well, sometimes we must suffer for the cause. 

Emo-Ward wants to send you a private message. Accept. Decline. 

I was stunned. No one ever requested me. My cursor hovered over “Accept”, my finger twitching. My mother, as scattered as she was, had always warned me about being too open online. What if this was like, a forty-five year old man who preyed on kids in chat rooms? What if it was a serial killer? What if it was someone from school trying to humiliate me? What if it was a kid from school who wanted to humiliate me and also did a little serial killing on the side? 

Okay, I was being ridiculous. I knew nothing about this person. Hell, I hadn’t even looked at their profile. So I right-clicked the name in the chat and opened another window to his profile. Like mine, the profile had no picture, and instead had a graphic. It was Gerard Way but his hair had been edited to be bright green. I snorted, remembering my own, which was Britney Spears edited with a scene girl haircut that this chick in my Western Civ class had emailed to me as a joke after seeing the Ataris CD in my portable player. The name listed was Edward, the age as 16, and he had a lyric on his profile too. 

“Watching from the floor.”

I recognized it, small as it was. It was from “Dear Maria, Count Me In”. I was a little surprised. Great song choice. 

It seemed he wasn’t too sketchy. 

I went back to the original page, steeled my nerves and hit “Accept.” 

Emo-ward: Do you really have time in your veins? 

My tongue pressed to the inside of my cheek. If this really was a sixteen-year-old boy, I was in trouble. He had just referenced the lyric in my bio, (from “Understanding In A Car Crash”: “It starts and stops and starts and stops again.”) and made it a joke. I had to one-up him. 

HellsBells: Yes. I am also a pen.

Emo-ward: Where are you from, girl with time in her veins who is somehow also a pen?

I smiled at my screen. I couldn’t help it. He was kind of funny. 

HellsBells: Forgive me, sir, if I’m not very specific. I’m from the Southwest. You?

Emo-ward: Well, miss, I will follow suit. I’m from the Northwest. 

There was something about the way he wrote that made me want to trust him. Maybe it was that we had similar chat styles. Although… My mother had always said I talked like I was sixty. What if he was sixty?! Edward is an old man's name. 

HellsBells: You kind of talk like an old guy, you know that, right?

Emo-ward: That’s because I’m 104. 

HellsBells: Wow. You use the internet pretty well for a senior citizen.

Emo-ward: They had us take a class. So, what’s your favorite album right now?

I smiled. Funny, and hopefully not an old guy. 

HellsBells: Will you stop talking to me if I say Take This to Your Grave?

Emo-ward: Only if you stop talking to me for saying mine is Meteora. 

HellsBells: Only if you tell me your favorite song off the album is Numb. That’s where I draw the line. 

Emo-ward: While that song isn’t my favorite, it’s pretty good. Anyway, the actual favorite is Somewhere I Belong. 

I thought about that for a minute. I liked that song, but I hadn’t listened to it a lot. I’d have to give it another go. I had Meteora around here somewhere. I found the album in my bookshelf, put it in my portable player, and put the headphones on. I skipped to the right track, and let it play while I answered. 

HellsBells: Not that you asked, but mine is Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes.

Emo-ward: Aggressive. I like it. 

I burst out laughing. Out loud. In my house. On a school night. At eleven. 

“Bella?” my mom called from across the hall. “Are you on the computer?” 

Shit. “Uh… no?”

I heard Mom start giggling. “Go to bed, kid!” 

“Okay!” I grimaced at the screen. No way I was ever going to hear from this guy again. But… I had to try, right? He was funny, and he had great taste in music. 

HellsBells: Well, grandpa, if you can get the orderlies at the nursing home to let you use the computer on Friday, I’ll be here. Until then, I’m not an adult and have to deal with things like school nights. 

Emo-ward: I’m sorry about that. I never sleep, so my school nights are exactly like regular nights. I’ll be here. 

I shook my head at that, holding in a giant smile. You know what, fuck it, I let the smile loose. It wasn’t like he could see me. And I let “Somewhere I Belong” play on repeat until I fell asleep. 

#twilight #the twilight saga #edward cullen #bella swan #fic #my writing #thanks so much for the permission #like for part two

[10moonymhrivertam]

Buffy/Witcher fic fragment

“Julian, duck!” The voice is a little shrill and definitely frantic. Jaskier’s still reeling from the portal, but something about the words has his hand shooting out to drag Geralt down with him. Something flies over their heads, and he looks up to see a headless body crumbling into dust. Which he hasn’t seen anything do in a very, very long time. He tenses at running footsteps, and he has a dagger in hand based sheerly on how frayed his nerves are. The girl standing over them is in jeans and a t-shirt, and he hasn’t seen the combination in decades.

“It is you! Everyone’s going to flip. It’s been years, I’m pretty sure they thought you were dead, especially since nobody really did magic yet when you went missing.” The girl has a hand out, and Jaskier stares at it, his brain buffering. Eventually, he realizes why. He’d gotten a spell to help him learn the most common language on the Continent when he’d arrived there, and now his brain is scrambling to parse English for the first time in twenty years.

“Who the hell are you?” He asks, the words wrapping strangely around his tongue. The girl frowns, her face scrunching into an expression that rings a bell deep in his memory. He’d had a friend that made a face like that...

“Right. The spell. You were gone.” Her hand still hangs in the air between them. “I’m Dawn Summers. I can take you to Giles, if you want.”

Jaskier eyes her for another moment before accepting the hand and then turning to help Geralt up. He doesn’t refuse the help, but there’s something tight in his face that says he doesn’t trust conversations he didn’t understand being had over his head.

“She knows someone that might know something,” he says to Geralt. Geralt grunts, his eyes darting from grave to grave. Jaskier suppresses a sigh and turns back to Dawn.

“Lead the way, Miss Summers.” Her face does something strange, but without a word, she turns on her heel and heads for the gate of the cemetery with unerring accuracy. Geralt’s stony silence felt significant, but every time Jaskier thought of something to say, all he could think was how Geralt was going to tear him apart for this pile of shit later when Jaskier wasn’t the only translator around. Another voice speaking English stopped his anxiety from ratcheting higher.

“Dawn, all I want to know is how I didn’t see you go.”

“I literally just waited until you stopped asking me questions while you were reading. But look, I survived!” Her voice is as bright as the sun. “Also, I found something!”

“You found something?” It wouldn’t have been easy to miss the skepticism in his voice even if Jaskier didn’t already know him. Dawn looks back, drawing Giles’s eye. Jaskier waves awkwardly, suddenly aware of just how much distance time has put between them.

“Julian?”

“Giles. It’s been...a while, for me.”

“It hardly looks like it.” Jaskier recognizes the look from seeing one like it on Geralt’s face more than he remembers it on Giles’s.

“I think that first portal did something to the way I age. Do you want to not-invite us back somewhere?” Which clears up a little bit of the look on Giles’s face, at least.

“I suppose there is an anniversary pizza party which can use a few more guests.”

“Oh, yeah!” Dawn grinned. “You haven’t met Tara yet! Oh, and, um - who are you? Sorry.” Jaskier looked back at Geralt - for a split second, he was waiting for Geralt to answer, then remembered.

“Geralt, this is Dawn and Giles. Giles, Dawn; Geralt. Language barrier.” Geralt had figured that much out already, so he didn’t feel the need to repeat himself.

“Sounded Polish.” Giles said a string of something which almost sounded like a greeting, but made Jaskier make a face. The easiest explanation was just that his accent was incomprehensible, but - then he remembered that they’d hopped from the thirteenth century to the twentieth.

“I’ll look into it,” Jaskier said in very firm English. Giles winced, and Jaskier felt bad for a moment. They quickly got on their way, and silence reigned. Jaskier hated the thick tension in the air, so with a mental fuck-it, he started speaking.

“Say something,” he pleaded with Geralt. “Anything. Three words or less?” The prompt usually worked when all else failed, but then - that had been before that awful dragon hunt half a year ago.

“Apologies are difficult.” The words came slowly, and Geralt looked pained. Jaskier didn’t bother hiding his surprise. Geralt eyed him for a moment before dropping his eyes to the sidewalk. “Harder now that I’m confused. And you’re the only one that knows what’s going on.”

Jaskier bit his lip, processing that. Geralt wanted to apologize, before they were portalled into Sunnydale. That was...a lot.

“This is...” Jaskier trailed off. “It’s where I’m from.” He looked away from Geralt. “A few years before we met, a portal took me from here and dropped me on the Continent. There was a mage that was so frustrated with my charades that she just slapped a translation spell on me. I’m just lucky the mechanics of it mean I can be a great bard. I can still tell the languages are separate, they still feel different, but I just - understand them.” He tapped his temple.

“This is where you’re from?” Geralt repeated. Jaskier looked over to see his eyes roaming from the sidewalk to the road to the power lines.

“It’s got monsters, too, but no witchers. Got something else, though. Oh, and it’s the twentieth century. Twenty-first, maybe, depending how long I was gone. It was the 90’s.”

“You know them?”

“The man. The girl said something about a spell, but...I don’t know what she means. Hold on. Miss Summers, what was that you said before about a spell?”

“Oh, yes, you were gone.” Hearing Giles say the same thing was a point in her favor. “It’s...rather complicated. There was memory alteration involved.”

“So I forgot you?” Jaskier couldn’t help but be a little upset by the idea.

“Wrong way around,” Dawn said, looking a bit uncomfortable. “We probably should wait until we get back, and then everyone else can tell you the way they remember things. It might be kind of neat to see how you tell things.”

“Alright, then.” Jaskier flashed them a disarming smile before turning his attention back to Geralt and shrugging. Geralt hummed and fell quiet again. Jaskier did the same despite himself, at least until the girl drifted back towards them.

[disappearance somewhere mid-s3; this is set in an ambiguous post-s5 everyone-is-happy-fuck-you]

“Is that a guitar?”

“A lute. Learning it was a little different. The tuning’s a bitch.” Giles shot him a look over his shoulder, and Jaskier rolled his eyes. “This is a special one. I got it from the king of the elves.”

Dawn’s eyebrows rose. “Okay, Bilbo.”

“Hey, no, they’re real on the Continent!” Jasker protested. He outlined what history he’d learned at Oxenfurt for her, and by the time he was coming to the end of his impromptu lecture, they were outside a house he recognized, just barely. Giles was first through the door, tossing out a greeting to get a chorus of voices in return. Dawn followed. Jaskier hesitated just one moment. His high school friends seemed to be in there. He hadn’t seen them in going on thirty years. Nonetheless, if he didn’t go, Giles wouldn’t trust him, and he didn’t have any chance of either settling in here or finding his way home. So he forged ahead, hanging onto Geralt’s sleeve. He crossed the threshold without a lick of trouble, and Geralt shadowed him silently.

“Who’s that?” That was Joyce’s voice, he thought.

“We found them in the cemetery!” Dawn said, far too cheerfully. “But we didn’t invite them in,” she added quickly. “You heard!”

“We heard.” That was another familiar one. A few moments later, one of his old friends was in the doorway. “...Julian?”

There was a chorus of ‘what’s, and suddenly it seemed like the entirety of whatever party they were having was in the doorway. Before he’d quite processed it all, Xander had drawn him into a hell of a hug.

“Lute!” He protested, squirming out of the hug. He took off his case and floundered for a place to set it. Geralt gently removed it from his hands and nodded back to the others. Jaskier flashed him a quick, warm smile, then turned his attention back to distributing hugs.

“It’s been a while,” he offered when they’d had their fill.

“How are you not dead?” Xander asked, earning an elbow in the side from Willow. He winced and pouted at her. 

“There was a portal. Which did do something strange to my aging, I’ll admit.”

“You barely look older than me,” Dawn observed, which didn’t help Jaskier as much as it ought to.

“Well, that’s flattering.”

“Why, how old are you?” Buffy asked.

“Coming up on forty-three.” Geralt tensed at the various ‘bullshit’s that rose up. Jaskier flashed him a smile to reassure him. “I’d offer to prove it, but all I have is Geralt’s word, and he never even argued with Yennefer about those crow’s feet jokes, so I don’t know if he noticed.”

“Oh, what are we all standing around the hall for?” Joyce tittered. “Come on, come sit. There’s pizza; soda; some wine.”

“Ooh, they’ve got wine, Geralt!” Geralt hummed. Still holding Jaskier’s lute with something like reverence, he followed Jaskier. At least until Jaskier stopped dead in the door, his eyes narrowing at the man with bleach-blond hair in the middle of what sounded like a pop culture argument with a woman who hadn’t come to greet him. 

“You have more to catch me up on, right now,” he said lowly. Spike looked over and his eyebrows shot up. 

“Pretty boy. Thought you were dead. Nice going on the still being here.” Spike made a vague gesture of congratulations and then turned back to his partner, but she was squinting at Jaskier like she knew him.

“There was a thing,” Dawn answered, dropping onto the couch. “An organizationy thing. Now he basically has a taser in his brain so he can’t eat people. He doesn’t have a soul but he’s still okay.”

“Watch yourself, little bit.” Spike waved a threatening finger at her, and Jaskier nearly leapt forward with his dagger, clear invitation be damned. A hand landed on his shoulder. He tensed and nearly whipped around. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled in his ear. “What’s going on?”

“When I left, that bastard was out to kill us.”

“And now?”

Jaskier huffed angrily through his nose. “He’s been invited to the party.”

“Treat him like he’s Valdo Marx, then.”

“Not fucking well helpful, Geralt, someday I’ll murder that little shit, I really will.”

“You’re Jaskier and Geralt of Rivia!” The accusation was sudden, giddy, and in the language Jaskier was used to hearing. He and Geralt turned as one to look at Spike’s conversation partner. Jaskier distantly noticed he was staring at her, too, though in a more ‘what the fuck’ way.

“And who would you be, madam?” The flirty, pleased smile touched easily on Jaskier’s face. Xander’s eyes narrowed. 

“Oh, when I went there, I usually went as Anyanka.”

“Anyanka...that’s familiar.”

“It had better be. I had at least three separate summons that stopped me and Hallie having days out because of you.”

“Summons?” Most of Jaskier’s excitement had dropped away.

“I was a demon zemsty.”

“Shit.” Jaskier could feel himself go pale. He could feel Geralt at his back, but couldn’t tell if he was angry or smug or indifferent. 

“But I’m not stupid. Witchers are almost as infamous as Slayers, and you’re the White Wolf’s bard.”

“Slayers?” Geralt asked. 

“It’s what I told you we have instead of Witchers. Except there’s only one, and she’s always a girl.”

“Seems like a lot of responsibility for one person,” he remarked. 

“Which is why Buffy has everyone.” Jaskier made a gesture encompassing the room. “And hasn’t died yet. No, wait, Kendra was Called. Well, she’s never died properly.”

#i'm sorry it ends so abruptly i tried to add to it just now but nothing was working out T_T #i just had a lot of fun reading this when i found it again in my google docs so i wanted to share #writing #fic #the witcher fanfic #ambiguous timeline #canon divergence #there was a struck through scene explaining that Anya just has the ability to hop Spheres as a vengaence demon #but the timing was kind of a gamble #except that Hallie had a knack for finding concerts where Her Sweet Kiss was played XD #Anya and Jaskier only barely missed going to high school together i think #and i feel like it's weird that he doesn't ask after oz but i remember looking at episode guides to decide on the timeline #so oz must've already been gone #buffy fanfic #anyway yeah i wrote this mostly for me but i hope you find it fun #i kinda want to continue it but not enough to figure out where i wrote myself into a corner #altho i do wanna do the comparison of jaskier having memories of canon 1-3 against everyone's dawn-edited 1-3 #also anya like. you must have a translation spell either you or tara can do just. do it so geralt doesn't have to keep suffering #;kljfakldjflka just realized there is a distinct possibility in this verse that Yenn could've summoned her after finding out about the wish #then again yenn probably wants to be self-suficient and claling a vengaence demon wouldnt' count

[prose-for-hire]

Love, and dust, is in the air

Pairing: Spike x reader

Request: Do you think you could maybe do something where Spike always goes soft around the reader because he loves her? No matter what, even if he's yelling at the Scoobies and she walks in late he just instantly deflates and gets a dopey smile because he thinks she's so cute and innocent. Oo maybe he gets angry and protective cuz someone tries to attack her but she steaks them like a badass and then dotes on Spike cuz he got injured? And he's embarrassed cuz he wasn't scary but she finds him cute too?

Requested by: Anonymous

Part Two

Warning: Swearing. Fighting. Spike gets hurt.

A/N: Again, I got overexcited with writing the demon/backstory involved. No vampires today, but protective Spike and a reader who can handle themselves and be soft with him at the same time.

There was a demon out causing chaos in Sunnydale, which was not enough to haul you out of bed apparently. It was something that happened a lot, so you had to have a little pass for not hurrying just to have to sit in a long meeting that would probably involve a lot of reading and arguing about how best to get rid of whatever gross demon was trying to play havoc with the town you lived in.

At the Magic Box, everyone sans yourself, were discussing at great length the best way to remove the cursed Egyptian mummy that had started to suck people’s brains out through their noses. The mummy was flanked by two feral jackals that mauled anyone that interrupted the process. There was some debate around the ritual to return the mummy back into its resting place as it appeared that the jackals would not easily allow for the process to happen. They appeared to be the ones in control, not the mummy. This meant there would need to be some way of slaying the jackals so they could perform the ritual, but Giles and Willow were heatedly discussing the merits of humanely removing the jackals or just giving them a good stab from a big, pointy object. No guesses for who was arguing what.

This meant that Spike was getting irritated. It was annoying that the little group had to run the morality triathlon before it came back to what it always did. A good old fashioned fight. He was itching for it, ready to take them all on himself if none of them were willing to give over on the fight.

“But they’re sentient beings, Giles! You can’t just kill animals because they aren’t behaving how you like”

“They are bloody tearing half of the town limb from limb, Willow! To think that there is any other way is-”

“Bloody idiotic! The lot of you! You for entertaining the big song and dance about it and you for being, well, the bleeding bloody heart of the operation! They’re evil, they’re trying to kill you – it’s kill or bloody be killed so you can all have a big scholarly debate on the matter but I’m going out there and getting it done”

“Spike! You don’t make the decisions, we need to tread carefully or-” Buffy warned.

“Or what your head might bloody explode at the idea of actually slaying a demon and not shagging it to kingdom come? You wanna send it to hell in a nice neat little bow? Well let’s bloody go!”

“The jackals are just protecting the Mummy, something they’ve been bound to for centuries – we can’t just kill them for their loyalty!” Willow insisted, perhaps a little close to home for her. She had been with Oz for a long time and she knew that although the jackals were double the size they should be and highly aggressive, they could still feel.

“You’re fucking ridiculous – the lot of you! I’ve never seen so many self-congratulating, fake moral prats in one-” but Spike didn’t finish his sentence. You had walked in. His hand was still in mid-air from where he had been pointing around the room, but his face softened when he saw it was you. He didn’t want to shout in front of you, to hurt you, and he definitely didn’t want you to think that he was including you when he insulted the rest of the group.

He loved you, unconditionally. He was all-in, he just struggled to get close to you because the others were always getting in his way. You were sort of quiet, something he assumed meant you were somewhat innocent, but you weren’t necessarily shy around him. He liked the way your eyes lit up when he said something you found humorous and he liked that when you did manage to get a chance to speak to him, you were always kind to him. You even hugged him once after a fight and he thought he might pass out at how euphoric your affection made him feel. He had surprised you and wrapped his arms around you tight, making you smile so wide.

All of the fight that was in him had deflated when you walked in, all of the harsh words gone. His eyes were on you as you sneaked in and sat down without a word trying to hide the fact that you were late.

He appeared to have melted, smiling at you slightly, lowering himself into the seat beside you as you smiled back, despite Giles berating you for being late and the argument about how best to remove the mummy and it’s pets from the hellmouth started up around you again. But Spike no longer cared. You were here, they could talk in circles all night for all he cared, at least he’d be able to watch over you while they spoke.

Willow, Tara, Anya and Giles were staying behind to conduct the ritual so that when the jackals were either distracted or taken out (there still wasn’t a consensus) the mummy could be restored back to its sarcophagus in the Sunnydale museum with someone needing to attack when the Mummy was weakened. You had been paired with Spike to one part of Sunnydale with Xander and Buffy in the opposite direction. Spike had tried to insist you stayed behind but you told him you would be okay.

“You don’t need to be here, love, I can take care of this. Get yourself safely in bed, you look like you could use a nap”

“You think I look tired?” Your brow furrowed a little in that way he found cute. He spluttered, trying to assure you he definitely didn’t mean it that way. He had just wanted to protect you, it was more likely that Xander and Buffy came across the threat anyway, the demons had a tendency to go gunning for the slayer for some reason.

A figure started to stagger towards you both, interrupting the look Spike was giving you that was starting to make a heat rise in your cheeks. A figure started to walk slowly towards you, as if it could feel your presence. 

 “It’s the mummy!” You shouted, your eyes wide as Spike stepped in front of you, making sure he would be the target. Apparently, the threat was yours for today. It rounded on you, but Spike wasn’t having any of it.

“No you bloody don’t” Spike warned, spinning the mummy away with a hard kick to the chest after it lunged at you, knocking you to the floor. He helped you up, his touch in complete contrast to a second ago, he was gentle as he pulled you to your feet. As if he were scared to break you. The anger behind is eyes was evident, his jaw tensed when he saw the graze on your elbow. It was small and you were fine, but to him this was as if it had torn both of your arms off. He started to get brutal, as the jackals rounded the corner, prowling towards you both. Spike moved you behind him, a hand resting on you protectively, his touch always soft with you. The jackals circled you both, as the mummy walked towards you again, making Spike even more angry.

“You don’t come near them” He snarled, taking all of the attention from you. Spike, although he did have a brain that could be taken, wouldn’t be a target. They wanted human brains. Your brains.

The jackals leaped, both at Spike leaving the mummy staggering towards you, hands out as if ready to hold you down so it could extract what it wanted from you. Spike was violently kicking at the beasts, one had bitten into his side and the other was latched onto his leg. He had managed to fight one off but he was still struggling with the other. He looked over, the reason he was attacking them, even more aggressively than usual, was so that he could get to you. He was desperate to protect you. You had a sweet nature, he hadn’t been expecting what had come next. Even the jackal appeared to pause as it watched you punch the mummy before climbing it like a tree, kneeing it so it doubled over, allowing you to climb onto its back and secure it’s neck firmly between your hands, the way it had been threatening you.

Spike stared, his eyes wide at the way you so skilfully went for it. You didn’t even flinch as it thrashed at you. You struggled against it, trying to incapacitate it as Spike desperately tried to get out from the jackals jaw to help you. The ritual was complete, you could tell because strange golden light started to seep from cracks in the mummified flesh. It was now or never. You grabbed it’s head and twisted, it crumbled away in your hands and just as it did that, the jackals disappeared. A lot of dust started to pour from the mummy’s neck, flowing through the air as you ran over to Spike where he sat, clutching his side now the threat was gone. The mummy disintegrated as you both stared into each other’s eyes.

“That was…” He started, seemingly lost for words. He had forgotten his wounds at the sight of how capable you were in a fight. You didn’t usually get the chance to prove yourself like that, it was usually Buffy’s fight. You weren’t a slayer, just someone that had picked up some Sunnydale tricks along the way – you had to be like that on the Hellmouth, or you really wouldn’t last a week.

“You poor thing, it really bit into you” You said softly, kneeling beside him and stroking his side as he winced, “Sorry - come on, let me help” You had a mini first-aid kit you always brought on patrol that you took out and started to look for something to put on the wound. It wasn’t as deep as it could have been which you were grateful for. You didn’t want him hurt. You were really fond of him which is why you went kind of quiet around him sometimes.

“No, don’t – I just lay there like some useless git” He berated himself, his jaw tensing again in anger at himself this time. He had wanted to keep you safe. You shook your head softly, stroking your thumb along his jaw as you spoke.

“You didn’t, you looked out for me! You took on two were-jackals and lived, well – sort of, to tell the tale! That was so brave!” You insisted, giving him a smile that he savoured, your fingers still tracing his jaw. It was so sweet he was surprised when you came back the same sweetheart despite the rage he had seen as you attacked that mummy. He could tell you were being genuine too, you really found him brave. You smiled while he watched you begin to fuss over him, his gaze never leaving that face he loved so much.

As the last particles of dust lay upon the ground as a light scattering of icing sugar would, he made a decision. He was going to do it. He was going to tell you how much he loved you. He just had to figure out how.

#spike x reader #spike x you #spike imagine #spike btvs #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #Rupert Giles #Giles #Buffy Summers #Anya Jenkins #Xander Harris #Willow Rosenberg #Tara Maclay #Evil mummy demon #btvs x reader #btvs imagine #scooby reader #scooby gang x reader #queued

[skullhaver]

It's 2021, and I'm watching Buffy for the first time.

The Virgil on my Buffy journey is my long-distance girlfriend, who has loved the show for years. We just finished season 4, and I wanted to write about my favorite episodes so far. I suspect some of my faves are beloved by most fans, but others are weird, personal picks. Buffy fandom, please don't come for me.

I thought this post would be short but I was wrong.

Hono(u)rable Mentions: "Band Candy" S3E6 and "Halloween" S2E6

Both these episodes have fun premises where the Scoobies run around Sunnydale after it was upended by zany, chaotic dark forces. "Band Candy" is fun for devil-may-care teen Giles. "Halloween" is fun for 18th-century-ditz Buffy. These are both very good, and are the sorts of episode I can imagine happily rewatching in the future. I just have more to pontificate upon for the other episodes on this list.

10. "Ted" S2E11

I can’t say I enjoyed this episode, but it did take me for a wild ride. Probably nobody else has strong feelings about this weird story where Buffy's mom dates a stereotypical cheesy family man, who turns out to be a controlling abuser, who turns out to be a robot. I remember shouting at the screen, "Did Buffy just kill a human man?? Is it okay in the moral logic of this show for Buffy to kill a human if he's a direct physical threat to her??" I knew Buffy would have deeper stories than the monster of the week formula we'd seen so far, but this early in season 2, I had no idea when or how that would happen. This was the episode that finally taught me that Buffy is largely not interested in moral ambiguity, or in exploring what it means to be good or bad. Except for season-defining exceptions like Faith and Angel, evil characters are simplistically, essentially evil. But it was wild to believe for a moment that Buffy murdered her mom's abusive boyfriend and would have to live with the consequences.

9. "Helpless" S3E12

When Buffy tries to be genuinely scary, it succeeds with aplomb. The premise of this episode is dumb and contrived ("Giles has to remove Buffy's powers without her knowledge for a seeeecret test by the Watcher's Council") but the chase and fight in this episode are some of the most tense and spooky scenes of the whole series so far. Buffy's vulnerability makes the stakes feel real in a way few other episodes manage. And Buffy's victory is all the more satisfying because she can't punch her way out of this problem, she has to be smart and creative. The fridge horror, of course, is that Giles would endanger her like this in the first place, but that gets sorted out over the emotional arc of the next few episodes.

8. "I Only Have Eyes For You." S2E19

Another spooky episode, this one a classic ghost story of forbidden love ending in murder - but with the twist that the ghosts possess people's bodies to have them reenact their final moments. I love stories about breaking a doomed-to-repeat cycle. I love weird shit like the snakes manifesting in the cafeteria. And I really loved the choice to have Buffy and Angel come to understand their feelings about their own relationship by embodying these ghosts - especially how they embodied different genders than their own to better fit the "roles" of the haunting story, thus subverting the expected pattern. I found this episode clever, poignant, and effective.

7. "Who Are You?" S4E16

"Faith and Buffy switch bodies" is a wild premise, but the real joy of "Who Are You?" is watching Sarah Michelle Geller being an extremely talented actress for 45 minutes, portraying a totally different character. Watching Faith confronted by kindness and love from Buffy's mom, Riley, and her friends, then getting launched into an existential crisis over it is so great. Also, I just dig a good church fight.

6. "Hush" S4E10

As stated above, love an episode that reminds me that these people are talented actors! Featuring demons that render all of Sunnydale unable to talk, we get to watch great physical comedy right next to tense, silent fight scenes. The visual creepiness of the Gentleman and their straight-jacketed weird little helpers is hard to beat. "Hush" is such a clever episode that it ascends monster of the week status to become almost Twilight Zone-esque. Also, for the first time, Buffy sees Riley doing his Initiative thing, and Riley sees Buffy being the Slayer, but they can't talk about it?? That's good shit.

5. "The Wish" S3E9

Both "Something Blue" and "The Wish" feel like the writers decided to use fanfic premises on their own show... so obviously I like them a lot. But getting to watch a dark timeline AU with interesting world-building and attention to detail, a hilarious and horrifying Cordelia POV, AND a smirking kinky vampire Willow? Hello?? And the fact that the Wishverse comes up again in "Doppelgänger" (another truly fun episode) only improves my opinion. I imagine this is the kind of episode fans simply love coming back to.

4. "Restless" S4E22

This David Lynch-ass dream sequence was a weird choice for a season finale, but an extremely ambitious and cool episode. I should say up front that I love David Lynch-ass dream shit. There were creative and well-executed scene transitions as characters moved seamlessly from one dream room into another. Several memorably neat shots - Willow running between endless curtains as she tries to get onstage, Buffy alone in a vast desert with a weirdly high camera angle. And I got myself all excited thinking that the First Slayer would maybe become a different kind of antagonist - maybe not even fully revealed in this episode, or maybe an Id-like aspect of Buffy herself. But I forgot Whedon gonna Whedon, so the First Slayer had to be someone Buffy could punch in the end. And the First Slayer is sadly yet another primitive-themed, emotionally-stunted character of color for this show. Most of her lines in this episode are literally voiced by a white woman speaking for her, and of all the dumb quips to make, Buffy had a line about her hair being unprofessional? Also, I'm a lesbian, so the fact that the most explicit act of intimacy between Willow and Tara this show has allowed us to see occurs in Xander's horny dream sequence... it’s unforgivable, Joss. This episode was one of my favorites ever, deeply marred by some bad writing choices.

3. "Lovers Walk" S3E8

Spike, perhaps the best non-Willow character in this show, is back in Sunnydale, a hilariously heartbroken mess of a man, hell-bent on getting his former girlfriend Drusilla back. (Drusilla left him for a fungus demon.) So Spike breaks into a magic shop to get ingredients for a love spell, where he runs into Willow, who is getting ingredients for a de-lusting spell, because she is worried she and Xander will be too thirsty to behave appropriately in public with their actual partners, Oz and Cordelia. This is a hilarious moment just to exist. This is all the episode needed to do to satisfy me. But the fact that Spike then kidnaps Willow, and it ends with tragic stakes of everyone's relationships coming apart, not to mention me genuinely thinking Cordelia was dead for a minute there - wow. Chef’s kiss. The episode is balanced shockingly well between Spike being an ominous villain, and being the sort of lovable semi-evil (more gremlin-like) side character he'll become in season 4. What a wild ride.

2. "Graduation Day" S3E21-22

I'm counting this two part season finale as one because it's my list and I'll do what I want. "Graduation Day" feels like a quintessential Buffy episode executed to perfection. It has Buffy reaffirming her position as a moral heroine, sacrificing her own blood to save Angel's life even when she thought she had to kill Faith to save him. It has Buffy and Faith (or Buffy/Faith, as I prefer to think of them) getting to square off in a dramatic, tough fight. It has a lot of Mayor Wilkins, a character I truly adore for some reason. Nothing like a public administrator who plays mini golf in his office, wants you to chew with your mouth closed, and will kill a graduating class of high schoolers to gain immortality. The catharsis of the whole school getting to fight back against evil, instead of just Buffy against the world - a real joy. This episode misses the top spot for two reasons. "A special vampire poison and the only cure is the blood of a Slayer" is too contrived for me to let slide, and also I had to see Cordelia and Wesley kiss.

1. "Becoming" S2E21-22

Buffy’s season finales really do have good stories and satisfying payoff. First off, Buffy starts this episode by punching a cop and fleeing from the law. Later, Spike also punches a cop. A.k.a., Buffy said blue lives don't matter. Second - I haven't gotten a chance to comment on this yet, but all throughout season 2, evil Angel is such a joy to watch. As regular Angel, David Boreanaz makes exactly one face ("I am a kicked, angsty puppy") and bless his heart, it gets so tiresome. As evil Angel, he is so expressive, dynamic and terrifyingly creative in his badness. And I love his weird threesome energy with Spike and Drusilla. But also, it's so hard to watch Buffy suffer as she deals with her evil boyfriend doing evil things. Her ultimate choice in this episode, to kill Angel even as Willow's spell restores his soul, gave me some real big feels! Also, this episode marks the first moment of Willow doing big, plot-shifting magic on her own, solidifying her transformation from computer nerd to witch! 

Also, shout-out to the many good smaller moments in this episode: Spike making awkward small talk with Buffy's mom, Buffy constantly dunking on Principle Snyder, and Giles being tortured by visions of Miss Calendar (RIP Miss Calendar, I was your biggest fan.)

"Becoming" is an excellent season finale and the kind of Buffy episode I imagine I will want to re-watch in the future just for nostalgia's sake.

#buffy the vampire slayer #guess i will tag this and just engage in pvp if it happens #buffy fandom in 2021 i don't know you but please be nice #this was fun to write #i guess i do like this show!

[bestillmyslashyheart]

(for @manesguerin and @partsofthesamecosmicbeing who quite literally came and yelled at me for leaving it like that)

There was a moment, probably not longer than ten seconds, where the room stood frozen. Alex fell back a step and clutched at his chest involuntarily, the shirt wet with what he assumed was blood. Kyle, Liz, and Rosa all looked furious, though Alex imagined for different reasons. Maria looked heartbroken and confused. Isobel looked…blank.

The tableau shattered with Michael. One second he was calm and even gazed and the next he was horrified, his face twisted in sorrow as he leapt out of his chair and across the room. Kyle jumped between him and Alex but Michael pushed him aside. “Alex, no, no, no, I love you.” Alex braced for another cut but it didn’t come. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” He kept repeating it and every time Alex braced himself only to find that his skin remained intact. Eventually he stopped bracing for injury and embraced the words and the feeling that came with it.

“What is going on?” Maria asked. Alex hated how shattered she sounded.

Michael ignored her, pressing his forehead to Alex’s as he kept repeating those three words. “No lie,” he finally whispered. “I promise. No lie.”

“Okay,” Kyle said slowly when it became apparent to him that Michael wasn’t hurting Alex any further. “What the fuck just happened?”

Michael was suddenly furious and Alex took a step back as he whirled on his sister. Isobel looked like she was in between emotions. Alex imagined that a moment ago she looked pleased with herself but the expression was quickly falling in the face of Michael’s reaction and his rage. “What the fuck was that, Isobel?!”

Isobel looked offended. “You said we would need to demonstrate our powers for Maria! We agreed I would use you instead of any of the humans!”

“Wait, so you made Michael tell Alex he loved him?” Maria stepped forward. “Why would you do that?”

“I couldn’t make him say something he didn’t want to and it was the one thing he was holding himself back from saying! If I made him say something he was already going to say it wouldn’t have proved anything,” she looked between Michael and Maria and Alex. “But I only made him say it once.”

Alex still had his hand on his chest, still felt the blood coating his palm through his shirt. “I don’t understand.”

“It was Isobel,” Kyle realized. “It might have been Michael’s mouth saying the words but it was actually Isobel. His mouth saying words with her intent.”

Michael turned back to Alex and said once more for good measure, “I love you, Alex. I swear to god that’s not a lie. That’s never going to be a lie.”

“What I don’t understand,” Rosa asked. “Is if you two are soulmates, why is Michael with Maria?”

They both turned to look at her.

“We don’t have soulmates,” Isobel protested weakly. But by now the blood was obvious enough that it was hard to deny what had happened.

“I think I hate your sister,” Alex said tiredly.

A mark bloomed on Michael’s wrist. “Liar,” he smiled weakly.

“I’m going to go,” Maria announced. Liz cast a glare at Michael before her eyes turned to Alex and softened into something close to pity as she followed her out.

“Let me look at that,” Kyle ordered gently. He was walking in from the kitchen with a first aid kit. Alex hadn’t seen him leave the room. Michael took the kit from him without letting go of Alex.

“I’ve got him,” he said. Gently he turned Alex around and guided him to the closest bathroom.

“Alex?” Kyle called stepping into their way. He cast a wary glance at Michael.

“I’m good, Kyle,” he nodded at him. Truthfully, he didn’t want to know how Kyle would react to seeing all of the marks on his chest. Alex imagined that it wouldn’t go over well and he had no desire to see Kyle and Michael get into a fight tonight.

“Here,” Michael put down the kit as soon as they were in the bathroom and started tugging at the hem of Alex’s shirt. Together they got it as far as his chest before Alex realized it wasn’t going to happen.

“Just cut it off,” he sighed. “Does Isobel have any of Noah’s stuff around I could borrow?”

Michael shook his head. “She threw it all out.” Nonetheless he fished a pair of scissors out of the door and cut Alex’s shirt straight down the middle. When he was finished he froze, the scissors falling to hang limply at his side while he stared at Alex’s chest.

Alex didn’t particularly want to look but he couldn’t help it. It was bad. The mark from Caulfield was about half an inch log and had raised scar tissue. He’d thought it would be the worst mark he received but no. This one was worse. It almost looked like a surgical wound, cutting a neat, straight line deep into the meat of his chest. Alex estimated that it was over an inch longer, twice as long as the mark from Caulfield which itself was longer than any other.

“We might need Kyle in here,” Alex realized. It would probably need stitches.

“I did this,” Michael’s voice shook. Alex was distressed to realize he didn’t get a new mark.

“No,” he said firmly. “This was Isobel. She didn’t know what she was doing but this is because of her.” No marks appeared on Michael but Alex wasn’t sure he realized it.

“Because I didn’t tell her. If I’d told her the truth, been honest about you, about us, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Michael,” Alex lifted his chin from where he was still staring at the new mark. “You didn’t do this. This is not your fault.���

“I-”

“Do you love me?” He cut him off.

“Yes,” Michael replied immediately.

“You’ve now said that about 20 times,” Alex smiled. “And I don’t have another mark on me. This wasn’t you.”

Michael shook his head. “I’m quite literally the only person who could do this to you, Alex.”

“I guess the rules are different when aliens get involved.” Alex reached for Michael with the other hand but couldn’t. “Okay we need to work through your issues another time. For now, go get Kyle.”

(for the record, Alex was right about Kyle not being happy with the state of his chest)

—

“Hey,” Maria greeted timidly. She held a box of chocolates from the chocolate shop on Main St. “I come in peace?”

Alex snorted and waved her in. “I think I’m the wrong audience for that line.” She smiled and handed him the chocolates as they sat down on the couch. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Maria shot him a look. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“He’s your soulmate,” she countered.

“But you didn’t know that.” They’d broken up that night even if it took them three days to actually have the conversation because Michael refused to leave Alex until Alex could move without wincing at every breath.

“I should have.”

Alex snorted. “How? Maria I didn’t even realize until the day before Max died and it took me weeks to get Michael to see the truth.” He shook his head. “The only person at fault here was Michael and he had his own valid reasons.”

“He hurt you,” she said sadly.

Alex nodded. “He did. In more ways than one. But that’s okay because we’re working through it. And learning new things about each other. Like how I love when he leaves wet towels on the bathroom floor. Or how much he enjoys cleaning up after Buffy. And how great a cook I am.”

“Really Alex?” Michael’s voice carried in through the window.

Maria looked at the window in surprise before turning back to Alex. “I take it those were all lies?”

Alex shrugged. “I spent 20 years carefully not lying about anything. It’s actually rather freeing.”

“Still,” she said quietly. “Doesn’t make up for-”

“Maria,” he cut in. “I think it might be a better idea for both of us if we didn’t discuss the particulars of either of our relationship with Michael.”

She considered that and then nodded. “I think maybe you’re right.”

“Thank you for the chocolates,” he smiled. “They’re my favorites.”

She smiled, genuinely this time. “I know. Who do you think sent them to you while you were deployed?”

“You are a goddess Maria DeLuca,” he sighed. He’d suspected but the boxes were always unmarked so he couldn’t be sure. “Everyone on base was jealous of me when those boxes came in.”

“Well I’m glad. They should’ve been jealous.” She laughed and hugged him gently before leaving.

“Everything okay?” Michael asked from the back door.

Alex nodded. “You should talk to her.”

“Ah,” Michael shook his head. “I think it’s better for everyone involved if I give her some space.” He grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and downed half of it. “We still going to the Crashdown for dinner?”

Alex raised his eyebrows. “After you take a shower. You look gross.”

“Hey!” Michael replied, voice full of faux offense. “I-” he stopped and looked down at himself then looked slowly up at Alex. “You filthy liar.”

Alex shrugged. “You should cut your hair. It looks terrible.”

“Lie,” Michael came up behind the couch and pressed a kiss to Alex’s neck. “And lie.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Another lie.” Michael tilted Alex’s head back and they looked at each other upside down. “Try again?”

“I don’t want you to kiss me.”

“Liar,” Michael whispered as he brought their lips together.

#malex fic #my fic #rnm

[heart-eyes-kippen]

Art Class

Hello, here’s a lil fic based on this prompt!!

~

There were many things that Cyrus associated with TJ Kippen. Being loud, being athletic, and being the most unbearably gorgeous guy in their year. That’s why it was always somewhat of a shock walking into art and seeing him alone, completely caught up in his researching, or his essay-writing, or his painting. Their teacher absolutely adored him because of this, and Cyrus would always see him linger behind after class to have conversations with her. 

 Art was a subject he’d been forced into due to timetable clashes, so although Cyrus loved looking at art, especially Andi’s, he just didn’t seem to have an eye for it like his classmates did. In fact, he would usually spend a majority of the time talking to Buffy, who didn’t particularly like the subject either. 

 It was a pleasantly cool spring morning when Cyrus took his usual seat beside the girl, offering her a small smile as he did so. 

 “Good morning, everyone. Today we’re going to start a project that some of you may not necessarily like, but it has to be done as per the curriculum at least once during the semester. It’s a collaborative art piece.” 

 Cyrus and Buffy, in contrast the groans that filled the room, looked over at one another in excitement. If they paired up, then technically they’d have an excuse to talk during class.

 “Of course, I’ll be assigning pairs based on varying factors, including whether or not I think two people can work together well.” 

 Their faces immediately fell. 

 “She could’ve just called us out directly,” Buffy mumbled darkly, which Cyrus couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh at. 

 “I’ll put the pairs up on the board, then you guys can arrange yourselves, hopefully without too much chaos.” 

 The collective sounds of chairs scraping and quiet murmuring filled the room as everyone packed up their things and sought out their partner. Cyrus stayed where he was for a few long moments, looking over at Buffy with a heavy sigh. 

 “Burdening someone else with my total lack of art skills is not what I was counting on today,” he told her, a grimace on his face. 

 Buffy gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder as she stood up. “We can make it through this. Who do you have, anyway?” 

 Cyrus looked up towards the board, almost afraid to see whatever name had been placed next to his on the spreadsheet. His eyes widened slightly, and as he opened his mouth to reply a voice had both of them turning around.

 TJ was stood there, an easy smile on his lips as he addressed Cyrus.

 “I think we’re partners.” 

 Buffy’s eyebrows shot up at that, and she whirled back around again to check. A small scoff escaped her as she turned back around. 

 “I guess I’ll leave you two to it, then,” she said, giving Cyrus one last pat on the shoulder before moving across the room in search of her partner. 

 Cyrus’ stomach was doing somersaults as he looked back at TJ, who had a vague expression of confusion clouding his face. 

 “Uh...are you okay?” 

 He snapped himself out of it, pushing any thoughts about how effortlessly TJ’s hair was swept up, or how nicely his basketball hoodie matched his eyes, or how charming his smile was, forcibly to the back of his mind. 

 “Yeah!” he responded after a moment’s delay, sitting down in his seat again. “I’m fine.” 

 TJ took the spot beside him, clearly amused, and the class fell silent as the teacher issued instructions about what they were to do that lesson. Gentle sunlight was streaming in through the windows, warming Cyrus’ desk, and he could feel drowsiness tugging at his eyelids by the time she was finished talking. 

 It was only when he heard shuffling and movement pick up around him that he managed to break himself out of his haziness and offer TJ a tired smile as the boy turned to him. 

 “Just so you know,” he began, pulling some supplies out from his pencil case, “I’m not great at art and it’d probably be wise to switch partners while you still can.” 

 TJ observed him intently for a moment, with an expression on his face that Cyrus couldn’t decipher. 

 He began to smile. “I keep hearing you say that about yourself, but then I look at some of your art that’s hung up on the wall and I can’t help but think you’re lying.”

 Cyrus felt his face grow hot at that. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he told him, glancing over at his collage of space, “none of that is good in the slightest.” 

 “What would I have to do to make you realise that it is good?” TJ asked, leaning forward slightly. 

 There was a sparkle in his eyes now that almost made Cyrus want to look away with how ridiculously cute it made him look.

 “Something drastic,” he replied, looking shyly down at his hands. 

 TJ considered this for a moment, before nodding. “Something drastic, huh?” 

 “That wasn’t a challenge,” Cyrus added hurriedly, “just so you know.” 

 He glanced up to find that TJ’s usual smirk had given way to something softer, almost like the grass dethawing outside, and Cyrus’ heart warmed at the sight. 

 “Okay, then. Let’s start planning! Have any ideas for a theme yet?” 

 “...A theme?” 

 TJ let out a huff as he playfully took Cyrus’ pencil away from him, writing something down on the paper they’d been given. 

 “Were you listening?” 

 “Not in the slightest,” he answered truthfully.

 He glanced around at the other pairs around them, brainstorming away, and he couldn’t help but feel somewhat guilty. TJ didn’t seem to mind though, if the smile on his lips was any indicator.

 “We have to select a theme for our piece, what elements we’re going to use, and what ideas we want to get across using our theme.”

 Cyrus almost felt inclined to lean back in his chair with a dramatic groan as he always did when confronted with art theory, but he somehow managed to refrain and leaned forward on his elbows instead, trying to at least feign some semblance of art knowledge.

 “Space?” he suggested, and TJ laughed.

 “You really like space, don’t you?”

 He shrugged, blushing slightly, and watched as the boy jotted it down.

 “Dinosaurs? Social media?” 

 TJ raised a playful eyebrow. “Are you just listing things you like?” 

 “So what if I was?” he smiled, taking his pencil back to jot the words down. 

 “What about rain? Or rainbows?” said TJ, eyes flickering between Cyrus and the paper in front of them. 

 “I like that,” Cyrus nodded, writing them down.

 By the time the bell sounded they’d settled on ‘rainbows’ as their theme and came up with a few of the elements they wanted to use in their piece. Cyrus eventually found himself relaxing as he spoke to TJ, who against all odds turned out to be one of the least judgemental people he could’ve been paired up with. He liked cracking jokes and making vine references, but he also seemed to have this guarded intelligence that would come out when he spoke about varying ideas he had about the elements they could use. 

 Cyrus, who usually would’ve recoiled at that sort of thing, found himself clinging onto to every word that left TJ’s lips. His head was rested on his hand as he watched the boy talk, resembling some love-sick puppy pining hopelessly after their crush. For a brief moment, he couldn’t help but think he was. 

 Buffy approached him as they filed out of the classroom, face lit up by an excited smile.

 “I got Libby! She’s a straight-up art goddess. How was TJ?” 

 Cyrus blushed. “He wasn’t too bad.” 

 ~

 “So, dearest Cyrus, I gave it some thought and this was the most drastic thing I could come up with.”

 Cyrus looked down at the paper that had been placed down in front of them, before turning his gaze to TJ. He was sitting down beside him now, with an adorably bright smile on his lips. 

 With a disbelieving huff, Cyrus turned the page and scanned over what was written on it. 

 “You did not do this,” he managed, stifling a giggle with his hand as he read. 

 In TJ’s neat cursive, the words ‘sign this if you think Cyrus’ art pieces are great’ were scrawled at the top, and below it was a large collection of signatures from people in their art class.

 “Have you accepted that you’re wrong yet?” TJ grinned, eyes shining, and Cyrus just scoffed.

 “How do I know you didn’t threaten any of these people?”

 “Bold of you to assume I had the time or patience to do that.” 

 Cyrus’ expression softened ever so slightly, and he tipped his head to the side. “Okay fine, maybe I’ll accept that they’re okay. I still can’t believe you actually did this, but...thanks.” 

 TJ just waved him off. “It was nothing. Now - shall we continue planning?” 

 “We shall,” Cyrus confirmed, leaning forward towards the desk. He laughed slightly when he noticed the small chicken TJ had drawn in the corner of the page, with a speech bubble above it reading ‘i got my red dress on tonight.’ 

 “Have we given this chicken a name yet?” he asked, and TJ immediately stopped writing.

 “No,” he gasped out, “how could we possibly forget that? I vote Greg.” 

 “Generic, but I like it,” said Cyrus, as he grabbed a pen from his pencil case and began drawing another speech bubble. 

 TJ watched in amusement as he wrote ‘greg says: gay rights!’ and leaned over to begin colouring in some of the feathers. 

 Their arms brushed as he did so, and Cyrus tried desperately not to think about the nervousness that bubbled up inside of him at the contact. 

 “So...we’ve created a rainbow chicken who supports gay rights. Or is gay. Or both,” said Cyrus, as he admired their work. 

 TJ laughed and nodded, picking up his original pen. “He’s a king.” 

 “He is,” Cyrus agreed, “I think we should have him be our art piece.” 

 “Okay, that’s where I’ll have to draw the line,” TJ replied, smiling at Cyrus’ responding giggles.

 With that, the pair began deciding the rest of their elements, with the occasional headcanons about Greg finding their way into the conversation.

 ~

 It was another bright blue day on Thursday, with sunlight pouring into the art room that filled it with a gentle warmth. Cyrus felt a rare sense of excitement as he waltzed inside, seeking out TJ immediately and taking a seat beside the boy. He saw Buffy in the corner, chatting animatedly to Libby, and the sight brought a small smile to his face.

 “How’s the greatest basketball player in the world doing after yesterday’s game?” he asked, smile widening when TJ just laughed. 

 “I’m not that gre-“

 “Do I have to get a signed sheet from your teammates?” Cyrus warned, only half-seriously. 

 TJ rolled his eyes at that, but didn’t object further. He was still smiling as he pulled their page out and looked over at all of the things they’d brainstormed so far. 

 “This is our last planning session, so we should probably start visualising what our piece is gonna look like,” he said.

 Cyrus nodded and tore out a separate piece of paper from his notebook. “I had a dream last night.” 

 TJ raised his eyebrows. “Was it about art?” 

 “It was about rainbows?” he offered, and TJ shrugged.

 “Close enough. Hit me, then.” 

 “Okay! It was actually kind of dark, but oh well. I was being teleported to all these different landscapes, I’m talking cities, beaches, forests, cliff-faces, deserts, mountains, you name it. Everything was in full colour except I was always in black and white. I kept looking down at myself and getting really upset because I wanted to be in colour super badly for some reason. Don’t get a dream interpreter on that one. Anyway, there was this one scene with the northern lights where I looked up and began wishing that I wasn’t grey anymore. The tips of my fingers gained some colour, and I got so excited that I woke up.” 

 TJ looked at him for a moment after that, just blinking, before a smile began to spread across his face. “That’s our art piece!” 

 Now it was Cyrus’ turn to give him a blank look. “Pardon?” 

 “A greyscale person looking out at a rainbow scene! We could paint them looking out at a city where everyone is on their phones if we wanted to be super melodramatic about it.” 

 “I love being melodramatic about stuff!” Cyrus cheered, to which TJ laughed. 

 They both began sketching out a rough draft, arms brushing much like they had the previous day, and for some reason Cyrus couldn’t will down the blush on his face. TJ kept sending him all these furtive glances, and he was on the verge of shuffling away so that he wouldn’t be so distracted by them. He remained though, right until the bell sounded, and the boy gave him a smile as they began to pack up.

 “I’m so glad you told me about that dream.”

 “Me too.”

 TJ got up from his chair, smile softening slightly. “I’ll see you next lesson, yeah?” 

 “Yeah,” he breathed out, much quieter than intended, as he watched the boy head towards the door. 

 He sent Buffy a glance, who was still packing up her things, before biting his lip and springing up from his chair, catching TJ as he began to weave his way through the crowds. 

 “TJ - wait!”

 He immediately turned around, eyebrows drawn together in confusion as he approached the boy and pulled him gently to the side so as to avoid the rush. 

 “What’s up?” 

 “I, um...I...” 

 What was up? He knew deep down why he’d chased after the boy, but now that TJ was standing in front of him it was like his whole body had just decided to freeze. He opened his mouth to speak, before proceeding to close it again.

 “Are you okay?” TJ asked gently.

 Cyrus nodded. “Yeah, I'm fine! I was just, uh, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to...um...hang out sometime?” 

 TJ’s face brightened. “Like a date?” 

 “Oh! That’s not what I...I mean, yeah! A date would be great. If you want, obviously.” 

 The boy just smiled, taking out his phone. “We can text about plans later tonight.” 

 After exchanging numbers, he gave TJ a beaming smile. “I’ll message you later then!” 

 “I’ll be waiting,” he replied, voice soft in the most heart-melting way possible. Cyrus might’ve swooned a little. 

 As TJ walked towards his basketball friends, who all began shoving him playfully and asking him ‘who the hell that cute boy was,’ Buffy approached him from behind and came to a stop beside him. 

 “Something tells me that having TJ as a partner isn’t just ‘not that bad,’” she teased. 

 “Oh hush,” Cyrus told her, blushing crimson as they began to make their way to their lockers.

#tyrus #tyrus fanfic #andi mack #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #tj x cyrus

[wombathos]

so a while back I started thinking about an AU where Willow recruits Faith after Buffy’s death in S5 and since I wanted to play around with their relationship specifically I wrote something for that, specifically Faith arriving at Buffy’s house the first time. 2.1k words, POV Faith

Same old house. That’s the weirdest part. This place must’ve been smashed up a couple dozen times by now, but they put it together pretty much exactly the same. Faith half-expects Buffy the high school student to come and greet her, all blonde and perky in some floral shirt or pastel coloured tank top or… She swallows. Willow’s hovering behind her and she’s not going to hesitate too much around the little witch, so she enters boldly, as if she owns the place.

Does she? No. Of course not. Faith is just here to do a job. She’s not Buffy, could never be Buffy. Not for lack of trying. It’s hard to imagine trying any harder than Faith has.

There’s no Buffy anywhere. No Joyce either. Willow told her on the way, probably appraising Faith’s reaction all the while. Faith hadn’t let her, instead turning to stare out of the window, hiding her face from Willow, giving herself the moments she needed to compose herself. Joyce had always been good to her. Then Faith had punched her and held her hostage and stolen her daughter’s body and been given a false hug by her and…

Faith steps further into the house, and she’s unsure of where to go. She doesn’t want to let on that she doesn’t belong here, even though she doesn’t. Kitchen’s to the right, living room’s to the left. She should’ve let Willow go in first.

She chooses left, entering the nice, comfy, soft interior of the Summers’ living room. It is a museum of things she has never had, but it’s hard to stay jealous of a dead woman. This is where things are starting to look a little different to how she remembers. Mostly just portraits being arranged in a new way, the couch maybe placed a bit further to the right. She lets herself fall onto that couch, sinking into the soft cushions as she throws down her half-empty travel bag next to her - then wonders whether she’s being disrespectful. It’s hard to ignore Willow who’s moved to hover at a new doorframe - but she tries her best, looking around the living room as if studying it. Mentally, she’s doing a catalogue of sorts, separating the familiar from the unfamiliar items, wondering whether the unfamiliar ones were put there by Joyce before her death, Buffy before her death, or someone else since then. She suspects there’s not much of the latter. This is a house of dead women.

But not entirely. Willow had also explained about the whole Dawn sitch before instructing her never to bring it up again - and it’s an easy instruction to follow. The thought that the girl she knows was never real, or that Faith had never in fact known her at all, that it was all just false memories… That the girl who had acted all sullen around her before suddenly embracing her on Christmas Eve, who was withdrawn and then exuberant and then furious when Faith’s treachery was revealed, the idea that all that is just a lie…

This town’s too weird. It’s mostly terrible memories, anyway, but if she lets herself acknowledge that those ones are lies, where would that lead? How much more would she prefer to forget?

“Would you like something to drink?”

Faith looks around, meets Willow’s eyes. She’s changed too, in ways Faith can’t quite place. Whatever it is, Faith doesn’t trust her - and she knows the sentiment is entirely mutual. “Sure.”

A pause. Willow hasn’t stopped hovering. “What would you like?” she asks, tilting her head from one side to the next and waving her hands around a bit - and it’s all very Willow, somehow, in a way that makes buried resentment flare in her.

“I don’t mind,” says Faith, with a little shake of the head. She almost cringes at the self-conscious gesture.

“Water? Coffee? Juice? Dawnie goes through cartons a week so we’re always well-stocked. I say it’s important for a growing girl.” That whole bit is accompanied by a jaunty raise of a fist and a smile and a change in voice for the last two words and it’s obvious Willow is just as unsure how to act as Faith is. Strange. She’d have thought the long bus ride would’ve been enough to get at least slightly used to the other’s presence but… no such luck.

Faith is about to say that she doesn’t care, but makes an effort. Tries to remember what the polite thing to do would be, though she never was quite sure what that’d be among these people. “I’d love some juice,” she says, aware her lips are twisting into a half-smile.

“Great! It’ll come in just a minute,” says Willow in a tone one might use for a toddler and flees to the kitchen. Faith almost laughs, even though she’s not much better. Dealing with hardened convicts is somehow a lot easier than this.

It takes her about ten seconds and the sound of a fridge opening for her to get restless, so she gets up and decides to have a poke around. They haven’t moved much of Joyce’s knick-knacks around, probably unsurprisingly, and there’s a familiar blend of newer and older objects interspersed between the photos. There’s not a speck of dust to be seen, which means someone here is cleaning more rigorously than Joyce had. Faith wonders who: she doubts it’s Dawn, could imagine that Willow has made the jump from neat to obsessive. Or perhaps someone else. She draws closer to one of the photos, inspecting the grinning faces of Dawn and Buffy Summers looking back at her. Buffy looks younger than Faith ever knew her, and she wonders whether this might still be an LA photo. Dawn’s still a kid, eight maybe by the look of her, possibly a bit older. Buffy’s holding Dawn close, but Dawn doesn’t seem to mind. They could be plenty acrimonious in real life from Faith’s recollections, but here - frozen in time - they’re happy sisters. Or… she supposes she doesn’t remember the two of them, and this photo must also be… is it fake? Just a remnant of some weird-ass magic? How had Buffy felt, looking at this photo and knowing it had never really happened? How does Dawn feel every time she walks past it now?

Speaking of.

Faith hears the footsteps thundering down the stairs and a moment or two later she’s faced with little Dawn Summers herself. She’s still short and still got that massive scowl and it’s like nothing has changed - except, obviously, everything has changed. When she stops several feet away from her, the look she’s giving Faith is enough to make her turn away from the photos.

“Hey Dawn,” she says, just as Willow too enters the living room, her trepidation obvious. Faith assumes Willow must have let Dawn know, but that can only do so much. She wonders whether she should offer condolences, knows that might be a bad idea but is about to do so anyway - yet Dawn cuts her off before she has the chance to.

“Here to murder more people?” she asks. Her arms are folded so tightly she might as well be hugging herself and Faith decides to cut her some slack.

“I hope I can save some,” she say, doing a forced smile. Willow watches them like they’re two grenades that might set each other off or… could grenades do that? Well. Two things that could make each other explode, anyway.

“Faith is here to help,” says Willow and it sounds like something she’s repeated a hundred times already. Her smile is no less forced than Faith’s.

Dawn takes a step towards Faith in a very ‘I’m not scared of you’ way - and maybe she isn’t. Must take a lot to frighten a girl like Dawn. “Didn’t do a lot helping last time, did you?”

Lifetime of amends, Faith reminds herself. It’s her first time back in Sunnydale. Time to do the whole damn guilt tour. “Yeah, well, I’ve changed.”

“You should still be in prison.”

“Maybe,” she admits. “But the Hellmouth needs a slayer so… here I am.”

Dawn shakes her head and she’s giving Faith a look of disgust that would put her sister to shame. “You think you can just come here and play the hero?”

“I’m not -”

“You’ll never be half the slayer my sister was!”

And with that Dawn turns tail and sprints back upstairs. Willow yells after her but Faith isn’t paying attention any more, exactly as stunned as Dawn wanted her to be. That kid sure knows how to deliver one hell of a kill shot.

Willow’s turned to Faith and it’s time for the platitudes. “She doesn’t mean that.”

“Yeah, she does.”

For a moment the witch considers arguing, wisely realises there’s no point. Instead she weakly says, “She’ll come around.”

It’s tempting to make a stinging remark, but Faith just shrugs. “We’ll see.”

Willow hesitates, looking as if she wants to say something else, but decides against it. Instead, she gestures towards the kitchen. “Your orange juice is ready.”

Faith almost laughs because Willow makes it sound like she’s prepared a fancy meal or something, but that’d be rude and she’s determined not to be rude. She nods and enters the kitchen, picking up the glass and sipping at the sickly sweet liquid. Willow has poured in a generous amount and Faith isn’t sure whether she’ll get it all down. With slight irritation, she realises Willow is hovering behind her again.

“Tara will be back soon,” she says and Faith turns around mid-sip. Once the sip’s all done, she nods her comprehension. “You remember Tara, right? You briefly met when - well, I guess technically it wasn’t you then, except it was when we were with Buffy, and that was actually Buffy-you, and - and…” She trails off. They’ve finally reached peak awkward.

“Yeah, I remember her,” says Faith, doing her best to salvage the unsalvageable. “You two still…” She waves her free index finger from one side to the other. Willow stares at it, almost blushing, and Faith is tempted to clarify that she meant ‘Are you still together?’, not ‘Are you still boning?’.

“We’re dating,” says Willow. “You know. Two girls, dating, all normal style.” She jiggles her hands around again.

Faith very nearly does laugh then. She’s curious whether Willow is still this self-conscious around everyone or whether it’s a special privilege reserved for her. “Right,” she says. She gives Willow an ironic salute with the glass before sipping at it again. Willow stares at her as if trying to figure out whether she’s being mocked. She does a little shrug, then gestures at the door before heading out, which is probably her way of saying ‘I’ll wait for Tara’.

So Faith is left unsupervised, for pretty much the first time since leaving LA beyond the occasional restroom breaks at whatever miserable pitstop they had to change buses at. Willow had been watching her even then, maybe thinking that Faith would make a run for it. Maybe she’s waiting outside right now, magic held at the ready. Faith wonders whether she could take her. She’d like to think so, but magic’s a messy business and from the scant indication she’s gotten, Willow hasn’t been idle in developing her powers. No wonder they sent her. She wonders what Buffy thought about that. She wonders what Buffy thought about a lot of things.

Faith takes another gulp of orange juice because for some reason she can feel tears coming and she doesn’t even know how to begin dealing with that. She can’t let herself think about how Buffy and her had parted ways, how Buffy had never forgiven her, how she would probably hate for her to be here and would much rather Faith were still stuck in her cell. Faith is here because she has a job to do. She’s here to take responsibility, to fulfil the role she was always meant to. This is the best chance she’s going to get to make amends.

Some orange juice spills down Faith’s chin. Willow’s talking outside. Presumably Tara has arrived. Dawn must still be upstairs, sulking. Or maybe grieving. Who knows when she’ll come down again. Faith needs to wipe away the juice before the two witches come in here. First impressions and all that. Instead, she’s just staring out of the window of Buffy Summers’ kitchen in Sunnydale as she hears the voices of Buffy’s friends. She’s never belonged here. None of these people have blood on their hands like she does. Buffy went to her death a better person than Faith had been in a long time.

But she’s here now. There’s nothing else for her to do but try to make this work. Faith swallows and finally wipes away the orange juice - which had begun dripping down from her chin onto the spotless floor. She wipes her shoe over the spot. Time to meet the witches. Time to do her job. She can’t ever be Buffy. But maybe, just maybe, Faith could be the slayer.

#ngl I didn’t check on the layout of buffy’s house before writing this but i’d rewatched the body recently so... sorry if i got it wrong #anyway i’m gonna start tagging anything in this au #substitute slayer verse #if i do write more #btvs #faith lehane #willow rosenberg #dawn summers #leela writes a thing #txt #we attack the mayor with hummus #hummus blogging

[buffster]

Five By Five (ATS 1.18)

This is part of my ongoing Buffyverse Project, where I write notes/meta for every episode in an attempt to better understand the characters and themes of the shows. You can find the BTVS list here and the ATS list here. Gifs are not mine.

Waiting for Five by Five is what kept me holding out when I first began Angel (and I’m glad I did). I love the relationship between Angel and Faith and wish we’d gotten to see more of it. 

One thing I find interesting about Faith’s character is that she shows us how thin the line is between our awesome hero (Buffy) and a much darker villain (Faith). We’re able to cheer and laugh when Buffy surprises a predatory guy and slams his face into the steering wheel but cringe when Faith takes another’s money and puts him in the hospital. Buffy uses her powers for good but has the capacity for great evil. 

Five by Five and Sanctuary do a lot of character work for Angel by establishing Wesley’s complete trust in his boss and Angel’s status as a helper to the truly lost. He’s able to reach the unreachable because he’s been there, and we’re reminded of that with some Darla flashbacks to a pivotal turn in Angel’s life: the gypsy curse in Romania, 1898. 

When Angel received his soul he didn’t suddenly become “the dark avenger”. At first he went right to Darla for solace and guidance. She was disgusted by his soul and threatened to stake him. He ran out, haunted by visions of everything he’d done wrong. But it wasn’t easy to just accept being an outcast and try and atone. He tried to go back to his evil ways first and just felt miserable and alone. It’s interesting to get a look at him right when he regained his soul to see just how naive Liam was when he jumped headfirst into vampirism. He had no idea what he was signing up for. Angel knows exactly how Faith feels.

Cordelia: Wesley, you don't change a guy like that. In fact - generally speaking - you don't change a guy. What you see is what you get. Scratch the surface and what do you find? More surface.

So how do his companions feel about all this? Cordelia is more than happy to let Angel handle this one alone, but Wesley is not. He still feels like Faith is his responsibility (he’s upset Giles didn’t call him when she woke up) and doesn’t want to accept that he can’t help her. Unfortunately for him, this plants a target firmly on his back. When Faith sees someone have faith in her (sorry) she wants to push as hard as she can to see if she can break it. She’s proving to herself over and over again that she’s unlovable and unworthy of being saved, and when they finally break and agree it just enrages her further. 

Faith: You think? Because what if you kill me - and you experience that one true moment of pleasure? Oops!  I'd get off on that. Go ahead. Do me. Let's take that hell ride together. Come on, Angel, I'm all yours!  I'm giving you an open invitation. Jeez, you're pathetic! You and your little tortured soul, got to think everything through. Well, think fast, lover. You don’t' do me, you know I'm gonna do you!

Wolfram & Hart decide to hire her to take out Angel, seemingly without knowing their history. They’re surprised when a planned simple exchange--hit the target, collect fifteen grand--becomes a cat and mouse game where Faith ends up torturing an entirely different person. We get a little insight into the company: they’re all cold and drunk on their own power, but some are better at dealing with their position than others. The lawyers have what one might call soft power in the supernatural world--they have money, resources, and quiet influence--but they must employ those with hard power--fighting skills and physical strength. Lee makes the mistake of believing he holds all the cards and ends up in several casts thanks to Faith. Lindsey and Lilah (why do they all have L names?) don’t seem bothered at all by this. There’s no loyalty to be found here. Side note: Angel’s interaction with the random guy in Wolfram & Hart’s lobby was so fun. 

Wesley: I was your Watcher, Faith. - I know the real you - and eve if you kill me, there is just one thing I want you to remember.

Faith: What's that, love?

Wesley: You - are a piece of sh.. 

As bizarre as it is, you can see the brief flare of hope in Faith’s eyes when Wesley starts to speak; that he will still see something in her and care for her after all she’s done. 

Faith: Did you ever wonder if things would have been different - if we'd never met. What if you'd had Buffy - and Giles would have been my Watcher? You think you'd still be here right now? Or would Giles be sitting in that chair? - Or is it just like fate. You know, there is no choice. You were gonna be here no matter what. You think about that stuff? - Fate - and destiny. I don't. Not that any of this is your own fault. Since this may be the last chance we will have to unload on each other, I feel that it is kind of my duty to tell you that if you'd been a better Watcher, I might have been a more positive role model! Face it, Wesley, you really were a jerk. Always walking around as if you had some great big stake rammed up your - English Channel. I think I want to hear you scream.

Faith has a real problem with people who seem in control. It’s another reason she does think about fate and destiny; it’s easier than believing she could have made better choices. 

Ultimately, Angel is the only one who can help her. He’s the only one strong enough to be her punching bag until she burns out. 

Angel: I'm not gonna make it easy for you.

After all the provoking, he still refuses to kill her. It was a risky move, and I don’t think anyone but Angel would have had faith in her after all this. Even I felt a little skeptical--more on this in Sanctuary. Overall, I thought this was a great episode for season one. Many people tuning in to Angel were doing it because they loved Buffy, so sprinkling in some of those characters during the first season was a good trick to get people hooked. 

Character Notes:

Cordelia Chase: She doesn’t think their client will testify because he has so many tattoos (and that’s given her certain ideas about his character). She can tell when Angel is in a good mood (his scowl is slightly less scowly). Phantom Dennis tries to protect her from Faith, which was neat. She says hell will freeze over before she sleeps with Wesley. 

Lilah Morgan: Green is her favorite color, she looks good in diamonds, and she loves riding in limousines. 

Faith Lehane: Her favorite color is black. 

#fivebyfive #jim kouf #faith lehane #angel #cordelia chase #wesley wyndam pryce #phantom dennis #darla #angel/darla #wolfram & hart #Lindsey McDonald #lilah morgan

[thinkingaboutyoungroyals]

Red String (2/4)

Summary: When T.J. was 8, he read a book about the Red Strings of Fate. And when he was 10, he started seeing strings EVERYWHERE.

A/N: I’ve always loved the idea of being connected to your soulmate with a Red String of Fate. I did a bit of research on them and I’ve read some manga that have it as a theme. So, I took some liberties on how it works here and I’m still figuring it out along the way but I hope I’m able to convey them in a justified manner.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Chapter 2: Blue String

Despite the surprising appearance of a pink string around his pinky, T.J. opted to ignore it. He didn’t want to waste any time wracking his brains trying to figure out why it showed up… or who triggered it to show up.

Besides, he had more pressing matters to pay attention to. Like Math.  

For as long as he could remember, T.J. hated Math. He hated numbers. He hated the way other kids could add, subtract, multiply, and divide like it was second nature but every time T.J. tried, the strange symbols just looked like some kind of alphabet soup, but with numbers.

Somehow, he managed to make it to Middle School, only passing by a hair each time. (He may or may not have become an expert in subtle cheating but that was beside the point.)

But, now, his position on the basketball team was in danger because of stupid Math. And what more was that his teacher decided to assign his black string as his tutor.

T.J. wondered if he hated Buffy, not just because of the number of strings on her fingers, but because she, admittedly, was good at almost everything. But, he would never say that to her face.

“You do know the multiplication tables… right?”

T.J. couldn’t help but glare while feeling a painful pang in his chest. But, he refused to cry in front of Buffy.

“You think I’m stupid?” he accused.

Buffy looked surprised but immediately defended herself, “I never said that.”

She may not have said it out loud but she was thinking it. T.J. knew she was thinking it. Everybody thought he was stupid.

“Well, I am.”

Standing up, he grabbed his backpack, not bothering to take his notebook or textbook with him. It wasn’t like he would need them, anymore. He was stupid at Math and that was a fact.

Without another word to the girl, T.J. practically ran out of the room. His eyes were stinging and his heart was beating, painfully, against his rib cage.

He had to get out of school. To not be reminded of all the things he was lacking in.

His feet took him to the park. Something was tugging him there and he didn’t feel like fighting it that day. The walk kept him calm on the outside, but on the inside, he was still filled with turmoil.

“Legs go up, legs go down. That’s how we make the swing go ‘round...”

T.J. heard him before he saw him and he couldn’t explain the reason why he was drawn to that familiar voice.

Buffy’s friend, the muffin boy, was on the swings, kicking his legs into the air in a gentle manner as he continued to sing to himself.

T.J. wasn’t familiar with the song. Was it made up? That was pretty creative.

Dropping his backpack on the ground, he calmly walked over and placed his hand against the pole.

“Nice song,” he commented before a little kid’s squeal distracted him and he turned to see a little boy sliding down the slide before turning back. “What do you sing when you’re on the slide?”

The other boy had paused while he was distracted, almost looking fearful of him. It bothered T.J.

“We go down, we say ‘yay’,” he sang, immediately. “Don’t climb up, that’s the wrong way.”

How amusing. T.J. felt himself chuckle as he smiled.

“Huh. Did not expect you to have a song for that.”

It appeared to be the right thing to say as the other boy’s face immediately lit up.

“Chocolate-chocolate chip muffin, right?” 

The boy pointed at him. “Scary basketball guy.”

Immediately, T.J. felt his face fall in disappointment. “Actually, T.J.”

The other boy continued to smile, almost teasingly. “I know.” He pointed at himself. “Cyrus.”

And that was how T.J. found himself getting on a swing and kicking himself into the air, feeling the wind rush against his face. For the first time in so long, he felt light. Free.

And Cyrus? He was great company. T.J. could see why he had a ton of blue strings. Cyrus was friendly and sweet. He had a way with words that could ease T.J.’s anxious thoughts and relieve him of the tension in his body. He had T.J. feeling like a little kid again, with no worries, no “stuff”. Just a normal kid on the swings with a friend.

And despite Cyrus claiming that he was scared of swinging higher, T.J. discovered that with just a little push (both literally and figuratively), the other boy wasn’t opposed to dancing with danger (as he so proclaimed it being on his bucket list just days prior). He was insecure but, really, what kid their age wasn’t? T.J. had his own insecurities, though he would never tell anyone.

He felt the tug on his middle finger before he heard the “Cyrus! You okay?!”

Buffy was running up to them and T.J., though he felt like a coward for doing so, tried to run away.

But Cyrus stopped him, insisting that Buffy was really cool. Of course he would say that! They were friends. Their friendship ran so deep that they were connected with a blue string!

Unfortunately, staying back just an extra minute to thank Cyrus for his help allowed Buffy to catch up with him.

“Cyrus, can you give us the playground?” she asked the other boy.

“Yeah, you know where to find me.” Cyrus, then, turned to him with a kind smile. “And so do you.”

T.J. felt his lips twitch in response, threatening a smile as Cyrus walked away.

His good mood immediately dampened as soon as Buffy started talking to him. And what more, she decided to web-diagnose him with a learning disability?! As if he didn’t have enough problems already?!

He was so angry and upset that he didn’t even notice the tingling in his fingers.

It wasn’t until he was attempting, for the millionth time, to do his Math homework that he saw it.

A new blue string was wrapped around his previously empty pointer finger.

..........

It didn’t take T.J. too long to figure out who was on the other side of that new blue string.

He had been talking to a classmate about a group project for English when he felt the tug.

It was followed by a “Hey, not-so-scary basketball guy!”

Immediately, T.J. ended his conversation with the kid and turned to greet Cyrus.

“Hey, Underdog! What’s up?”

Clear as day, a light blue string hung between them.

And it meant only one thing…

“If I could get an RSVP ASAP, I think I can get you into my Bar Mitzvah parteee,” the boy cutely stated.

He handed over a heavy envelope and T.J. could hardly believe that it was really for him as he stared at it for a moment. He rarely got invited to his peers’ events unless their parents forced them to. But, his name was right there, scrawled at the center of the envelope in a neat cursive.  

Cyrus was personally inviting him to a party. Cyrus saw him as someone worth having at his special day of all days. Cyrus saw him as a friend.

Looking up at the other boy, T.J. smiled and gave him a short nod. “I’m there,” he replied, coolly.

He had a friend. A real, genuine, blue string friend. He was so happy.

..........

As T.J. watched Buffy tear it down the basketball court as the crowd cheered her name, he felt his black string tighten even more. His team was out there, dominating…without him! And all because he failed his last Math test!

And he hated the feeling. He felt useless. A loser.

“You’re not playing?”

T.J. looked up at him, glaring as he felt his anger flare. “Nothing gets past you,” he said, sarcastically.

The other boy frowned. “I’m not here as a punching bag. I’m here to see if you’re okay.”

Normally, he would feel touched at that. Cyrus was his only real friend, after all. His blue string was still tied around T.J.’s finger. It didn’t disappear like T.J. initially thought it would.

But, his anger and insecurities were all at the forefront. He ended up snapping at the boy, instead.

“How about...you’re not here at all?” he sneered before walking away, ignoring Cyrus’ concerned looks.

That boy didn’t deserve a friend like T.J. He didn’t deserve to be tied to him. He deserved better.

He found himself leaving the gym and grabbing a snack from the vending machine.

As he watched a bag of cheese puffs fall from their perch, he felt the tug on his blue string.

The door opened and Cyrus appeared beside him.

“Eating your feelings?” the other boy stated, casually before smiling. “I do that!”

T.J. felt annoyed but he didn’t have the heart to push him away a second time.

That was how he ended up telling Cyrus about his possible learning disability: dyscalculia. He felt so ashamed and he hated feeling so less than. There were so many things about himself that he didn’t understand.

Why couldn’t he do simple Math?! Why was his brain wired differently from everyone else?! Why did he have to be different?!

But, with just a few words, Cyrus made the worries about dyscalculia disappear, even for just a moment. With just a few words, he made sure T.J. knew that nothing was wrong with him. That he wasn’t different.

If only Cyrus truly knew about his ability to see the Strings of Fate. Would he think differently of him then? Something told him that Cyrus wouldn’t care. Maybe he would even find it cool. But, should he tell him?

In the end, he decided not to.

“She may have been right, but you’re the one who really helped me,” he told the younger boy.

Cyrus broke into a small smile, blushing almost, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

They talked for an hour before Cyrus realized the time and decided that he needed to get back to Buffy.

T.J. felt almost disappointed but knew that Buffy’s blue string with Cyrus was far stronger than his ever would. She was probably unknowingly tugging on it without realizing.

As he got up to throw away the trash (between the two of them, they finished an entire bag of cheese puffs and two packets of cookies), his pinky finger caught his eye.

Curiously, he brought it closer to his eyes, examining it.

Was it just him or was the string getting longer? That was different.

..........

Sometimes, T.J. would lie awake in bed at night, just staring at his strings. Specifically, he would stare at Cyrus’ blue string.

A lot had happened ever since that fourth blue string appeared. And, every day, with no fail, T.J. could feel it getting stronger…firmer. Even the color was getting brighter, a calming blue that reminded him of the sky.

Cyrus was sadder these days, though. Buffy had moved away and T.J. felt guilty for not patching up before she left. The black string felt less tight but didn’t completely go away. He wondered what it would take for it to disappear.

And, then, that pink string. And he still hadn’t figured out who made it appear. He thought he would know since he figured people knew who they ended up liking and falling for, but he truly had no clue. (He added that little tidbit to his notes.)

Absentmindedly, he tugged on the blue string around his pointer finger.

Not even a minute later, his phone ping-ed with a text.

Hi! Watcha up to? Cyrus texted.

Smiling, T.J. texted back. Nothing much. Staring at my ceiling. Wbu?

Ooohh, must be an interesting ceiling. Taking a break from studying. History test tmrw.

Ouch. U got Carter, rite?

Yep. He’s a nightmare.

Sorry 2 hear that. But I’m sure you’ll do great.

Wish Buffy was still here. We always study 2gether.

At that, T.J. sighed. He wished there was something he could do.

Pursing his lips, he typed a respond. Well, I’m decent at history. Want me to help?

Heart pounding, he anxiously waited for Cyrus’ reply.

It arrived quickly. Will you really? I don’t have history ‘til 6th period but I have study hall at 4th.

I have class 4th period but I can meet you at lunch, if you don’t mind spending an hour of your life with me.

T.J. sent the text before realizing how it sounded. It sounded so…flirty. Was that an okay thing to send a friend?

Before he could send a follow-up, Cyrus had responded.

Sounds perfect! I’ll see you there! Got 2 get back to studying!

Feeling giddy, T.J. replied, Okay! See u 2morrow!

He put his phone away now and laid back down on his bed, sighing. He raised his hand up again, looking at his strings. The sight of them used to dampen his moods, reminding him that he was someone unworthy of having a real bond with, since he had so few.

In fact, Cyrus had a lot, most probably from his family and a couple of good friends. T.J. knew of Buffy, Andi, and Jonah and T.J. was sure he had other friends as well because he was just that great of a person. He even had a red string, granted it was broken, but still. He wondered who was on the other end of that string. Such a shame that person didn’t return the other boy’s affections, Cyrus was a great guy.

Because of him, T.J. didn’t really feel jealous of other people’s strings anymore. He had all the important ones wrapped around his fingers (except for Buffy’s black string, of course, but he was working on that).

His gaze went to the pink string that seemed to be getting longer and closer to red day by day.

That string was still such a puzzle to him. It changed everyday. But, what did it mean?

Tag list: @oreo-275 @mrsirwinson

@imonlyhereforjoshuarush @illbeyourreasonwhy @completelysterling @cytriclemon @luckyharmonydragon36245 @cxrus-kippen @booklove-2 @tyrusinarush @luckyharmonydragon36245 
 @petra-dragneel

If I missed you on the tag list, please let me know in a message! I’ll gladly add you!

#tyrus #tyrus fanfic #tyrus red string

[penguin-writes-books]

Buffy brings cyrus to tutoring with TJ but instantly regret it when TJ is toooo distracted and buffy gets mad at first and then realises tj is just a soft smitten obvious idiot. Buffy: cyrus stop distracting tj ... Cyrus:Im literally not even near him Buffy: yeah...but your in his eye sight!

Buffy walked through the classroom door, with none other than his secret boyfriend of five months, Cyrus Goodman, in tow. TJ already sat at a table, reading and rereading a problem in his textbook. He sighed defeatedly and closed the textbook. However, his expression shifted from a tried scowl to a smile upon seeing Cyrus.

“Hey, TJ! Sorry to crash your party, but I had a really weird day and I needed to be somewhere where far too many therapists aren’t constantly on call and insistent upon helping.”

“Oh it’s no problem! I don’t mind unless you start speaking in quadratic equations.”

“Well, no promises. I might just suddenly become a parabola if we’re not careful,” Cyrus winked merrily, sitting down and opening a copy of Swann’s Way, which had a neon yellow sticky notes seemingly on every page, dense with notes scrawled in neat handwriting.

“Okay, now that Cyrus’s presence has been explained, let’s get to work, okay?” TJ tore his gaze from Cyrus to glance at Buffy.

“Oh, yeah. Okay,” he stumbled slightly over his words, and resolved to stare down at his homework, diverting his eyes from the boy sitting near him, intently reading.

“Alright so after you isolate your- TJ?” TJ snapped his head away from Cyrus and back to the board quickly.

“Yeah, sorry. What next?” Buffy sighed, long past the point at which she would have been angry at TJ’s absent-minded gazing at Cyrus. 

“You two are such smitten oblivious idiots oh my god,” she murmured under her breath, unknowing of their relationship. She watched as Cyrus looked up from his book practically every paragraph to stare at TJ’s lips.

“Okay,” she continued. “After you’ve isolated x- TJ!”

“I’m sorry! What are we doing?”

“Cyrus! Stop distracting him!” Buffy exclaimed exasperatedly.

“What are you talking about? I’m not even near him!”

“Yeah but you’re- You’re in his line of sight! Listen, I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Please, deal with,” she gestured between the two of them. “Whatever all of this is. Kiss or something, I don’t care. Just, be ready to work when I get back in here, TJ,” Buffy marched out of the room, turning a sharp right towards the bathroom.

Cyrus turned to look at TJ with a blush settled high on his cheeks.

“Uh, so,” he stood up and sat down next to TJ. “Buffy seems to think I’m a distraction?”

“She’s not necssarily wrong,” TJ smiled coyly, leaning in a bit.

“Oh?”

“Mhm,” he whispered, before leaning forward even further.

“Can I kiss you?” Cyrus breathed.

“Yes please,” Cyrus hooked a finger gently under TJ’s chin, pulling him into a kiss.

They mindlessly kissed until they heard water flowing through the pipes above the room, indicating that the faucet had turned on in the bathroom, and that Buffy would be back soon.

“So,” TJ started, “Just how bad of a day did you have?”

“Not so bad anymore,” with that, Cyrus stood up and went back to where his book sat.

Just as he began to read again, Buffy opened the door, marching in.

“Did you sort out your infatuation yet?” she crossed her arms.

“I think we might have,” TJ replied, opening his notebook back to the assignment.

“I do not want to know.”

“So, know that we’ve divided both sides by 32- CYRUS! OUT!” Buffy cut herself off when she realized that TJ was again staring at Cyrus.

Cyrus scooped up his book and sticky notes, smiling mischievously. He began to make his way out, but not before stopping where TJ sat. He quickly kissed TJ goodbye with a quiet ‘see you later, babe’ and stepped out of the classroom.

Buffy watched him go before turning back to TJ, arms crossed over his chest.

“Explain.”

#tyrus #andi mack #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #buffy driscoll #my fic

[eddycurrents]

For the week of 1 July 2019

Quick Bits:

Aero #1 is an impressive solo debut for the Chinese original heroine spinning out of War of the Realms: New Agents of Atlas in North America and her original stories published in China. The first story is an English adaptation of one originally published in Chinese from Zhou Liefen and Keng, with the adaptation by Greg Pak, letters by Joe Caramagna. The artwork from Keng is stunning. There’s also an original back-up from Pak, Pop Mhan, Federico Blee, and Caramagna that ties in more directly to New Agents of Atlas with Aero learning more about Wave’s origin.

| Published by Marvel

Age of X-Man: Prisoner X #5 concludes another of these minis setting up for the finale in Age of X-Man: Omega. Vita Ayala, Germán Peralta, Matt Horak, Mike Spicer, and Joe Sabino deliver an entertaining story here of Bishop and his crew fighting back against their captor and figuring out who put them in this mess. Gorgeous artwork from Peralta, Horak, and Spicer.

| Published by Marvel

Analog #6 returns from the break with this action-packed start to the new arc. Great art from David O’Sullivan and Mike Spicer. Also, an interesting reveal of what people still do post-Internet.

| Published by Image

Crowded #7 kicks off the second arc as Charlie and Vita try to make their way to Las Vegas. Tons of humour, Charlie continues to be someone that you want to strangle, and Dog may just be the best part of the entire series. I love the art from Ro Stein, Ted Brandt, Tríona Farrell, Katie O’Meara, and Holly McKend.

| Published by Image

Deathstroke #45 begins “Deathstroke RIP” from Priest, Fernando Pasarin, Jason Paz, Wade von Grawbadger, Jeromy Cox, and Willie Schubert. This one deals with the legacy of Slade Wilson in a fascinating manner as Rose tries to fulfill her father’s last contract. There’s also a tie-in to the “Year of the Villain” event with someone here listening to Luthor’s offer. Should be an interesting road ahead.

| Published by DC Comics

Doom Patrol: Weight of the Worlds #1 is very much a continuation of the previous volume of Doom Patrol (with this first issue even including a “Thirteen” chapter heading), but it’s both inclusive and weird enough that it doesn’t overly matter if you’ve read the previous stuff. It helps, but this isn’t a bad place to jump in at the deep end. Gerard Way, Jeremy Lambert, James Harvey, Sajan Rai, and a seemingly uncredited letterer deliver an excellent story here, featuring a weird story on a fitness planet and Cliff dealing poorly with being flesh and blood again.

| Published by DC Comics / Young Animal

Giant Days #52 seems to be setting up how the series may see its exit as Esther travels to London for a job interview. It’s going to be sad to see it end, but John Allison, Max Sarin, Whitney Cogar, and Jim Campbell are ensuring that these final stories contain all of the humour and rich character interaction that has been a hallmark for the book.

| Published by Boom Entertainment / BOOM! Box

The Green Lantern #9 is another excellent issue with stunning artwork from Liam Sharp and Steve Oliff. This one sets up a new multiversal threat while also giving us a fun adventure on an otherwise forgotten corner of the DC Universe in Athmoora. 

| Published by DC Comics

Harley Quinn #63 is another “Year of the Villain” tie-in, with the offer being heard on the last two pages of the book. That pretty much seems to be the theme of these tie-ins, so if you’re not normally reading the books, you might otherwise want to skip them if you’re only interested in Year of the Villain. Apart from that, this is an entertaining story of Harley dealing with her mother’s cancer diagnosis from Sam Humphries, Otto Schmidt, and Dave Sharpe.

| Published by DC Comics

Immortal Hulk #20 continues to build on the confrontation between Hulk, Betty, and the new Abomination adding General Fortean’s forces to the mix directly. It’s fairly explosive, while more horrible and horrifying things seem to be happening on the other side of the Green Door and elsewhere. Al Ewing, Joe Bennett, Ruy José, Belardino Brabo, Marc Deering, Paul Mounts, and Cory Petit continue to deliver Marvel’s best title. Also, there’s an Absolute Carnage teaser from Ewing, Brian Level, Mounts, and Clayton Cowles that gives us a missing body of General Ross and hints at possibly a more nightmarish Red Hulk.

| Published by Marvel

Justice League #27 continues “Apex Predator” from James Tynion IV, Javier Fernandez, Bruno Redondo, Hi-Fi, and Tom Napolitano. It builds further on the new history of Luthor and Martian Manhunter, while the rest of the team continues to try to track down the Monitor and Anti-Monitor.

| Published by DC Comics

Lois Lane #1 is an excellent debut from Greg Rucka, Mike Perkins, Paul Mounts, and Simon Bowland. It focuses well on Lois’ day job, building up on what makes her a creditable threat to shady organizations and the US government alike as she pushes forward to find the truth. A very welcome reappearance of a Questionable character, some topical story threads of the camps at the southern US border, and gorgeous artwork from Perkins and Mounts.

| Published by DC Comics

Red Sonja #6 is the penultimate chapter of this arc with the finale spinning off in the Lord of Fools special. Some interesting developments here as the Zamoran Emperor tries to end the war by offering Sonja a marriage proposal.

| Published by Dynamite

Savage Avengers #3 fully unites the team as Electra and Punisher join the others, complete with an interesting merging for the Venom symbiote. Gerry Duggan tosses out some really great funny lines for this one amidst all of the bloody action.

| Published by Marvel

Sea of Stars #1 is a heartbreaking debut from Jason Aaron, Dennis Hallum, Stephen Green, Rico Renzi, and Jared K. Fletcher. Heartbreaking because it tells the story of a kid and his father, struggling to get by in cruel world through space shipping, and the attack of a weird space creature that tears them apart. Great set-up, beautiful art, and some bizarre events for what happens to the kid.

| Published by Image

Space Bandits #1 is worth it just for the incredible artwork from Matteo Scalera and Marcelo Maiolo. Like Scalera’s work on Black Science, the inventiveness of his art knows no limits and he explores some rich and detailed alien landscapes and characters, with a neat pastel colour palette from Maiolo. This first issue sets up two criminals screwed over by their respective crews.

| Published by Image

Star Wars: Target Vader #1 is a compelling debut that sets up a plot to kill Darth Vader from Robbie Thompson, Marc Laming, Chris Bolson, Neeraj Menon, Jordan Boyd, Andres Mossa, Federico Blee, Erick Arciniega, and Clayton Cowles. This one’s largely a gathering of the team set-up as we follow Valance from Han Solo: Imperial Cadet and learn of an organization running guns against the Empire.

| Published by Marvel

Superman: Up in the Sky #1 begins to collect the original Superman story that was published in those Walmart-exclusive 100-page anthologies from Tom King, Andy Kubert, Sandra Hope, Brad Anderson, and Clayton Cowles. It’s not a bad start, even if it seems a bit weird as to how obsessive Superman seems to be over a missing child stolen from the planet. Some of the best art from Andy Kubert I’ve seen in a while.

| Published by DC Comics

Test #1 is another highly unique and entertaining debut for Vault. Christopher Sebela, Jen Hickman, Harry Saxon, and Hassan Otsmane-Elhaou introduce us to Aleph, a test subject in some sort of corporate experiment that seems to have some sort of unique powers. Or maybe not. That’s the interesting thing, there are hints that it could all be in Aleph’s mind. Wonderful art from Hickman and Saxon.

| Published by Vault

Thumbs #2 continues this excellent series from Sean Lewis and Hayden Sherman. The world-building in this series is incredible, especially considering how immensely personal it happens to be in regards to being seen through Thumbs’ eyes. The colour scheme in this series of blue-grey washes and hot pink just makes this look and feel wonderfully unique. Also, how the back-up story is presented with spot illustrations and dialogue is a neat use of format.

| Published by Image

Other Highlights: Batgirl #36, Batman/TMNT III #3, Birthright #37, Black Hammer: Age of Doom #11, Captain America and the Invaders: Bahama’s Triangle #1, Charlie’s Angels vs. The Bionic Woman #1, Buffy the Vampire Slayer #6, DCeased #3, Dead Man Logan #9, Descendent #3, The Dreaming #11, Fantastic Four: Prodigal Sun #1, Female Furies #6, Hashtag: Danger #3, Heathen #7, Jim Henson’s Tale of Sand, KINO #17, The Long Con #10, Ms. Marvel Annual #1, No One Left to Fight #1, Old Man Quill #7, Postal: Deliverance #1, The Punisher #13, Secret Warps: Soldier Supreme Annual #1, Section Zero #4, She Said Destroy #2, Spider-Gwen: Ghost Spider #10, Star Trek: Year Five #3, Star Wars: Age of Resistance - Finn #1, Star Wars Adventures #23, TMNT #95, Transformers #8, The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl #46, Uncanny X-Men #21, The World of Black Hammer Encyclopedia

Recommended Collections: Conan the Barbarian - Volume 1: Life and Death of Conan Book One, Conan: The Jewels of Gwahlur & Other Stories, Crimson Lotus, Gasolina - Volume 3, Go Go Power Rangers - Volume 4, Hellboy: 25 Years of Covers, Monstress - Book One

d. emerson eddy thinks that it’s a crime against nature to not bake homemade mac and cheese.

#This Week in Comics

[jennycalendar]

imperfections (59/?)

read it on ao3!!

the cliffhanger is resolved!! also, something y’all have been asking for happens!!!

If they’d been driving fast before, this was warp speed. Faith swore she could smell burning rubber as the car tore down the road, Jen’s knuckles white on the steering wheel. It should have taken them about ten minutes to get to Prescott Lane, but they made it there in four and a half, Jen pulling the car to another screeching stop up front.

“We’re here,” she said. She made no move to get out of the car.

“Okay,” said Faith slowly, and waited.

Jen turned to look at Faith. “You go fight the vampire,” she said. “I have some stuff I need to do.”

Faith stared. “What stuff?” she said disbelievingly. “Giles is in there and he’s in danger, and you’re just gonna drive off and—”

“Don’t worry about it, baby,” said Jen, and reached across the car to smooth down Faith’s hair. The love in her eyes was real, but there was something else there, something scary, and Faith didn’t like seeing it there. “I know you and Buffy are going to save him. You always do. I’m going to go handle the tough stuff.”

“I’m not getting out till you tell me what you’re gonna do,” said Faith, more than a little frightened by the level of crazy Jen was apparently operating at.

Jen’s soft little smile vanished. “Faith, time really is of the essence,” she said. “Buffy and Giles need your help, okay? I’m an adult, I can make my own choices—”

“You’ve never had to use that line on me before, Jen,” Faith persisted, a combination of misery and worry making her nauseous. “You always tell me what’s going down. Always. And if you’re not telling me right now, that either means that this shit has seriously fucked you up, or that you’re gonna do something that you know you shouldn’t do.” She considered. “Probably both. So—”

“It’s not—I know it’s not something I should do!” Jen shouted. “I know I shouldn’t but I have to because he’ll be out of town and as soon as Rupert’s safe I’m gonna lose my nerve and not—”

“And not?”

“And NOT GO AND MURDER QUENTIN TRAVERS,” Jen screamed, slamming her hands down on the car horn so hard Faith was pretty sure something broke.

Faith stared. “But you’re—you’re my not-watcher,” she said, aware of how small and childish her voice sounded. “You don’t kill—you’re not—Jen,” and then she did start crying. Not the half-restrained stuff of the kitchen: this was full-out sobbing the likes of which she hadn’t seen since that night at the factory. Because Giles was going to die and Jen was going to spontaneously combust and Buffy was going to be miserable and Xander was going to go back to his shitty dad and Willow to her shitty mom and her dumb, perfect little family was going to shatter into fragments and it was just going to be Faith, alone, all over again, alone alone always—

And now Jen was crying too, curling in on herself in a way that seemed painful and intensely private. Faith wanted to reach across the car to her, but didn’t know how to bridge the gap. Jen had always done that, before, and now—

Now it was Faith’s turn, she guessed. Leaning across the car, she pressed a hard kiss to Jen’s cheek. “I love you, Jen,” she said fiercely. “And you can kill Travers all you want when Giles is safe, but right now, we’re gonna get him back and we’re gonna yell at him a whole bunch for getting himself in trouble, okay? Stay here if you want, or come with me—it doesn’t matter, ‘cause I promise Buffy and I are gonna get him back.”

Jen stared at Faith like she was seeing her for the first time. Without a word, she reached out, squeezing Faith’s hand.

Faith squeezed back, then let go, clambering out of the car. Honestly, she was too fucking angry to be afraid of a master vamp right now. She was thinking about Giles, now, his soft eyes and his nice smile and the way he’d say well done, Faith when he proofread her English essays, and about the kind of a monster you had to be to put a guy like that in danger just to prove a point. She couldn’t bring herself to look back and see if Jen was following her, so she soldiered on ahead.

Buffy didn’t go looking for Kralik. Giles was her first priority, not some master vampire the Council had shipped over to try and kill her with, and so she moved carefully and stealthily until her Slayer-senses picked something up from a room on the second floor. Opening the door, she found Giles, tied to a chair, his shirt covered with blood and his throat cut.

And for a horrible, terrible moment, she stood there, grief hitting her like a sucker punch, but then Giles drew a rattling breath from the chair and Buffy burst into tears.

He was trying to say something, but couldn’t quite manage it. Buffy raced forward, forgetting about Kralik and the Cruciamentum and all the stuff in this house and just wrapping herself around Giles, hugging him tightly for a long moment. “I love you so much,” she sobbed. “Please be okay after this, Giles, please be okay, the Ice Capades are in two weeks and I am so not going without my Watcher there to complain about how much he hates it—”

“Actually,” said Giles very weakly, his voice all raspy and wrong, “I rather like the Ice Capades.”

Buffy was almost crying too hard to get the knots undone. “Don’t ever do that to me again!” she wailed. “I thought you were dead! Do you know how mad Ms. Calendar would be if she found out I got her boyfriend killed?”

There was a loud crash from outside, and Buffy jumped, instinctively positioning herself in front of Giles as the door to the room burst open. Kralik tumbled through, followed closely by Faith and Ms. Calendar, the latter of whom was wielding a mace and hammering it down on Kralik with clear intent to kill.

“That mad, probably,” said Giles.

“Stop talking,” said Buffy, tugging off her pajama top and pressing it to his throat to stop the bleeding. So much for flamingos, she thought.

Ms. Calendar landed a last blow with the mace, then shouted “STAKE,” in a frankly terrifying tone of voice. Hastily, Buffy tossed Mr. Pointy over her shoulder. Faith, who was holding Kralik down, caught it with her free hand, then handed it off to Ms. Calendar. She drove the stake home.

Kralik was dusted.

Ms. Calendar turned, saw Giles, and burst into tears, collapsing onto the floor. Faith assessed the situation, sat down next to Ms. Calendar, and hugged her very tightly, letting Ms. Calendar sob into her shoulder.

“At least this didn’t happen on my actual birthday, right?” said Buffy, sniffling. “That would have totally sucked.”

“Small mercies,” said Giles, and coughed up some blood.

“Stop talking,” said Buffy fiercely.

Everyone was crowded into the tiny waiting room. Buffy’s mom had very gracefully taken over taking care of Ms. Calendar, who was in a hysterical state the likes of which absolutely no one had seen her in before. She was currently crying incoherently into Buffy’s mom’s jacket, which really didn’t help create a hopeful atmosphere as they waited for news on Giles.

“He was talking, though,” said Faith, whose leather jacket was still covered in vamp dust. Willow reached out to help brush it off, and Faith gave her a small, tired smile. “Thanks, Will,” she said.

“It was a pretty clean cut,” Buffy agreed, sniffling. She was wearing her mom’s jacket over a lacy bra, pajama bottoms, and slightly bloodied bunny slippers, but seemed completely unbothered by the strangeness of her ensemble. “I think Kralik just wanted it to look like he was dead.”

At the word dead, Ms. Calendar started sobbing even harder, and Willow’s stomach twisted. Even during that awful summer with Buffy and Giles gone, even with all of her nightmares, Ms. Calendar had never, ever lost control in front of them, at least not intentionally. Quietly, she said, “So someone’s going to kill the Watchers’ Council, right?”

“Yeah,” said Buffy. “Definitely.”

As if on cue, the doors opened, and Quentin Travers entered, flanked by a beefy Council member on either side. Leveling a disapproving gaze at Buffy, he began, “Miss Summers—”

Ms. Calendar stopped crying. She stood up. Then, taking two neat steps forward, she stopped in front of Travers, pulled Buffy’s tiny dagger out of her purse, and stabbed him, hard, in the shoulder. Without waiting for him to react, she pulled the dagger back out. “Leave,” she said, “or next time that hits your heart.”

Travers reeled, clapping a hand to his shoulder, an expression of complete and total shock on his face.

“Did you not hear me?” said Ms. Calendar, her voice deadly. “He’s been through hell because of you, and I’m not just talking about tonight. You got into his head and you made him think that loving other people was something he would never get to have. I love that man and you made him afraid to love me back. No one should ever be afraid to love someone.”

“Ms. Calendar,” said Travers, sounding strangely infuriated for a guy who had just been stabbed in the shoulder.

In answer, Ms. Calendar raised the dagger again. “Do you think I’m kidding?” she asked. “I am really not kidding.”

“Jenny,” said Buffy’s mom, a note of warning in her voice.

But Travers looked again at Ms. Calendar, then nodded, eyes narrowed. “We will be sending a Watcher to replace Mr. Giles,” he said, “and to hopefully retrain at least one of your Slayers. As long as you cooperate with this Watcher, we will not—”

Willow saw it coming before anyone else did. Jumping up from her chair, she grabbed Ms. Calendar’s waist just as the dagger flew again, pulling Ms. Calendar back so that it stabbed the air. “Leave,” she added, holding tightly to Ms. Calendar’s waist and glaring at Travers as she did so. “We don’t negotiate with you guys.”

Travers took the hint. Pressing his handkerchief delicately to his shoulder, he left, the Council goons following him out.

Willow let go of Ms. Calendar’s waist and sat down, feeling a little nauseous. “New Watcher’s probably going to show up whether we want him or not,” she mumbled.

“Why did you stop me?” Ms. Calendar asked, her voice clipped.

Willow knew the answer to that one without having to think about it. “I know you wouldn’t regret stabbing him in the shoulder tomorrow,” she said, her voice wobbling. “You know, when Giles is alive and okay and you’re feeling a little less, uh, stabby. But even as terrible as that Council guy is, I know killing him would really mess you up. Killing anybody would mess anybody up.”

Ms. Calendar nodded a little jerkily and sat down, curling again into Buffy’s mom without a word. That felt weird. Usually it was Ms. Calendar making sure everyone else was okay, not everyone else making sure Ms. Calendar was okay, and Willow didn’t like the change. She didn’t like seeing funny, kind Ms. Calendar so angry and hurt.

The doctor then entered the waiting room, looking a little exhausted. “He’ll live,” she said upon seeing them. “He’s awake, if a little drugged up, but he can take visitors.”

Everyone looked to Ms. Calendar. “Yeah,” she said in a small voice. “Um, I’m his, his girlfriend, can I—”

The doctor stepped to the side, letting Ms. Calendar go ahead of her. Willow felt Faith’s shoulder bump hers, and reached out, grabbing Faith’s hand. Everyone cared about Ms. Calendar, but Faith was the only other one who got how Willow was feeling right now.

Faith squeezed her hand. “Chill out, Red,” she said, but now Willow knew her well enough to hear the genuine reassurance in the statement. “It’s all okay now.”

#fic #imperfections #can't tag this wo spoilers

[wonderlandmind4]

Delicate Stages: Epilogue

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x OFC Ana Rios

Warnings: Language, mild PTSD. Explicit Sexual Content 18+. Mentions of Nightmares, Minor Character Death

Summary: Bucky Barnes agrees to participate in Deprogramming Sessions. What he gets is not anything like he expected.

Sometimes I wonder when you sleep Are you ever dreaming of me....cause I know this is delicate...

Words: 7.5k+ @justreadingfics @nerdyandproud9 @buffy-morgendorffer-01 @kat-lives

A/N: Here we are. This is the end of Delicate Stages. First, thank you to everyone who read, liked and commented on this monster of a story! I seriously can not thank you all enough. Thank you for being patient with me as I dealt with my loss, so I also really appreciate that. Thank you to my friend who allowed me to text her all sorts of silly little things and for helping me get my head straight when I needed it. I can't tell you the amount of sleepless nights and down time at work I had to write this story. This has become my baby, and I'm really proud of it and I'm baffled by the attention and praise it's received. With all that said, please enjoy, the final chapter of Delicate Stages.

10 months later:

The past ten months have been a fucked up roller coaster ride.

It starts only three days after Bucky drove out of Ana’s life. Max finds her, pulling her outside on the patio and carefully wrapping his arms around her in one of the longest hugs she’s ever received. He sits her down, then solemnly tells her the bad news.

Jared Sharp has passed away.

Although Ana has already heard a summary of what happened, Max divulges his side of the story. Jared was the one to realize what was happening, how he ran along with Max to help them out, and when they got there, Jared tried stopping it. He was critically shot and Max tried everything he could to keep him from bleeding out.

She’s heard this up until that point. Max continues, tells her that Jared asked if he saved her, and for some reason, he lied. It made Jared smile, said that Alex would be happy, and that was the last thing he said before he passed out. His body couldn’t come back from the trauma of the wound and gave out.

Ana had been peering out into the distance while Max talked. Her eyes sting, she blinks once, twice. Something wet falls onto her cheek and she realizes then that she’s crying. Her and Jared never got along while working, and he may have hated and blamed her for the wrong reasons, but he was trying to make up for it. They were beginning to get to know one another, understand each other. Her brother loved him for plenty of reasons, and Ana is disheartened that they could have been friends for more than a few weeks.

In the end, Jared wanted to protect Alex’s sister. He wanted to prevent anything further, he wanted to save her and Bucky, and it earned him a bullet to his chest. Ana leans forward, allowing Max to gather her in his arms as she cries quietly against his chest. She mourns the loss of Jared Sharp.

The long days morph into longer nights- some sleepless, some filled with nightmares of the aftermath- busy days, tear filled showers, bottles of wine, and working non stop. Especially after discovering the little notebooks Bucky left behind just for her. Honestly, Ana thinks it would just have been better if he'd taken those with him, instead of leaving them in a neat pile in her nightstand for her to find. Then, as she goes through them, page after page filled with nothing but his thoughts about her, she thinks, maybe not.

The first time she had gotten the nerve to go through one, she cried. Well, she laughed, then cried, maybe it was a mixture of both. She swears James Buchanan Barns could be a famous poet if he wanted to. It's these words, his words, his thoughts and feelings, that Ana rereads over and over, keeps close to her heart, and under her pillow. She feels slightly pathetic. She just misses him every single day, and Bucky's words just reassure her that no matter how much time passes, no matter how far the distance, no matter where he is, that he still loves her. That he will come back to her like he promised. It's her little bit of home she holds onto.

Home isn't a place, it's a person, it's a feeling; Bucky took that with him.

It's been a week since Ana has cracked open one of the little books, the binding worn by this point. It's not her fault, she's been keeping busy, more than usual. She's been working in the Medical Ward, offering her reports and help to any agents and Avengers coming back from missions. 

Ana has absolutely refused to join any new mission and not just because of her knee, to the point of where Tony no longer asks her. She'd rather just sit back, wait anxiously while cuddling Ezra, and do her Empathetic Healing. She tries not to use her Energy Alchemy anymore, at least, not until it stops making her weak.

Sometimes, while she's waiting, or alone in the compound, Ana wonders into Bucky's room. She's already took all his pillows, now piled up on her bed, and a left over shirt or two, but she sits on his mattress, staring at a navy blue hat he left behind. Sometimes, she falls asleep, curled up in the middle of the bed that still smells like him, and sometimes she wakes up to Steve covering her with a blanket. When that happens, he doesn't coax her to get up or move into her room, instead, he sits beside her, pats his lap for her to rest her head on, until she drifts off again. Misery loves company, they say.

The last seven days however, have been crazy. Ana had been dealing with filing reports, even proof reading others, and the team just came back from a four day mission, uncovering yet another HYDRA base. 

The mission went smoothly, but Steve still came back pissed off, and it took Ana quite some time to calm him. To be honest, she didn't try that hard, because when Steve becomes angry about the situation, it allows Ana to let her own feelings out because, yes. She is still upset and angry, and fuck, she just misses Bucky.

As does Steve, who takes it out on the punching bag next to her favorite one. When Ana catches him during these times, she challenges him to knock all the bags off the chains, they end up making a game out of it. Ana punches with all her might, until she can no longer control her powers, using energy to blast the bag right off. It always ends with them falling to the mat laughing. It’s cathartic for them both.

*

Three hundred and twenty-three days later, Ana is banging her head against the island marble top. She hasn't emailed Telly in a long time, both busy with their own lives and projects, but Ana is stuck on a mental health device that Tony has been trying to come up with and inquired her help. The concept being able to replicate what Ana can do, by healing the mind from emotional and psychological trauma. Maybe she if smacks her head hard enough it'll knock her intelligence back into her brain.

“You’re going to give yourself a concussion, and I will not be explaining that to Pepper.”

“Why? Because your fiancé will have your ass if I’m hurt?”

There’s a hand now between her forehead and the counter top, cushioning her blows. Ana narrows her eyes at Tony as he picks her head up.

“Why don’t you take a vacation?” He offers, his dark eyes flashing in concern.

“I agree!” Steve shouts from the couch as he sits up straighter, overly eager.

“Me too!” Wanda pipes in, pulling her attention away from the card game she’s teaching Vision. Those two have been growing closer and closer the past several months.

“I can’t. I’m too busy.” Ana glares at both of them.

Sam, who has been eating his lunch on the patio speaks up. “Not too busy to clean my wings! Four times. They didn’t even need a cleaning.”

Ana rolls her eyes.

“It was entertaining to watch you do that though.” Comes Natasha’s voice from behind her.

Ana spins in her chair not at all hearing her walk in. She snatches the untouched spoon and jar of Nutella that has been sitting next Ana for a while. She hasn’t cracked it open, mainly because it was making her sad. She still has the one Bucky gave her on her bookshelf. No one touches it.

“It wasn’t a suggestion.” Tony asserts, ignoring everyone. “I’m telling you. Start packing and pick a location, anywhere you want to go and I’ll have my jet bring you there.”

She groans.

“Why don’t you visit your friend? That pen pal of yours.” Steve suggests, giving Tony a pointed look over her shoulder.

“Pen pal.” Ana mutters while Natasha leans against the counter, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Tony claps his hands together. “Yes. Besides, Pepper will have my ass for real if she finds out how stressed you’ve been.”

“I am not s-”

“You’re hair has been falling out and FRIDAY clocked your BP at 139 for at least-”

“Okay, I got it, thanks.” Ana snaps.

It’s true, she’s been purposely overworking herself. Jumping from one agent to the next, then the issue with helping Peter Parker’s Aunt May come to terms with finding the truth about his identity as Spider-Man. Which was shocking news to everyone, minus Tony. Not to mention the lack of sleep and still ignoring the Bucky shaped hole in her heart.

“Fine.” She sighs exaggeratedly. “I’ll go visit Telly.”

“Thank god. All this negative energy was making me antsy.” Wanda teases, wiggling her fingers.

“Negative!?” She pauses, then shrugs. “Hush and help me pack.”

***

Wakanda is the most beautiful, stunning place Ana has ever seen in her life. The scenery blooms in front of her eyes, the color of the sky seem more vibrant, as do the plants, the landscape. It's the incredibly advance technology that has her mind reeling. It takes her breath away. She can't help thinking, as she slowly and takes in all the new sights with wonder, that Bucky would adore this place. She ignores the pang of longing in her heart.

Ana arrives to her destination, the ramp of the jet she came in lowers as she goes to grabs her bags. She’s stopped by one of the stunning women who had offered to pick her up in the first place. She introduced herself as Okoye. She politely holds her hand out, her dark skin almost illuminating in the sunlight along with her intricate red and gold uniform. Ana insists she can carry her own bags, that it isn't a problem, until the woman levels her with a stern look.

Once Ana exits the jet, she's led down a beautiful hallway, that leads into a wide, expansive laboratory. Her mouth drops open. The ceilings are high, two entire walls display floor to ceiling windows overlooking the countryside. There’s a plethora of technological advance machines and devices, all futuristic and expensive; Ana is afraid to walk too close to them, lest she break something. Everything in this lab makes the one back home look like a child's play toy. They come to a halt on the left side of the lab, behind someone standing by a table of weapons.

"Princess Shuri," Okoye introduces a tilt of her golden spear. “AnaRosa Rios."

Ana balks at that, because Princess!? Telly sent the Princess of Wakanda to greet her? "Uh-" She squeaks dumbly, blinking in surprise.

The young woman, a teenager, dressed in all white with multiple braided hair wrapped up into a bun, turns. She beams brightly, waving excitedly. Then it clicks. Telly is Princess Shuri of Wakanda, which means she is the sister of T'Challa, the Black Panther. The King of Wakanda. Holy shit.

Shuri rushes to her, Ana automatically opens her arms to greet her with a hug. It isn't awkward or weird, since they've talked for so long, have shared so much, that it feels like a seeing an old friend who's moved away. Once they pull back, they break out into giddy chit chat and laughter, mainly because Ana had no idea who Telly truly was, but Telly- Shuri, knew who Ana was for a while. That is, until Shuri reminded her that she did in fact introduce herself way back in their first message to each other. Ana is just dumb and was overly impressed by her intelligence that she just opted to nickname her Telly.

Shuri pulls back completely, squatting down until she's level with Ana's knee. “How’s your knee holding up in this rusted thing?" She inquires with a beautiful accent. "Brother told me it was damaged again. Stark technology failed?”

Ana shrugs sheepishly. “In his defense, I don’t think he was prepared for a five pronged electrical disk to be shoved into my knee? It somehow countered the rods between the bones and disabled them. That's a lie. It literally yanked them from my bones." She winces like she can still feel the pain from the moment it happened. Her entire knee throbs occasionally, even with the temporary brace she is currently wearing.

Shuri pursues her lips. “Hmmm. It was painful, yes?” She gently taps the brace with her fingers.

“Excruciating.”

“Why did you wait so long to see me?" She stands up, crossing her arms. "I offered to help when you told me about your knee the first time."

Ana waves her hand around. “I was really busy and I was handling the pain the best way I could. I’m here now though.”

Shuri looks like she wants to say something else, but hooks her arm with Ana's own. “Come. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

She steers Ana towards the opposite side of the room, past the little workshops with objects she can’t quite see. She tries taking in the amazing sights of the laboratory, but she's being pulled too quickly. They head towards the Health and Healing area in the back, stopping by the Wakandan version of an MRI machine. Ana’s eyes widen, she drops her arm.

“Oh my god.” She breathes.

Shuri nudges her arm. “I thought you’d like it.”

Ana is amazed. “Shuri, you literally built a knee. This is incredible!”

The artificial knee appears more advanced than anything she has ever seen. It’s navy blue, nearly black in color, clearly made from a material not yet accessible to other countries. A thin piece of what looks like golden cartilage cushions the joints, along with golden tendons and ligaments.

Ana steps up to the table, examining the artificial knee. “It operates like a real one, right? No limited range of motion?”

“Correct. It’s better than a real one. It’s one-hundred percent vibranium. It's kinetic as well, so it’ll absorb any shock impact and converts it into energy.” Shuri explains excitedly. "Goes perfectly with what you can do. The surgery for it isn’t as invasion as a normal, less advanced knee replacement. Your recovery would be days, weeks possbily, rather than months.”

Ana claps her hands, ecstatic. “Does that mean I have my leg strength back?”

Shuri laughs. “Yes! You can land a powerful strike. The best part however, it converts into a positive source of energy throughout your body. I gathered all the information you told me and decided to build it that way to give you more endurance.”

“You're amazing, Shuri.” Ana compliments, focusing back on the knee to take in the details.

“One other thing.”

Ana turns to face her, eager to learn more. Then her heart stops in her chest, air ceasing in her lungs. She can barely feel her expression melt into shock and briefly thinks that she is going into shock. Time seems to stand still, and a warmth begins to spread throughout her bones. The breath she had been holding in without her knowledge leaves her mouth in a quiet huff. It takes her seventeen seconds to breathe again.

Bucky.

Bucky is standing there. 

Bucky is standing right there. Bucky is standing several feet behind Shuri, who is probably smiling so wide, but Ana doesn’t see her. She doesn’t see anyone or anything surrounding her other than Bucky. Bucky who has a soft little grin on his lips as he stares back at her. Bucky, who she had been dreaming of standing in front of her for months, is right there.

Ana has to be certain this is real before she truly reacts. She blinks rapidly, but the illusion doesn’t disappear. She twists her injured knee until it hurts, but she isn’t dreaming. Bucky is wearing a white tunic, threaded with intricate designs that look important, royal. His trousers are a gray loose fitting material leading to his bare feet. 

Clearly the past ten months has done him good, since he now has a brand new prosthetic arm, sleek and dark blue interlaced with gold. It’s his face though, that kickstarts Ana’s heart up again. He looks serene. His blue eyes are bright and clear as the sky, popping vividly against the color of his shirt. Any cuts and scabs are long gone, and half his hair is twisted back into a bun, the length now just above his shoulders.

“Hi Annie.”

It’s daybreak after the longest period of darkness. That simple nickname, that gentle little greeting finally makes Ana’s feet unglue from the floor. This is real, and Bucky is real and it’s not another heart wrenching dream. 

Ana sprints towards him, closing the few feet between them. She jumps, Bucky catching her instantly, wrapping her thighs around his hips. Ana kisses him. Bucky tightens his arms around her waist, pressing her close and kissing her back with fervor.

“Your knee!” Shuri cackles from somewhere behind them. They ignore her. “Love sick colonizers.”

Ana’s hands are in his hair, gripping and pulling his head closer. Their mouths open against each other’s and she has missed the way he tastes. Bucky moves his arm up her back, his own fingers tangling in her hair, kissing her harder. It’s bruising and perfect, ignites a furnace deep within her soul. Ana begins to slip, so she drops her legs, but Bucky holds her tighter to his chest. Unfortunately, they break apart, just barely, grinning wildly against each others mouths. Bucky brings his right hand up to cup her jaw.

“You came back to me.” Ana whispers, tears welling up in her eyes.

Bucky laughs softly, freely, and it’s the best sound she has ever heard. “Promised I would, love.” He kisses her again.

Her hand slips from his long, soft hair, falling onto his left shoulder. She breaks the kiss once more, gazing up into his watery blue eyes. “I’ve missed you.”

“You have no idea.” He exhales, swiping his thumbs along her cheekbones. He peaks her nose. “I have missed your pretty eyes.”

Ana melts into him. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Better. Brand new.”

Overwhelming relief crashes over. Ana beams, tears escaping her eyes. She’s so happy in this moment.

“I love you.” Bucky conveys strongly, nudging his forehead against hers.

"I love you, too. Oh my god. This is real right? Please, please tell me you're real."

"I'm very real, doll face."

"God." Ana reaches up to tug his hair, only to pull him back down for another long, overdue kiss.

“I’m fixed, Ana, it’s gone.” He mumbles against her mouth.

She pulls back, completely gobsmacked. “What- I mean- how- what?”

Bucky smiles so wide, his eyes squint, those cute crinkles appearing by the corners. “Shuri. She did this thing with-” he breaks off laughing as Ana places quick little pecks all over his face, “-the scientists and the-” Ana kisses his mouth, “-thing."

“Very eloquently put.” Shuri cackles behind them.

Ana grabs either side of his head, slipping her fingers into his thick, long hair, accidentally loosening the bun. She rubs her thumbs against his temples, senses his warm energy seeping into hers. 

“Fuck,” She mutters, beaming at him. “I’m so happy for you, baby. How do you feel?” She has to ask again.

“Free.”

The rapidly beating heart swells even more inside her chest. Her stomach flutters, warmth spreading throughout her veins. All she ever wanted was for Bucky to be free from Hydra’s monstrous tentacles. Ana weeps from joy.

Gentle thumbs wipe away her tears, as Bucky tenderly hushes her with sweet little coos. Once she gathers herself, she turns around in his arms, Bucky wrapping them around her chest. 

“Shuri, this is incredible. You are incredible!” Ana exclaims. “How were you able to do it?"

"Come! I'll show you!" She chirps excitingly, grabbing Ana's arm, pulling her from Bucky’s hold to dragging her across the lab. 

He makes a noise of protest, but Shuri ignores him. They come to a stop by a large holographic digital panel. She taps her fingers swiftly on the screen until images of what must be Bucky's brain pop up.

"We used our most sophisticated bi-scanners to create a one on one digital representation of his brain." The insanely intelligent princess explains, expanding one of the images. "The progress we made was tested and retested again in the digital construct, that way there was no damage to the physical brain tissue."

She turns her attention on Ana. "I was worried about that. If the tissue would be damaged in the process of deprogramming the words, of pulling them apart, since they were basically embedded into his DNA at that point. All interictally woven."

Ans shakes her head in disbelief. She knew how deep HYDRA's brainwashing went, seventy years of wiping his mind and repeating those words made a giant impact. A long term affect.

"As you already knew," Shuri continues, "there was no simple solution to just erase mental programming, especially after 7 decades. There's no delete button, and you were right, Ana. The majority of his programming was linked to the trigger words. The last thing we wanted to do was remove all of who Sergeant Barnes was. All his loves, his hates, his whole personality- when trying to destroy what Hydra made him into. 

“The hardest part was rooting out the extent of his memories that had the greatest amount of control over his physical actions. The ones that had been manipulated due to their deep emotional trauma. Which was quite a few."

Ana hums in agreement, surprisingly able to follow along. Shuri goes on.

"I ran an algorithm that was able to flush the influence of the trigger words out, all while retaining the core context of those original memories. Essentially, I was able reboot him."

"Does-" Ana speaks up, her voice raspy, taking all the information in. She clears her throat. "Does that mean, his memories..."

"They're all there." She grins brightly at her. "All his memories, and traits, everything that makes Sergeant Barnes himself, is all there. Old memories, and new ones, important ones."

She places a gentle hand on Ana's shoulder. "I was careful. I made sure to keep all his memories with you intact as well. The healing session you told me about, evidently, helped me out more than expected. By performing that, you essentially tied stronger, newer memories, thoughts, feelings, loves, into his brain.

“It was much easier to separate what Sergeant Barnes felt with those memories, what he began to associate the former trigger words, as good. Even beforehand, the words weren't as deeply rooted as I anticipated. Which is a result from your Deprogramming Sessions as well."

Ana frowns, befuddled. She had been staring at Bucky as he fawned over the vibrainum knee meant for her. Bucky glances up, and she tears her eyes away, locking her gaze back to Shuri. She mulls the words over in her mind for several long moments, her heart picking up speed just a little at the implication.

"So...what you are saying is-"

"You did not fail me." Bucky's voice interrupts her from behind.

Ana turns, blinking. He was just on the other side of the room two seconds ago. He's smiling at her, that one where his mouth is tilted up to right, and the corners of his eyes are soft.

"Precisely." Shuri concurs. "If it weren't for you, our process would have been longer and much more invasive. This took around fourth and a half months. It would have been quicker, but our country briefly had civil disagreements with an outsider."

"Wait. Then I really didn't..." Ana shakes her head again, trying to comprehend all of this information.

Everything she has been beating herself up with, everything she felt immensely guilty of, that weighed on her like 20-ton weights, wasn't true. That she truly did not fail in helping him. All those nights she spent crying into her pillow, all the nights she spent alone in their spot on the roof, driving herself into a nearly depressed tail spin. All that time she spent knowing that she could have done more, that maybe if she did something differently, that none of what happened would have happened.

"Annie."

The nickname she once despised pulls her from her thoughts. Bucky is standing a few inches in front of her, placing careful hands on her cheeks, his touch delicate. Ana revels in the contrast of his hands, warm and cool, allowing it to ground her. She's beginning to feel overwhelmed with everything from the past hour. Arriving in a place she had no idea exist until a day ago, thinking she was here to visit for a new knee, then having Bucky surprise her, to the information about how Shuri and her team were able to fully deprogram him. She feels dizzy.

"You with me, darling?" Bucky murmurs, smoothing his thumbs over her cheekbones. His eyes are so incredibly blue, and she is drowning in them. Wants to drown in them forever.

"I didn't fail you?" She breathes, still trying to comprehend it. She brings her hands up, curling her fingers over his wrists.

His eyes crinkle as his expressions turns fond. “No, you didn't. You were a big part in helping me." He leans closer, pressing his forehead against hers. "Between you and I, you were the greatest part. You are the greatest part."

Then he kisses her, gentle and tantalizing, the sensation melting right down to her bones. It causes her knees to buckle, her right one throbbing, but the love of her life wraps his arms around her shoulders and waist, supporting her against his body. Ana can't help it, a few tears escaped once more as she hugs Bucky around his back.

Shuri decides to speak up. "Your broken white boy is fixed!" She exclaims.

Not expecting that at all, Ana pulls away cackling loud and unabashed. She barely hears Bucky sigh, before she turns and launched herself at Shuri, embracing her in a tight hug.

"You are an exceptional genius!" Ana tells her, tears still blurring her vision. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Her friend laughs in her ear before she leans back. "When my brother told me exactly who Sergeant Barnes was-

"Bucky, Shuri." He interjects. He's ignored.

"-I had to help." She goes on as if Bucky hadn't said a word. "Not just for scientific reason, which is a major breakthrough for Wakandan artificial intelligence, but for the both of you as well. You became extremely sad in your emails, Ana, and his most recent memories were just as sad. I knew this would make you both happy. Captain Rogers too."

Ana beams at her, until it clicks in her brain. She takes a step back. "Oh my god, Steve knew this entire time!"

No wonder he was eager to take Ana here. That little fucking punk. When she gets back she's going to smack Steve in the face with his shield, then she’s going to have to thank him in the biggest way possible when she goes back. She looks at Bucky, who is laughing now, his mouth open and head tilted back.

If she goes back.

***

"You've been sitting on a never-ending supply of Winter theme nicknames for him, and I'm only now finding out about it?" Shuri asks, crossing her arms and glaring at Bucky.

It took a while for Ana and Bucky's reunion to die down, even having several of the Wakadans working in the lab clapping for them. It felt physically impossible to pull away from each other, and even now, Ana has her arms around his lower back, her head pressed against his chest over his beating heart. Bucky has his flesh hand in her hair, his left hugging her spine.

"I think you have plenty of your own nicknames for me." Bucky responds flatly. Ana perks up at that. "No. I'm not telling you either, darling. This information is very dangerous in both your hands."

"I'll just tell her later." Shuri winks at her.

"You don't stand a chance, Bucky." Ana simpers. She hears him huff exasperated. "You love me." She leans back to look at him, and he's already peering down at her.

"With every fiber of my being." He tells her with conviction.

Her heart swells. "I've missed you. I love you."

He kisses her deeply, until Shuri clears her throat. Bucky pulls back, shrugging unashamed. "I’ve missed those nine gold dots.” He gently brushes his thumb under her eye. “Would you like to see where I live?"

Ana ignores the little pang in her heart at the words. "That sounds like a line, Buck."

They stare at each other, goofy grins on their faces. Ana feels likw this is her own  homecoming, wrapped up in his arms.

"Go, go." Shuri shoos before Bucky can reply. "Enjoy your time, Ana. We can talk knee replacement surgery when you are ready. No rush.”

***

White Wolf.

It's what the Wakandans dubbed Bucky. It's what T'Challa and Shuri named him during his recovery. Ana finds out that the people have essentially adopted Bucky and have accepted him into their society and culture. He explains all of this to her, as she traces her fingers all over his new arm that seems utterly benign.

She can't get over the beauty of the vibranium prosthetic. It's so very different from the other, then again, this new arm was made with careful tenderness from people who genuinely hold Bucky's interest as important. As someone who is indeed a human, with complex thoughts and emotions. Someone who isn't viewed as a weapon, as an asset.

Bucky allows her to play with his fingers, twisting and turning his wrist, pulling his bicep closer to her face. The technology is amazing, beautiful. The design reminds her of the kintsukuroi artwork she has in her room. Ana traces every single line of gold she sees; around his fingers, his knuckles, the lines in his palm, around his wrist, up his forearm, over his bicep.

"To repair with gold." She whispers, accidentally interrupting Bucky.

He stops talking and laces his fingers with hers. Then he lifts her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. Ana smiles at him, before leaning into him, kissing him softly on the lips. As he brings his right hand up to rest against her chest and taps her collarbone, she vaguely remembers never believing in a one true love before. But as they sit alone on the freight train that takes them from the Lab, through the city and into the country side, she thinks maybe she was wrong.

*

Bucky quite literally pulls Ana along through a small village made up of scattered huts. Animals ranging from chickens, to sheep, dogs and even some cats run around. He shows her around the little farm he works on three days a week. He points out the animals, the little goats and sheep, some chickens and lambs. He points out his favorite little goat, who he named Rosa because she's a stubborn little thing that likes to kick at hay bills. The fact that Ana's full name ends with Rosa doesn't go unnoticed, and Bucky blushes when she mentions. He tells her that moving hay bills and other manual labor makes him feel whole, that he can be helpful.

Bucky admits, his voice quiet as he pets Rosa on the head, that most days he doesn't even use his left arm. Keeping it locked in a case up in the lab and working with just his right arm makes him feel more human; feels more like himself. That during this recovery process, he had begun accepting himself as who he was. It made Bucky feel like he wasn't just a weapon, and his old Soviet made arm was just an everyday reminder that for seventy plus years, that's all he was.

"I think that's why I was always so cautious with it around you." Bucky confesses, voice barely above a whisper. "All I saw was this horrific thing that could hurt you and I couldn't get rid of. I was stuck with it."

Ana  understands, and to convey that she does, she presses a light kiss to his temple. As Bucky leads them towards the furthest hut just on the outskirts of a small lake, they're surrounded by children with beautiful dark skin, dressed in traditionally wraps with white and yellow tribal paint on their faces. They're all shouting in their native language, but the kind expression on Bucky's face tells Ana that they're calling his name. Not Bucky; White Wolf.

He drops her hand in favor of picking up one of the smallest boys, swinging him around in the air. The child giggles brightly as the others all eagerly wait their turn, pining for his attention. Ana's heart blooms warmth, her cheeks beginning to hurt from smiling so wide. Bucky is so at ease here, content and comfortable, and the little pang gently kicks at her stomach. Ana ignores it once more as she is suddenly being pulled toward the lake by three girls, who then force her to sit on a boulder.

Bucky makes his way over to them after several minutes of throwing each child up into the air. He chuckles under his breath when he sees the braids in Ana's hair. The girls have been chatting excitedly, and although she doesn't understand a word, she's content to sit there and listen, taking in the life of the small village. Some of the older villagers offer her friendly waves and smiles, an elderly woman stopping by once to hand her some beads to give to the girls.

"They're saying you have thick beautiful hair." Bucky translate her as he sits down.

One of the youngers boys from earlier had follow him, and climbs into Ana's lap, taking her hands and playing with her fingers. "I figured." She smiles over at him. "They love you here."

"Yeah, I guess they do." He agrees, pinching one of the tan beads in her hair.

"Umfazi!" The girl behind her giggles. "Umfazi!"

Bucky clears his throat and turns to playfully poke the girl in the arm. His cheeks, Ana notices, are tinted red.

"What did she say?" She questions curiously.

"It's not important. She's just being silly."

Ana narrows her eyes, but lets it go in favor of tickling the little boy in her lap

***

After spending a few hours in the village, Bucky brings Ana to his apartment just on the outskirts of the city. It's an open yet cozy concept, despite modern touches and all types of advanced tech she has never seen before; sleek appliances and even an entertainment center. Bucky lights up while talking about it, a brilliant smile on his face, telling her how cool and amazing the tech is and Stark hasn't even begun to scratch the surface of what this country has and can do.

It's here that Ana finally realizes what that panging in her heart is. It feels like she's being shot all over again, steel bullets twisting her insides around. A bitter taste fills her mouth and she swallows it with the painful flutter of her heart as well. 

Bucky has found his place here; recovering, becoming healthy, physically, mentally, emotionally. His excitement and awe of every little piece of aspect hasn't dimmed once, despite living here for months.

"You're happy here." Ana states quietly, interrupting him. "You love it here."

Bucky's smile falls from his mouth, a frown setting in as he takes her hands. "I'm happy you're here with me. I'm happy with you."

He leans down to press his lips to her forehead, then trails his mouth down to her temple, her cheek, to her nose. He traces his fingers up from her own, to her arms, until he is cupping her jaw. Ana gazes up at him, her heart pounding against her chest, her cheeks heating up under his touch. He is looking at her with so much love, so much adoration, that any seed of doubt she was beginning to have fades away.

When Bucky presses his lips against hers, it's tantalizing, nearly burning her bones and melting against his solid body. Ana snakes her arms around his waist, pressing him closer, because at one point she couldn't handle three days away from him, and three hundred and twenty-three days was horrible. She grips his shirt, trying to hold off the sudden emotion swirling in her chest. She must gasp against his lips, for Bucky starts to walk her backwards, his tongue prying her lips open.

Something wet escapes her eyes, and Bucky swipes his thumbs over them. She doesn't know how they got from the kitchen to his room, onto the bed, but she doesn't complain. Ana brings her hands up to tangle her fingers into his long hair, when Bucky takes them both, interlocking their fingers and pressing them on either side of her head. He pulls back to stare into her eyes, and Bucky's own are wet.

Ana gives him a rueful smile. "I'm sorry, Bucky. I love you, so much, and I'm incredibly happy to see you, you have no idea. Or you probably do. I just..." She trails off, lip quivering.

"It's alright, Ana." Bucky soothes softly. "I get it. I love you, I missed you." He kisses the tip of her nose, then pulls back. "I was in cryofreeze on and off for decades, and from what I remember, I didn't dream too often. This time was different. I dreamt of you, Annie. Your face, your laugh, your touch. Just being with you, and when I woke up, there was a moment where I thought you there with me. When I realized you weren't-"

He breaks off. Ana untangles her left hand, reaching up to wipe a tear on his cheek away. "It was horrible without, and I know that isn't fair for me to say-"

He kisses her to cease her words, and it's a very Bucky like thing to do. It makes her stomach flip.

"I nearly begged them to put me back to sleep after they fixed everything. Because being awake, knowing how far you were from me..." He shakes his head, his eye glazing over for a moment. He blinks, then smiles down at her. "I want to show you how much I missed you. I want to show you how fucking happy I am right now."

*

Bucky sits back on his heels, and it should be comical, him sitting there naked with how turned on he is, but it’s not. His hungry gaze pins Ana to the spot on the bed, her heart beating wildly as he continues to stare at her, as if he’s seeing her for the first time. Bucky doesn’t need to show her how much he’s missed her or loves her; Ana can feel the emotional energy radiating off his skin. However, he’s still too far from her.

Ana lifts her right leg, hooking her heel over his shoulder, the vibranium base feels smooth and sleek. She tries pulling him in, however, Bucky wraps his fingers around her ankle, moving her foot so he can kiss the Veni Vidi Vici tattoo on the outside of her foot. He then kisses her ankle, trailing his lips up to her calf. He places feather light kisses over her injured knee, the marks from disk faint against her olive skin; the brace had been carefully place to the side.

He continues kissing up her inner thigh, her stomach swooping as Bucky moves closer to her center. He ignores her there, opting to lean over and kiss the left side of her hip, where the scars from years ago begin. He drags his lips across her navel, his beard tickling her skin and kisses the newest scar left behind by a bullet. Bucky moves up to kiss the tattoo on her ribs, her skin erupting in goosebumps as his breath fans over the words.

He skips over her breasts, slightly heaving with her labored breaths. She has to bite her lip to keep from whimpering as he tenderly kisses the second bullet scar on her shoulder. Bucky grazes his teeth over her collarbone, tapping his thumb twice, before trailing his lips up her neck and behind her ear, kissing the lotus flower tattoo.

“Bucky,” Ana gives in with a whine, her mouth dropping open as his hard chest grazes over her nipples. “Please."

“Shhh, baby.” He murmurs over her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “I’ve got you.”

His hands find hers, lacing their fingers together as he finally kisses her lips. He keeps his mouth soft, delicate, the love he feels for her seeping into her bones. She loves him just as much, but it’s been ten months, and that’s ten fucking months too long. Ana wraps her legs around his waist, tugging him close, until his hard cock is pressed between her legs, sliding against her clit.

They both groan into each other’s mouths at the contact. Bucky brakes their hold from their hands, lining himself up, pressing into Ana. He goes slow, gentle despite how wet she is,. It’s been ten months without this, and the rush to feel each other skipped any foreplay. She breaks away from their kiss, throwing her head back and gasping quietly as he fills her, feeling every inch of him. He slips his left arm under her waist, holding her close and locking her there, as he takes her right hand away from her own, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

A soft nip to her neck makes Ana move her head back, meeting Bucky’s blue-eyed gaze. His eyes are blown wide with lust, nearly hidden with the love that is shinning in them. With shaky fingers, Ana brushes his hair back, bringing him down until their foreheads touch. He smiles down at her before capturing her lips once again.

On the first thrust, Bucky keeps it tantalizingly slow and deep, already hitting that sensitive spot insider her. Ana wraps her arms around his strong back, digging her fingers into his shoulders from a mixture of pleasure and dull fleeting pain from his size. Bucky pauses, allowing them to both catch their breaths and adjust, chuckling into each other’s mouths. Ana moans into a kiss after Bucky starts again, slowly continues to roll his hips, keeping each thrust deep and perfect. 

Everything feels like it’s on fire, the air nearly sizzling around them. Warmth seeps into her skin from Bucky, igniting every one of her veins and makes her heart pound against her chest. She vaguely wonders if he can feel just how hard it’s beating for him. Ana feels their energies wrap around each other, comforting, warm; home.

Bucky presses her hips down harder, groaning as her walls flutter around his cock for a moment. At this point, he’s barely pulling back, just keeps grinding deep inside her, her clit brushing against his pubic bone. Their kiss is nothing more than open mouth panting, gasps and whimpers being swallowed down once in a while.

It’s all so overwhelming, especially when Bucky begins to whisper sweet words into her lips, into her neck when he has to duck his head down for a moment. Ana’s nails bite into the skin of his back, holding him closer than ever, their bodies fitting together as if the past ten months never happened. It feels like their first time together, though much more emotional, the distance making everything more passionate.

“Bucky,” Ana whimpers, her eyes fluttering. “Babe, please.”

Bucky kisses her fluttering pulse in her neck before reconnecting their foreheads. “I’ve got you, my love.” He murmurs, keeping his gaze locked on hers.

He pulls back further this time, snapping his hips forward, slow and hard and it’s perfect. With each small thrust, the tip of his cock brushes against that spot, making Ana’s toes curl. Bucky continues the leisurely pace, just opting for longer, harder thrusts. It causes waves of pleasure to roll through her stomach, her walls clenching around him tighter and tighter.

He thrusts once, twice, three more times, before the fire and waves crash together, sending Ana over the edge as she comes hard around his cock. She holds onto Bucky, moaning and mewling into his mouth as he kisses her again, her hand slipping from her shoulder into his damp hair. He gasps into her mouth as her walls constrict around him. He snaps his hips two more times before Bucky follows right after her.

*

They’re panting side by side, slowly coming down from their passionate love making, skin sweaty and cooling from the air around them. Ana’s heart hasn’t stopped pounding since she turned around and saw Bucky standing the lab. She feels sedated now, a bone deep satisfaction she has come to miss. She could lay in this spot forever, except that she’s still too far from Bucky, so she makes herself move.

She hooks her right leg over his thigh, rolling over to press up against his side. She wiggles around, draping her arm over his lower abs, trying to pull herself up his chest. He wraps his arm around her hips.

"What are you doing?" Bucky chuckles, breathy little sounds that make her heart flutter.

"Trying to get as close to you as possible. Keep you next to me." She says, still wiggling.

"Darling, I'm right here. It's not like I'm just going to disappear into thin air." However, he helps shift her around until she’s comfortable.  

Ana shushes him. "You never know, and I need to keep you close to me. Forever."

Bucky kisses her eyebrow. "This is real, right? I'm not dreaming again?"

She taps her thumb against his collarbone twice. "I'm real, Bucky.” She moves her hand down to the middle of his chest. “This is real."

He brushes her hair away from her temple, shifting until he’s looking her in the eyes. "Annie. Stay with me?"

Ana feels her entire body light up like the stars, and she can’t be sure if it’s just a metaphor, or if her energy is doing something to make her feel like that. Either way, she smiles softly at the man she loves with all her heart.

“Of course.”

Bucky smiles brightly at her, crinkles and all.

“My Winter Snowflake.”

*******************************************************************

A/N: Umfazi means wife in Xhosa, which is apparently one of the languages spoken in Wakanda. What Shuri explains is from the upcoming comic, Infinity War Prelude.

Previous  

**To anyone who wants to continue Bucky and Ana’s story feel free to read the Sequel: Delicate Stages of Life  Set Ten months after Delicate Stages. Looking into the life of Bucky and Ana. Life in Wakanda is filled with love, laughs, some tears, all emotions, lazy days, goats, hot springs, a soul connection, and something dark that looms over Bucky’s and Ana’s domestic bliss…

#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barns fanfiction #delicate stages #my fic #mcu fanfiction #Bucky Barnes #fanfiction

[fanfoolishness]

lies we told in summertide

Burgeoning Min Hawke x Varric, set in late Act III.  Also fading Hawke/Anders and a bit of Varric/Bianca if you squint hard.  Angst, violence, blood warnings.  A Buffy reference.  And because it’s Hawke/Varric, a lot of shit talking.  5350 words.

The summer days stretched long, long, long, humming with a tension that Min Hawke could feel all around her.  It was thick in the air like chokedamp, a foul miasma that made the hairs on the back of her neck rise.  She felt it in her chest.  Felt it in her belly.  Felt it in every kiss she shared with Anders, every time he brushed the hair back behind her ear, every time he embraced her, his face pale above those black, forbidding robes.

Sometimes she tried to give it a name.  How many times had she talked with Anders?  How many times had she asked him what was wrong?  But the answers he gave her were thin and glancing.  They eased for a moment, but left her feeling more uncertain than before.  She wasn’t sure if they were lies or half-truths, but neither sat well with her.  

Lately, it felt like Varric was the only one she could talk to.  It had felt good to get it all out a few weeks ago; she’d shown up drunk at his door in the middle of the night, and like a good friend, he’d taken her in.  Since then, it’d been nearly every night.  Some nights it was simple chatter.  Other nights it was the hard stuff, Carver and Bartrand, family and the weight of it, the strife between the mages and the templars.  And some nights it was just hand after hand of Wicked Grace with anyone who happened along.

Varric had let her open up in a way she could not with the others, even after years together.  Aveline was hopeless at anything romantic, Fenris would just as soon tie up Anders and leave him bundled for the templars, Anders goaded Merrill so mercilessly Hawke hated to bring up any problems with him to the elf, and Isabela had been gone for years now.  Bethany, too.  She’d thought of writing Bethany more than once, but Bethany always sounded so distressed about Warden life, and she couldn’t bear to weigh her sister down with anything more.  Especially since the terrible letter she had had to write about losing Mum.

But Varric just listened.  Let her talk. Let her rant.  Let her cry.  She loved him for that.

She sat on the end of the bed she shared with Anders, summer heat leaching in through the walls as she kicked her heels.  She was sticky with sweat and suffocating in the heat.  Outside the bedroom, she could hear the conversations of Bodahn and Orana, Sandal’s excited interjections, Molossus snoring happy doggy snores.  She wondered that any of them could breathe at all, it choked her so.

She had to get out of the manor.  Early evening was the worst, not late enough to sleep her anxieties away, too late to head out to somewhere outside of Kirkwall with the others.

She shoved her feet into her boots.  The Hanged Man it was.  Again.

The summer twilight was a muggy, sweaty thing.  Kirkwall’s stone held the heat jealously, and the fug followed her down the familiar streets of Lowtown and into the Hanged Man.

She pushed her way past sticky elbows and the funk of unwashed Lowtowners, stopping only for a pint from Corff that she carried up the stairs.  The foam sloshed over the edge of the tankard, but she didn’t mind.  She’d have another in half an hour, anyway.

Her knuckles beat a familiar refrain on Varric’s door.  “Come in,” he called, and for the first time in days, she felt something she couldn’t quite place.  It felt good.

“Just me, Varric,” Hawke said, sidling in through the door.  “Are you free?”

Varric sat at the end of the table, sheets of parchment in front of him, pen in hand.  She caught a glimpse of him in deep concentration, brows knitted together, pensive written all over his face.  Then he caught sight of her, and his face split into a grin.  “Always for you, Hawke.”

“Flatterer,” she said.  She took the closest seat, setting her tankard far from his papers.  They looked important, Varric’s looped script small and tidy over fronts and backs of the parchment.  He set down his pen, a curious gold-plated thing that seemed terribly intricate.  Dwarven; had to be.  Quite a bit less messy than a quill.  “Am I interrupting anything?  Hard at work on your latest tale?”

Varric chuckled.  “Just keeping track of my connections.  There’s an unbelievable amount of paperwork in keeping a spy network, even one as small as mine.”  But she couldn’t help noticing that as he spoke, he carefully tucked the papers away to his other side, keeping them from her sight.

She narrowed her eyes skeptically.  “I know it’s quite a bit more elaborate than you say.  I’ve my own sources, you know.”  

He held out his hands.  “Ahh, Hawke, let me practice my deflection a little more.  Aveline’s going to be around for drinks with Donnic later, and I have to pretend all I do is sit on my ass and write my books.”

“I think she knows you rather better than that after all this time,” said Hawke.  She wondered what he was really writing, but she knew better than to needle him about it.  Varric was either disarmingly honest or infuriatingly obfuscating, and she didn’t feel like obfuscation tonight.  “We’ve all seen a lot of shit together, haven’t we?”

“That we have.  We’ve been in the thick of things.  Where do you think I get my story ideas from?”

“Do you ever miss how it used to be?” she asked.  “Before the Deep Roads, before everything got so… complicated.  Just the group of us, running round, getting into scrapes and hauling ourselves back out of them.  For a while there, it all seemed so clear.”

“Feeling nostalgic now, are you?” asked Varric.  “Keep it up, I can take some notes.”

“I don’t understand how it is it always comes back to that.  Not everything’s a story, you know,” said Hawke slowly.  “Sometimes it just is, and you have to sort it out as you go, not parcel it out afterwards into neat chapter and verse.”  She took a long draught of her drink, fighting back an abrupt wave of moroseness.  “I used to quite like stories.  Then people started telling them about me, and I -- I don’t feel like a Champion, Varric.  I’m just me, and it’s not enough.”

Varric held up the pen.  She stared at it, wondering what he was doing.  Then he rolled the papers up around it and tossed the whole package unceremoniously onto the empty chair a few feet away.  The pen clattered as it hit the hard surface, rolling out from the sheath and falling to the floor.  Varric made no move to pick it up.

“So we’ll skip the story, then,” he said.  “I was tired of staring at that shit anyway.”

“Varric,” she began.  Looked at his face, broad, ruddy, open.  The feeling from the doorway came over her again, and this time she could name it.  Trust.  She looked down into her drink.  “Everything’s going to shit, isn’t it?”

He tilted his head, gazing at her.  His hazel eyes were warm, their expression soft.  “You wanna talk about it?”

She laughed, a real smile feeling most welcome on her face.  “I really don’t.  Is that all right?”

“Course it is.  So what do you want to talk about instead?”

“Anything else,” she said, casting about for conversation ideas.  Nothing normal came to mind.  Bullshit it was, then.  She squared herself to face him, and began to unspool pure ridiculousness.

“All right, then.  I heard a rumor that Meredith has an adult-sized rocking horse in her office and rides it when she gets angry.  And that Orsino wears a bright pink dressing gown with tassels to bed.  And that Elthina has forty-three different lovers, all of them half her age at the oldest, and the real reason the Chantry’s locked at night is because she likes her orgies in private.  Care to verify any of it?”

“Well, I don’t know where you’re getting your information from, Hawke, but it’s utter crap.  Word on the street is that Elthina’s a black widow and kills off every suitor after the penultimate moment, so orgies would make that a lot more complicated.  Everyone knows it’s Cullen with the pink and the tassels, since Orsino only sleeps in the finest Antivan silks.  Meredith had a rocking horse as a kid but beat it to death since it was insubordinate.  What else you got?”  Varric leaned back in his chair, smirking.  

“Summer,” said Hawke with disgust.  “What’s this blasted Marcher summer about?  It’s sticky and revolting and entirely antithetical to the Fereldan way of life.  We’re meant to be freezing our arses off at all times.”

“You Fereldans wouldn’t know the first thing about decent weather.  You know your brains are all scrambled, too much exposure to cheese and damp dog hair.  It’s sad, really,” said Varric, shrugging.

“Now you’re just being silly.  There is never enough cheese.”

“You’re right.  That was a lie.”

“Lying is wrong, Varric.”

“So I hear.”

Hawke shifted in her chair, picking her feet up and curling up within it.  Being a dwarf’s chair, it was a bit difficult to do, but she was up to the challenge.  She rested her arms on her knees and grinned at him.  “I’m not sure what I’d do without you, you know.”

He folded his arms.  “Lying is wrong, Hawke.”

“Not lying,” she said simply.

“Right.”  For a moment, he seemed almost pained; something about the way his mouth twitched, the way his gaze slid past her purposely.  Then he was all smiles again, hazel eyes bright and playful.  “That’s because I’m indispensable.”

“It’s true.  Everyone needs a trusty dwarf,” she said.  

There was another knock at the door.  “That’ll be Aveline and Donnic,” said Varric.  “You’re welcome to stay, of course.”

“I think I will,” said Hawke.  She uncurled herself, stood up to answer the door.  Before leaving the table, she leaned down close to him, her breath making a loose strand of his hair flutter faintly.  “It’s just -- I know you must be getting sick of me, but do you mind if I come back again tomorrow?”

He looked up at her.  This close, she could appreciate the lines at the edges of his eyes, carved by years of easy winks.  The scar on his nose was a sharp red line surrounded by faded freckles, and his grin, when it came, dazzled.  “Hawke, you don’t even have to ask.”

The summer nights were inky, star-flung things, the only bit of blessed cool relief to be found.  She even fancied she felt a chill.  When the slivered crescent moons swung low she made her way out from Varric’s, daggers at her belt, boots soft and silent on the stone, her feet carrying her home.

Years past, it had always been just a night or two a week at the Hanged Man.  Now it was nightly, a far better option than the alternative.  She’d never been so good at her constellations before now.  

Some nights Anders told her he was staying at his clinic, and she didn’t leave the Hanged Man until dawn.  Some nights he stayed in, and when she asked if he wanted to come out for a drink, he said no, staring down at his manuscript in the study.  She’d kiss him, tell him she loved him, pull him close to her.  Every time she wondered if he’d return to her, the man she’d fallen in love with.

Sometimes he would, in a shy, sweet smile, or a tilt of his head, or passion alight in his eyes.  But more often he’d hug her as if she wasn’t really there, and return to the study to sit in silence with the books.  And she’d be off to see Varric again.

Hawke rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, hurrying down her alley shortcut, wishing she had perhaps declined a few of those later rounds.  Her head swam.  Lowtown was always eerie this time of night, and she knew she should have her head on straight, should remember where she was and what she was doing, but the world was badly made, damn it, and --

Footsteps behind her.  She rounded, daggers flashing silver in her hands, and faded into the shadows of the alley, ready for blood.

Varric stood there, shaking his head.  He’d clearly come after her in a hurry.  His overcoat was on crooked, and something about his silhouette just felt off.  “You’re slipping, Hawke.  I tailed you for three streets before you noticed.”

“Well, you aren’t creepy at all,” said Hawke, delightedly slipping her daggers back into her belt and stepping from the shadows to face him.  “What are you doing here?  I thought you were heading to sleep.  Which begs the question, do you sleep in a nightcap?  Are there special dwarven ones?”

“I don’t, there are, and you don’t even want to know what they look like,” said Varric.  “You were already gone when I realized you’d forgotten something.”  He pulled a dagger from a pouch by his belt.  “Missing this?”

“My favorite throwing dagger!  Let me guess, I left it in your wall after throwing practice tonight?”  That was right, she’d gotten it out to do a bit of target practice on Varric’s wall after Aveline and Donnic turned in for the night.  She hadn’t been sure if he still wanted her there so late, as he’d clearly been distracted by something; she’d caught him fidgeting with his parchments more than once with a pensive expression on his face.  But he’d insisted that she stay for a while, and so she had, sharing a few more rounds with him and tossing knives into the wall until they both felt better.

She took the finely made blade from his hand and carefully replaced it among her stash, though part of her wondered why he simply didn’t give it to her tomorrow.  It was a bit odd.  Helpful, though.  “You’re the best, Varric.”

“I’m just a simple dwarf who does what he can,” said Varric.

She rolled her eyes hard enough she was worried she strained an eyelid muscle.  “You’re far more than that, and I won’t hear tell otherwise,” she said.  

They both fell quiet for a moment, and Hawke realized what looked different about him.  “You -- you forgot Bianca?”

It was difficult to make out his expression in the dark.  “...huh.  Guess I did.  I thought I’d catch you closer to the Hanged Man,” he said, disquieted.

Noises around the corner of the alleyway.  “I hope we don’t regret it,” she muttered to him, hurriedly leading a path away from the sound and handing him back the throwing dagger, slapping it grip first into his palm.  For a moment it seemed as if they were in the clear.

But when they rounded the next corner, a knot of hulking men approached, their bodies taut and predatory.  “We were just leaving,” said Hawke brightly, but her hands were on her daggers in an instant.  

She had just a second to wish that she’d come fully kitted out, laden with smoke flasks and Antivan fire, but she’d gone out for drinking, not full-on war.  The men rushed at the two of them and she had to make do with what she had, lashing out in a dizzying whirlwind of kicks and daggers, flourishes and footwork.  She might’ve been drunk, but not that drunk that she couldn’t do serious damage.

She knifed one lackey in the neck and slashed another across the top of the thigh, bringing them both down, then ricocheted into the gang’s leader.  The man leapt forward with a twin strike.  She sidestepped to evade him, but he stepped with her, and before she could counter he grabbed her in a chokehold, one foul-smelling forearm locked under her jaw and the other arm pinning hers to her sides.  

Shit, shit, fuck.  She gagged as his arm dug against her throat, planted herself, and struck him with a headbutt to the chin, but he barely staggered.  

Black spots flickered at the edges of her vision.  Her lungs burned for air.  She was desperately trying to angle her leg between his for a kick to the groin when the man dropped like a stone.  She whirled back to see him flat on his belly, her throwing dagger neatly embedded between his shoulder blades.  She glanced up and there was Varric further down the alley, pulling back his arm after the throw.

“Nice one, Varric!” she called, but his name hadn’t quite left her lips when the last man darted forward and buried his dagger in Varric’s back.

She screamed as Varric crumpled to his knees, but the sound caught in her bruised throat.  So she ran forward in a vicious charge, blades singing in the night air, and she hurtled into the last bastard so hard she knocked him over.  Then she was upon him, panting, scrabbling for any weak spot in his armor, blades tearing through belly and elbows, back and throat.  Blood fountained in a black torrent, punctuated only with a terrible, fading gurgle. She ripped her blades out of his body and ran to Varric’s side, dropping her daggers on the stone below with a piercing ring.

He was curled on his side, the blade’s handle still visible around his right shoulder, cruelly jutting out at her.  She ignored it for the moment -- one never knew if removing it right now would do worse harm -- and gently rolled him enough to see his face.  “Varric,” she gasped.  “Varric, please, tell me you’re all right.”

A hoarse, rattling cough as she rolled him.  “Ahh, fuck,” Varric groaned, staring up at her.  He was pale, face twisted, sweat beading on his forehead.  “That’s my favorite coat.  Do you know how much --” he winced, gritting his teeth, “--good tailoring costs?”

“How bad is it?” she asked, slipping her arm under him so that he could sit half propped up, leaning against her.  Her heart thundered in her chest.  

“Not a healer, remember?” Varric asked with a wheeze.  He was getting greyer by the minute, his breathing rapid and labored.  He coughed, blood flecking his lips.  “A guess? Bad.”  He closed his eyes, sagging against her.

“No,” she hissed, “we are fixing this, Varric, that’s your -- your crossbow arm and your writing arm, and your wanking arm probably, and you’re going to be just fine, do you hear me, this isn’t that bad --”  

She suddenly remembered Anders, packing potions into a hip pouch for her.  You’ll want to keep this on you, love, if ever I’m not with you.  I couldn’t bear to think of you being hurt.  Poultices that smelled of deep mushroom and elfroot, things he’d charmed with wisps of spell and healing mana.  Not as good as a healer at your side, of course, but they’ll do in a pinch.

Her hands fumbled at her belt, digging frantically.  She cursed the fact that the last few ales had her dizzy, or was that the fear?  “Hang on, damn you!”  She ripped off the pouch she’d never needed before, her hands shaking, and pulled out two cloth-wrapped poultices and a small silver flask.  She pulled the top off with her teeth and thrust the flask’s mouth through Varric’s lips, hand still shaking violently against his cheek.  Once she’d emptied it into his mouth, she tore the front of his shirt open, searching for a wound.  

Nothing on the front.  At least the blade hadn’t gone all the way through.  “Stay with me, Varric dear, got to see how bad it is,” she muttered as she shifted him so that he lay half across her lap, leaving access to the hated blade buried in his back.  He was dead weight on her legs, a realization that only served to increase her terror.  She grabbed her fallen dagger and sliced through layers of leather and Highever weave, tailoring be damned, until she could peel off the blood-soaked cloth in strips and finally expose the wound.

The blade rose and fell with each shallow breath he took.  Hawke stared at the blood slicking his broad back, trickling from around the blade’s base in steady rivulets.  She tore open the outer cloth bindings on the poultices, remembering Anders’ words.  See this inner binding here?  Keeps it all together, but it’s thin enough the herbs can get through to do their work.  You could place it into a gut wound or an open fracture and it’ll work right through that inner layer.  I just hope you never need it.

She packed them around the blade and into the edges of the wound, blood hot against her fingers.  She took a deep breath, then leaned down and whispered.

“I’ve got Anders’ healing poultices on you.  They need to get down into the wound to help, but I’ve got to remove the blade.”

A faint reply, enough to make her vision blur with sudden tears.  “Trust you,” he mumbled.

She wrapped her hand around the dagger’s haft, her other hand hovering over the poultices.  She pulled -- a short, sharp groan -- the blood welled in a rising flood -- and she stuffed the poultices deep into the wound, flinging the blade aside and putting pressure on the wound with both hands.

Hawke whimpered, fighting back a sob that threatened to overwhelm.  She bowed her head, hands trembling with the effort of putting pressure on Varric’s blood-stickied back, and she tried to count his breaths.  “Come on, come on,” she bit out.  Her voice seemed to catch in her throat, making it hard to form words, but she didn't care.  She couldn’t think of anything else to do but pray, though it was nothing like what you’d hear in the Chantry.  

“You’ve got to make it until we can get you to Anders.  You’ve got to.  I can’t lose you, you foolish dwarf.  Why didn’t you bring Bianca?  Why would you ever leave without her?  You know what a shithole this city is, you know there’s wretched thieves and murderers round every step, we both know it.  Look, you can’t go like this, it’s not nearly noble enough and we both know you’ll either go out in a blaze of glory, or comfortably in your old age atop a pile of ill-gotten gold, and, and, neither of those is today so just come on, Varric, come back, come back to me.”

Movement beneath her.  Varric’s back muscles shifting as he moved his arms, tensing beneath her pressure.  “Hawke?”

“Careful, careful.  Let me see how it looks,” she said.  Cautiously she lifted up one hand a few inches, and when there was no fresh bleeding, she lifted the other one.  The poultices were bloody, but seemed to be holding even without her hands applying pressure.  She wiped the tears from her face and fumbled in the pouch again, finding a roll of clean bandage material.  “Here, let me wrap it.  I think the bleeding’s stopped.”  She wrapped the bandages round his chest and shoulder, tying them in place.  “How do you feel?” she asked uncertainly.

“Weirdly, like I got stabbed in the back,” he said, voice still faint.  “But… better.  Help a dwarf up?”  She obliged quickly, helping him up to a sitting position so that he leaned against her, her arm around him.  He rested his head against her chest.  He no longer had that awful, greyish cast to his skin; he was still pale, but there was at least a hint of color to his cheeks again.  Blearily, he blinked up at her.  “Shit, Hawke, what happened to you?”

Hawke swallowed past the bruising in her throat.  “Got choked a bit, but I’m all right.”

“No, I mean…”  He gestured weakly at her face and arms.  “Lot of blood.  You okay?  Any of it yours?”

“It’s all yours, you daft dwarf,” she said, making a noise that might have been a laugh, or a sob.  She couldn’t tell which.  She noticed her hands, coated in blood past the wrists, and remembered wiping her face just a moment ago.  She probably looked a bloody maniac, though it didn’t matter.  “I thought I was going to lose you.”  

The sound that followed was decidedly not a laugh.  She leaned her head down against his, her cheek pressed against his sweat-damped hair, and cried.

The summer dawn was bright and piercing, heralded by the screams of gulls and the smell of rising chokedamp.  Hawke spent it sitting on a cot in Anders’ clinic, keeping watch over Varric as Anders worked.

Poor Anders.  The expression on his face when he saw the pair of them -- Varric bandaged and bloodied, shirt and jacket in tatters, Hawke covered in his blood.  He’d clearly been shaken, though his fear had turned to relief when Hawke explained that Varric was the one who’d been hurt.  

Hawke ached for Anders and his worry, yes, but she also resented the relief that had crossed his face, brief as it had been.  She knew it was only that he feared for her, but she was still strangely irritated.  It might not have been me, but it was still Varric!

Together they helped Varric onto a cot.  “What happened?” Anders asked, magic flaring crisp and clean from his hands over Varric’s bloodied back.  His face showed intense concentration; he’d always found Varric the most difficult of them to heal due to his dwarven nature.

“Dagger in the back down in Lowtown,” said Hawke, watching closely as Anders laid down his magic in weaves and layers she didn’t quite understand.  His style had always been so different from Bethany’s, or Dad’s.  “I had your healing kit on me.  I don’t know what might have happened without it, Anders.  Thank you.”

“I hadn’t realized you’d gone out,” said Anders sadly.  “I might have been able to help more, had I been there.”

“I knew you were at the clinic tonight,” said Hawke.  “I didn’t want to trouble you.”  Which was a lie, of course, but she didn’t find the distinction to be important.  She swung her heels, kicking them back and forth as she sat on the edge of her cot.  

Anders spared her a small smile, which made her feel worse somehow.  “It’s true I was needed here tonight.  There are five other patients in the back.”  He let out a long breath, the magic flickering down to nothingness.  “I’m glad you were with him, Hawke.  The poultices helped a great deal.  Varric?”

There was only a quiet snore from the cot, and Anders reached out for a nearby bowl of clean water and a few cloths.  A shimmer of a flame spell heated the water briefly until steaming.  “Good, I hoped he would sleep.  He’ll mend fully within the week, though it’s going to leave a nasty scar.”  He sighed.  “I love Varric, but dwarves are just beastly to heal.”

They both turned at a faint voice from the backroom.  The call came again, and Anders looked down at Varric’s sleeping form.  “I’m sorry, love, but would you mind looking after him?  One of the boys back there is quite ill with fever.  Would you be able to clean him and get him some blankets when you’re done?”

Hawke nodded.  “Of course, Anders.  Listen--”  She reached out and gripped his wrist, dried blood cracking and flaking off her hand as she flexed her fingers.  “Thank you.”

He just gave her one of those crooked, wistful smiles, pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and headed into the back, grabbing up his staff and some bandaging as he went.  She watched him go, then shook her head.

She turned her attention to her hands.  The dried blood seemed a baleful omen, even though the danger had blessedly passed.  She dutifully scrubbed them clean in the water Anders had left her, tingeing the water pink.  Once they were clean she took the cloth, soaked it in the water (it was all his blood anyway) and began carefully washing Varric’s back, taking great care to stay away from the wound near the shoulder.  It was beginning to close up already, thanks to Anders’ magic, but she knew from experience that terrible injury wasn’t healed in an hour.  It had taken her a full two weeks to get back to fighting shape after the Arishok, even with Anders working on her daily.  Varric’s wound was centered now in a field of blooming bruises in purple and yellow, and she shivered to see it.

She cleaned gently, methodically, dipping the cloth in water periodically as the water turned darker and darker.  His skin was firm and surprisingly smooth beneath her hands.  She cleaned and cleaned until no more blood remained, then got to her feet and fetched a cloth to dry him off.

As she worked she found herself murmuring to him.  “I thought I’d lost you back there, you know.”  His back rose and fell with deep, steady breaths.  “It’s something I learned leaving Lothering.  You don’t always go out in glory.  Sometimes the other man just has one good day.”  She sighed.  “With Carver it was an ogre.  It was stupid, cut off from the rest of the darkspawn.  It wasn’t supposed to be that far from the horde at all.  But when Carver raised his sword, it veered left instead of right.  It struck him down.  And it was so stupid, you see, I was just so struck by the unfairness.  The suddenness.  It only took one mistake.  And that ogre had a real good day, up until Bethany and I killed it.  Just like that bastard in the alley nearly did.”

She finished drying his back, then stood up and collected a few ragged blankets from the cupboard.  She laid them down tidily over Varric, pulling them up to his chin.  The way he was laying, turned away from her, she could just see the curve of his cheek and one closed eye.  His color was good; his cheeks were ruddy again.  She sat down on the cot across from him, simply watching.

“I don’t know if you’re all right, Varric.  You have letters you don’t want me to see, that make you upset; you left Bianca on a fool’s errand, just to bring me back a knife when you knew I’d be back tomorrow.  Maybe you don’t want to be at home either, these days.  I don’t know.”  She pulled up her feet on the cot, stretching out onto her side.  It might feel good just to lay down for a bit.  It’d been such a long day.

“Do you ever think we ought to run away together, you and me?” she said softly.  “Far away from mages and templars and letters and knives?”  She closed her eyes, laying her head against a thin, threadbare pillow.  “I’d run away on my own, but honestly, I don’t want to think of my life without you in it.”

“Flatterer,” said Varric faintly.  

She cracked open one eye to see him on his side facing her, the blankets surrounding him like a cocoon, his hair a rumpled mess, his eyes deeply shadowed.  It took her a minute to realize he was winking.

“Honestly,” said Hawke, “you are terrible.”

“Guilty.”  He yawned, blinking sleepily at her.  “Though it’s rude to insult the gravely injured.”

“It’s rude to get gravely injured in the first place,” she said.  “Oh, no, awful.  Now you’re making me yawn.”  She reflected for a moment.  “Did you hear all that nonsense I was saying?”

Varric smiled a little.  “Some of it.  You just keep unfolding like a flower, Hawke.”

“Oh, shove it.”  Impulsively Hawke reached out, patting Varric’s arm under its blanket fortifications.  “Glad you’re all right.”  She pulled her hand back, tucking it under her head as she burrowed into her sparse bedding, and she yawned again.  “Drinks tonight?  On me.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

#hawke x varric #varric x hawke #dragon age 2 #da2 #hawke x anders #varric tethras #blood tw

[marshmallow-the-vampire-slayer]

MTVS Epic Rewatch #183

BTVS 7x04 Help

Stray thoughts

1) I feel that season 7 had started on the right foot, and Help is one of the prime examples of that. Hardly ever were MOW episodes the most memorable of the show, albeit a few exceptions that include unique premises and/or demons (Hush, OMWF.) But I feel Help is definitely one of the strongest episodes of the season. It is in no small part because of Cassie Newton. And let’s be real, how often is the victim more memorable than the monster? The actress who plays Cassie does a marvelous job of playing the “woe is me” type without being obnoxious, which is quite the feat. Instead, Cassie comes off as sensitive, intuitive, empathetic, and, unfortunately, doomed. But I think the real reason this episode works so well is how Cassie’s predicament mirrors Buffy’s, and ultimately, how Cassie is just yet another person of the countless Buffy feels she failed to help. But more on that later.

2) The montage of Buffy trying to counsel the kids is pretty neat because they kind of nailed their different reactions to being counseled. You’ve got Amanda, who’s honest and opens up immediately and kind of welcomes Buffy’s pieces of advice. Then the douche (who also played a douche in VM, btw…) who is basically just a douche. And the kid who doesn’t want to talk and just stares at her. And then there’s Buffy, who kind of doesn’t know what to do with any of them, regardless of their attitude.

3) 

XANDER I bet she's giving them great advice.

WILLOW Absolutely! Those kids are lucky to have Buffy looking out for them.

That’s sweet! Especially considering Xander and Willow are having this conversation on their own. They’re being 100% honest. 

4) Willow’s timid and insecure demure is such a welcome change from her almighty and overconfident demeanor in season 6. And it’s an arc that eventually pays off.

WILLOW I don't know what I can do. I mean, frankly, I'm scared of what I might do. 

XANDER Yeah, I get that. Figuring out how to control your magic seems a lot like hammering a nail. Well, uh, hear me out. So you're hammering, right? OK, well at the end of the hammer, you have the power, but no control. It takes, like, two strokes to hit the nail in, or you could hit your thumb.

WILLOW Ouch.

XANDER So you choke up. Control, but no power. It could take like ten strokes to knock the nail in. Power, control. It's a tradeoff.

WILLOW That's actually not a bad analogy.

XANDER Thanks.

WILLOW Except... I'm less worried about hitting my thumb, and more worried about going all black-eyed baddy and bewitching that hammer into cracking my friends' skulls open like coconuts.

XANDER Right. Ouch.

WILLOW Sorry. Xander, being back here... I don't know...

XANDER It'll take time. Are you sure you're ready for this?

Also, kudos to Xander because I think he was doing a great job of acknowledging Willow’s concerns while giving her sound advice, you know? He wasn’t his typical “it’ll be okay” self. He was honest. He admitted it would take time and that it would be hard on her, but he didn’t doubt for a second that she would make it. 

5) And then…

6) This is perfect…

BUFFY It sounds like it's difficult for you. Like maybe your sister makes it hard for you to establish your own identity. You said she's controlling, she doesn't let you make your own decisions— 

On a more serious note, though, how does the school allow Buffy to counsel her own sister? I mean, talk about conflict of interest, right?  

7) 

PRINCIPAL  When I was in high school, I had a thing with this guy, right? Real bully. I kept telling everyone that he'd better sleep with one eye open 'cause I was gonna bust his ass. Well, I got suspended. Talk like that is taken pretty seriously where I come from.

BUFFY The hood?

PRINCIPAL Beverly Hills... 

Yeah, Buffy, you know what happens when you assume...

8)

PRINCIPAL Every time there's a threat like this, we do the same dance. Inform teachers, search lockers, but we can't—we can't know what's gonna happen, and we can't search their brains. We just—we just do what we can.

BUFFY It's not enough. I need to fix this. I don't usually get a heads up before somebody dies.

This is what’s interesting about what Carrie represents, both in the show and in real life. Buffy goes into this purely as a counselor, and she soon finds out that her resources as such are very limited. She probably thinks Cassie is having suicidal thoughts, and Buffy finds herself helpless to prevent this. The education system’s red tape makes it impossible for her to take action in a more effective way, and there’s no demon she can kill to prevent Cassie from dying. This is addressed again when she goes to Willow and Xander.

XANDER Buff, you spilled a cup of coffee. I'm not saying you don't have slayer grace, but it's not the first time.

WILLOW I mean maybe, just maybe, you're trying so hard to help that you're seeing paranormal when there's just normal.

9) Wow is this joke dated!

WILLOW Have you googled her yet?

XANDER Willow, she's 17.

Side note: did you know this line right here made BTVS the first TV show to use the word “google” as a verb?

10) It seems Xander took a line from Veronica’s book, right? You marshmallows out there will get what I mean...

BUFFY Wow, that's a lot of poems.

XANDER Poems. Always a sign of pretentious inner turmoil.

11) 

WILLOW I don't know. I mean, a lot of teens post some pretty angsty poetry on the web. I mean, I even posted a melodramatic love poem or two back in the day.

XANDER Love poems?

WILLOW I'm over you now, sweetie.

12) Buffy was really stepping over her boundaries, though…

BUFFY We know you've been picked up by the police a couple of times. We wanted to know if you still—  drink a lot.

MR. NEWTON What's that got to do with Cassie?

BUFFY Frankly, we were worried that you might—drink too much and hurt Cassie. That's all. (that’s all???? you’re accusing this guy of beating up his daughter!!!)

MR. NEWTON Oh. Oh, I see. That's-that's all. You just come in here in the middle of the night, into my home, and start accusing me of beating on my daughter? That's all?

BUFFY We just want to make sure that Cassie's—

MR. NEWTON Well, that's a lie! Who told you this? Did Cassie's mother put you up to this, 'cause I pay my support, OK? To the dime! She just wants to take away the one weekend a month I get to be with my girl.

I’m sure in any other town but Sunnydale this type of behavior would get a counselor fired, right? 

13) And isn’t Cassie Buffy’s mirror image?

 CASSIE You think I want this? You think I don't care? Believe me, I want to...be here, do things. I want to graduate from high school, and I want to go to the stupid winter formal... I have this friend, and it would be fun to go with him. Just to dance and hear lame music to wear a silly dress and laugh and stuff. I'd like to go. There's a lot of stuff I'd like to do. I'd love to ice skate at Rockefeller Center. And I'd love to see my cousins grow up and see how they turn out 'cause they're really mean and I think they're gonna be fat. I'd love to backpack across the country or, I don't know, fall in love, but I won't. I just never will.

This is pretty much Buffy’s plight to a tee, right? The wanting to have a normal life but knowing she won’t be able to. I actually made a parallel set between this speech and Buffy’s in Becoming, but there are so many other examples of Buffy voicing this same concerns and wants (Welcome to the Hellmouth, Prophecy Girl...)

14)

SPIKE Yes. There's evil. Down here. Right here. I'm a bad man. William is a baaad man. I hurt the girl. 

BUFFY Spike, stop it! What did you do?

SPIKE I hurt you, Buffy, and I will pay. I am paying because I hurt the girl.

BUFFY Spike. No. It's not me. It's a different girl, OK? Her name is Cassie Newton. Please, do you know anything specific?

SPIKE Don't—don't leave me. Stay here, and help me be quiet.

BUFFY  I think it's worse when I'm here. 

On the one hand, I think it was necessary to see Spike flogging himself over what he’d almost done. I mean, how do you keep a character who’s done what he did without having him beat himself up for it? And I get that Buffy, as the victim of his assault, needed to be the person to witness how guilty and sorrowful he was. But... on the other hand, the writers had put themselves in a no-win scenario. They ruined Spike’s character development by having him almost rape Buffy, and now the only way to turn things around was to have Buffy, his victim, feel sorry for him. She shouldn’t have been put on that spot, especially when so little thought was given to her own trauma (a few flashbacks in Beneath You, that was it... never again does she flinch from Spike’s touch or get away from his company...) At the same time, Buffy is this type of person, the one who constantly puts the other cheek. Not only does she forgive easily but she also takes care of those who hurt her (think of her comforting Willow right after she almost had Dawn killed, or the oh so many times she tried to help Faith after one of her betrayals...) She is selfless, and I don’t see why this time should have been any different. Still, I can understand why this can make people uncomfortable. It sets a weird - to say the least - example for assault victims. But I don’t think it’s fair to say Buffy was out of character. 

15) I kind of liked this guy until he said this…

BUFFY You aren't mad at Cassie, with her rejecting you like that?

MIKE Nah, she's a girl right? Making boys crazy is like your job description.

Well, your job description is being a stupid dumbass, apparently. And Buffy laughed??? Buffy would NEVER laugh!!!

16) 

PETER Back off. Get back! Get back, you stupid bitch! 

Now that’s the Buffy I know and love.

17) I have nothing to base this assumption on, but I’m guessing they had Spike beat up the douche and get a headache because fans might have bought the previous season’s red herring that he had gone on the quest to get the chip removed, so this was the writers’ way of telling the fans: “Spike still has the chip, he really did get his soul back.”

18) This is so sad…

19)

WILLOW Cassie didn't know? Then it was fate?

XANDER I think she was gonna die, no matter what, wasn't she? Didn't matter what you did.

BUFFY She just knew. She was special. I failed her.

DAWN Uh-uh. No. You didn't, 'cause you tried. You listened, and you tried. She died 'cause of her heart, not 'cause of you. She was my friend because of you. I guess sometimes you can't help.

BUFFY So what then? What do you do when you know that? When you know that maybe you can't help?

It’s kind of odd that Buffy went seven seasons without asking herself this question, though. It is a quintessential superhero question, after all. And it’s very similar to the question that’s brought up on ATS in season 1, although we do get an answer there. So, Buffy, here’s your answer:

If nothing we do matters, then all that matters is what we do.

#Buffy the Vampire Slayer #BTVS #Buffy Summers #Cassie Newton #Spike #MTVSepicrewatch #BTVSrewatch2015 #mine #recap #Help #btvsrecap

[vacanpaathy]

PREFACE : Here’s the first of 2 info posts about Brooke this is the How it works / about / changes one. Fair warning I just batted this out over 2 nights and I haven’t proof read so like..... rip yall. the next will be a more classic bio sheet

Brooke started as just a thought experiment about twin slayers while marathoning the show, I know that there’s a twin sitch in the comics since I read it with my own two eyes but 1) the comics are… Woof at times and 2) that was fraternal male-female twins, while Buffy and Brooke are identical twin sisters which in this context can mean a world of difference. Also I just went for “what’s the most narratively interesting / what’s the most fun”. HOW IT WORKS : In her main verse Brooke was called as the Slayer at the same time as Buffy. The logic here being that generally, twins and especially identical ones, are mystically seen as linked and possibly extremely similar but ultimately separate beings. In the case of Slayerness ( and likely some other mystical things tbh ) their status as identical twins confuses it and they’re considered 1 whole slayer and were both called. They both have the standard power set, their slayerness didn’t get split between the two like in the comics.  However they are still intimately linked, for example when Buffy lost all her slayer powers on halloween thanks to her costume, Brooke who wasn’t allowed to go trick or treating was still a Slayer but was only at 50% without Buffy. Even more critically when one dies the other dies as well, instantly regardless of their own status. If Buffy’s at lunch and Brooke gets shot and dies, Buffy would drop dead at the table.  I also work in my base info for her main verse to not overshadow, take away from or anything like that Buffy’s accomplishments as possible without just being like “and Brooke was there”. For example, While I tweak to have Brooke to be the one to drown in the puddle post getting drained by the Master ( Buffy is still there they just both… fuck up and Buffy just got lucky on how she fell after ) Buffy is still the one who jumps in Season 5. Brooke is there for the fight but the most she contributes to that decision is like… confirmation she’s Fine with dying since once Buffy jumps Brooke’s fate is also sealed. The one place things get truly off the rails on that front is season 4.  This info is a basic framework for her main verse, focusing mainly on the things I find kind of a big deal in both understanding her and the changes she makes to events. Some of it is malleable, some not so much generally that’ll depend on plotting and such.  Cutting here bc as you can see...... this is a Long Post.

Trigger warning : addiction and self-harm L.A. 

( I use the movie as a template for how L.A. went down along with a few short stories from the comics. )

Buffy is called at 15 and in finding and beginning to train her it’s discovered that Brooke is also the Slayer which is some wild shit. Neither take it well but Buffy is the one to become institutionalized which prompts Brooke to shut down and become more isolated. To cope with the stressful school-slayer balance she leans on substances first just coffee, then caffeine tablets and later cocaine. Brooke is there for the death of Merrick their first watcher and the attack on the gym. While Buffy is expelled almost immediately afterward Brooke is suspended but after Buffy runs away with Pike for a while to Vegas ala the comics Brooke is expelled for lack of attendance as she’s now crumbling under the weight of everything that’s happened, having no one to talk to and trying to keep up with slaying. While she’s spiraling she also is dumped by her first girlfriend, Samantha from the soccer team. Her addiction is in full swing and she meets Syd, a 19yo Australian warlock at a “party” and they quickly become “friends” and her main supply of drugs. The two of them become a duo for a time and end up with a complex and questionable relationship. She has a few very bad episodes, one full blown drug induced psychosis and would likely be dead if not for slayer constitution. Eventually everything comes to head Buffy is home, the divorce is finalized and her drug addiction comes to light. Part of coming to Sunnydale specifically is because of her rehab. SEASON 1. Brooke is out of the way for most of season 1, either living at her rehab center for the start or basically under house arrest under their mother’s watchful eye later on. She basically can only manage to help with slaying on occasion and is largely regulated to the emergency backup and a researcher. Generally the only way she can be out of the house when not at rehab or therapy is if there’s an adult with her which means she can’t really help much unless they can make up a reason she’s somewhere with Giles. It works somewhat to their advantage as between her not being around much and them being identical, it means no one in the demon community is really aware there’s currently two slayers. She, however, has her own intrigue going on as she begins to figure out that some of her fellow patients are demons ( I mean ofc it’s Sunnydale ) and upon more investigation they learn that half  the staff is also demons and it’s not an evil scheme or something to prey on the patients it’s just a rehab clinic that’s also for demons. She meets her best friend Nicholas, a fear demon, here in a group therapy session. When she finally does start at Sunnydale high she struggles to get along with Willow and Xander who are by then firmly Buffy’s friends. Brooke gravitates to Cordelia but ultimately ends up just spending most of her time with Giles after failing to make her own connections and realizing she can’t possibly try out for the soccer team. ever. Which crushes her more than she likes to admit. Like Xander, from the start she she doesn’t like Angel because of his interest in Buffy and her own interactions with older men while in L.A. but unlike Xander she held her tongue and didn’t try to stop the relationship or get in the way, wanting her sister to be happy and to live her life. She also couldn’t really get complain since it’d be hypocritical of her to chide her for being with an older guy or being cozy with a demon given her own relationship with Syd and her all her friends from rehab being… demons... By the end when they learn their death is prophesied she reacts poorly as well to the revelation, but like Buffy pulls herself together and goes to meet the Master. Both girls end up failing and are drained, by chance, Brooke is the one who lands face down in the puddle and dies taking Buffy down with her.When Brooke is revived Buffy comes back as well and they kill the Master.

SEASON 2. Over the summer with their father Brooke struggles being back in L.A. as it reminds her too much of her addiction and spends much of that time on the phone with Nic talking through everything that’s happened. While there she also runs into Syd again because, of course, who has also sobered up ( motorcycles cost money and if you ride them while high you can total it ) and gets his contact info whether she wants it or not. Cursed Knowledge. Spike’s attack on the school is the first time it’s made explicitly clear there’s two of them since he’s the first one to well, live after seeing both of them and the cat’s officially out of the bag. On Halloween Brooke wasn’t allowed to go out and was at home, costumeless, when things go south. When the gang comes to the house she leaps into action and ends up chasing after Buffy when she flees the house. She comes to the defense of her sister against Spike but quickly realizes without Buffy’s half of the slayer mojo she’s only half as strong as usual but persists against him until the spell is broken. Brooke does meet Kendra and thinks she’s pretty dang neat. When Angel loses his soul Brooke actively steps up on the slaying end, trying to protect her sister from the worst of it though how successful that it is up in the air as despite her efforts she fails to stop his actions or keep Buffy from seeing or learning about what he’s done. Brooke’s involvement comes to a head when she’s kidnapped by Angelus when out on patrol and is held captive and tortured mainly by being introduced to cocaine not too long after Giles is also kidnapped but she’s so out of it she doesn’t realize. Finally her attempts at escape actually work and she bolts out of the mansion in a haze and is only found later in a vacant lot by Nic. She ends up in the hospital and only later finds out Buffy has run away again. SEASON 3. By now Brooke and Nic have made their pact, which means that the two are tied mystically. She can summon him and he can find her. This is not something she makes anyone aware of. When Buffy comes back Brooke is extremely upset feeling that she’s been abandoned twice when she needed Buffy’s support but ultimately also empathizes with Buffy and her heartbreak. When Faith comes to town Brooke finally feels like she’s met someone she can really get along with which causes even more tension. When homecoming comes along Brooke supports Buffy aggressively and ends up being involved in the Slayerfest debacle thanks to it.  When it’s discovered Angel is back Brooke is livid that Buffy never told her but mainly focuses her aggression at Angel himself, finally making it clear she never liked or trusted him and will do what she can to keep them apart.  Skyrocketing the mounting issues between the sisters and pushing her to spend less time with the scoobies and more time with her own demon friends and Faith. As things go on Brooke feels increasingly pulled between her sister and her friendship with Faith. When Faith accidentally kills deputy mayor Brooke helps her cover it up / sides with her, reliving her own fears from her time in L.A. and having a more generally grey view of things. She also attempts to talk to Faith and get her to open up to her but ultimately fails. Brooke talks it over with her mother and decides to not go to college mainly because she doesn’t have any idea what she’d study and only now is finally letting herself mourn the death of her dream of playing pro soccer. She decides to get a job instead and begins the hunt for one with a schedule that works with slayage. Buffy’s attempt to kill Faith in retaliation for poisoning Angel sets Brooke off completely and she almost completely abandons them and leaves for L.A. until her mother and later Giles and the gang talk her out of it and she stays to help stop the mayor (and graduate). As part of the plan for the battle against the Mayor, Brooke gets in contact again with Syd and asks for his help. He arrives and decides business ( read : blood and guts kinda hardcore magic ) will be a lot better on a hellmouth and decides to stay. No one is happy about it. SEASON 4. Sadly the only job she could get was with Nic and some of their friends in their band as a singer since that’s… literally the only thing she wasn’t trash at to her chagrin. She spent much of her time in the summer at the “Hell House” the communal sober living house Nic, his wife Maria, an insanity demon, and all her friends live in to avoid Buffy and to keep herself from falling into the bad habits she really would like to fall into, still deeply upset over Faith. Over the next few months as Buffy struggles to get used to college Brooke begins to reach out again and be there for her, trying to get back to the better relationship they used to have. Occasionally she goes to L.A. with her band for gigs and naturally runs into the L.A. squad because of course that’s how the world works. With their break up pretty permanent and some therapy under her belt her attitude towards Angel is much better she’s still unpleasant but at least funnier about it. Brooke kinda has the beginnings of an alcohol problem but is aware enough to try and fend that off with some help and moral support. When Spike comes to the Scoobies for help Brooke IMMEDIATELY sides with Spike and agrees to help, scared of what happened to him and what it would mean for her friends and potentially her and Buffy. She convinces them to let him live at Hell House instead of trapped with Giles or Xander. As more comes about the Initiative she stops talking the Scoobies when Riley is around or about anything that would be mission critical and they might accidentally tell him or act on. She, her demon friends and Syd decide to attack the Initiative HQ. They kidnap Walsh then Syd uses magic to make Brooke look like her and once she’s in, they use her pact with Nic to guide him as he and Syd use Nic’s ability to travel through shadows to get the whole horde of demons they’d put together for the assault in and then shit just goes wild. In the fray Adam wakes up and escapes before the horde can get to the top secret section. Buffy and the Scoobies find out and Brooke and Buffy are back to being on the outs but work together to defeat Adam. SEASON 5. Brooke takes finding out Dawn is the Key well and basically just continues on as normal. When Joyce becomes sick Brooke spends extensive time with her trying to figure out what she wants her / them to do in the worst case scenario as Brooke knows if she doesn’t have that list she’s going to fall off the deep end if it does happen. Brooke once again tries to take on too much and take some of the stress that’s clearly effecting Buffy off her by trying to do the lion’s share of caring for dawn, their mom and slaying which puts her back in danger of dependency until they finally have a moment and figure out a balance that works for them both and plays to their strengths. Buffy is the one who finds their mother Brooke learns via Phone call. Giles calls Hell House, gets Nic who finds her and tells her. She goes with Buffy to get Dawn. Buffy is the one who jumps to save dawn / the world and Brooke falls dead when she dies.  [ Kinda was running out of willpower here so this section might get added on to ] 

SEASON 6. Brooke is not in Heaven as Brooke actually did crimes and shit and didn’t get a big heroic death to help balance that out. She is in purgatory, specifically a purgatory where the Army of the Repentant Dead fight an endless battle to hold back the endless hordes of demons trying to break through into the mortal realm. Civilizations rising to glory and falling into obscurity around them in what feels like the space of a single breath kinda thing. During the ritual to bring them back Willow works off the fact that they’re linked to try and bring them both back in one go with the spell we see in the show. Buffy, the primary target comes back fine but Brooke as the metaphysical baggage…. Not so much…. She comes back very living dead kinda exactly how you’d think something like this would go if it went bad and Syd has to come in and fix the damage done by Willow as best he can. He can put flesh on her, her heart beating and her mind more here and less "a thousand eons have passed”-y but he cannot do anything about how she reads as Dead magically. Her soul is still technically tied to the Army of the Repentant Dead and her slayer duties and such are basically counting towards that on a cosmic level. Brooke basically spends all her time trying to keep the family together as the one with access to work via the band she hates being in and her connections into the demon community. She works to the bone taking on whatever work she can squeeze in and tries to be there for Buffy and work with her through her depression and well as Willow and her addiction. She falls back on her time as a unkillable dead soldier to power through at the cost of her personality / mental state and at times her health. She asks Xander to teach her more about carpentry / construction so she can have something healthy and productive to do. Too focused on everything else she didn’t consider the nerd squad to be a real threat and shit Goes Down like it did. [ or you know…. We can say that they totally did take care of them or whatever and everything’s Chill bc….. Tara Deserves Better sooooooooooo ya know... ] SEASON 7. Brooke as successfully managed to not become an alcoholic but that’s because she’s fallen into self-harm. Not cutting or similar but hitting herself or walls / objects or just fighting. She and other finally realize this and she actively works to stop the behavior and does a LOT of home improvement until finally the shit gets real and she can focus on the war against the First. During the first fight with Caleb they realize the full repercussions of the Ritual from s6 and learn that she kinda can’t die. Caleb should have killed her and by extension Buffy but she doesn’t die. Brooke, while yes sure everything work like it should for a living person was still not brought back correctly and this is the repercussions of that. If Buffy dies though they both die and Brooke is still able to feel pain and shit so like…. being unable to die is kind of terrible. Syd is able to patch her up but needs fresh human meat to do it so that’s a new grim exciting facet of her life. Brooke once again leans on her Dead Army experience to train the potentials and help with battle plans but generally defers to Buffy as Brooke feels Buffy’s a better leader and Brooke herself a better second in command. Shit pm does down as it does from here. She’s glad to see Faith again but naturally she bounces when they kick Buffy out though not before speaking out against it.   COMICS. OH GOD I DON’T WANNA THINK ABOUT THIS RN. SHE’S DOING SOMETHING.

#this is so much..... dfskjlghsd even when i Gave Up and just wanted it DONE i still cOULDN'T FUCKING SHUT UP fjlkgsd