Yeah. You get a Buffy/Giles hug. <3
Thank you!! This made me smile. Come here. <3
“It’s — ugh, it’s much harder than it looks. Trust me,” Dawn assured, pulling hopelessly at the evil peanut butter jar lid.
"—-Careful. If you keep lying like that, your nose is going to start growing."
( Not her best quip, maybe. But she had her still fresh patrol to blame: a familiar ache was already pressing into her back, along with the mingled dust on her shoulder and the signs of dirt on her left cheek.
Not bruised, but battered.
She watched Dawn from the kitchen counter with warmth: a soft, easy expression making her smirk look equal parts affectionate and teasing. )
”Want some help with that?”
Anything - Shawn Clement, Sean Murray ft. Cari Howe
Take me over, I’m lying down,
Giving in to you.
I’m a hurricane,
I can’t describe this feeling.
Now that I’ve found this love,
I’d do anything for you.
Now that I’ve found this love.
btvs: one relationship
slayer + watcher
" the slayer slays. the watcher… "
" watches? "
every single night // fiona apple
the rib is the shell and the heart is the yolk and
i just made a meal for us both to choke on
every single night’s a fight with my brain
“Angel Investigations, we help the hopele— -“
She trails off as their client steps into view. Blonde hair, green eyes, and a fashion sense that she was never quite sure what to make of, meant this could be none of than— -
“Buffy? What are you doing here?”
She wants to pick at her elbows. Her fingers ache for distraction: thorny vulnerability rests low in her gut, as well as the slight sense of intrusion, interruption. This isn’t her place. She can feel it.
”—-Cordelia,” she says, almost carefully.
She’s not sure where the strikes of insecurity take root: whether they grew from the years between her last meeting with Cordelia or whether they originate in the fact that just a few months ago, she was declared dead: put under ground in a wooden coffin, left to decompansate and rot, alone in a pair of heels and a long, black dress.
(Either way, she wants to look down.)
“I’m here to see Angel, actually.”
A pause. She lets her words sink in and hopes, hopes.
”Is he here?”
”It’s… not your fault,” he admitted, examining the tea packets. “I seem to have bought the wrong blend, though if you did salt it then who knows…”
Giles looked up at her. “I don’t think there’s such a thing as a too British kitchen, Buffy.”
"Sure there is. There’s… Biscuits. A lot of biscuits. And tea. Bangers, Giles.
You have to admit— that even sounds wrong.”
With her body now leaning against the kitchen counter, a moment of comfort fell over her: her own mild quip and Giles’ expected reaction to it made her feel at ease, warm. Normalcy was an open, self-defined term. For her, it was this. Watcher. Slayer. Giles.
She let one moment pass. Two.
”Want me to make you some coffee?”