garnigal: (Default)
You can’t pick your family.

It’s the luck of the draw, and being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It’s in the glint of light off shiny black hair and a beaded dress when you’re filled with misery.
It's in the angel’s face with the mind of a demon when you are already confused and shattered.
It’s in the beautiful and available blonde when you are looking to prove you’re a man.

It’s in your misery and confusion and bravado.

It’s love and loss and pain and blood.

No, you can’t pick your family.

They pick you.
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He spent more time on it than he really should have. But it had been so long since he’d indulged in a project like this.
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

Each element blended seamlessly into the next, leading the audience, all unknowing, to the great reveal.
Old Time is still a-flying:

He considered each detail carefully. This first masterpiece would set the tone for all the rest.
And this same flower that smiles to-day

One last look and he had to go. His art would have to succeed or fail on its own merits now.
To-morrow will be dying.

_______________________________________________________________________
Now, the question is: did I make it clear enough?
garnigal: (Default)
He’d never gone far from home. His family wasn’t exactly the traveling type. But he’d always fantasized about going places, seeing things and getting the hell out of Sunnydale. He read books and watched television, and his favourite characters were always the adventurers, the explorers, and the wandering rangers. They always seemed to know what was going on and how to save the day.
So he planned and dreamed and saved and knew that as soon as he was free, he’d be gone on a great adventure.
Just as soon as he was free... Andrew Wells was hitting the road.
garnigal: (Default)
I just posted my Seasonal_Spuffy offering for this round.

Enjoy! Hope Enough
garnigal: (Default)
Fortes fortuna adiuvat. Or so claimed the script on their elegant letterhead.

They took it to heart, their motto. Bravery and boldness were traits to promote and develop.

Oh, not in themselves. They threw themselves into books, only daring the dangers of papercuts and eyestrain. But in the Slayer... bravery and boldness were to be encouraged above all. The Slayers had been given great strength and great speed, natural abilities that allowed her to challenge vampires and demons. She should react instinctively, impulsively. Strategy could... interfere with her greatest abilities.

Fortune favours the brave – and if not, there was always another.
garnigal: (Default)
Talk.

Angry words, comforting words, soft words, harsh words; the room was filled to the brim with words. You could drown in these peoples’ need to vocalize every single thought that crossed their minds.

She didn’t understand it, opening up like that. Revealing so much about yourself, it left you exposed. Vulnerable, to use one of Giles’ five dollar words. Vulnerable – nothing made that okay. Vulnerable was just another word for weak.

She was anything but weak, would never let herself be exposed like that. But if they were going to spill all their secrets....

Nothing to do but listen.
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A single kick for Buffy to break down a door.
A single demon for Xander to break an engagement.
A single moment for Dawn to break the law.
A single ticket for Giles to break a heart.
A single bullet for Willow to break with sanity.

In the shadows, Spike tries to break through Buffy’s defences.
Xander runs away and Anya breaks into sobs.
The booty is returned, but Dawn’s managed to break their trust.
Buffy begs him not to leave, but Giles doesn’t break.
Tara falls and Willow breaks, and there’s no one left to pick up the pieces.
garnigal: (Default)
She looks directly into his eyes, trusting and innocent, holds the door wide and offers invitation in her soft voice.

She doesn’t see the darkness lurking behind his beloved face.
She doesn’t see the danger she’s welcomed home.
She doesn’t see the violence and hunger beneath the veneer of familiarity.

She only feels the coldness of his hands and pulls him to the fire to warm him.
She only feels the strength of his arms when he hugs her.
She only feels the sharpness of his teeth when they are buried in her throat.

She thought he was an angel.
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They giggled in graveyards, heads together. Secrets and stories passed between them without words, through the semi-permeable membrane of friendship. These are the games they play.

They meandered by mausoleums, stealing glances through downcast lashes. Young love, manic in shy passion, conveyed by a touch, a look. These are the games they play.

They cavort by crematoriums, the only place where the dead don’t walk. Fire burns, but not as hot as the fear and despair that drives them. Teeth and nails leave scratches and bites, and then maybe she’ll be able to sleep. These are the games they play.
garnigal: (Default)
He sits, Caesar on his throne, enshrined behind his desk. He’s surrounded by guards, separated from his supplicants. He offers bread and circuses like crumbs to his inferiors. He feigns disinterest, but his avaricious eyes never leave the battles raging before him.

He lives for the clash of steel on steel, the flash of fangs and the burst of blood. It makes his own heart pump, his own fists clench, safe above the crowd and stink. Safe from the real dangers of blades and flames, he dabbles at war, wasting his soldiers without thought.

There’s always another Slayer, after all.
garnigal: (Default)
It was hanging in the closet, like he might come back for it any moment.

Brown and green, worn leather patches at the elbow - it instantly took her back to high school.

Back when she was hiding her calling from her mother – if only her mother was still here.
Back when she was sighing and crying over Angel –it had been months since they’d even spoken.
Back when life seemed so hard – but she’d been so protected.

She boxed the coat up for Goodwill. There was no point keeping it. Giles wasn’t coming back.

You can never go back.
garnigal: (Default)
There are some things that just go together - peanut butter and chocolate, birds and bees, and Supernatural and Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

If you like crossovers, and think Dean and Buffy would be smoking hot together - enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ydsmH_CrjCE
garnigal: (Default)
They talk in clichés and inspirational quotes.

They tell her to keep fighting the good fight.
She’s learned the only good fight is one you walk away from.

They tell her to give it her all.
She’s given them everything she has.

They tell her to keep her eye on the prize.
She knows there’s no reward at the end.

They tell her life is a marathon, not a sprint.
She remembers the first marathon ended in death.

They tell her to never say die.
She dies over and over.

And another girl is forced to listen to their lies.
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She remembered being happy.

Playing dolls, hosting tea parties for her teddy bears.

Free as a bird, running around the neighbourhood with her friends.

Giggling in bathrooms, making eyes at boys.

Kissing in the backseat until she was breathless, sneaking in late with a smile on her face.

She remembered being happy. Happy, joyful, blissed out, gleeful, giddy, merry.

But as she sat in a darkened room at 2 am with a glass of wine, waiting for her husband to come home, Joyce knew she hadn’t been happy in a very long time.

And she wanted to be happy again.
garnigal: (Default)
inspired by and dedicated to Ares.

There’s a moment.

Before the truth is revealed. Before the screaming begins. Before the fists and fangs and fighting starts.

Before all that, there’s one last moment.

You already feel alive. Everything is brighter and more colourful, like you can taste the breeze. You’ve already made your choice, and now there’s no going back.

You have just enough emotion left to think of your mother grieving, your sister crying, your best friend wondering. Just enough feeling to yearn for them without the hunger colouring it all.

Just that last moment to say goodbye to his past, to himself...

To Jesse.
garnigal: (Default)
There’s a moment.

After the fruitless hiding is over and you’re found. After the pointless screaming is ended and you’re silenced. After the worthless fighting is done and you’re stilled.

After all that, there’s one last moment.

You already feel dead. Cold and blind, every limb is useless. Even if you were rescued, there would be no way to save you. In this moment, you have a choice.

You have just enough life in you to feel a slim wrist pressed against your mouth, or a drop of blood on your lips. Just enough life to decide whether...

To return.
garnigal: (Default)
They preached bravery, courage, helping others, strength, and honesty. They planted the seeds that they hoped would make their children better people, better citizens, and better friends. They groomed them for achievement and for success.

They preached discretion, watchfulness, independence, power, and prudence. They planted the seeds that they hoped would make their children safer, happier, prettier, and wealthier. They groomed them for popularity and for affluence.

Fertile ground and inspiring lessons. Time and repetition.

And the parents watched in surprise and confusion as their children became adults, selfish or giving, heroic or cowardly, cautious or brave, attention-seeking or shy.
garnigal: (Default)
Photos covered the mirror.

Old and curling baby pictures peeked through here and there, offering a nostalgic glimpse of pigtails and braces.

A pyramid of cheerleaders and a boy in a leather jacket were mostly hidden.

The newest photos overwhelmed everything that had come before. A girl asleep on a table surrounded by old leather books. A grinning boy in a Hawaiian shirt with a redhead on one side and a blonde on the other.

Joyce sat on Buffy’s bed and stared at the pictures she’d thought documented her daughter’s life. Stared, and wondered about the pictures that were missing.

June 2025

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