maylancholy 2026 prompt: May 9, Forced to Watch. event by @may-lancholy | crossposted on AO3
Marcie realizes there is more than one way to torture Cordelia.
set during 1x11
Tags: Buffy Summers/Cordelia Chase (BtVS), Buffy whump, Cordelia whump, Torture, Restraints, Blood and Injury, Canon Divergence, Implied Romance, Hopeful Ending
Buffy’s eyes slowly opened, adjusting sluggishly to the bright stage lights above her. She groaned at the light. Instinctively, she tried to brush her hair out of her face, but found her wrists immobile.
“...Cordelia?” she mumbled. She heard the rustling of ropes beside her. A faint awareness grew inside her—she understood that she was somewhere, because of someone, and that something was wrong and Cordelia needed protecting.
“Buffy!” Cordelia blurted. Buffy’s eyes shot open, and she lurched in her chair. “Thank god you’re awake! That crazy girl got us, and I was starting to worry you wouldn’t wake up.”
Buffy’s eyes drifted across her surroundings. Her and Cordelia were imprisoned, tied with rope to tall chairs on some sort of stage. The ropes were not impossible, but they would take time. Before them was a curtain, adorned in glitter with Marcie’s final message: “LEARN.”
“Where are we?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I woke up a couple minutes ago, and you were all unconscious, and we were all tied up, and—god, Buffy, you have to help me!” Cordelia cried, looking around the room herself.
Buffy strained against her restraints. “Of course…As soon as I get out of these ropes.”
Before she could tug against them again, a voice echoed through the room. “You know, I thought you were one of the good ones,” Marcie started, pushing a concealed cart into the room with her. Cordelia’s head swiveled around, attempting fruitlessly to pinpoint the sound. Her chest heaved with every breath. Buffy lifted her gaze in the direction of the invisible figure.
“But you’re just like her and all her vapid friends,” Marcie continued. “None of you value anything meaningful. All you want is to be remembered.”
Buffy leaned forward, attempting to appeal to Marcie’s reason and sympathy. “Marcie, I understand—”
Buffy was immediately dismissed.
“No, you don’t,” Marcie laughed.
The cloth was torn from the cart, revealing an array of medical tools, shining in the bright lights of the stage. Scalpels, medicine vials, syringes, steel scissors, and other forms of instruments lay spread across the table, atop a blue cotton cloth.
Slowly, Marcie lifted a scalpel, the pristine instrument gleaming in the light. She brought it up to Cordelia’s face. Cordelia gasped, eyes tracking the object’s movement. Buffy thrashed against her restraints. Marcie chuckled. The floating implement slashed Cordelia’s cheek, and she cried out.
“I’m being merciful, really,” Marcie said flippantly. “This way, no one will ever forget you. Not like me. They’ll remember your face forever.”
“Buffy!” Cordelia screamed, as another slash sliced open her cheek. Blood dripped from both wounds, streaming down her face and staining her dress. Horror tainted her already fearful expression, her eyes growing wider and her breath shallower. Buffy’s gaze sharpened. It was then, Cordelia realized, that the cuts didn’t exactly hurt—her face was not numb from panic, but from anesthetic.
Buffy continued to struggle. “Breath, Cordelia, breath! I’m going to get us out of here!”
“But, you know—” Marcie continued, gesturing haphazardly with the surgical tool. Cordelia’s eyes shifted rapidly, as if searching for an exit. The ropes burned against her wrists as she strained against them. "Before the crowd gets to see their special view, I think I’ll give you one too.” Cordelia’s gaze slowly shifted as Marcie approached Buffy with the scalpel.
A deep pit formed in her stomach. It was as though she was watching a horror film, seeing someone else’s demented life through the lens of a camera—like watching as a cult sends their sweetest lamb to the slaughter, or watching as a doe is shot down, transformed into the trophy of a wicked man. Cordelia tugged harder at her restraints, yet she remained wholly helpless. Her eyes pleaded for Buffy to save them both.
“You care for her a lot, don’t you?” Marcie said, almost mockingly.
Cordelia swallowed, and Buffy’s eyes shifted to her.
Despite the girl’s invisibility, she could feel Marcie’s gaze tearing into, seeing the parts of herself that she could not admit to. Caught in the rift between nodding and shaking her head, caught between something that was neither yes nor no, and certainly not maybe, Cordelia was left unsure what to feel or say. To an extent, Buffy too saw those hidden parts of her—but she would not admit to them either, letting the safe bubble of their rivalry and strange friendship remain intact. She was grateful for it, yet she could not express that. Buffy tugged against her restraints. Cordelia’s words lingered in her throat, like the aftertaste of sweetened tea. ‘Yes, of course,’ she hoped to say.
Marcie’s invisible hand suddenly grasped Buffy’s face, and Cordelia choked on the unsaid phrase. Helplessness had overcome both of them—while they understood that someone must be coming; Giles, the police, or even Willow, neither could ensure that the person would come before harm came to either of them. Buffy cast her fear into the ocean of her heart, and found it within her to push forward. She pulled forth her loving feelings from the same depths which she buried that fear. She was going to save Cordelia. Slowly, Buffy began working more methodically at her restraints. Cordelia’s heart beckoned her to consider how this would end, and it ached, not for her own misery, but for Buffy. She could not figure out why her heart said so.
“What is it?” Marcie said, turning Buffy’s face as if to inspect it. “Is it her face? Her body? The way she would never leave you, even after what I plan to do to you?”
Buffy’s forlorn gaze drifted to Cordelia, and their eyes met. Something questioning and heartfelt glowed in Cordelia’s expression.
“...You would never leave me?” she asked, her voice low, as though genuinely surprised. She felt her blood drying on her cheek.
“I wouldn’t,” Buffy admitted, her eyes gleaming with sincerity. She gave a wry smile.
“Real cute,” Marcie interrupted. “But I do request you keep the dialogue to a minimum and the screams at a high. I want to enjoy this.” With that, Buffy’s head fell to the side as she was violently slapped, before Marcie slashed her cheek. Cordelia screamed. Buffy remained silent. For a moment, the wound did not bleed. It was deeper, farther into the skin and closer to the bone. After a moment, the wound dripped red.
“Marcie, please—” Cordelia pleaded, squirming in her chair.
The blade sliced Buffy again.
“Buffy—” Tears welled in her eyes.
And again.
Cordelia lurched in her chair. “I’m sorry, Marcie, I’m sorry, please—”
And again.
As the blade sliced repeatedly into her face, Buffy slowly worked on her restraints. Her wounds ached and itched, yet the task at hand took priority over temporary wounds. Her face would heal—she was the Slayer, but if Cordelia were to be harmed, she may not heal the same. She swallowed her cries and tears and worked diligently, focusing her mind on the feel of the ropes and the sound of Cordelia’s begging. This was for her. Gradually, the ropes grew loose, her hands and feet almost free. Marcie was too absorbed in Cordelia’s anguish to see her captive’s work. She sliced Buffy’s face again.
“Just take me instead—” Cordelia cried out.
Marcie turned to her, and a single tear rolled down Cordelia’s cheek. Buffy broke free.
btvs | out of mind, out of sight
You think I'm never lonely because I'm so cute and popular? I can be surrounded by people and be completely alone. It's not like any of them really know me. I don't even know if they like me half the time. People just want to be in the popular zone. Sometimes when I talk, everyone's so busy agreeing with me, they don't hear a word I say.
