Working on an Angel the series s3 au where Drusilla ends up pregnant (and survives) instead of Darla, and trying to work up the courage to post it so here have a random snippet from the chapter I’m currently working on:
She curled in on herself slightly. Spike had held a stake against her chest, and Darla had tried to burn away the only good thing she’d ever had, and now that she was hollow again Drusilla was truly alone.
Well, maybe not in the literal sense. Angel was probably still here. She hadn’t opened her eyes yet, but when she finally convinced herself to do so she was sure she’d see his face.
But even if she’d wanted him to be there, which she wasn’t sure she did, it didn’t matter. The child was gone, it was now as much his and as little hers as everything else she had ever possessed, and she felt with a painful, bone-deep certainty that he would not let her get close to it again.
He had finally taken the only thing she had left. Maybe now he would finally finish the job he had started one hundred and fifty years ago. Maybe this was how Drusilla finally died.
"I left you a couple hundred messages last night. Don't feel obligated to return any."
. . .
Her body has been lying in pieces for days, the last trace of her erased from his life - or so he thinks - when the memory comes to him.
Distorted, faded. Like a dream he tried to forget.
Even when it finally succeeds in crystallizing, it takes him a full twenty-four hours to bring out his phone. Another five to navigate to his voicemail.
Two to play it.
(his father called him a coward once. Wesley feels the truth of that judgment in the never-ending age it takes him to raise the phone to his ear. To listen.)
Her voice is different. Distorted through the phone. But familiar, in the way he's so often heard that distortion before. In the way she had his private number before he'd even chosen to give it to her. In the way she had no qualms about using it.
Her voice is different.
But it sounds like her.
Hey, lover. Just making sure you haven't been burnt to a crisp. . .
Nice weather we're having. Funny how they didn't mention anything about it in the forecast. . .
Personally, Rain of Fire? Seems a little cliché. Though I guess it's better than Rain of Toads. . .
So it turns out the Partners aren't overjoyed about someone else nosing in on their Apocalypse. Forces of evil can get so possessive about these sorts of things. Worse than kids on the fucking playground. . .
The silent treatment. Really? Very mature. . .
So it's been three hours now. Three fucking hours. You better be lying in a ditch somewhere. . .
Have you ever seen anyone's skin peeled off while they're still alive? All of their skin. . . From observation alone, it seems to be highly excruciating, so you better. . .
For God's sake, Wesley. Quit screwing around and answer your damn phone. . .
Are you really going to make me come over there? Do you have any idea the amount of shit I'm dealing with right now. . .
I swear to God, if you got killed by a giant goat. . .
Just. . . call me back. Okay?
He lets the last message come to an end. Listens to the silence. Empty and final. Dials a number. Raises the phone to his ear.
I'm sorry, the number you are calling has been disconnected.
Lowers the phone. Turns it off.
Turns it on.
Turns it off.
Leaves the room.
Returns again later in the evening. Phone cradled in his palm. The screen bright. The empty voice from the speaker already fading.
I'm sorry, the number you are calling has been disconnected.
The definition of insanity is performing the same task over and over and expecting different results.
He takes up his phone. He navigates to his voicemail. He listens (he listens, he listens, he listens). He dials a number. He hits call. He puts down his phone.
He picks up his phone. He navigates to-
On the third day, it's a pattern.
By the fifth day, it's insanity.
He picks up his phone. He-
For God's sake, Wesley. Quit screwing around and answer your damn pho—
He pours a glass of scotch. Drinks.
It doesn't help.
Pours several more. The edges of his universe start to blur. Become distant.
Her voice does not.
. . .
Another glass for luck.
Raise the phone. Listen.
Listen. Listen.
Dial the number.
The number you are calling has been—
Hang up.
Drink.
Open the door. Step out. Don't fret.
You'll be back here tomorrow.
. . .
Are you really going to make me come over there?
He can see the look on her face the moment he opened the door-
Feel the sensation of her arms around him-
Drink.
Hey, lover.
Turn away. Before her lips touch yours.
Drink.
Dial the number.
—disconnected.
"We both know how this song ends."
Pour the glass.
Drink.
Raise your phone.
"I could wear the glasses again."
Now who's embarrassing themselves?
The number you are calling—
Sometimes he sees her in the corner of his vision. A phantom. Light reflecting off a glittering diamond surface. The shifting of midnight blue fabric. A lock of hair, dangling in front of his gaze.
Sometimes he feels her hands on his shoulders. Inhales the fading scent of Chanel.
She doesn't talk to him like in the basement.
The only time he hears her voice now is through the tinny speakers of his phone.
(it's not enough)
. . .
The sheets on his bed at the hotel are gray. He stares at them as he fills another glass. Gray all the way through.
Her skin was gray. When he peeled back the plastic. Gray and cold.
He's never thought of Lilah as cold. Strange. One might have believed her made of ice. But every one of her touches burned and there was fire in her eyes.
(The fires of hell, perhaps?
They were heading there together.
Who knew that hell could prove so cold in the end?)
Pour.
Drink.
Raise the phone.
Okay?
"Okay. . . I was just checking."
Open up the door.
Don't expect to see her on the other side. Shove down that fleeting instant of despair.
Step out.
It's alright.
Her voice will still be here when you come back.
. . .
A/N:
So I basically just wrote this because I couldn't get the memory of those messages Lilah left during the Rain of Fire out of my head. And I like to think that Wesley saved them and one day listened to them. This is the angtiest incarnation of that scenario I could come up with lol.
But, yeah, this ties into chapter 17 of my other Weslah fic 'always gray, never simple' where Angel mentions overhearing Wesley listening to some messages that Lilah left. Only in that universe the situation isn't quite so grim.
On the subject of my other fic, the next chapter is completely kicking my ass and has been ever since I first wrote the draft for it. So it's still going to be a little while before it's ready to post. sorry <3
Request: Requested by me! Reader comes and drinks tea on an afternoon with Giles every week. He soon finds out that reader hates tea and has just been doing it to spend time with him.
A/n: I had an ask asking if I included any personal experience in my fics, I hate tea so this is as explicitly autobiographical as my reader inserts will get (...that I’ll admit to anyway lol)💖💖
You adored Giles. You think now, looking back on it, you always had. He rendered you somewhat flustered and bashful when you realised you harboured feelings for him though. Which was wholly unlike you.
You were kind and polite but you weren’t usually afraid of speaking your mind or voicing your thoughts. Most people saw you as an open book and with your friends you definitely were.
But, most recently, with him you had been concerned of making the “correct impression”. Wanting him to think you were smart and witty. Had good humour and weren’t ridiculously shallow and watched a lot of tv. Which, he already knew you were guilty of and didn’t mind in the slightest - in fact he liked it because it gave him an excuse to watch with you.
It had fast become a routine of yours. A cherished moment you and he shared that could just be your own. He had invited you one afternoon to come over, he offered to brew one of his special teas. The kind that took a while to make rather than just shoving a tea bag in there and hoping for the best. There was some tiny sieve involved or something.
You had expected the entire gang to be invited but you realised it had just been you. Your heart skipped a beat, in fact it must have skipped several - you were sure it was loud enough to wake the dead. But you sorely hoped that it wouldn’t, hoping for uninterrupted time with the man you were interested in.
You loved his mind. His intelligence. That soothing tone he used, especially around you. He was a complete gentleman. So much so you didn’t realise just how much feeling he held for you.
Giles was in love. A feeling that he had become consumed by, in the very best way. He submitted to it wholly and just wished he had the courage to admit it. He wasn’t sure he would be pushing it, risking your friendship if he did and thus the dynamic of the entire group. You were older than the others but still a big part of the group so he didn’t wish to ruin this friendship he shared with you. It was too special.
You smiled and he asked what flavour tea you would prefer, listing the options. You decided to tell him that you trusted him and he should choose which made him smile at you.
The truth was in your excitement about being invited to his house, you had seemingly forgot something very important. You didn’t like tea. No matter what the flavour, temperature or how ethically sourced the leaves were - the taste just didn’t sit right.
In fact you couldn’t stand the stuff. You never had.
However, you didn’t want him to think you were rude or even decide not to invite you into his home this way again. So you just didn’t mention it. Instead, when he returned you thanked him in a perhaps slightly over exaggerated manner.
Not even the horrible taste of the tea could dampen the mood though, you and Giles discussed everything. Books and research. Mythology and demon lore. Even the latest tv show you had been enjoying that he now knew more of the plot than he knew what to do with. He adored hearing it though and you appeared to brighten when he encouraged you further.
You had been trying to avoid mentioning the tv but you had become so relaxed in his presence you couldn’t help gush. He put you at ease. He made you feel as if you were the only person in the world. In his world. And, on these afternoons you were. He adored them. Looked forward every week. Began to miss you as soon as you said your goodbyes.
It became a regular thing. You talking and pretending to drink tea. It was worth it to have him sitting so close. His attention was yours. That sweet affection growing with every syllable passed between you.
“I, ah, do enjoy your company” he murmured the most recent afternoon you shared. It had taken every scrap of courage he could muster to admit such a thing. As if he was professing too much even by thinking it. But he was so relaxed by your side that he said it through a gentle sigh.
You practically glowed, turning to him and smiling. He loved your smile more than anything. He was sure nothing could ever replicate your smile, not art nor literature. Much less so the way seeing this smile made him feel. It was wholly unique to you and he felt almost blessed to be in your presence.
“I love spending time here!” You nodded with that small smile he became entranced by. You had never meant something more.
You wanted to pour your feelings. The way the affection you held ran so deep. How you wanted to wrap your arms around him in a never ending embrace. You were sat beside him on the sofa now and you had both subconsciously leaned in. Your faces close together, you could feel his body heat radiating against you in his proximity. You wished to lean further still.
If you had moved even a fraction forwards, you would have brushed against him. Your face against his. A heavenly graze against his lips that would surely change the course of the future. Together you could rewrite prophecies. Bend fate to your will. It would be only you and him against it all.
Your eyes fluttered to his lips before looking back to his eyes. You saw the way the corners upturned into a wry smile. One that he always had in your presence. Lips that spoke so eloquently. That spoke to your very mind. Words that made you feel safe. Tone that could be so strong and yet so tender at the same time.
You were about to reach for him, your hand started to move to slide against the side of his face but something made him jump up. The tea. He had forgotten about the tea.
He left your side and you felt such loss. To have him ripped from your side, the potential of that moment left you simultaneously ridiculously hopeful and empty at the lack of contact with his skin at the same time. You were sure you had seen something in his eyes though, some glistening intention that he wished to kiss you too.
“Well, the-the tea should have finished brewing by now” he said, excusing himself and leaving you so disappointed. Not just because you were now faced with a further disappointment in liquid form.
He shook his head at himself as he busied in the kitchen. He had so wanted to kiss you. Pull you into him with such unwavering passion it almost made him dizzy. You made him feel so much. Even a minute in your presence turned him into a lovesick fool.
He brought the tea out and handed it to you. He sat further away from you now on a different seat. Having to distance himself or else it would be too much.
You couldn’t even trust your face to hide it though. It was the worst tasting one yet. So much so that when he turned his back you had to lean in and pour it into one of his houseplants. You silently apologised to it but it was either the plant or you. A true ethical decision had to be made, for the good of your blossoming relationship.
Your afternoons became interrupted once Giles received a house guest in the form of a defanged vampire. You still came to spend time with him but it wasn’t as intimate as it had been before. The only plus side was that he didn’t make as much tea because he was either arguing with spike or making him meals.
In fact the week previous you hadn’t even come to visit (through no fault of your own you had a prior engagement). But this left Giles sorely missing you and hating Spike even more. Not only because he was forced into watching Passions with him but because he feared that you felt neglected by him. That your friendship wasn’t what he wanted anymore. Which just wasn’t true.
There was a Scooby meeting and Spike was involved only so much as he was living out of the house and the tv was in the same room. You were supposed to be there but you were having to travel to Giles’ from the other side of town.
Giles was in a sour mood. Couldn’t make the move he so desperately wished he could. He just wanted you to be comfortable. To be happy and to feel just as strongly as him. He was sure you would have expressed an interest if you felt something. You were usually so bold, he admired your nature so much.
Giles sighed and cleaned his glasses as he was in deep thought. His mind only ever wrapped around you at the moment. The close proximity you held but at such a disappointing distance. The Scoobies noticed this sigh and as always immediately pick him up on it. He didn’t even have to say anything, they just knew it was about you and your mutual pining.
“Well, have you even tried to make a move?” Buffy questioned with a little squint.
“We drink tea together...” He said vaguely which made the others laugh. He looked up, frowning at their reactions.
“There’s no way!”
“Well, ah, we do...” He said, putting his glasses back on and squinting back around the room at why this would be such a ridiculous notion.
“Y/n hates tea, Giles” Willow answered honestly. She had to sit through one of your rants about it when she had offered it to you once.
“Yeah, even I know that. Doesn’t touch the stuff called me a freak of nature for even suggesting-” Spike began with a shrug, he didn’t even look up from the tv as he spoke.
“I think they called you that for offering a “secret ingredient”-”
“Blood compliments everything I’ll have you know” Spike pointed her way and she grimaced at how gross he was.
“Will you both stop babbling and allow me to think straight! Th-they don’t drink tea? Ever?” He asked, a furrow deepening on his brow. This meant something. Of course, it must do. But just what it meant, he couldn’t be entirely sure. He knew what he hoped it meant though.
“Never ever”
“Not unless...” Willow tailed off and everyone gave him a look as if to hint at what they meant. They were implying that his hopes were true. You liked him and took any excuse you could to spend time with him.
“But they are usually so open about everything, especially matters of the heart”
“Well, love makes you do the whacky”
“They couldn’t possibly... hold such affection, ah, could they?” Giles, uncharacteristically pondered aloud which made Spike scoff. It couldn’t have been more obvious if you had a t-shirt printed that said ‘I heart Giles’ on it. In fact, the vampire was sure you probably had one.
While everyone was talking Xander had moved towards the corner of the room where Giles’ usually dead looking plants looked more vibrant than ever. He was inspecting them. He had seen one too many movies and figured he might know the true extent to your tea drinking.
“Well, they might have mentioned something...”
“And I think I figured who’s been drinking your tea, G-man. Check out the little corner of horrors” Xander said, gesturing with his head at the jungle of plants. You had been feeding his plants with the tea.
“And you thought the potted plants had magically started to grow. They’ve been bloody drinking tea!” Spike scoffed and rolled his eyes. But Giles wasn’t listening anymore. He was smiling at the idea that you had been pretending to enjoy drinking tea just to spend time with him.
Just as this was revealed, you walked in closing the door behind you and calling into the room, “Hey guys sorry I’m... late” you tailed off glancing around the room. There was an unusual vibe as if
“We’ll give you some space...”
“I won’t” Spike said unhelpfully, crossing his arms and smirking ready to watch a potential social disaster in the making.
“You bloody well will” Giles warned. When the vampire didn’t move and Giles looked as if he may pop a blood vessel, Buffy sighed and hauled Spike into the bathroom with the others where they would sit and wait in their hurry to give you space.
“You don’t like tea?” He asked, barely hiding the ghost of a smile on his face.
“Oh... so you found out about that? I’m sorry, I was just so...” You nodded at yourself. It was long since time to admit this, “I was so excited that you wanted to spend time with me alone that I forgot and then it had been too long... I didn’t want you to think any less of me” You said slowly, looking at the ground.
“I, uh, just wish I had known your feelings. It would have made it much easier to gauge whether you were interested”
“Giles-” You said, taking his hand in yours. You liked the way they looked clasped together in this way.
“Rupert, please” he offered comfortingly, rubbing his thumb against your hand which made you smile down at your entwined hands.
“Rupert, I love you... I think I always have”
“And I love you” He admitted, one hand sliding up your upper arm. The other moving to cup your cheek. This had been everything you had both wanted for so long. You and him. Like this.
You leaned in, catching his lips with yours. He grasped the hair at the base of your skull, willing you closer. This kiss was the sweetest, it tasted better than you ever could have imagined. It brightened your soul. Made your heart beat more rhythmically. In perfect timing with his.
You parted briefly, but he couldn’t help pressing light kisses against your cheek, trailing a path to the corner of your mouth as you spoke. He wished to cherish you in the way he felt you so deserved. Couldn’t move from your contact, not now he knew how you felt this as deeply as him. It was real. So real and he couldn’t waste a moment of it.
“We should have read our tea-leaves” You smiled, you were so sure that they would have told you that you were meant for each other. It would have at least meant that drinking your water-weight in tea would have been worth it. Either way though, of course it was worth it. Because it meant you spent time with him. Got to know him in this way.
He nodded gently but he didn’t wish to speak now. He just wished to show you his devotion. His lips had barely moved from your skin as your shared admittance enveloped you. He caught your lips again, such tenderness evident in his kisses. He wished for you to feel just how passionately he loved you. He fit so perfectly against you.
“Can we come out now?!” Buffy shouted from the bathroom where the others were all crushed in together but neither of you heard her. You were too wrapped up in each other.
angel: the series | cordelia/angel.
teen, 3.6k.
Cordelia comes back for Angel.
"I’m not gloomy," he says gloomily against his wrists. He refuses to look up. This is a dream; she always appears in his dreams. Always appears in his hallucinations for what used to be. He doesn’t have to look up—he’s come to learn how to control his dream self, even if he can’t control her and send her away. "I’m happy."
"Well, this has been a swell piece of exposition," said Eliot, stretching and getting up, "but I think I'd better be moving along, since having a pack of vampires and the watcher's council after me doesn't sound like my idea of a good time. Thanks for the lift, best of luck, I'm outta here."
"Wait, don't you have some kind of, I dunno, honor code? Don't you have to protect me cause I saved your life?"
"I'm a vampire, Slayer, not a Wookie. Don't," he added in a growl at Hardison, who was about to pump a fist in the air in solidarity for the nerd moment. Hardison dropped the arm dejectedly to his side.
Was about to give up on this fic. It was going off the deep end and it was turning into a mess. I was inspired to write a side fic and thought maybe I’ll just abandon the other one (already published two chapters). Then muse struck and I think I’m back on track it’s still kind of a mess but I think I’m feeling a close bond with this mess now.
Angel was afraid, terribly, of the entire extent of his evil being stretched out and laid bare before them all. He was afraid that Drusilla’s pain threatened his unsteady peace.
Because how could anyone ever look at her and then bear to look at him? How could any of them trust him, remain his friend, feel anything towards him but horror, whilst the physical remains of the worst crimes he had ever committed lay suffering between them?
And how dare he be concerned about that, now, when he should be worried about Dru, or at least more focused on this insane situation? He wanted to pity her - he did pity her, but he couldn’t do that without blaming himself and that made him hate her all the more because she, just by virtue of existing, could stand to shatter the glass kingdom that surrounded him.
— Chapter three of Monsters Don’t Get Miracles, to be posted on ao3 tomorrow
The first two chapters can be found through the link! <3
