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There is salvation in none other but JESUS!
HUGS feat. Faith with Buffy (let’s be real, i cannot possibly tag every incredible buffy I know), @lostsovl, and Angel (namely @perfectanguish)
TAGGED BY: @pryceism
TAGGING: [you!]
@seekjoy said: "That's a pretty nasty bruise. Want some ice?"
sometimes, porco thought that andy was one of the most brilliant and intelligent people he knew, then sometimes, like now, he knew he had thought wrong. “ tell me you’re kidding... ” he had hoped she was, but he could never be too sure, after all. head hitting the rather hard pillow of the infirmary, a small hiss lets itself pass through his mouth as his eyes sharply close. a soft string of profanities slip from his mouth and he’s shaking his head.
porco was getting far too familiar with these hospital beds, angry at himself for getting hurt and angry at everyone else, too. but not her, no. never her.
“ how long have you been here? ” his voice if soft, as though it too is bound by bandages. despite porco’s eyes being opened now, he still mostly refused to look down his torso at the mess he was sure his abdomen would be in, remembering vaguely one of the doctors saying how ‘it wasn’t pretty’. another scar to his collection, another tally etched into a wall. if he was a shifter, this wouldn’t have happened. if he was a shifter, he wouldn’t still be stuck here in this shithole. but if he was a shifter, he’d never had met andy. he muses silently, hoping it plays off as idle pain from the wound. porco didn’t want to imagine a world where he’d not met her. “ who’s watching the stall? ”
@seekjoy said: ‘I’ll only eat half.’
𝐈𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞❟ 𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐩. Be pleased that the idle chatter and drunken conversations weren’t overpowering and all consuming, but there was something eerie in the silence now. The tension was almost palpable, believing if she reached upward then her fingers would be slowed in the thickness. People still spoke, quiet conversations between smaller groups breaking out and the occasional sound of cutlery scraping against a plate cutting through it. Pieck had decided to join them, comrade new and old, instead of staying in her titan. Her monster. Her safety. The steam from its decaying body filtered through from the tree line, festering away in the night.
On any other night, she’d have stayed hidden away in her flesh home, find comfort within it’s walls and rest for what could have been the last time she was able to. Anxiety beating her in the end, she figured some company was better than none on a night that could be her last. Pieck had curled in on herself, knees brought to her chest and arms hugging as her eyes bore into the fire. Chin resting atop her knees, she wasn’t sure how long she’d been staring so intensely into it’s flames, longing for nothing but a reality she’d never be granted. ‘I’ll only eat half.’ The words felt like cold water poured down her neck, snapping her completely from her state of discontent. No answer former in her throat, eyes fixed on the plate in Jean’s hands. Pieck almost wanted to laugh.
Twice she’d tried to kill him, once he tried to kill her. Here he was now, plate with enough food barely sufficient enough for himself offered to her. War was cruel, a weapon ought’ve known, but it was also strange how quickly grievances could be forgotten among enemies. His body was warm as it sat next to her, uninvited but not unwelcome, she didn’t move from her spot save for her head tilting to look at Jean better. “ You don’t have to be nice to me. ” Her words were serious, but not malicious. Soft in their nature as her eyes softened, too. “ You need it more than i do. Keep it. ” Unfurling like the delicate flower so many expected her to be, pieck’s arms instead chose to cross over her chest as her legs relaxed. She still felt like a wolf in sheep’s clothing in the jacket that matched his, but she had no other choice.
The emptiness in her chest that had been created with the loss and betrayal of her friends had never felt so apparent than it did in this moment. Kindness from the people she’d been brainwashed to hate. People she still may have hated. One of them, him, offering it to her as though they were old soldiers at a bar. She had never felt more alone. “ I’ll be fine. Thank you though, Jean. ”
@seekjoy SENT : “ i dreamt about you last night. ” for satine/christian? / SIX WORDS.
He loved everything about these moments. Rare things, precious things, things that fuelled him in all the moments between. She so seldom was free to stay with him over night, what with all the demands on her from the Moulin Rouge and the other men in her life. But they had carved the shape of them into this moment in time and space without resistance, and now fell seamlessly into it. His arms moved around her as if that would secure them here, here in this bed, forevermore. He did not want to think about leaving, about the day ahead of them, about anything other than the things they could whisper between the silence that sang whenever he kissed her. Fingers carted through her hair, tugging gently against the ends of curls, his palm moving down her spine to lay flatly there against her back. Her murmured words against his chest had him chuckling throatily, voice rough from sleep and lack thereof.
Oh, this was happiness. This was the thing he would spend hours, days, trying to put into words that would satisfy his yearning soul, his bleeding heart. He needed to memorialize it, this singularity in the universe. Her. Him. Everything felt between them.
"Tell me,” Christian said softly, voice barely any louder than hers had been. It wasn’t necessary -- she was close enough to him to hear his heartbeat, surely she could very well read his thoughts with how entwined they were. “What do you dream, Satine?”
If You would be a Real Seeker after Truth,
You must at Least Once in Your Life Doubt,
as far as Possible, All Things.
~ René Descartes 1596 - 1650
on some intellectual level, doyle knows that the slow days should be the worst of it. there’s not much in terms of exciting adventures that could make for exciting stories, and least of all clients that could actually pay for their services of clumsy rescues, and even clumsier consolations. but he’s glad for the days when no vision threatens to split his skull apart, and even happier to be sat across from cordelia, beaming and radiant as ever. it’s early yet for angel — entirely too sunny for him to be up when there’s no job to be done. it’s just the two of them, snacking on the collective pool of human goods, with doyle’s chin propped in the palm of his hand as he watches her with an open interest.
❝ i’ll give you that, whoever thought to name the hellmouth sunnydale had a way of running a successful scam with all that false advertising. ❞ a soft chortle follows his words, and he pauses shortly to reach towards his cup of recycled coffee, finding it bearable enough to finish whatever’s left in his cup without a visible grimace. ❝ and that xander guy — i mean, what’s up with him? i really could never understand those people that go for the topher part of their name instead of chris. ❞
@seekjoy for cordelia ♡ starter from doyle.
