#seekjoy

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

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. 

 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.

   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.

If You would be a Real Seeker after Truth,

You must at Least Once in Your Life Doubt,

as far as Possible, All Things.

     ❝  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.  ❞