( she wouldn't have trusted anyone else with it. maybe βΒ faith. but then, she's shoveled enough shit on faith's plate to last a lifetime. no, it had to be her. it was important that it was. and now β
her breath catches in her lungs, a little. she didn't know angel had been so busy beforehand βΒ had foolishly thought she was the object of his maliciousness. that, she can handle. has handled, in fact, maybe excellently, for the past few hours. someone else caught in the strings of angel's playtime? buffy is sick, down to her stomach. cassian's dead body is her fault. if she has acted faster, if she wasn't sentimental, if she managed to leave the past buried where it was β
(not the past. they had one perfect day, up until angel decided they couldn't, anymore. i love you so much buffy, i'll protect you from every ounce of happiness your body is capable of cooking up. i'll let you be miserable if it keeps you alive.
but being alive has never been buffy's priority. she keeps trying to give up, to lose βΒ no one lets her.) )
he made you. he had your pelt. i want you to stop thinking like this right now or i will come over and personally hand your ass back over to you. angel makes angel's choices because that's who he is. you're koby. you know who you are. you try, and you work hard, and you always do your best, and everyone knows and everyone loves you for it. you have one hundred jobs because you want to be useful, because you can't imagine not helping out, because you can't slow down, because someone might need you. you made a welcome brochure to help people, because you know what it's like to be scared and lost. you're always the first one up and the last one out βΒ you don't know how to stop moving, because if there's someone in front of you who needs someone, then you go running. and there's always someone. so you're always running.
you didn't do this. and it's not your fault. let me know if you want me to come over and slap you.
no subject
( she wouldn't have trusted anyone else with it. maybe βΒ faith. but then, she's shoveled enough shit on faith's plate to last a lifetime. no, it had to be her. it was important that it was. and now β
her breath catches in her lungs, a little. she didn't know angel had been so busy beforehand βΒ had foolishly thought she was the object of his maliciousness. that, she can handle. has handled, in fact, maybe excellently, for the past few hours. someone else caught in the strings of angel's playtime? buffy is sick, down to her stomach. cassian's dead body is her fault. if she has acted faster, if she wasn't sentimental, if she managed to leave the past buried where it was β
(not the past. they had one perfect day, up until angel decided they couldn't, anymore. i love you so much buffy, i'll protect you from every ounce of happiness your body is capable of cooking up. i'll let you be miserable if it keeps you alive.
but being alive has never been buffy's priority. she keeps trying to give up, to lose βΒ no one lets her.) )
he made you. he had your pelt. i want you to stop thinking like this right now or i will come over and personally hand your ass back over to you.
angel makes angel's choices because that's who he is. you're koby. you know who you are. you try, and you work hard, and you always do your best, and everyone knows and everyone loves you for it. you have one hundred jobs because you want to be useful, because you can't imagine not helping out, because you can't slow down, because someone might need you. you made a welcome brochure to help people, because you know what it's like to be scared and lost. you're always the first one up and the last one out βΒ you don't know how to stop moving, because if there's someone in front of you who needs someone, then you go running. and there's always someone. so you're always running.
you didn't do this. and it's not your fault. let me know if you want me to come over and slap you.