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kinetic-elaboration · 3 years

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December 10: Endings

The posts that have been going around about all these bad, nonsensical, random tv endings we’ve been seeing recently (GOT, T100, SPN), have made me think about what makes a good television ending in my opinion.

I admit that concluding a series is probably quite tricky because most shows, if they’re not miniseries, are conceived without a known end point in mind. A show runner can build an idea around a 5-season arc, but he might not actually get 5 seasons. He might only get 1. Or he might get 10, if the show is popular. So unlike a movie or a novel, the first episodes need to set up a general premise, a universe, a theme, but not necessarily a specific plot with X number of specific plot points leading to a pre-ordained conclusion. There has to be a flexibility to the narrative. But when the whole thing is completed, it should feel, ideally, as if it WAS pre-ordained, as if the show was always meant to have as many seasons as it got and was working toward its conclusion the whole time.

So, roughly, I think shows that stick the landing do so because the showrunner knows what the show is, at its core, about, and crafts a finale that relates to the central theme(s) and brings the main narrative to a logical and emotionally resonant conclusion.

This is very rough and very general, and it’s a formula that applies more to some shows than others. TV is incredibly varied after all. I mean, first off, not all shows know their last season is their last season going in. You can’t judge the final episodes of, to use two examples of shows I liked that were unceremoniously axed recently, The Society or Altered Carbon as “finale episodes” because they were never meant to be finales. Then you have a show like My So-Called Life, which does have a Classic ending, despite ending all too soon--mostly because every episode of that show was classic, and it only had one season, so its season finale being a fitting ending to the season automatically means its series finale was a fitting ending to the series.

(It’s such an outlier that I can’t really compare it to anything but honestly--this is how to do an open-ended cliffhanger and still make it feel like a conclusion. But that’s a whole different post.)

My formula above also doesn’t apply well to sitcoms, because they aren’t really about anything, in terms of plot. Like the name says, they set up situations: a group of people who are family, co-workers, friends, and then lets those situations play out in a funny manner for as long as there are jokes to tell. Sitcoms to me end well if they don’t overstay their welcome, if they remain true to the characters (because it’s the characters, not the minimal narrative, that defines the show), and if they hit an appropriate ‘ending’ tone. But the biggest thing for me is if the sitcom went on for too many seasons. Even if the final episode isn’t the greatest, it’s fine. But if the last 2-4 seasons were lackluster, it tarnishes the whole legacy.

‘Procedural’ type shows are yet another category, and I’m not entirely sure how to characterize those, or what makes a strong ending for that sub-genre. I’m using ‘procedural’ broadly to include, like, Bad Guy of the Week type shows--for example, Charmed, which I thought should have ended after S7. Again, I think it’s about not letting the whole thing go on too long, and then staying true to characters and tone in the finale itself.

So looking just at dramas that have a season’s warning before their finale--which, really, are the type of shows that are most likely to make people ANGRY with shitty endings, because they lure the viewer in with the idea that a singular, coherent story is being told. Maybe it’s convoluted. Maybe it’s winding. Maybe it’s hard to tell where they’re going with this. But if it all comes together in the end, none of that matters--and if it doesn’t come together, what was the point of all the seasons that came before? It becomes, retroactively, a betrayal.

The more plot-driven the show (if it has a mystery, a conspiracy theory, a quest), the greater the betrayal if all fizzles out. But I think the same feeling can arise from shoddy conclusions in dramas more generally. The L Word is one of my comfort shows but that last season is a MESS all the way down, the finale especially. There definitely wasn’t a point to anything, and it wasn’t even entertaining as, like, a dramatic soap.

But then I think about shows whose endings I really liked. For example, Six Feet Under had a great final season and one of the best finale episodes/ending sequences ever. The show up to that point had been about death, and that theme had always been centered most particularly on Nate: his fears of the family business, his previous brushes with death because of his AVM, etc. So of course the show had to end by killing one of its mains, coming full circle with the pilot, showing real grief hitting home--and of course Nate’s personal journey as the main character had to end with his death. Everything about the conclusion was fitting, not even counting the final montage.

I also really liked the conclusion of Big Love, for similar reasons: it was thoughtful, and it successfully teased out the main strands, both of plot and theme, that had run through the show up to that point. The most important thing had always been depicting this family, their problems but also their strength and their love for each other--so, as the showrunners said, it had to conclude by showing you that the family survives. They are strong, and their bonds endure. But the ending was, and had to be, bittersweet too, because anything less would seem to sweep under the rug the real tragedies of the last seasons. Not everyone gets happy endings. And the unhappy endings relate specifically to the toxic patriarchy that’s haunted all of the characters from the pilot. Alby has a chance to turn away from his father and the compound life--but the forces arrayed against him were too strong, so there was no deus ex machina for him, and he ultimately just became fully the evil villain. And Bill is taken out not by the state or by the compound but by an aggrieved man who feels he’s been emasculated, forgotten, who is raging against being so Unseen. What a way to make clear what the common denominator in all of the threats of the past 5 seasons has been.

I also give major points to shows whose finales feel like they’re trying, even if they’re imperfect, especially if the imperfections are because of factors outside the showrunner’s control. For example, I saw someone list Dollhouse as one of their ‘worst endings’ but I have to disagree. I like the ending of Dollhouse. It wasn’t supposed to be 2 seasons. That’s well known. But that’s how many seasons it got, and I think honestly they turned that into a plus rather than a minus. Dollhouse was its best when it was rushing to a conclusion, when it was fast-paced and exciting. Did it always make complete sense? No. Were there some pretty big holes in the plot? Yeah--S2′s Big Bad was absolutely and transparently a retcon instituted between S1 and S2 and I get that, and I forgive the show for that. I thought bifurcating the epilogue as two extra episodes after each of the two seasons was genius, and I liked that it allowed the show to have its cake and eat it too: a happy ending, with the main, immediate, singular Big Bad eliminated, at the end of S2, and a more bittersweet, more complicated, post-apoc ending in the bonus episode. Yeah, I can see the seams; I know there were a lot of constructed work arounds in there because the show was intended to be longer. I think the ending was presented in good faith.

I also, perhaps controversially, liked the ending of Veronica Mars (the original 3-season show; I didn’t see the reboot). The way the season aired was weird and didn’t do it any favors: having a long break before the last couple of episodes, which existed outside of the two Big Case arcs of S3, makes those final stories feel tacked on and random. Basically impossible to have a strong finish with that kind of structure. But the very end of the last ep had the bitter, dark feel of a noir, which is what the show was, a mash up of a noir and a high school drama. I liked that they leaned on the noir rather than the high school aspect, because it was the more creative way to go imo. Also, I appreciated that S3, in general, learned from S2′s mistakes. Yes, the college years are always going to be lackluster compared to high school, in any series that starts with its characters in high school. But VM recognized that no overarching mystery was going to compare to the Lilly Kane murder, so it split the Big Mystery into two Medium Sized mysteries, and I thought that was smart. All of which makes me inclined to think fondly of the conclusion. As with Dollhouse, its weakest points seem to be compromises it had to make, not really its fault but just an inevitable imperfection of the form.

It’s pretty easy to list aspects of a bad ending: a sense that events are arbitrary, a disrespect of characters, a rushed construction, a jarring tone, and most importantly a disconnect between the finale and what came before. If the show appeared to be a narrative (as opposed to a situation), but it doesn’t feel like a complete and coherent whole at the end, then the conclusion was bad.

I didn’t watch GOT or SPN and I stopped watching T100 at the end of S4 (though I do feel confident from tumblr that the ending was Bad), so I have somewhat of a hard time thinking of shows that I thought had really bad endings. I can think of dissatisfying endings that came from shows being cancelled without warning. I can think of shows that lasted too long in general or otherwise had fallen from their greatest heights by the time they limped to a conclusion (unpopular opinion: Friends fits in this category--that show should have been 4 seasons, maybe 5 tops; Boy Meets World and Dawson’s Creek are comfort show favorites of mine but they both should have ended with high school, like, pretty objectively speaking; iZombie started a slow downturn after S2 and by the end of S4 was kinda unwatchable. I literally stopped halfway through the finale.). I can even think of shows that lost me by the end even though objectively they probably had good endings (for example, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend--I couldn’t get through S4 and the finale sounded... technically well-constructed but like it would have driven me nuts).

But then I guess most shows with shitty finales technically had shitty last seasons in general. Truly notorious crash-and-burns don’t come out of nowhere. I mean I’m sure there are counter-examples to this (what’s that one with the kid and the snow globe lol?) but unless you try for a weird last-minute twist, or unless you’ve got your audience hoping against hope that an impossibly twisty story is actually very smart instead of very ill-planned, it’s generally clear before the last episode if a narrative has lost its way. I don’t tend to watch a lot of ‘twisty-turny conspiracy’ shows, and when I do I am supremely skeptical all the way through, so it’s hard for me to think of examples I’ve personally watched of a last minute “what the fuck was that” conclusion.

#the year 2020 #2020: fandom thoughts #the entire purpose of this ramble is for me to avoid introspection rn because i'm in such a bad mood

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baldwin-montclair · 4 years

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Baldwin’s Nightingale (Part 13)

Characters: Baldwin Montclair/OC

Timeframe: After the S1 Finale, TV Show canon MOSTLY with some S2, Shadow of Night and Book of Life.

Summary: Whilst Baldwin deals with business away from Sept-Tours, Alisha copes with his absence and the impending wedding.

Tag requests: @christi14 @poemfreak306 @pookie-cleary @hofficoffi @stormyheart326 @simplytimeless @wonderlander594

The Story So Far

Alisha tossed and turned for two hours after Baldwin’s departure. She would never have imagined that sharing a bed with someone for just two nights would so spoil her for when she was then left to sleep alone.

Getting comfortable seemed like an impossibility, she was either too warm with the covers over her or too cold without them, she missed the heat regulating coolness of her vampire’s skin and the feeling of safety in his arms. The loss of this made her think of the first time she had it, their first night as husband and wife.

When he was so initially so gentle he seemed almost fearful that he’d break her if his movements within her were too insistent.

Tormented by the memories of their various intimacies, she gave up on the fruitless quest for sleep and instead got up, pulling on her underwear and Baldwin’s discarded shirt before wandering over to a small table where Alain had placed the chest containing her ‘dowry’.

Alisha picked it up, finding it surprisingly heavy, and brought it to Baldwin’s desk where she sat and opened it once more.

She gradually emptied the contents onto the desk, the folded papers that spoke of wealth contained in both stocks and properties, and, the glittering jewels.

With everything on the table in front of her, she noticed an old parchment style letter complete with seal.

Madame De Clermont.

The name on the front was not written with either a ballpoint or a fountain pen. It was clearly a quill, making the letter old, how old she wasn’t was sure.

In truth, she’d never opened a letter like this before and tried cracking the seal with the Ouroboros depicted. That then allowed her to unfold the parchment and frown at the almost unintelligible writing.

It took a moment to focus on the characters before she was able to decipher it.

Daughter,

The fact that you are reading this should already inform you that I am no longer of this world and greatly regret not having had the chance to meet you.

I write this letter in the hope that it will one day be opened although I have long feared it will not be. If I am wrong in this, please know that there would be no-one more delighted to be mistaken than I.

My wife will guide you in what it means to be Madame de Clermont, she is my right hand, as my son will need you to be for him. Heed her advice in all things as she knows well how to manage difficult men. Love and obey my son and you will find no greater, nor more loyal a protector.

Let me also take this moment also to stress that it does not matter to me whether or not you are of our kind, nor is it a prerequisite that you be changed. Even an old man can learn when he is wrong, and, consequently, hope that his past folly has not deprived a most beloved son of his happiness.

If Lucius loves you and you love him, you both have my blessing.

Your Grateful Father,

Philippe de Clermont

Alisha sat back in the chair, pulling Baldwin’s shirt tighter around her in a vain attempt to feel close to him, much in the same way she’d given him the ribbon.

Oddly, she no longer noticed an aroma of church incense on him as she had when they first met, clearly he’d just attended mass with a liberal use of the cloying smoke.

Now, his burning campfire scent mixed with the notes of rich leather served to perfectly sum him up, both attempts to control and utilise nature, conquer it, prove oneself above it.

Civilised.

As soon as there was light, Alisha was ready for her walk, just around the grounds of the fortress but enough for the cold November air to keep her alert.

The place was peaceful and she didn’t encounter another person, for around ten steps, when Gallowglass jogged out the door behind her.

“Mind if I join you, fancy a walk!” He asked the question that was in no way a question.

“I don’t mind, and I’m sorry.” She glanced across at him.

“Sorry?”

“Baldwin has put you on me-sitting duty whilst he’s away,” she smiled and shook her head when he opened his mouth to protest, “don’t worry, I’m not about to make your job harder. In fact, tell me what his command is and I promise I will help you stick to it.”

“I’m grateful for your offer Auntie, but a command from Baldwin is no a thing that bears repeating.”

“Alright,” she thought to herself, “then give me the jist.”

“The jist,” he stroked his scruffy chin in thought, “is that whilst you are outside, I am not to let you out of my sight.”

“Wow,” she whistled, “that’s more restrictive than I thought it would be.”

“Really?”

“Yes, who’s going to step foot on De Clermont land?”

“There are other ways to snatch someone than on foot.”

“There’s really not.”

“Please tell me you know that some witches can fly?”

She laughed at this.

“What, like on a broom? I think you’re making fun of me.”

“No broom needed, I’ve seen it, I swear!”

“Okay,” she regarded his expression, and believed him, “good thing my only threat comes from a vampire and not a witch.”

“When the congregation finds out about you and Baldwin, the only creatures who wont resent you will be your own kind, and us here, obviously.”

“I appreciate that, and you’re being so welcoming, even if having to follow me around is kinda super unfair to you.”

He had to chuckle at that but even through his cheerful exterior, there was a hint of sadness.

“Trust me, it’s not the least fair task I’ve been given,” he shook his head and the cloud of heaviness dissipated, “and what else am I going to be doing?”

“Planning more mischief with Marcus?” She suggested.

“Unfortunately not, Granny’s sending him to London to collect some miniatures from an auction house.”

“Well, since you’re stuck with me, I have a question for you.”

“Hit me.”

“Do you remember a party here in the past? Something to do with Baldwin’s father and his support for a French King.”

“Henry of Navarre?”

“Yes, were you here?”

“How do you know about that?” He asked with a hint of uncertainty.

“The tapestry, Marthe didn’t know much about it because she and Ysabeau weren’t here. So, were you?”

“I was.” He admitted.

“Then you’ll know, why was the tapestry moved, what happened at the party?”

“It wasn’t a party, Cicogna, the Venetian Doge brought his entire court, they were supposed to be here for a week but one of his musicians was killed. It was blamed on a spy in Sixtus’ retinue. Grandad gave his support for Navarre anyway. Nothing really happened.”

“You count a murder as nothing happening?”

“Just one murder? Aye!”

“Then why did he have the tapestry moved?”

“No idea, Why do you want to know?”

“Honestly?” She asked him.

“Yes.”

“It’s a mystery, I have a fraction of a story and it drives me a little crazy.” She confided.

“So you married a notorious secret keeper?” He asked.

“Fair point,” she smiled.

“Auntie, the past is not something you need to worry about, you’re his mate and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you Gallowglass.”

Alisha couldn’t help but recognise the strangeness in his statement.

If the present mattered because she was indeed Baldwin’s mate, she wondered what happened in the past that, according to Gallowglass, she needn’t worry about. It did make her think on Philippe’s words, to what ‘past folly’ was he referring.

Perhaps she really wasn’t getting to quench her idle curiosity and decided it not worth causing upset just to learn some gossip.

“So, wedding?” He changed the subject.

“We’ve agreed to give the go ahead.”

“I know, Baldwin spoke to Granny earlier, you did well to escape without her catching you.”

“He called, earlier?”

“Yes, and no, you cannot speak to him or see him before the church.”

“What,” it was her turn to stop, “I can’t see my husband for how long?”

“Jesus, the wedding’s in two days, I’d happily take not speaking to your husband for two millennia if it was on offer.” He chuckled.

“Two days?” She asked, feeling the blood drain from her cheeks.

“Granny works fast, I think she made most of the arrangements before she even got off the phone. We do have a seamstress on staff mind you, so that won’t be a problem, just do as Victoire says, she’s the one with the sewing needle.”

He stopped, his expression turning to one of concern.

“Aw hell, here,” Gallowglass directed her over to a low wall, “sit there, head between your knees before you faint on me.”

She followed his direction without argument, as he hovered nearby, not sure what to do. The vampire custom was clear on not touching the mate of a higher rank vampire but his compassion was at war with this rule.

“Maybe the whole wedding thing has made more of an impact on me than I thought,” she agreed, “are you all religious?”

“Both myself and your husband were pagan, Baldwin obviously much earlier, but Philippe would not have that, we would be Christian, serving one master.”

“God or Philippe?”

“They were both one in the same, I think he could relate, one heavenly father overseeing his children, and he did inform most of the Church doctrine.”

“You’re telling me that Baldwin’s father wrote the Bible?”

“No, I’m telling you that Grandad had a very firm hand in deciding which accounts made it into the final canon.”

“That is...terrifying.” She admitted.

“Why?”

“It doesn’t ever concern you just how much power and influence your family have had over the past two thousand years?”

“Closer to three thousand, and it’s your family now too Auntie.”

She nodded gravely, the responsibility Ysabeau had mentioned suddenly becoming painfully clear.

“Come on, you need to eat something.”

Alisha had no idea how much of an event breakfast was in Sept-Tours, tea, coffee, juice, bacon, eggs, pastries and so much fruit.

She couldn’t do much more than pick at croissant as the table bustled with conversation between every inhabitant of the fortress.

“Isn’t there anything I can do to help?” Alisha asked Ysabeau, who was sitting with Margaret on her knee, the child staring adoringly up at the vampire.

“It is already in hand.”

Alisha had the sneaking suspicion that Ysabeau already had most of the arrangements made before they arrived at Sept Tours, and knew that her step-son would relent.

“After breakfast we will have Victoire make some preliminary measurements for your gown.” Ysabeau’s eyes drifted to the different coloured ribbon around Alisha’s wrist, a ghost of a smile on her expression.

“Have you invited my aunts,” Marcus asked her, “and my cousin?”

“Baldwin will notify Miyako himself but I have invited Verin, Stasia and Freyja.”

“Aunt Fanny’s already in France, she’ll be here before the wedding, I guarantee it.” Marcus smiled, looking forward to seeing Freya.

“What about your father, Marcus? Matthew and his wife...Diana? Are they not coming?” Alisha asked him, causing a weight of silence to fall over the table.

“They won’t be able to make it, unfortunately.” Ysabeau answered.

She realised that Baldwin hadn’t actually told her what had happened with them.

Judging by Ysabeau’s tone - and the way everyone was suddenly studying their breakfast - now was not the time to find out.

“Where is the ceremony happening?” She asked instead.

“Saint Lucien,” Ysabeau seemed relieved by the change in topic, “it will be a Catholic ceremony, if there are no objections?”

“N-no, of course not. What can I do to help?”

“You can learn the Latin phrases you are expected to say and under no circumstances are you to speak with or see Baldwin until the wedding.”

Her cell had been broken by Christina several days prior and without a replacement, it would be easy for Ysabeau to enforce this rule.

“I understand,” she accepted, “and I want to thank you, for everything you’re doing for us, I really appreciate it. I’m sure Baldwin does too.”

Ysabeau almost corrected her, she was keeping a promise, nothing more.

“You are welcome,” she said instead, surprised that her rules had not prompted an appeal against them.

Ysabeau’s gaze was that of appraisal, like she was sizing Alisha up for some unknown purpose, task, role.

The rest of breakfast passed in general conversation until Victoire arrived to collect Alisha for her fitting.

Ysabeau watched until she was gone.

“I do hope Freyja is on her way,” she told Marcus, “if Verin and Stasia arrive first, they will eat that poor girl alive.”

“To get an accurate measurement, you must take those off.” The vampire told Alisha.

“O-okay.” She answered, hesitantly removing the warm, bulky sweater, jeans and vest until she was standing in just her underwear.

“Our priest is...conservative, which means that there will be no bare shoulders or arms.” Victoire decreed as she measured around Alisha’s waist.

That’s when she remembered, the very obvious hickie on the inside of her thigh that she’d noticed in the shower that morning.

She could only hope that Victoire either did not see it or would be too polite to mention it.

It had been acquired during Baldwin’s deliciously cruel teasing the night before, clearly it was some primal impulse to put a physical mark of his claim upon her.

“I don’t mind,” Alisha rushed to protest, “I trust you, with the design.”

In truth, she just wanted the two days to be over and was willing to do whatever it took to make them pass as smoothly as possible.

She started to believe Baldwin was mistaken, about the mate bond, it didn’t just lie with him. When he left, she felt a distinct tug at her heart that was, throughout the day, starting to feel like a vast chasm was opening up, hollowing her out.

“You will be beautiful on the day Madame, I guarantee it. You shall even render Sieur Baldwin speechless!”

Just as she was about to respond, the door to the room opened and a tall, blonde and stunning vampire entered.

“Um, hi!” Alisha greeted, still standing, in her underwear.

“Freyja,” the woman answered simply, as though that was explanation enough, “do you know who I am?”

“Baldwin’s sister?”

“One of them,” she answered with a smile, giving Alisha a frank up and down appraisal, “I’m here to help prepare you for the ceremony.”

“Ysabeau said I have some phrases to learn, in Latin?”

“You...do not speak Latin?”

“No.”

“French?”

“Nope!”

“I suppose it would be pointless to ask how familiar you are with Ancient Greek?”

“Not pointless but the answer would still be nuh-uh.”

“I assume Baldwin chose me as your chaperone due to your...unfamiliarity with our ways.”

“But Gallowglass-“

“Is your guard, do not leave this building without him.”

“Yeah, he already warned me of the hazard that is flying witches.”

“Good, dear Matthew’s mate Diana was taken from here by a witch, one who possessed the power of flight.”

“What happened to her?”

“Tortured, they were lucky to get her back alive.”

“They?”

“Matthew and Baldwin mounted a rescue. He didn’t tell you?”

“No.“

“I’m sure he will, he simply does not want to worry you with inconsequential threats. Baldwin has no patience for fragility, of body or of spirit but you seem to be the exception.”

“I’m not fragile.”

“Of course you are, and I am not saying that as an insult. You’re a warmblood, a musician too I hear. Not a warrior but we have enough of them in this family already. We will find a role for you, one that will suit your sensibilities.”

“A role? I’m getting married, not applying for a job.”

“Everyone in the family has a role, a purpose that furthers the de Clermont cause.”

“I though my role would be to support my husband.”

“Would that be enough for you? Would you not like to carve out your own function?”

Freyja’s words resonated, she never really thought about her place in the family beyond that of an extension, attached but not entirely a part of it.

“What role could I possibly fulfil that has not already been taken?”

Freyja’s smile was triumphant.

“We can figure that part out together!”

“Is that why he asked you to help me?”

“I have some more modern ideas when it comes to preparing the uninitiated for their new life. Verin and Stasia would not be as patient, I’m afraid. He must really care for you, to admit that a kinder approach is sometimes appropriate. My brother does not like to admit when he is wrong.”

“And Did he?”

Freyja snorted.

“Of course he didn’t, his request for my assistance was admission enough.”

“I have what I need for now Madame, we will have a fitting tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Victoire.” Alisha gave the woman a grateful smile.

“Wait,” Freyja told Victoire whilst keeping her eyes on Alisha, “I assume you would like to keep the dress intact after the wedding?”

“I would, yes.” Alisha agreed.

“Victoire,” Freyja turned back to the seamstress, “please keep that in mind when you are devising the fastenings. A newly mated pair kept apart for two days and nights, too many buttons and the dress will not survive.”

Alisha stifled a smile at the vampire’s candour as she pulled her clothes back on before Victoire left them.

“We need a man to give you away at the ceremony.”

“I’ve probably spent the most amount of time with Gallowglass so far-“

“It cannot be Eric, or Marcus, Baldwin’s their uncle. Ideally it should be a daemon.”

“The only daemon male I know is Nathaniel.”

“Perfect, ask him. It should also help with securing the daemon’s vote in the congregation, their leader is his mother after all!”

Alisha read over Philippe’s letter for the tenth time, taking time she should have been using to get ready for dinner. Meal times seemed to be an event in general in Sept Tours.

There was something regretful in the words of the deceased patriarch, guilt too, perhaps. Still, sitting at the desk was not going to urge her up to get ready and she reluctantly stood.

At the door to the shower room she heard a noise, the unmistakable sound of a phone vibrating, the cell phone Nathaniel had given her - alongside his agreement to give her away - ringing on the bedside table.

“Is everything okay?” She said as she answered the call, already knowing, in her bones, who it was.

“And hello to you as well Sweetheart.” Baldwin’s tone was teasing.

“Two days Baldwin! Our wedding is in two days.”

He was silent for a moment then sighed.

“I know,” he admitted, “Ysabeau works faster than even I give her credit for.”

“Surely you’ll be back by then, I’d kind of like you to be there!” ”I will be, I promise.”

“I hope so, Victoire has already measured me for my dress.”

“Oh?”

“Yep, and luckily your mark went unnoticed by her and Freyja.”

“Mark?”

“Let’s call it a token of affection,” she rolled her eyes, “that you so kindly bestowed on me last night with your merciless teasing, on your desk.”

“Ah,” he answered in understanding, “I am sorry, I forget how easily warmblood skin bruises.”

“So it wasn’t deliberate, a plan to mark your territory?”

“When I’m between your thighs, I don’t have the presence of mind to formulate a plan.”

“It’s really mean to talk like that when you’re so far away and I’m all alone in a big bed tonight. I might have to please myself.”

“Do something for me.”

“Record and send it to you?”

“N-“ he stopped.

“Well?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Stop,” she giggled, “what were you going to say?”

“I was going to ask you to wait. There’s no way Ysabeau will let me near you until the wedding anyway.”

“Are you asking me to ‘save myself’ for you because that ship has hoisted anchor by this point.”

“Two days, wait for me?”

“I can do that,” she agreed with a smile.

He went silent for a moment.

“Baldwin?”

“I’m sorry, for almost depriving you of this wedding. Everything happened so quickly I just didn’t think having this was something I-“

“Needed?”

“Deserved.”

“You’re a good man Baldwin, you deserve to be happy.”

“Good men don’t live as long as I have.”

She wasn’t sure what it was about conversation over the telephone that lent itself to such openness from him. Still, the sound of a door being knocked on the other side of the line stopped her from answering.

“I have a meeting before the Congregation hearing so I must leave you now Sweetheart.”

“Then go be big boss man,” she encouraged, “try not to kill anyone, and remember that I love you.”

She hung up just as Freyja breezed into the room.

“I would turn that off and hide it if I were you. Ysabeau is very strict with rules!” The woman headed straight for the wardrobe.

“I have to go wash up.” Alisha got up and made her way to the door, hearing his voice made the separation much more difficult and she had to pull herself together, preferably not in front of her sister-in-law.

“Take your time,” Freyja stated with sympathy, “no red eyes at dinner, and I’ll leave this dress out for you to wear. My sisters will be in attendance and I will help you make a good impression.”

___

PART 14

#baldwin montclair #baldwin de clermont #adow fic #baldwin’s nightingale #adow baldwin fic #baldwinmontclair

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svynakee · 4 years

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castlevania s3 thoughts

Well more like complaints. Although I do find it worth watching; maybe after S4 comes out, though. Because S3 is really just a fancy teaser for S4.

I really don’t like how Castlevania S3 felt like a waste of time (except for 30% which was very good). I mean yeah I watch shows to waste time in general but hear me out.

By the end of S3, it feels like nothing happened. The status quo is kept. There’s a lot of setup with a tenuous promise of S4 payoff. There might be growth, but really, everything feels more like the catalyst for growth to happen later. It’s like following your GPS and it says “You’ve arrived at your destination :)” but you find yourself at some dusty crossroads and there isn’t even a petrol station in sight.

That’s basically all I can say without spoilers. I have a lot more to say with spoilers. So-

If Castlevania S3 was divided into 4 basically unrelated stories (Styria, Lindenfeld, Isaac’s travels, Alucard’s castle), at least half of them ended up saying/contributing nothing to the overarching plot, setting and characterisation. It felt like an extended trailer. Action, twists, your favs making an appearance…then goodbye, screen fades to black, see you next season.

TLDR version: get rid of Isaac’s entire arc, develop Sumi and Taka or get rid of them, Lindenfeld sorely needed more focus, no need to change Styria but more Styria would be nice.

Compare to S1, which was also mostly setup for the plot resolution in S2. It didn’t feel like a waste of time. Why? Because of the threat of Dracula? I don’t think so. It’s because when we first meet Trevor, we’re presented with a very solid image of who he is. He’s alone, he’s purposeless, he doesn’t want to take up his family legacy. 3 episodes later and he’s got two “friends” and a clear goal to pursue. And he’s no longer a nameless drifter – he’s the last living Belmont, vampire hunter, returning to his ancestral home so he may arm himself to face Dracula.

Alucard

Alucard’s story was the worst offender in my opinion. We start with Alucard being alone and sad in his empty castle. We end with Alucard being alone and sad in his empty castle. While this could be an interesting start of darkness for the dhampir, the fact that we don’t really see the results make it an overall unsatisfying season. Suki and Taka contributed nothing. We learned almost nothing about them. Their motivations were frankly generic – they want to fight vampires? Well we already know people who do that. Their obsession with the castle’s engine? Goes nowhere. Their friendship with Alucard? Shallow, not really built on mutual points of interest. Then they die.

The truth is, Sumi and Taka were dealt a bad card to begin with – Alucard, to be exact. Because a ranged and close quarters fighter duo of vampire hunters has direct competition with the previous season’s S&T, Sypha and Trevor. Instead of giving them the time and development needed to grow apart, they seemed more like plot devices to get Alucard to where he needs to be in S4. Or just to prove he’s lonely and gullible. And a bottom.

I feel like there’s a lot of potential in this storyline. Perhaps Taka and Suki’s interest in the castle is more nefarious; maybe they were part of a bigger group. Their betrayal of Alucard could cause him to reconsider his father’s stance on humanity. As a stepping stone, I have no complaints about this storyline. But that’s because there’s nothing to say. Its impact all depends on S4 and S4 isn’t out yet. So, the entire thing just feels frustrating, a pointless distraction from the other storylines.

Isaac

Isaac should not have gotten as much screen time as he did, unless they actually did something useful with him. As much as I love his character (Casually putting Godbrand down? Instant fav.) his presence in S3 feels like pointless pandering. Because he spent all that time doing nothing.

We know who Isaac is, because of S2. We know what his motivations are: return to/avenge Dracula. We know his general worldview, the thing that makes him what he is – he has a low opinion of humanity, is highly disciplined and loyal to Dracula. And the thing is, NONE of these things change in S3. Instead we’re treated to Isaac repeatedly almost thinking humans are okay, then getting proven wrong when he tries to give them a chance, then killing everyone.

This is would serve a purpose if: Isaac was seen as ambivalent towards humanity or conflicted about condemning them in S1 (more like Hector, perhaps). Isaac was more like original Isaac, an unhinged sadist and being saved by Dracula starts him on a path to redemption which is repeatedly denied.

But no. Isaac is always shown to be calm, disciplined and set in his views. Having him go through this completely unchanged makes his character ‘arc’ a waste of time.

The problem is Isaac’s storyline also feels unnecessary plot-wise. Isaac finds humans disgusting and his power is to be a monster spawn point. The fact is, if Isaac shows up one day with a monster army and wants to kill humans, we don’t need an explanation for it. Isaac himself is the explanation. The only thing that needs resolving is ‘how did he get from the desert to bother the heroes’ and that can be solved by “I took a boat” or “I found a transportation mirror” or even “I used a night creature to carry me”. He can just tell us. It can be a shot of him travelling. Or a cheesy montage set to rock music I don’t care.

So the fact that character-wise Isaac is just going through a series of resets is made even more tedious when you realise that plot-wise he’s also been completely useless.

His big fight was fun, but it lacked emotional impact. The wizard wasn’t opposed to Isaac, either in terms of good/evil or ideologically. There was no catharsis to the wizard dying because we never knew those townspeople. Who got turned into night creatures anyway. By Isaac.

Belnades and Belmont (the dancing bear)

The Lindenfeld plot I would say has all the elements of an excellent story but needed more time. More focus. I hated S3’s style of constantly jumping between the four storylines, especially when one of them involved Isaac going through a banal cycle on another continent and the other had the Discount Belmont and Belnades.

In my opinion, Lindenfeld only suffered because there wasn’t enough focus to really build up the almost Lovecraft-esque mystery for Trevor and Sypha to investigate. Germain barely interacted with them, we only got his story via infodumping and a bad dream. Their relationship with the Judge didn’t feel deep enough that his ‘betrayal’ had impact (besides, it was bundled up with Alucard and Hector’s betrayals so there’s a bit of overexposure apathy). And it’s hard to be sympathetic towards townspeople when, for most of the series, townspeople are shit. Townspeople blamed Belmont for Dracula’s horde. Townspeople tattled on Lisa. Townspeople antagonise Isaac. Showing us 1 family eating dinner isn’t going to change that.

There was something of a start to an emotional arc where Trevor questions Sypha’s naiveté, his future with her, etc. which would have been stronger if it wasn’t just the start of an arc. Leaving them horrified at the truth of the Judge, the destruction of the town and their inability to prevent disaster is absolutely fine. But when it’s also paired with Isaac’s Are Humans Bad Merry-go-Round and Forever Alone Alucard, yet another “to be continued” ending instead of closure was frustrating.

Hector but not really

Hector, similar to Isaac and Alucard, starts and ends in the same place. I have no complaints about the Styria storyline though because Hector isn’t the character carrying this subplot. Lenore is.

Lenore starts out with a clear goal and obstacle to that goal. The other vampire sisters seem unconvinced that she can solve it, or that any of them can. Lenore succeeds despite these odds, proving her own strength, cunning and patience. She also shows how her way, the diplomat’s way, has the same value as Carmilla’s schemes, Striga’s military knowledge and Morana’s talent for governance. She has an arc. Sure, it’s a villain arc, but villains need them. S2 had Carmilla working against Dracula, putting her forces into place, manipulating the war council, stealing Hector to her side. S3 has Lenore.

Meanwhile, the Styria subplot also sets up the new villains for the heroes to face – cunning Carmilla, strong Striga, strategic Morana and manipulative Lenore. Along with Hector the army spawn point. We have the new location, Styria. We see the dynamic and power hierarchies of the new villains. We learn about their overarching goal and how they mean to achieve it. Lots of setup, even more than the other storylines, but it has a satisfying arc within it that means it gives closure.

If S3 was freed from Static Isaac and Sumi/Taka (who have expiry dates and arrived half stale), the Styria storyline could benefit from the extra time. Better establish the dynamic between the four sisters (as opposed to Striga-Morana, Lenore-Hector and then a little bit of Carmilla). Give Hector more time to show his emotions; his despair, his loneliness, his genuine desire to have a friend despite his better judgement.

Final thoughts and Season Finales

Overall, the strongest parts of S3 are bogged down by subplots that really didn’t deserve so much screen time. I question the editing style of constantly jumping between the storylines; it comes at the cost of emotional investment into each one. The finale is especially strange to me. Two fights and two sex scenes that clashed, broke tension and made it tough to respond emotionally. Isaac’s fight should’ve happened earlier, a mid-season spectacle that really doesn’t have emotional impact. Lenore’s manipulation and betrayal could have been a second-to-last episode thing. The heroes naturally deserve the prime spot of season finale; the disastrous end of that fight also sets up the gloomy tone of the ending.

Sumi and Taka can die whenever, however. I literally could not care less whether they tried to kill Alucard after sex or over dinner. I barely care about their reason for attempted murder. I don’t know what part they play in the grand scheme of things and I am not invested in them as individuals.

If the entire point of the arc was to prove that Alucard was a bottom, just have him absent the entire season and add a post-credits scene of him using a dildo. Then he accidentally smashes it with his vampire strength and cries on the floor.

#castlevania #netflix castlevania #castlevania s3

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17mounteens · 7 years

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Where they can’t see (Verkwan)

» Smut. » Seungkwan decides it’s too early to wake up and pulls his covers higher. Vernon wants cuddles, or so Seungkwan thinks. ... “...Please tell me you’re not grinding on my ass.” » A/N: heavily inspired by this video but let’s imagine it magically takes place during uhh OFD S2! this is a rare pepe on this blog that I hope some of you can enjoy 💕 » 1,843 words

Seungkwan could already see some sunlight trying to make its way through the blinds of the room he was sharing with half of Seventeen, although only Wonwoo seemed to still be in bed, and with a pout he got better under the blanket he shared with Vernon, so that it covered him up to his hairline.

If it was up to Seungkwan, he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon.

Somewhere between him hiding under the blankets and dozing off to light sleep, Vernon had gotten closer to cuddle him from behind, so that they were spooning. A small smile spread to Seungkwan’s lips - he loved cuddling with Vernon - and he placed his hand on top of his, rubbing the back of his hand slowly.

It didn’t take long for Seungkwan’s eyes to shot wide open, however, and he turned his head to Vernon as much as he could, somewhat able to see him from the corner of his eye under the blanket.

“...Please tell me you’re not grinding on my ass,” he said in a whisper, careful not to be heard by anyone else. As much as he hoped he wasn’t right, there was hardly room for misunderstanding with the familiar feeling of his boyfriend’s hard-on moving up and down against his ass, which he could feel even with their pajama pants between them.

Vernon chuckled quietly and leaned closer to press a kiss to Seungkwan’s neck, which made the blond male sigh silently. Then he snapped his hips against him a bit harder, grinning playfully when Seungkwan tensed a little. “I’m not grinding on your ass.”

Seungkwan threw him a scandalized, murderous look. “Wonwoo is right next to us, you idiot.”

Vernon raised his eyebrows knowingly, his hand sliding to Seungkwan’s chest, from where it slowly slid down his body. The younger male’s heart was beating fast, and the only reason he was being as bold as he was was the throbbing need between his legs, mostly caused by the wet dream he had had about the blond male in front of him. “We’re hidden, it’ll be fine. We haven’t been able to do anything for way too long, and besides… I know you kinda like the risk, you know.”

By the end of his words, Vernon’s hand was already nearing the waistband of Seungkwan’s pajama pants, and the older male was starting to breathe more heavily.

“How on earth are you going to have sex here without it being obvious to everyone else?” Seungkwan asked in a nervous whisper, his heart beating fast in his chest at the realization that he was, indeed, getting turned on, and fast, and a lot of it had to do with the fact that Wonwoo was lying down right next to him. “B-besides, there’s cameras everywhere.”

“Sex?” Vernon asked with a quiet, amused chuckle and gave Seungkwan a kiss by his ear. “I was thinking about grinding on you while giving you a handjob. Do you absolutely want me to fuck you?”

The silencebefore Seungkwan’s answer told enough, and the disappointment in his tone made Vernon snicker quietly. “We don’t have lube. And there’s cameras. And Wonwoo. And I’m loud.”

“It’s fine, you know I love it when you’re loud,” Vernon whispered, his voice soft, and slowly slid his hand into Seungkwan’s pants. He swallowed hard when he realized that he was half-hard already. “...Damn.”

Seungkwan shut his eyes and pursed his lips at Vernon’s touch: he was almost painfully sensitive in the morning, and the riskiness of it all was, as the younger one had suggested, turning him on. There was also something about him normally being loud and the inability to make a sound in the present that turned him on all the more, as if Vernon’s hand palming him through his boxers wasn’t enough.

“Shit,” Seungkwan hissed barely audibly, clutching his left hand into a tight fist that he then got between his teeth as an attempt to not moan, which he normally would’ve done when he was feeling so damn good. He was now fully hard, and stopping himself from bucking his hips into Vernon’s hand was so difficult.

Vernon licked his lips and nuzzled his face into the back of Seungkwan’s neck, only taking his hand away from the latter’s bulge to slide his own pants and boxers down a little, after which he dragged Seungkwan’s ones down a little, too, just enough to be able to grind his cock against his bare ass and take his hard cock into his hand, too.

Seungkwan could hardly hold back the mewl as he finally bucked into Vernon’s hand while the other moved his hips against him slowly, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of himself moving against the supple skin of Seungkwan’s ass which he, under normal circumstances, would’ve probably been eating at that point.

Between the two of them it was no secret that there was hardly a faster way to make Seungkwan come than eating him out while stroking his length, and his orgasm would only be more intense if he got a few good smacks on his buttcheeks, too. Vernon loved saving that goodness for special occasions, and Seungkwan never complained.

“Are Vernon and Seungkwan up yet?”

Seungkwan’s breath hitched when he heard Seungcheol’s low voice, and then some rustling of blankets. Wonwoo’s raspy, groggy voice became audible soon after.

“Doesn’t seem like it. Let them sleep, they’ve got a long day ahead.”

Seungkwan’s heart was beating way too fast for comfort in his chest, and only to make matters worse, Vernon had not stopped grinding on him nor stroking him while the other members were obviously watching them - or what was showing of them, that being some tufts of hair. All he could hope was that the blanket on top of them wasn’t giving away too much.

Seungkwan had a hard time keeping quiet, and Vernon breathing into his neck and running his palm over the head of his cock didn’t make it any easier. He squirmed a little. “P-please, Vernon.”

The younger male hummed as he got closer to Seungkwan, grinding better against him and grunting quietly at the new, better angle. “What is it?”

“They’re right there,” Seungkwan whispered, biting back a moan as his hips began moving slowly in search of more friction from the hand wrapped around his length. Vernon was amused by the contrast between his words and actions, but didn’t say anything about it, and instead only stroked Seungkwan faster and grinded against him a bit harder, all the while trying to keep his motions as smooth and unnoticeable as he could.

“Let them be,” Vernon muttered, taking time to let out a quiet, satisfied sigh when he could feel the heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. “They can’t see, anyhow.”

Seungkwan tried to object again, especially when Seungcheol just didn’t seem to leave, but found himself way too aroused to do so, and instead got one of his hands to Vernon’s hip to grip it as tightly as he could from his position, feeling up some of his ass in the process. “I can’t wait to get back home.”

“What, so that we get to come up with lousy excuses to stay behind from trips again?” Vernon asked in amusement and got even closer to the older male, feeling his cock slide between the mounds of his ass, which made him gasp. “God, your ass is--”

“Amazing, I know,” Seungkwan finished his sentence and chuckled quietly afterwards, only to bite down on his lower lip when Vernon began stroking him with a vicious twist of his wrist. “S-shit.”

“Close?” Vernon asked quietly and, painting the image of Seungkwan lying on his back on his bed, legs spread and his cock hard and red and begging to be touched resting against his stomach while Vernon fucked him slowly, grinded on him with more carefully articulated thrusts of his hips. With that image taking over his mind, Vernon grunted quietly. “Me, too.”

Seungkwan muffled his whimpers with his free hand, his hips bucking into Vernon’s hand rhythmically. He was so, so close and just wanted and needed to come, which he finally did when Vernon whispered him exactly what he was thinking about, which just happened to be exactly what Seungkwan so desperately needed and would make sure became reality as soon as they got back to their dorm.

His mouth opened into a silent cry as he ejaculated onto Vernon’s knuckles, and not much later, the younger one came, too, his cum landing on Seungkwan’s lower back, undoubtedly also staining his shirt.

“...You’re gonna have to help me explain if anyone notices,” Seungkwan said quietly, hinting at his shirt, and Vernon chuckled. He got some of the blanket and swept it over the stains on Seungkwan, which made him grimace. “That’s disgusting.”

“Shush,” Vernon laughed, but it died fast when the blanket was taken down to their shoulders, leaving both of them wide-eyed.

“So you are awake,” Chan noted brightly, snorting at the two’s faces. “You two look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“We, uh,” Seungkwan stumbled over his words, “just shared some horror stories. Yeah.”

While Chan quirked his eyebrow and asked Seungkwan about the stories, Vernon wiped his hand on the blanket (at which Seungkwan grimaced and Chan asked if he was alright) and got both of their pants up, hoping they looked like they hadn’t done anything.

Wonwoo looked at the two, his hair a mess, and chuckled when Chan had left. “Right. Horror stories.”

Vernon’s face went white at Wonwoo’s tone while he and Seungkwan got the blanket off themselves, but the older one was a bit more composed. “What are you implying?”

“Please,” Wonwoo shook his head with a grin, “I know you two just wanted to cuddle. I don’t know why you find it so embarrassing.”

Both Vernon and Seungkwan felt waves of relief course through their bodies.

“And now you told that to all the Carats!” Seungkwan exclaimed dramatically while motioning to the cameras. Vernon laughed loudly and got an arm around Seungkwan’s shoulders.

“Maybe they’ll cut it out.”

Seungkwan hoped they’d cut the whole morning out.

…

When Seventeen finally watched the episode of One Fine Day in Japan on TV, Seungkwan and Vernon were silent.

“...What on earth were the two of you doing?”

All eleven members stared at the two, both a different shade of red, after they had shown a scene where the blanket was moving suspiciously while Wonwoo looked at the camera, wishing it a good morning, completely oblivious.

“C-cuddling,” Seungkwan stuttered and turned to Wonwoo, but even the older male wasn’t convinced about that anymore.

Jihoon made a face. “You’re such a lousy liar.”

“Which is okay, because we don’t want to know any more,” Mingyu declared as he stood up and looked at two of the younger members, pointing at them a little. “We won’t speak of this again.”

Vernon and Seungkwan nodded in understanding and shared an embarrassed look with each other.

Admin Scooter

#verkwan smut #vernon smut #seungkwan smut #hansol smut #this had to be written and I loved it and that's all that matters #iDK WHAT ELSE TO TAG

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zenosanalytic · 7 years

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Discovery: Initial Reaction

So I’m liking Discovery so far. I REALLY REALLY APPRECIATE that it’s a show where women characters can just be characters, rather than being The Babe(TM) and The Mom(TM), which unfortunately seemed to be the extent of female roles for 90s Trek(under which I include any theoretical Shrub-era Treks, which thankfully were never made but would have probably been really, really awful).

My big issues are:

Yes, Saru’s food-chain thing is annoying and I hope they return to address it with something as good or better than the explanations I’ve come up with for what they could have meant.

They‘re obviously going for Alice in Wonderland parallels with the series, especially around Burnham, in most of the eps so far(can’t recall any nods in s1e5 though), and this makes me sad that Fuller left because these refs have been ham-handed and Fuller’s excellent at literary tv making.

Also, Fuller’s idea of an anthology series focusing on a new story each season was Excellent and Good and I’m pissed NBC was too myopic to go with it. Anthology just recently returned to US TV with stuff like True Detective and, yes, it’s struggled(I actually liked S2 of TD, but most didn’t) but mostly because Networks haven’t given enough time for writers to nail down their second seasons. Just do a season every two years, or commission a writer to work on the second season while the first season’s in production. Network Execs are bad at problem solving.

My worries about the show aiming for an “ends justify the means” message, which Choose Your Pain went a long way to assuaging, while also making Lorca an even more fucked-up and compelling villain than he already was. This remains my main concern, though.

Having said that, I reiterate: EM Mind-Machine Interface. Build It NOW. Perhaps now that they’re using humans as navigators, this will become a priority. I’d also have liked if they’d used whatever the predecessor of the cortical stimulator is on the Tardigrade to repair the damage they mentioned Impaling it with four huge needles and forcing it to run quantum displacement calculations against it’s will caused to its brain.

How did Mudd know Lorca? He’s been on the run for months(well, according to him, which isn’t reliable), but maybe he’s just REALLY DEDICATED to reading Space-Papers. The Federation Gazette, perhaps? Rigel News Daily?? The New Andor Times??? Maybe Fark is still up and running in the 22 century. Aggregators like that seem more Mudd’s speed; he doesn’t seem the type to RTFA :p

But yeah, mostly enjoyable on my end so far. I’ve seen some folks complain about it being too dark, and there is something to that, though personally I think it’s more aesthetic than tone. 90s Trek was filled with horrible violence and death, but it was all sterilized and clean; people died off-screen, or were vaporized; at most you’d see a little theatrical blood running from their lips and smudging their head when someone fell or got caught in a cave in, and cultural stuff like the Klingon tradition of eating their enemies was played as a joke or color-text. In Discovery, though, you see people ripped apart and twisted, spaced, Vaporization is presented as legit horrifying and also kind of absurd in e5(the addition of simple steam clouds does alot of work there), the Tardigrade impaled and bleeding, mangled body-parts laying around and the Klingon ease with eating other civilized life mentioned explicitly and off-hand in reference to a main character. The violence and death has always been there, but Discovery doesn’t clean it up or hide it the way previous Treks, and especially 90s Trek(late-season DS9 was a bit more bold on this, iirc), routinely did. IMHO, anyway.

#Star Trek #ST: Discovery #TV Reviews #zA's Outside Viewing #zA's Trenchant Literary Criticism #analytic posts

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jennycalendar · 7 years

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irredeemable evil

ao3

so. nearly 6000 words set in a post-s2 au where jenny got turned, tortured giles for information about acathla, and was given her soul back with willow’s restoration ritual.

(i wrote almost all of this today...for...some reason...)

Jenny-the-vampire, no matter what the kids seem to think, wasn’t in any way bloodthirsty or vengeful; she was pragmatic and thoughtful and kept under the radar until it was time to come out again. She stayed indoors and bought pig’s blood from the butcher at night and waited and waited and waited until it was the perfect time to hurt Rupert. Jenny-the-vampire had a capacity for cold, calculating vengeance, and Jenny sometimes feels that angry hate burning in her. It’s terrifying.

She’s very, very quiet the first few days. Jenny-the-vampire had done a lot of talking, and it’s made Jenny hate the sound of her own voice. She remembers the silky cadence her voice had taken on as she’d cupped Rupert’s face in one hand, the way she’d mimicked her own breathy tones. How she’d kissed him, soft and insistent, and how he’d kissed her back unhesitatingly, his tears warm and wet against her cool skin.

Jenny. My Jenny. Please never leave me again.

Willow comes into Rupert’s bedroom (Jenny’s staying at his place for now) on the second day. “I found your soul spell after you left,” she says quietly. “I—I know that my using it on you wasn’t exactly what you had in mind, but—Giles needs you. We all do.”

Jenny doesn’t say anything.

“I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you,” Willow continues, with gentle compassion in her eyes that no part of this new Jenny Calendar can possibly deserve, “but you should know that Giles is really happy that you’re okay.”

“I’m not,” says Jenny. Her voice is hoarse from disuse.

Willow sits down next to her. Jenny can smell her, and she smells like food, and that’s so profoundly frightening that she all but jumps out of the bed, flattening herself against the wall. “Get out,” she’s saying, barely conscious of Willow’s hurt, teary-eyed expression. “Get out, get out, get out—”

Willow presses her lips together and runs, but she can’t even make it halfway out the door before she starts crying. Jenny can hear her sobs and listens to them die away. Emotions are beyond her capacity at the moment; it seems to be all she can do not to eat people.

Rupert comes in on the fourth day. As soon as Jenny sees the love in his eyes, she looks down at the blanket.

“I’m just—going to sit in here,” he says, and she hears the rustle of him taking out a book. She can’t look at him. The last time she looked him in the eye was when Jenny-the-vampire asked him, sugar-sweet, how to awaken Acathla. She remembers the hollow, broken look in his eyes when he looked back at her, like all the happy parts of him had gone with her when Angelus turned her. Jenny-the-vampire had had no vested interest in whether or not the world was sucked into a hell dimension; she was really mostly just interested in torturing Rupert.

He starts reading, soft and reassuring, as though Jenny’s some kind of wild animal he’s trying to tame. Jenny hates it, and looks up to tell him so, and sees the bandage on his neck. Her throat tightens as she remembers the taste of his blood, not coppery like it had been when Jenny-the-human bit her lip, but sugar-sweet and rich with flavor. She doesn’t know how she’s supposed to live like this.

She doesn’t know if she wants to.

Her Uncle Enyos had always said that vampires were creatures of irredeemable evil, and that the soul was given as a punishment, not as a chance at redemption. Jenny’s starting to kind of get why Angel was so miserable all the time. It doesn’t feel like a second chance to be here, especially when there’s suddenly all this guilt and grief tied up in all of her memories of Rupert. She wishes he hadn’t loved her, because then it would have been so much simpler.

More horrible than any of this is the fact that he loved her so much. He kept on reaching up, touching Jenny-the-vampire’s face with shaking hands. She’d broken two of his fingers, and he’d still looked at her with that same love and sadness. Jenny-the-vampire had hated it. Jenny (whatever she is now) hates it too, but for a very different reason.

“Pig’s blood,” says Xander, and sits down on the edge of the bed. Jenny doesn’t take the mug, nor does she study Xander’s face. Impassively, she thinks about the fact that she could jump out of the bed and snap his neck like a twig. “Come on, Ms. C,” he says, quiet and placating. “You have to eat sometime. Giles is worried sick about you.”

Jenny doesn’t look at Xander. She’s never understood him. Xander had hated Angel, but now Xander seems to treat her like she’s been struck down with some kind of strange affliction instead of being the latest souled vampire. Angelus 2.0, only Angelus had had a longer reign of terror than Jenny-the-vampire both times around.

“Ms. Calendar,” Xander says. His voice breaks. “We can’t lose you again. I know Giles can’t handle that. He—all that’s keeping him going is the thought of you someday being okay again.”

Nothing really feels real to Jenny. The room is Technicolor bright, but Xander’s voice is dulled as though she’s turned the volume down on him. Her entire body feels heavy, and she doesn’t know if it’s the vampire thing or the probable-depression thing (though depression seems too mild a term to describe the situation). She stares at the wall in front of her.

“You know, Angel already did the brooding thing,” says Xander with a nervous laugh in his voice, “but he wasn’t exactly starving himself.”

Jenny rolls over onto her side, sliding down in the bed until she’s lying with her back to Xander, and closes her eyes. She’s been doing a lot of sleeping lately.

She wakes up with Rupert stroking her hair and singing softly to her like she’s some kind of small child. She keeps her eyes closed for longer than she should, because she’s half-convinced that it’s a dream anyway. But then Rupert says her name, barely a murmur, and Jenny jerks awake and away from him.

Rupert spills the mug of pig’s blood all over the mattress.

Jenny stares, breathing hard and shaking. She won’t. She won’t make herself into a monster and drink blood to survive. She’d rather die than live out this punishment for the failures of Jenny-the-human. The woman Rupert loved is dead, and the vampire who wanted him to suffer is trapped. Jenny doesn’t know where she is anymore, but she knows that she can’t live knowing that the vampire is there too.

“I should change the sheets,” says Rupert finally, his voice quiet and sad.

Jenny just looks at him.

“Right,” says Rupert. He hesitates, then, “Jenny—is there anything I can do to help you?”

For a moment, Jenny’s almost afraid to say it. She forces it out. She’s nothing if not brave. “Kill me,” she says, meeting his eyes with nothing but firm sincerity.

The look on Rupert’s face is thousands of times worse than what she’d seen when Jenny-the-vampire had tortured him for fun. He stares at her like he can’t possibly believe what he’s just heard. “You know I can’t do that,” he says, his voice small and close to shattering. “Please—I just want you here with me.”

“Selfish of you,” says Jenny, and curls into the blood-soaked blankets.

Rupert pushes them off of her and reaches towards her, trying to pick her up and carry her downstairs. His shirt is stained with pig’s blood, and he smells like food, and Jenny is so, so hungry, to the point where she can feel the last threads of her control—her humanity—slipping away from her. She imagines snapping and killing him, killing the rest of the Scoobies in a desire to sate this thing living in her chest and forcing her to live with it. “I’d be dead,” she says. Her voice is small. “If you had staked me, I’d be dead, and—I wouldn’t have hurt you like I did.”

Rupert has a badly masked look of hope on his face. Jenny realizes that this is the most honest she’s been with him since she regained her soul. Maybe even before that. “It wasn’t you,” he says. “Jenny, please—”

“I won’t live like this,” says Jenny, wishing she could sound fiercer than she does. “I won’t ever risk hurting you again.”

There’s a silence. Rupert seems to be considering this. “Well,” he says, “if you’re worried about hurting me, you might consider the fact that you’re more likely to lose control if you’re starving.”

Jenny really doesn’t want to admit that he has a point, but he kind of does.

“Up you get,” says Rupert gently, leaning down and winding an arm around her waist so that he can pull her out of bed. He picks her up bridal-style, carrying her down the stairs, and Jenny focuses only on the way his arms feel around her. She doesn’t think about how hungry she is, or how easy it would be to take advantage of how close he’s holding her. None of that. None.

Rupert places her down on the couch and moves into the kitchen. It’s a strangely comforting feeling to be downstairs. She’s been up in Rupert’s room for at least a week, and everything has felt hazy and only halfway real. A change of scenery reminds her, in its own odd way, that she is present and existing.

Rupert comes out with another mug of pig’s blood. At Jenny’s look, he says, “Just a sip, all right?” in that low, soothing voice he uses when he reads to her.

Jenny closes her eyes, and takes a sip. It doesn’t taste like anything she’s had before, and if she closes her eyes, she can pretend it’s not blood. She’s thirsty, too, and all but snatches the mug from Rupert, gulping it down more eagerly than she wants to think about. She focuses on the taste and not on the situation. It doesn’t fix much of anything.

She opens her eyes, setting the mug down. It’s already halfway gone. Without a word, she leans back into the couch.

“Blood sausage,” says Rupert, sitting down next to her. “I-if you’re looking for some semblance of normalcy, blood sausage—human people eat that. I could eat it with you.” He gives her this soft, sweet little smile that makes Jenny want to reach out and kiss him, but she’s pretty sure that that’s not an option.

Or—maybe it is. Maybe Rupert-the-complete-idiot has already somehow forgiven Jenny-the-vampire for torturing him and drinking his blood. But then again, maybe this is all obligation, and the way he’s looking at her right now (hopeful, hesitant) comes from some kind of guilt that she’s like this in the first place. It would really be like Rupert to think something like this is somehow his fault.

“I guess,” says Jenny, and sets down the mug of pig’s blood.

“Jenny,” says Rupert, his voice patient but firm.

“I drank some.” Jenny keeps her tone flat and detached. “I’m not dying on you, England.”

Rupert’s smile falters.

“Not again,” Jenny amends.

Jenny hears Xander and Willow talking in low voices as they enter Rupert’s apartment. She rustles the blanket draped around her in an effort to remind them that she’s still here. They don’t take the hint.

“I just miss her, Xander, and I know that’s stupid because she’s back now, but I miss Ms. Calendar,” Willow’s saying.

“You were her favorite,” Xander says. Somehow the were cuts deeper than anything anyone’s said before—as though Jenny’s dead and gone and not listening from the couch. “Giles says he got her to eat, though, so that’s something.”

“Xander—” Willow’s voice catches. “Buffy and Angel and Ms. Calendar—I just—”

“Well, personally, I’m not all that cut up about Angel,” says Xander, a nervous laugh in his voice, “but we still don’t know that Buffy’s not okay.”

“Buffy?” Jenny echoes involuntarily.

Xander and Willow turn, wide-eyed. “Buffy,” repeats Willow tentatively, a new light in her eyes. She gives Jenny a wobbly smile. “Buffy’s…missing. How are you?”

Jenny wants to flinch away from the hopeful way Willow looks at her, the way she’d done so easily earlier. But she’s eaten now, and her mind isn’t clouded by panic and guilt, and it’s Willow standing near her, the bright-eyed girl who made jokes about programming and cried over every kid who ended up dead. She can’t hurt this girl again. “Getting better,” she says, not sure whether it’s true.

Willow’s smile stops looking quite as wobbly, even if the hesitancy doesn’t yet leave her eyes. “I brought you your laptop and a copy of Scientific American,” she says, sitting down on the couch next to Jenny and placing both items down between them. “And I’m trying to bring over some popsicles for the summer—I mean, I know you probably won’t taste anything as much, but the texture might be nice.”

“My little cousin used to eat ice chips for the crunch,” puts in Xander. “And if you want to get all toasty-warm, I bet Willow can make you some hot chocolate.”

“Xander, what if that burns her up from the inside?” Willow demands in a high, shrill voice. “I don’t know anything about vampire care!”

The absurd sweetness of the statement makes Jenny—it’s not actually much of a laugh, just that quiet, amused intake of breath that there isn’t really a word for, but it makes Willow and Xander both look at her with identical smiles. She finds herself smiling back, which is a little scary. She still doesn’t feel all the way okay, and they’re looking at her like she is.

Willow sets the laptop down on Jenny’s lap. “I brought you fun straws too,” she adds. “And some of your favorite mugs.”

“I can go warm up some blood,” Xander adds helpfully.

Tentatively, Jenny opens the copy of Scientific American. Her fingers linger on the little Post-It note stuck to the front page, where Willow’s written feel better soon! in bright pink pen.

“Lunch,” says Rupert, handing Willow and Xander sandwiches and Jenny a mug of pig’s blood. “Xander, kindly don’t get crumbs on my chair, thank you. Jenny—” He hovers, looking at her tentatively.

Jenny looks at him, then takes a sip from the mug, moving over slightly on the couch. There’s a spot for Rupert there if he decides he wants to take it, but she knows that he won’t. He needs a direct invitation, which makes her want to laugh; she’s the vampire, and yet Rupert’s the one with the best manners out of both of them.

Rupert sits down on the floor instead, seeming unbothered by how undignified this makes him look. “How is everyone?” he asks, though it’s clear there’s only one person he really wants to know the answer for.

Xander seems to catch this. “Everyone is drinking her blood and looks a lot better,” he says significantly. Jenny has to hide an involuntary smirk behind the rim of her mug.

Jenny finishes lunch, and then she slips into the bathroom and showers for the first time since she’d been brought to Rupert’s apartment. The water is warm, comfortingly so, and she’s much more aware of it now that she’s a walking corpse with no body heat. Thinking about that is kind of disturbing. She focuses on washing her hair.

There’s something really comforting about being in here by herself. She definitely doesn’t feel in peak condition (that’s what happens when you don’t drink anything for weeks), but she felt very much like an invalid with all the blankets and the fussing and the whispering. Standing here, she feels almost like things might someday be okay.

It’s nice to finally discard the gross vampire dress, too—a sky blue dress with white polka dots. Jenny-the-vampire wore a lot of pastels, possibly some sick twist on the fact that Jenny-the-human preferred darker colors (her thoughts drift to her favorite leather jacket; she misses that jacket a lot). It seems really fitting that Jenny-the-vampire would share Jenny-the-human’s love of irony. Jenny-the-whatever-this-is stretches, turns off the shower, and wraps herself in a warm, fluffy towel before stepping out of the bathroom.

She leaves the vampire’s dress in there. She feels like that probably symbolizes something.

Willow and Xander have already left when Jenny enters the room, but Rupert looks up from his desk, turning slightly pink. “Um,” he says, standing up and polishing his glasses. “Would you like a robe?”

Jenny adjusts the towel, self-conscious. “Yeah,” she agrees, looking away. “Do you have anything I can wear?”

Rupert hesitates, thinking. “I believe Willow brought you some of your clothing,” he says finally. “Fortuitously, I didn’t manage to finish sorting through your belongings after your death, so your clothing and your things are all at your home whenever you feel up to getting them.” He blushes. “O-or moving back to your home, of course. I wouldn’t want to assume that you’d choose to stay with me—”

“Okay,” Jenny says quickly. It’s still so adorable when he’s flustered, and she doesn’t feel ready to dwell on that.

Rupert heads into the bathroom, coming back with his blue bathrobe and draping it carefully around Jenny’s shoulders. His fingers brush her neck. Jenny’s still a little bit warm from the shower, a little bit flushed from the blood, and for a moment it feels like she’s alive again. But there are still a thousand things broken between her and Rupert right now. Thinking about it, it feels like most of their time together was spent fixing things between them. Something about that really hurts.

“Here you go,” says Rupert awkwardly. “You can change in the bedroom, I suppose. I’ll give you your privacy.”

Jenny nods and heads up the stairs.

There are a few of Willow’s oversized sweaters in the bag, and no sign of Jenny’s favorite leather jacket. She makes a mental note to ask Rupert or Willow about that jacket. Jenny rifles through the bag some more, finding one of her favorite blouses and the skirt she wore on the monster truck date with Rupert. She dries off and changes, combing her hair with a brush Rupert’s left on his dresser, and sits down on the bed, not quite ready to go downstairs again just yet.

“Are you finished?” Rupert inquires tentatively from downstairs.

“I’m decent,” Jenny calls back, lying back on the bed. She hears the sound of Rupert coming up the stairs, and sits up, leaning back on her elbows with her legs stretched out in front of her. Rupert draws in a sharp breath, looking at her, and she can see the desire and love in his eyes.

“I have to go out,” Rupert finally says, looking away from her with visible effort. “I won’t be back until tomorrow morning. I’ll call the children in to keep you company, all right?”

“Where are you going?” Jenny asks carefully.

“Looking for leads on Buffy,” says Rupert very quietly.

Jenny gets up, steps forward, almost touches him, stops herself, and simply replies, “I hope you find something.”

When the kids arrive, Xander plays solitaire with an old deck of cards and brings Jenny a cup of blood with one of Willow’s silly straws. After she’s finished the first cup and changed into some night clothes, he asks, “Do you know how to play poker?”

Surprised by this query, Jenny raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking,” replies Xander, tossing Jenny his box of cards. They land in her lap, only narrowly missing the empty cup of blood. “Can you play poker?”

Jenny smiles slightly. There’s something wonderfully normal about this conversation. “I tried to learn when I was, like, seven,” she says, a faded old memory coming back to her for the first time in years. “The girl across the street wanted to learn too, so we tried to play together. It doesn’t really work as well with two people, I don’t think.”

“So we start a Scooby poker team,” says Xander. “But I guess that’s something for later. Are there any games you do know?”

Jenny tries to think of something vaguely child-appropriate. Most of the time she uses card decks for magic, if anything. “I know Crazy Eights,” she says finally.

“You’re not serious,” says Xander, giving her a look. “Crazy Eights is a little-kid game.”

“What, and poker is a big-kid game?” Jenny studies Xander with amusement, then adds, “I’ve been drinking everything through silly straws and I’m wearing one of Willow’s sweaters. I’ve got the little-kid thing covered.”

Xander blinks. “That’s Willow’s sweater?” he says in surprise. “I thought you were just going for the plaid-hearts look.”

Jenny throws the deck of cards at him. Xander catches it and gives her a cheesy grin.

Willow comes in from the kitchen, handing Jenny a new mug of blood and taking the empty cup. “Oz called,” she says happily, setting the cup down on the coffee table. “He says he’s going to try and come visit tonight.”

“Hi,” says Jenny shyly.

Willow smiles at her. “You’re looking better!” she says, sounding delighted by this. “A little more color in your cheeks.”

“Metaphorically speaking,” says Xander helpfully.

“We’re about to play Crazy Eights—” Jenny begins.

“We are not,” says Xander indignantly, “we can play poker when Oz shows up. I’m not having Oz come in to see us all playing Crazy Eights.”

“Oz played Crazy Eights with me just last week,” says Willow, taking the deck of cards from Xander and sitting down on the couch next to Jenny, “so we’re playing Go Fish, and you can leave your concepts of mature card games at the door, Xander.”

“Leave my—” Xander repeats with confusion.

“It’s an expression,” says Jenny as Willow deals cards. “She means there’s no place for them here.”

“It just sounds really weird in this context,” says Xander. “I mean—we’re already inside.”

This is when Rupert steps through the door, looking exhausted and more than a little battered. Jenny draws in a sharp breath, feeling a rush of worry and love. “Rupert,” she says involuntarily, and when Rupert’s eyes meet hers, she thinks she would have blushed if she had working blood vessels.

“You okay?” Willow asks anxiously, setting down the cards.

“I was following a potential lead on Buffy,” says Rupert exhaustedly, hanging up his jacket. “Took all night, and all I’ve got is a wild guess from a rather vicious cave-dwelling vampire.”

Jenny wants to get up off the couch and hold him. She wants to pin him against the wall and kiss him. It takes her a moment to realize that the thought of drinking from him hadn’t once crossed her mind, and something about that makes her feel a little better.

She still can’t bring herself to move towards him.

“You’ll find something out soon enough,” Willow reassures him, and Xander nods.

“I think I’ll make myself some tea and head out,” says Rupert with a perfunctory smile.

“Oh no,” says Jenny, forgetting about the fact that she’s a vampire and she tortured Rupert and she all but begged him to kill her. All that she thinks about (all that she lets herself think about) is that Rupert’s just come back late at night with a bunch of demon-inflicted injuries that he’s trying to ignore, and that’s happened enough for her to be thoroughly sick of it. She gets up, handing the mug over to Willow. “Xander,” she says, “get the first-aid kit. Willow, go up to Rupert’s bedroom and get his dark green sweater—it’s the softest one, it’ll work best for this. Rupert, get your vest and tie off, I need to check for bruising. You always get thrown up against walls, it’s ridiculous.”

No one moves. Everyone just stares at Jenny, eyes wide.

“I’m sorry, am I speaking Latin?” says Jenny tersely, words made sharp and angry by the sudden worry in her chest. There’s a gash on Rupert’s neck that she’s just noticed, and it has an odd greenish tint to it. “Because if I am, at least Rupert should be moving right now.”

“I think she’s getting better,” says Xander with a mixture of alarm and appreciation.

“You think?” Willow places the mug down next to the empty cup, heading towards Rupert’s bedroom. Xander throws a look over his shoulder before hurrying into the bathroom for the first-aid kit.

Rupert stands there, looking at Jenny as though this is the first time he’s really seeing her. He doesn’t say anything as she steps closer to tug impatiently at his vest. “Lift your arms,” she says with some exasperation, falling easily into the old routine. It’s better than thinking about how much things have changed. Less painful.

Rupert doesn’t move.

“Rupert—”

Without a word, Rupert pulls Jenny roughly into his arms, holding onto her like they haven’t seen each other in years. So we are falling into the old routine, then, Jenny thinks wryly. She feels a jump in her stomach, wants to pull away, but then she hears the small, broken noise he makes as he presses his face into her hair and she knows she can’t let go of him when he’s like this.

“Okay,” she hears Xander say. “Uh, should we leave them alone?”

“Let’s just leave the stuff here and go play cards in the bedroom,” Willow suggests.

Jenny nestles her head into Rupert’s shoulder and pretends that nothing’s changed. This close to him, it’s not that hard to do. “Hey,” she says, and she’s proud of herself for keeping her voice so steady. “Hey. Snobby. You’re gonna have to let me take care of you in a minute.”

“Jenny,” says Rupert in this small, broken little voice. It sounds almost like it did when he saw her for the first time in the mansion—

And there. The moment’s shattered. Jenny pulls away easily, her vampire strength kicking in. She wants to run outside and away, but it’s morning, and she doesn’t exactly have a death wish anymore (a realization that surprises her, but one that she doesn’t have time to dwell on). She doesn’t want to think about how many times she’s hurt him, how many different ways. She thinks instead that the bite she left on his neck might end up scarring both of them. “I can’t,” she says, crossing her arms in front of her chest and looking down. She doesn’t know exactly what she’s saying she can’t do, but it’s comforting to have conviction about something.

Rupert nods awkwardly. “I—” He wipes roughly at his eyes with his shirtsleeve. “Damn,” he mutters, and hurries into the kitchen to make tea.

Jenny wants to tell him that she just wants him to not be hurting, she wants things to just go back to normal again, but she recognizes the hypocrisy in the statement. You make me feel bad that I don’t feel better—the difference, though, is that the Jenny possessed by Eyghon needed space, and the Rupert bitten by a vengeful vampire wants the person who hurt him to be there with him.

Jenny sits down on the couch and takes a long sip of blood from her mug. It’s weirdly comforting.

“Willow, I know this might be a long shot, but do you know where my leather jacket is?” Jenny asks tentatively before she goes to sleep that night.

Willow shifts a little on the air mattress (Rupert’s set up a sleeping space on the floor for the kids), bites her lip, and says, “I-I know how much you like that jacket, so when I was putting together a bag of clothing for you, I looked all over your place for it. I just couldn’t—”

Jenny shrugs. “It’ll turn up,” she says, snuggling into the couch. Rupert’s offered to let her take the bed, but she prefers it down here.

Jenny wakes up after the kids have left. She tries to make herself a cup of morning coffee, not really feeling like herself in Willow’s sweater. The coffee tastes okay. Not as strong as it should, considering how much time and effort Jenny put into it. Maybe vampires have some natural immunity to coffee. Jenny takes a sip, leaning against the counter, and pretends that she’s as human as the Watcher upstairs.

“Hello.”

Jenny jumps, nearly spilling the coffee. Carefully, she sets it down. “Hi,” she says tentatively. “You feeling a little better?”

“Not really, no,” says Rupert with a small, tired smile. He isn’t looking at her. “I miss you.”

Somehow I miss you is so much more painful than please never leave me again. Jenny lets her hand brush against Rupert’s. She stands shoulder to shoulder with him and doesn’t say anything. She gets the sense he has something he wants to tell her.

“What hurts me more than anything,” says Rupert very slowly, “is the thought that you might think my—attentions towards you—are only because of the way you died.”

Jenny can feel his eyes on her now, can tell that he’s trying to gauge her reaction. She keeps her face impassive, gaze straight ahead.

Rupert is silent for a moment, then says, “I love you.”

“I know,” says Jenny. “You shouldn’t.” Her voice breaks. “Rupert, I fucked up, I hurt you, and that isn’t erased just by the fact that I have some semblance of a moral compass again. That kind of anger still existed in me before I became a vampire.” She can’t look at him. “I can feel her in me,” she says. She’s shaking. “I’m not me anymore. She got here first.”

Rupert tugs on Jenny’s hand, and she turns without thinking. The love in his eyes makes her want to look away. “Were that the case,” he says, “I don’t think you’d fuss over me when I came home from patrol bruised and bloody. Perhaps I’m missing some crucial bit of the puzzle, but to me, that doesn’t seem like the kind of thing a soulless vampire would do.”

Jenny thinks about the way he’d looked at her in the mansion before he knew she was a vampire, smile bright and relieved. “You love me so much,” she says in a small voice, “and I just know that’s going to get you killed.”

To her surprise, Rupert starts laughing, placing a hand down on the counter and knocking over the coffee mug. Jenny’s coffee spills onto the counter and the kitchen floor, and she’s pretty sure that Rupert’s not just laughing anymore. “And that’s not what happened to you?” he forces out. He’s crying. “You told me—told me that day—and I turned and walked away—left you—”

“No,” says Jenny fiercely, stepping forward and forcing Rupert to look at her. “Hey. No. My death was never your fault.”

“You shouldn’t have loved me.”

“You shouldn’t still love me, you British idiot!” Jenny shoves Rupert, hard. He stumbles backwards into the wall, placing a hand at her waist to steady himself, and somehow, suddenly, they’re kissing, Jenny’s hands grasping at Rupert’s pajama shirt as she presses him against the wall. She doesn’t—can’t—think, only feel, Rupert’s hand grabbing at her leg and her mouth on his and he’s warm, soft, alive—

Rupert spins them around, lifting Jenny up onto the counter and sliding the borrowed sweater up, and it’s the warmth of his hands on her skin that brings Jenny some level of reluctant mental clarity. She pulls back. “We can’t,” she says.

Rupert lets his head fall forward, forehead resting against hers. “We never got to be in love,” he murmurs, still sounding a little shaky. “I want that. Desperately.”

“Me too,” says Jenny in a small voice, twining her arms around his neck. “Just—so many things are so fucked up. I want you to be safe.”

Rupert shakes his head. “I was safe,” he says. “I was safe, and I went home, and I found your body in my bed.”

Jenny feels something twist in her. She pulls back a little to look at him, eyes wide. “What?”

Rupert’s hands move up to take hers. “Angelus,” he says distantly. “He set up a nice little tableau. Roses, champagne, candlelight, and you as the centerpiece.” He looks up at Jenny, stroking her hair. “Believe me,” he says. “I know what it is to hurt the one person you wanted safe, and hear from everyone around you that it wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” says Jenny, feeling sick. She pulls a hand away, cupping his face and kissing him deeply.

Rupert breaks the kiss, looking at her with a gently pointed expression. “If you believe that,” he says, “why is it so hard for you to believe that it wasn’t you that hurt me?”

“You didn’t torture me!”

“Neither did you,” says Rupert with emphasis. “But you still had to see me hurting in front of you, and I don’t think you’ve ever really addressed how much that’s hurt you.”

“Pot calling the kettle black, England,” says Jenny. She tries to smile. “Maybe we can figure it out together.”

“Someone should have told me that Ms. Calendar’s back from the dead,” says Cordelia indignantly, breezing into Rupert’s apartment with Willow and Xander following. “I only found out because I called Xander and his parents said he was heading over to Willow’s, and then Willow’s parents said that she was heading over to help take care of Giles’s girlfriend, and then I put two and two together—” She stops, wrinkling her nose. “Oh my god, Ms. Calendar, did your fashion sense not survive the trip back from the afterlife?”

Jenny crosses her arms in Rupert’s button-down and realizes that Cordelia might have a point. “This was more of a romance thing,” she says, blushing a little at Willow and Xander’s incredulous looks.

“You know you could, like, lose your soul if you get a happy, right?” says Xander, sounding very much like he doesn’t particularly want to bring this up, but thinks he probably should.

“Xander,” says Jenny, smiling innocently, “we are inventive, creative adults.”

Rupert looks like he can’t decide whether to be pleased or mortified. Willow starts giggling nervously.

“I mean, still,” says Cordelia. “It would be different if Giles borrowed your clothing, because you have good taste, but this is just—”

“Oh—I did borrow something of yours,” says Rupert suddenly.

All eyes turn to him. “Wait, what?” says Jenny, startled.

Rupert winces. “It’s really just one item of clothing,” he says. “I-I took it from your home while you were missing. I thought that—that then you might find your way back faster. To get it back.”

Jenny smiles, reluctantly touched. What a dork. “Okay,” she begins. “What clothing—”

Rupert holds up a hand, hurries up the stairs, and comes back with something in his arms. Carefully, he drapes the leather jacket over Jenny’s shoulders.

Jenny hugs him, hard.

“Yes, dear, I love you too, but you’re preternaturally strong now,” says Rupert weakly, hugging her back.

“Hmm,” says Cordelia. “You know, she actually kind of makes that lame-o shirt of Giles’s work with that jacket.”

#fic #calendiles #jenny and willow #rupert giles #jenny calendar #willow rosenberg #xander harris

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