fivexfaith-archived

[fivexfaith-archived]

☮

[fivexfaith-archived]

I’ve been to Hell. You’ve only read about it.

Marquis de Sade (via eoix)

[fivexfaith-archived]

Points up at the mistletoe in the doorway as though strongly indicating. Excuse you, Lehane.

x || @defenestratio

“What is it, Lassie? What is it, girl?” An amused smile tugs and pulls at the corners of a mouth, wide, wide, wider. Dimples fully blown, eyebrows raised, arms folded and head cocked. “C’mon use your words, I know ya got ‘em. Timmy fall down that damn well again? Aunt May got those gophers eatin’ all the daisies in her garden?” She’s almost laughing. Almost. It’s sitting right there in the center of her throat. 

But her eyes flick up then and a hand lifts only to be dropped again, slapping an outer thigh in the process. “Ah. Right. That. Um. Have I ever told you what my favorite part of marriage is?” Her weight shifts, one foot crosses the other while a shoulder is pressed against the doorframe. “It’s kissing you anytime I want. I don’t need to use a plant as an excuse. But—“ The smile plastered across her tan profile softens as her arms unfold and slide themselves around a waist. Her head ducks and a kiss is bestowed onto a pair of lips she loves so, just there, just there. “—It definitely helps with the encouragement."

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“I just want to get out. I don’t care whether I’m better or not.”

dark hospital startersstatus: meh

x || @defenestratio

“M’workin’ on it.” She thumbs the corner of a page from a magazine before turning it. Her gaze picks up, brows raising and lips parting as shoulders jerk into a shrug. “You have broken bones, yo. And a buncha other stuff that got jumbled up in that noggin of yours. Look, I’m all for the whole ‘take your chances and screw the rest’ but I’m with the doc on this one, babe. You just,” a breath is drawn and held as a hand comes down to gently pat a thigh. “Keep soakin’ up all those good juices and I’ll see about bustin’ ya outta this joint by tonight. Kay? As much as I love sharin’ this bed with you and shamefully getting addicted to Days of Our Lives, I just wanna make sure you’re not gonna be hurtin’ too much when you get home.”

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defenestratio:

She’s trying to understand. She knows why it’s bad to hurt people– why hurting Faith was bad. That was wrong, and it made a part of her feel scared and very, very angry with herself. But what she doesn’t understand is– is it bad to hurt bad people? She understands why she shouldn’t– because when she does, an innate chord inside of her strikes and says no no no no no stop– but when someone else does, especially when Faith does, she can’t seem to understand why it is a problem. No part of her screams no no no the same way at all. No portion of her demands otherwise. She doesn’t get it.

“Hurting people is wrong, even if they’re bad,” The statement is always a partial question, almost, almost half a confused curiosity and yet it’s– somehow half-solid, like a partially formed conclusion. She doesn’t understand. “–You should. Feel very strong and very brave about it. It was the right thing to do, if you wanted to keep me safe. I’m safe, and I wouldn’t have been– safe if they weren’t gone. I was… valuable to them. I did– things they needed me to do. For the money I made them and for I– don’t know what else.” She doesn’t. The things she does when she’s not herself are hazy, stuck behind a screen.

She’s shifting up further to press a kiss to the crown of a head, to a cheek, to the other, to the corner of a mouth, to a brow, a patient offering of worship that finds a spot, a spot, a spot. She couldn’t feel more grateful (and she’s trying to shake the idea that she belongs To Faith now, like she’s passed hands on ownership, like she can never be a person, belonging always to someone else.) She’s getting used to it, slow, slow, slow.

“If you hadn’t done something I would still be there– and there was bad. It was a bad place and I was–” she’s starting to filter memories slowly, but they’re hard, rough, and they’re something she doesn’t want to keep, but she knows it she doesn’t they’re going to be much too much and she won’t let that happen, won’t let them, burdensome, sit on her chest like a nightmare, “–It doesn’t matter. I’m not there anymore. I’m here. And you helped me. And you wanted to keep helping me.”

“I don’t want to be stardust for a long time,” She declares, and it’s quiet but surprisingly solid, “I want to be your person first. I want to be who I am again. And then I want to be your stardust. I think that would be a way I want to stay, something immortalized but intangible, like the air around us.”

“What’s done is done.” A hand lifts and waves, an idle gesture. What’s done is done is done is done. Life and death kinda sorta have a strict no-return policy. “You’re here, they’re not. You’re safe, they weren’t.” Don’t tell Angel. Don’t tell Buffy. Don’t tell anyone. But if it happens to come up, she’s prepared to— hesitate first, then deliver the exact same explanation. —No, screw that, she wouldn’t hesitate. She’s Faith fucking Lehane, Faith fucking Lehane doesn’t hesitate. Faith fucking Lehane used to be proud of her kills. Still is. At least the ones who were undead before they were dead-dead.

“You’re here, I’m helping you, I want to help you and I want to keep helping you for as long as you need help.” Her grip tightens. Instinctive, protective. There’s that muscle memory flaring up again. She needs to pull closer and hold tighter. Needs. Needs, needs, needs. There is no want anymore. Alana’s warmth has become a necessity.

“You won’t be stardust for a very long time, I promise.” A kiss to a cheek, gentle. “You’ll be yourself first, then you’ll be mine, and even when you’re stardust, you’ll be mine. But it’s been one helluva long night, wouldn’t ya say? So. Sleep? Yeah? Sleep’ll make ya feel a little better. Have ya feelin’ a little refreshed. Sleep is good.” Intricate tan digits brush and graze a temple before disappearing into a head of hair to push a stray or two behind an ear. “We’ll sleep. And then in the morning, you can help me with the kids. See how we work? I help you, you help me. It’s a give and take, that’s how we work. I don’t like sayin’ ‘that’s how marriage works’ because— well— ain’t like that’s how it doesn’t but— it’s how we’ve always— managed and connected even before we got hitched.” A ring on a finger just reinforced it.

“Take M’suer Elephant— I wasn’t kiddin’ when I said he helps with the scary stuff because he does. He’s a much better monster fighter than I am.” By a goddamn landslide. “Um,” a pause, to slide backwards and to bring Alana with her. “But you can uh, still stay close, ya know. If you want. You’ll have double the protection from the scary.” The scary. What she means is nightmares.

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                              ❝ the DOCTOR will see you now. ❞ // @defenestratio 

[fivexfaith-archived]

Faith in every episode: AtS 04x13 Salvage

[fivexfaith-archived]

x || @defenestratio

An exasperated groan rattles a chest and scrapes a throat as one hand scoops up the dented wrapped box from the ground while the other swipes and sweeps and dusts the snow off the corners and edges. The respect the dead have for the living is totally depleting and becoming less and less year after year. For once, she’d like to get her wife a gift that doesn’t come in a package that looks like it was dropped in the middle of a wildebeest stampede or have wrapping paper that doesn’t have a giant boot print smack dab in the middle. But, alas, so goes the life of a Slayer.

The box is tucked beneath an arm so a spine could bend and a free hand could swipe the thin, mangled tree branch from the ground to lodge the tip into the side of a— of an actually well constructed snowman. “Thanks for the hand back there, Frosty.” Bare fingers raise to flatten a palm and pat the top of a frozen head. She should really invest in a pair of gloves. Alana has hundreds. Their children even have a drawer dedicated to mittens. However, ya can’t throw a good punch with gloved hands. S’all about the knuckles, s’all about that satisfying crack. S’comforting, the confirmation of broken bones, of pain. It’s a sign of winning, a sign of life.

“Is it Frosty or Mr. Frost? Jack? No, that’s— that’s the dude who’s like in charge of the weather and snow and stuff, right? So it’s just Frosty. Frosty the snowman. Just like the song says.” Look at her, talking to an inanimate ice sculpture. She should be surprised but the shock wore off about around the second or third stuffed animal she’s had full on conversations with at three in the morning in the kids’ room. “Where’s your corncob pipe and button nose, dude?” She built a total of zero snowmen in her days. The desire was always there, just never the time. Just like the holiday spirit’s always been in her chest it’s just been— hidden.

Fifteen days ’til christmas and all Faith Lehane knows is that she’s not quite ready to let go of this past year. She has so much to show. Fifteen more days and all she really wants is some sort of sign that her own spouse still thinks of her the way she thinks of her spouse. And if she doesn’t, she sure does wishes that she’d say so. ‘Cause all Faith Lehane does is think about Alana Bloom. Alana Lehane.

It’s wearing her out, honestly. This holiday is nothin’ but frowns from the Slayer. “Just ‘cause I’m not crackin’ a smile, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be, either, buddy.” The tip of a boot drags along the ground, pushing aside a blanket of snow to uncover a patch of o-natural earth, some good ol’ dirt, grass, and rocks. Rocks that’ll make for a lopsided but expensive little grin perfectly suited for someone by the name of Frosty. “Wanna know a secret? Wanna know what’s in the box? I got ‘er a gift. My wife. Alana. Tapped into the ol’ christmas cheer.” Something that hasn’t been done in, what, two whole years? "I made a list. Handwritten and everything. Hell, I even checked it twice. It’s a list of all the things she’s done for me in my life. And I’m gonna give it to her.” With a quick twist of a wrist, she pops and plucks one of the bottom buttons from the flannel layer beneath her leather jacket to press and push it into the center of a round, incredibly pale face. “So she can see why I love ‘er.”

She steps back, looking over at her handwork. Not bad for your first half-constructed snowman, Lehane. There’s not corncob pipe but hey, there’s a button nose. And now, for the final touch— Slender fingers unravel the knitted scarf from around her neck and re-ravel the scarf around her new friend’s non-existent neck where two spheres meet. She never understood why snowmen needed scarves and hats and gloves to try and stay warm. Has anyone ever told ‘em what would happen if they got too warm? “I should get goin’.” A thumb hikes over her shoulder and another small step backwards is taken. “Um.” Lord, is she honestly makin’ a point to say goodbye to three friggin’ balls of snow? “Good talk.” The same thumb turns upwards and sticks out. “Stay frosty.” Stay frosty, Frosty. She’s got a wife and children to go home to.

A home cooked meal and a nice warm bed, somebody to love, a place to lay her head. Another groan, more gratifying than the last as she ascends up the front porch steps, fantasizing about the all things that could be— that will be if she can just keep chippin’ away at that holiday spirit embedded somewhere behind the thick brass bars in front of her sternum. But she’s got fifteen days and she’s gonna make ‘em count because ya can’t call it christmas without someone to smile about.

The door swings open and there she is. Her wife, her Alana, her everything, and she’s simply glowing, like nothing’s changed. A smile sparks, the first of many, unlike the one made from pebbles and gravel she put together earlier. Teeth sparkle and prominent dimples flare.

That’s the spirit.

A glance up. A tug of lips. A quirk of a mouth.

Oh, hey. Mistletoe.

[fivexfaith-archived]

                    ❝ how is it wrong to act on desire when we’re both suffocating from it?                                                              when it harms no one?                                                     when it’s so fucking excruciating? ❞

                                                    ind. sel. helena peabody from tlw                                                                written by kendra                                                      

[fivexfaith-archived]

um but faith put up sad crappy little christmas lights in her motel room i’m gonna cry

[fivexfaith-archived]

                    ❝ how is it wrong to act on desire when we’re both suffocating from it?                                                              when it harms no one?                                                     when it’s so fucking excruciating? ❞

                                                    ind. sel. helena peabody from tlw                                                                written by kendra                                                      

[fivexfaith-archived]

dark hospital starters

angstmemes:

“This is torture…” ”They said it’d only take one operation… but I’m still here and that was three years ago.” ”Welcome, you’re never going to see daylight again.” “I just want to get out. I don’t care whether I’m better or not.” “How do I know you’re real?” “What have they done to me?!” ”What have they done to you?!” “I want this to stop! I want to go home!” “Sit still and count to ten, it will all be over soon…” “Take your medicine and you’ll feel better, I promise.” ”I don’t think the ‘cure’ they keep talking about exists… I think we’re doomed.” ”Now, look at me and stay calm. This’ll only hurt a bit.” ”Why are you strapped to this fucking bed?! What are they doing to you?!” ”Look at me. Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?” ”I thought so, you definitely need more surgery.” ”We’re just very curious… and you won’t live to see another day anyway, so you might as well give it a shot.” ”Something went wrong… I think you’re blind.” ”There are rumours going around that you’re next.” ”If I’d known this was what I was signing up for, I would’ve rather died at home.” ”So, how long have you been here for?” ”For this treatment you’ll need to undress first.” ”Why don’t you just let me go? We both know there’s no cure for this.” ”Open up wide and let me look inside.” ”I’m not going to lie, this will hurt a lot, but it’s the only way to help you.” ”You almost didn’t make it… but I saved your life.” ”Look at the light. Ah, I see… I think I’ll need to do something about that look in your eyes.” ”No, anaesthetics won’t work on you, that’s why I don’t use them. I’m very sorry about that.” ”Let me see what happens when I do this….” ”Can you handle more? I really want to try something else…” ”Maybe you’ll have visitors next week.” ”What happened to your arm? What did they do this time?” ”Oh my god! I can’t even look at you… What happened?!” “They say I’m in here because I’m crazy, I think I’m crazy because I’m in here.”

[fivexfaith-archived]

x || @red-hemlock cont. x

Her entire body pauses, ceases movement completely. Jaw locks mid-chew, hazel orbs nearly crossed as they narrow at the other. “Head-butt the glass door. Yeah. Sure. I’ll get right on that.” Honestly, River. 

A heavy, exasperated sigh lifts from a chest and falls from a mouth before her legs swing out and her feet jerk forward, pushing herself off from the front counter and onto solid ground once more. “Alright,” hands clasp then rub together. A neck rolls, as do shoulders. Gotta loosen up those biceps and triceps. “Stand back--” 

A fist balls and an elbow pulls back to wind up and throw a punch at the transparent front entrance. An electric shock jolts and rattles every bone and tendon and her lips pull apart to release a silent scream. Yow-zah. 

“Goddamn bulletproof and shatter resistant fucking glass.” She’s absolutely livid, cursing under her breath as she shakes out her hand. “Got any more bright ideas?” 

[fivexfaith-archived]

3x03 / 7x18

[fivexfaith-archived]

x || @thegirlwiththebuffytattoo cont. x

“No.” The word that leaves through her teeth and breaks past her lips is nearly a damn bark. “Do I gotta spell it out for ya, Arc?” Hands snatch the dress to only hurl it right back in the direction it came from. “I’m. Not. Wearing. A. Dress.” Not now, not ever. And even if her own goddamn dead body catches itself wearing anything without straps and a slit, you’re getting a visit from an incredibly pissed off ghost. 

“And I’m a little hurt that you think I need to show my ankles in order to successfully seduce someone. Honestly,” a fist balls and strikes a chest as a mocked pained expression crosses a tan profile, “right there, Arc. Right there. It hurts.” 

[fivexfaith-archived]

emphasiscntheboo:

“ –If I was attending a party I wouldn’t be carrying forty-five pounds of delicate para-technology. Unless it was, y’know… stated in the dress code. ” Holtzmann stands with her fingers tightly gripping the straps of the proton pack, head cocked to one side. She pushes a stray lock of blonde curls back from her forehead, bespectacled eyes fixed curiously on the beautiful stranger. Time to unleash the Holtzmann charm. 

She extends a gloved hand towards Faith. “ –Jillian Holtzmann. Self-proclaimed ghost-busting genius. …You are a ghost, right? ‘Cause that would explain why you’ve been haunting my dreams. ” 

Wink.

A single brow is quirked, a pair of lips purses, the inner walls of a mouth are wedging themselves between teeth and squeezing while two hazel orbs land on an extended hand, darkening by the second. “Uh— huh. Yeah. Sure.” Whatever. The sarcasm stings, it’s viper venom dripping from the words that are pushed out. However, her hands remain to themselves. In fact, both are being shoved into the back pockets of her jeans, gaze gradually lifting to scan the woman before her.

“Name’s not important.” Shoulders roll into a lazy shrug as a step is taken back. “What is, is you here when you shouldn’t be. This is my job, my turf. And ‘sides,” another shrug, a brief glance around. “I was here first.”

[fivexfaith-archived]

"I see that you purposely gave the gingerbread men horrified expressions. I suppose it's so we feel bad as we eat them?"

christmas starter promptsstatus: accepting

x || @defenestratio

Lips envelope the tip of a middle finger, tongue swerving and curling to indulge in a dollop of buttercream frosting as a vehement smacking sound emits as it leaves her mouth. “Mm,” a pause, a head tilt, a jut of a knee as weight shifts and an expression pinches before twisting. “I wanna know what kinda face you’d make if you were ripped away from your newly built home and had your head chomped off in front of all your buddies.” That same hand motions through the air, gesturing at the gingerbread house on the opposite end of the counter. 

“Also, I don’t recommend going out into the backyard if ya gotta probable with the faces I put on various Christmas staples. --I may or may not have turned Frosty into a target for my new throwing knives.”