whowatches

[whowatches]

quid iuvat durum properare fatum?

Seneca

What good does it do you to hasten your cruel fate?

[whowatches]

headcanon 02. — signet ring.

The ring Giles perpetually wears on his left hand is a standard-issue heirloom: it contains his mother’s family crest encased in onyx. There is nothing remarkable about the ring itself; he was always going to be given it anyway, so it’s more notable for its purpose.

He had the ring enchanted by a Coven acquainted with his family, and what they placed upon it amounts to a suppression curse. Close exposure—that is, wearing it frequently on bare skin—slowly ebbed away at his natural reserve of magical potential, in a parasitic fashion. Though it did leave him with some residual ability, it’s nowhere near the potency he was playing around with after dropping out of Oxford.

He started wearing it at the age of twenty-one, upon rejoining the Watcher's Council, and doing so rendered him quite sickly for a year—but all at his own request, because he no longer trusted himself with the unchecked power he'd inherited from his parents.

These days, the ring is effectively dormant; the curse has run its course, and even if Rupert stopped wearing it altogether, his abilities wouldn't return. He simply wears it because it became habitual, and he just happens to like it. Destroying the ring might break the curse and restore his capabilities, or maybe he'd have to seek the help of a Coven—he doesn't know for certain, and doesn't intend to try anyway.

[whowatches]

buffy meme (revisited): four relationships

¾ the original scoobies

[whowatches]

prodigvlslayer:

                  “Huh? Take a break? I can’t bail on everyone… but I could use the time away.    Kick the door down like a modern Xena. It sounds AMAZING; why don’t we both go?”    Leaning forward on her seat with curiosity. “What type of visit is this? Am I going to have to bully anyone into seeing my cause?”

Her voice doesn’t carry fear. She’s grown from being that scared teenager. Instead her tone says she’s interested in the new adventure. “Might need my watcher at my side,”  she says with a sly tone.  “We can both play the big fish.”

               As tempting as it is to believe Buffy finds delight in the prospect of travelling together, he isn’t trusting enough to buy it. Maybe the mention of Cambodia has perked her ears up after all.

"I'd rather you didn't... bully anyone. I think we can convince a few poncy academics to share their resources willingly—without pulling another Swiss heist." The disapproval in his voice is lukewarm; he's never much cared for Geneva. "But, if you think you can find time in your lively schedule... it would be a fine opportunity for us to catch up, I suppose."

That remark comes gingerly. Emotional honesty is terribly hard work.

[whowatches]

@thcbloody​

When Rupert Giles decided to announce his presence by saying, I knew I'd find you here, it wasn't a lie, exactly. Granted, he hadn't known Randy was going to be moping in the cemetery of all places—Joan had been the one to tell him. She'd seemed awfully shifty in the process, mind, but Rupert assumed that was because he'd never much liked Joan, anyway. Whoever she was.

For Rupert imagined that—had his memory been intact—he would have been able to predict Randy's movements in... Sunnydale, as the street-signs called it. (What a ghastly name for a town. He must've moved here only because Anya wanted to.) His temporary amnesia was likely the sole reason he'd forgotten his son's favourite stamping grounds, but he was sure that if he'd been in full possession of his memory, he could’ve located Randy by himself.

As it stands, he doesn't have full possession of that crucial element. He looms before his dear child—who looks shifty too, or perhaps irritated to have his night gatecrashed by his father—without a clue how to continue the conversation. Still, a heart-to-heart is long overdue. Probably.

"Don't you think you and I rather need to talk?"

[whowatches]

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[whowatches]

seeriisum:

Working behind the counter, enjoying the slow day.  Hearing the bell chime, singling someone entered the shop.  “Welcome,” looking up to see who entered her shop.  At first glance Iris thought it was someone here to see Isaac.  Who was busy grading papers at one of the tables.  Hearing Angel’s name.  She knew he wasn’t here to see Wells.     “If you mean Angel as in tall ,dark,and broody.  Then yes I do know him.“  a little smile formed on her lips.  Not from Angel ,but someone one enjoyed her shop.  Even if it was a small one.  “Here for tea ,or something supernatural related?“ fixing her apron

Habit pushed Giles to glance over his shoulder, but the absence of anyone listening in (bar one apparently disinterested patron) allowed him to regard the shopkeeper again. He supposed it wasn't much of a surprise that she'd talk about the supernatural so freely when his opening line had involved a vampire.

"Can't it be both?" he said, ultimately, but he was already reaching within his jacket to produce a folded note from the pocket there. "Yet I'm afraid my visit does revolve around business. My name is Rupert Giles—a Watcher of sorts, to the Slayer based in California. Of course, if you have the abilities you’re said to, perhaps you already knew that."

[whowatches]

[whowatches]

vandrur:

Oh, some evil spirit, oh, some evil this way comes They told me how they fear it Now they're placing it on their tongues

[whowatches]

♡ + selfies ( xoxo )

headcanon meme || ♡ + word

To the surprise of absolutely nobody, least of all himself, Giles does not understand selfies, and hardly indulges in the practice. He’s not quite in the camp of people who bemoan how the youth these days are all glued to their phones—he’ll mutter a few comments to that effect occasionally, but Jenny Calendar did open his eyes to the benefits of an accessible exchange of information. It’s the vanity aspects of social media he’ll happily complain about.

And yet, he enjoys being manhandled into poorly-composed photos that get taken purely to grace social media as proof of an outing or event. He recognises it as the ridiculous youth responsible trying to tell him they enjoy his company, so he’ll take the gesture of affection for what it is. This is not something he’ll confess to willingly.

[whowatches]

♡ + Buffy’s death (two words, I know, sue me.)

headcanon meme || ♡ + word

This is such a heavy topic that it deserves a post of its own in future. But the most immediate aspect is that, in the one hundred and forty-seven days Buffy was gone, Rupert hadn’t completely accepted she was dead until she wasn’t dead any longer.

It’s not that he suspected Willow would do what she did—but his subconscious poisoned him with the idea that Buffy’s ‘specialness’ as a Slayer would somehow invalidate her death. The universe would right itself for some reason that he just wasn’t perceptive enough to predict. He didn’t anticipate someone resurrecting Buffy so much as… as her death being ‘undone’, perhaps, or maybe she wasn’t really dead; she simply had business in whatever dimension she’d wound up in and her body would be restored after that, or…

After all, she’d died before and, y’know, got better, so knowing that gave a small part of him something to cling on to. Like this was solid precedent for history repeating itself.

In some ways, it took until Buffy’s resurrection for it to fully sink in that Buffy had really, truly died. That, without the benefit of precarious mystical intervention, she wouldn’t have come back. It was then that he realised Buffy might be unique in how independent and resourceful she is for a Slayer—but she was not unique in that the universe had some plan for her in which it would keep returning her.

Rather, the world was unfeeling and did not see his Buffy as the essential prodigy he’d perceived her to be. He realised this subconscious certainty that she was invincible came from his own clouded personal judgement: he wanted that to be true, but want alone didn’t make it so. That wasn’t a mistake he was going to make again.

[whowatches]

♡ + guilt

headcanon meme || ♡ + word

How Rupert processes guilt depends on the severity of the guilt in question. On a mundane level, he’s usually always feeling guilty about something. It’s one of the default background emotions he carries constantly (along with, for example, varying degrees of discomfort and indignation). It’s a hangover of being raised in an upper-middle-class English family with terrible communication. You don’t talk about a problem; you just assume one is there, because there usually is, and act accordingly.

Is he being too harsh on Buffy? Is he being too lenient? Should he have displayed more interest in that person’s current venture? Did he adequately thank this person for their help the other day? Still, all this isn’t necessarily detrimental; it's one of the motivators that drives him into action.

Yet when it comes to the big things—such as, y’know surreptitiously killing Ben—he doesn’t feel much guilt. And this has always concerned him: his ability to rationalise morally ambiguous actions. In truth, he’s just good at compartmentalising (thank the dysfunctional family home, and Council indoctrination), but the end result is that the more borderline things he’s done fail to keep him awake at night. He’d rather not know how that speaks to what he’s capable of.

[whowatches]

♡ + Seers

headcanon meme || ♡ + word

Though Rupert hasn’t had a lot of personal dealings with Seers—he’s studied them a lot more, and specific important prophecies—he does internally groan whenever one factors into a myth or becomes relevant to an ongoing investigation. Their predictions and visions tend to be frightfully vague, or possess about the same degree of coherency as a piece of French arthouse cinema. Still, the part of him that is enamoured with ritual and the lure of the unknown wouldn’t have it any other way.

No matter how much time passes, and how much exposure he has to it, he can’t seem to shake his reverence for tradition—so he’s oddly protective of the position Seers hold as an age-old window for mortals into the workings of higher powers. If you want to wind him up to no end, start gushing about phoney TV psychics or sham fortune-tellers in front of him.

[whowatches]

Your affection for your charge has rendered you incapable of clear and impartial judgement. You have a father’s love for the child, and that is useless to the cause.

[whowatches]

liminalchaos.

The knock at the door of his latest residence —fifth place in as many months, but who was counting — could have been any part of his exciting and often ill-thought-out past catching up with him, really. There was no shortage of beings out there that could want Ethan’s head on a platter at some odd hour of the night, after all. Then again, he’d turned up in Ripper’s town and made no secret of his presence, so finding Ripper on his doorstep wasn’t all that much of a surprise.

What was, on some level, a surprise was finding Ripper on his doorstep alone and apparently unarmed. No Slayer? No army? Well, the army hadn’t been able to hold him for long, so maybe that made sense, but still. Someone here was slipping.

So, obviously, the thing to do in response to Ripper’s blatant threat and easily answered question was to stare blankly for a solid twenty seconds as both the dramatic speech about his less-than-grand escape from the Initiative and the admittedly half-baked plan for revenge departed his mind.

“Rupert.” That sounded a bit strangled, even to him. He grimaced. “Lovely… I suppose it still qualifies as an evening, isn’t it?” Could he run? Not past Ripper, certainly, and he didn’t want to risk the back door and its unfortunate tendency to jam at inopportune moments. Out a window seemed like a passable option, he could do that—And then what Ripper’s actually asking cuts through his mild panic. Partially. “What do you mean selling shapeshifting? Permanent shapeshifting? Glamours? One-off transformations?” He opened the door the rest of the way. “Of course I’m innocent, by the way. If I was behind this, I’d have turned you into… something inconvenient.”

The fairly quick acquiescence was almost disappointing—because if Ethan had put up more of a fight, it would lend Rupert justification for working off the nervous energy Ethan's presence seemed to brew. And maybe some small part of him found it jarring when Ethan spoke with no real regard for the hostility cast his way.

There was a reason they'd been friends, after all, in the distant past. How humiliating it was to think all that patter had worked on him once.

"Given your track record, I'm not feeling generous enough to respect your presumption of innocence." Rupert retracted his arm, but kept his chary gaze fixed in place. "For the time being, it appears to be temporary enchantments. It didn’t seem like enough of a swindle to keep your interest, but you're... here. At the Hellmouth. In time, I'm sure you'll be up to something."

For now, though, this was his priority: the swell of people dabbling in lycanthropy and other stories. It did briefly cross Rupert's mind that he should stubbornly opt to remain in the doorway, lest Ethan attempt to make a run for it—no. He'd probably go for a window, if anything. Best to take this conversation out of a public space.

"Much as I'd prefer you didn't, perhaps you should let me in." His tone was less of a request than an order.

[whowatches]

taramcly:

Hyper. Two steps at a time when moving downstairs from Buffy’s room. It was quieter there, even though she could still feel the chaotic mess that was the rest of the house around her, pinching the back of her neck and getting Tara impatient a few times. When the witch was not paying attention to her surroundings and aware of what was really happening inside that house, she was certainly feeling agitated and restless. Sometimes her body was begging for some well deserved break, but Tara would never, not now when there was stuff to be doing and informationg to research and chores to be performing and magics to be learning. 

She would not let herself stop. Be useful. Always useful. Tara Maclay will earn her space. She has a place now, a role. You won’t find her staying still.

And specially after spending some time with Faith. Electric Faith Lehane.

“She behaved”, Tara playfully replied, eyes still running through the open pages in front of Giles. Caleb’s name got her attention for a second as she sighed. Tired. Mentally more than anything. A soft frown as thoughts about him cut her mind, but Giles’ presence got her back to the now. Running his words inside her mind again made a hint of a pink shade color her cheeks and she nodded, pulling a chair beside him and taking a seat there. 

That felt good. Sitting.

“She’s trying, that’s enough for me”. Truly, Tara didn’t expect to get Faith’s attention at all, but the slayer listened and that was, at least, invigorating. The witch, this time, was calm on the outside but not her head, still working, taking turns and spins. Digits touching the cold surface of the dining table to keep her grounded, blue eyes on Rupert now. “And Buffy–?”, almost a whisper. A few hours since she last saw the blonde and she needed an update, because taking care of her friend (even though not explicitly, of course. don’t let Buffy know she’s being taken care of) is one of Tara Maclay’s roles inside that house. And in her life.

Despite the sombre mood of the house—and just how vulnerable Rupert himself had been to it, lately—he found himself betraying the slightest smile. The feel of it made for a welcome change, though it came from a place of disbelief rather than mirth.

Once, not so long ago, he would have expected to see Tara rattled after a session of teaching Potentials with Faith. Amongst other things, Faith lacked a filter, and there had been a time in which Tara recoiled from the barest hint of conflict. Maybe her experience with Warren had pushed her, or maybe it was the atmosphere of war hanging from the rafters—but now Tara could confidently manage Faith Lehane, and that alone was reason to smile.

Until it wasn't. These days, the mere mention of Buffy was enough to make Rupert flinch, it seemed; he turned his head sharply, eyeing Tara with a modicum of suspicion before he realised she'd been referring to the charms placed upon his Slayer. Of course Maclay wouldn't pry into their recently less-than-functional dynamic. She hadn't changed so much that she'd lost all tact.

"Currently patrolling," he stated, primly averting his gaze once more. "Keeping in mind how few beings—demonic or mortal—have dared to remain in Sunnydale, I suppose the activity risks feeling like a waste of time. But a sense of normalcy is precisely what Buffy needs."

Because she's clearly not getting it from me went unsaid. Rather, after picking up on Tara glancing over the papers in front of her, he passed a highlighter pen across the table.

"If you need to hear specifics, perhaps you could ask her when she returns. I'm not presently the authority on Buffy's activities—I digress." Though he went to change the topic, his tone carried genuine curiosity. "What exactly is it you've been working on? Even the inscrutable Miss Lehane seemed taken with your ingenuity. Her exact description of your work was—if recollection serves... wicked cool."

[whowatches]

demons  after  money!  whatever  happened  to  seeking  the  still-beating  heart  of  a  virgin?  no  one  has  any  standards  any  more.  //  would  you  like  to  report  an  apocalypse?