deep_red_bells: ([Expressive] Got my eye on you)


The Watchers say some of us have a sense of who and what we are our entire lives. We dream about them, the other girls like us, we see them fight, we watch them die. That never happened for me until I was called. I wonder if it was because I was so close to Buffy’s age--if Willow’s spell hadn’t worked, and Faith had ever fallen, the legacy would never have passed to me. It would’ve gone to a younger potential, a girl who would have more years in her, to someone stronger, faster, lither. Funny to think of, isn’t it? Mid-twenties, and already a senior citizen, so far as the world of the Slayer was concerned.


It was as though ghosts were determined to haunt me everywhere I turned. There was Willow. There were the vampires. There was the girl. There was the girl’s unofficial Watcher--and that, well, that was the last face I expected to see. I’d always wondered what happened to him. Now, I knew. I pleaded with whatever shreds of humanity the witch had left in her to send him back, to let him change what had been an unfair fate for so many. It was no great surprise that she refused.


It’s been centuries, and I still can’t describe just how it felt to die. Memories can be such subjective things as it is; sometimes all I can remember is how much it hurt, while other times, I can only recall the sense of completion and the feeling of release. There is something in me--in all of us--that craves nothing more or less than an end.


Her visits usually went like this: for the first day, sometimes the first two days, if I were lucky, I couldn’t get enough of her attention, her voice, her smile, the scent of her perfume, her vivacious and child-like spirit. She would let me dig through her purse and put on her lipstick, then chase me about with a Kleenex in hand, laughing at how I‘d managed to smear the vibrant red mess all over my face. She’d make promises and I, being a child desperately craving a connection to her wayward mother, would believe them. Then, the arguments set in. Every Spanish curse word I ever knew, I think I learned while I was hiding in my room, listening to my mother and my grandmother, the two most stubborn and temperamental women I have ever met, try to outmatch each other in volume and venom.


Watching that wasted ball of mud fade from view was like losing a limb. No, it was worse. I died to save that world, and to see what became of it…looking back on it, I think that was the exact moment I stopped caring. It was worse than losing a limb. It was cutting out one’s heart with a rusty implement and somehow living the rest of one’s life with an open wound and empty chest.


Here is where the curtain should close. The actors should take their final bows, the stage should go dark, the audience should go home, and the door should be closed and locked behind them. I wish that I could tell you my own story would end so neatly. It won’t. It will end in fire and it will end in blood, as it was always meant to. When that will happen, no one can say, and for now, I can only let it fade into grayness and static, and wait. If I am honest with myself, I am not ready for it to end yet. When I think of the end, the pain is still the most vivid memory, but when that changes, the gray will fade to black, and I’ll feel it again. The release, the completion. Finished.
deep_red_bells: ([Future] Road goes ever on & on)

Tori Amos, "Spark"
she's convinced she could hold back the glaciers // but she couldn't keep baby alive // doubting if there's a woman in there somewhere // here, here, here // you say you don't want it again and again but you don't // don't really mean it // say you don't want it, the circus we're in but you don' t // don't really mean it

The Weepies, "Not Your Year"
scattered shadows on a wall, you watch the long light fall // some impressions stay and some will fade // tattered shoes outside your door, clothes all on the floor // your life feels like the morning after all year long // and every day it starts again // and you cannot say if you're happy // you keep trying to be // try harder, maybe // maybe this is not your year

Regina Spektor, "Samson"
oh we couldn't bring the columns down // yeah we couldn't destroy a single one // and the history books forgot about us // and the bible didn't mention us // not even once // you are my sweetest downfall // I loved you first

Evanescence, "Missing"
please, please forgive me // but I won't be home again // maybe someday you'll look up // and barely conscious, you'll say to no one // "isn't something missing?"

Joanna Newsom, "Peach, Plum, Pear"
but it's late in the day and you're well on your way // what was golden went gray and I'm suddenly shy // and the gathering floozies afford to be choosy // and all sneezing darkly in the dimming divide // and I have read the right books to interpret your looks // you were knocking me down with the palm of your eye // this was unlike the story it was written to be // I was riding its back when it used to ride me // and we were galloping manic to the mouth of the source // we were swallowing panic in the face of its force // and I am blue // I am blue and unwell

Plumb, "I Can't Do This"
I’m standing still // I’m oh, so peaceful // I can’t pretend that I’m fine // I get so ill, crazy, agitated // when I’ve not really died // I can’t do this, I can’t do this // I can’t do this by myself

Tori Amos, "Hey Jupiter"
thought I knew myself so well // all the doubts I had // took my leather off the shelf // your apocalypse was fab // for a girl who couldn't choose between the shower or the bath // and I thought I wouldn't have to be with you

Missy Higgins, "Where I Stood"
I don't know what I've done // or if I like what I've begun // but something told me to run and honey you know me // it's all or none // there were sounds in my head // little voices whispering // that I should go and this should end // oh and I found myself listening // 'cos I don't know who I am, who I am without you // all I know is that I should // and I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you // all I know is that I should // 'cos she will love you more than I could // she who dares to stand where I stood

[MBS] Give

Dec. 4th, 2009 08:48 am
deep_red_bells: ([Future] And we all got hurt)
She feels she's already given everything she was and could've been, but who or what received it, she honestly isn't sure.
deep_red_bells: ([Emote] Defeated)
There is no such thing as a bloodless battlefield, but as much as she prepared for the possibility, she never truly thought it would be hers staining the ground.
deep_red_bells: ([Future] And we all got hurt)

She never wanted this life; this was his choice, not hers, and there is a part of her she keeps locked away that will never forgive him for choosing immortality over her.

deep_red_bells: ([F] Hopelessly I'll love you endlessly)

based off this image

She collects the symbols.

Things have changed in subtle ways over the years, after all. The types of ceremony. Religious beliefs that were lost, new trends that became popular, old customs that were remembered. She has a box full of jewelry, mostly rings, of course, made from a wide range of metals and gemstone adornments, whatever was the fashion. She’s kept a few other things. Strands of rope, wine glasses, dried vines that once held flowers twined into crowns. Sticks of incense, trinkets and gifts, wood carvings, pieces of tulle and silk and satin and cotton cut from dresses and clothing, lace garters, glass jars full of sand.

Sometimes it was necessary to keep up appearances, and sometimes they simply wanted to, for fun. Most of the time they didn’t bother with it, merely shed the old life and the names that went with it, and stepped into new roles, with new names and new rings. As husband and wife.

They know who they are, after all, in themselves, and to each other.

The rest is just symbols.

deep_red_bells: ([Future] And we all got hurt)

Immortality didn’t suit her, really.

If she could’ve found the sense in it, the reason for it, maybe she could’ve reconciled with it. A parent should not outlive their child, and she had never intended to. Sometimes she thought the Powers were punishing her, punishing her for being jealous of Claire and the others, angry that they would go on and leave her behind. Punishing her for letting herself be brought back from the death they’d planned for her. That maybe she’d been meant to die on the battlefield, that her life had been a sacrifice for her war, and she’d defied them. Or allowed others to defy them, because she’d wanted more time, just a little more time.

Well, she’d certainly gotten that. Death never reached for her again.

And she’d been happy, for a while. God, so happy. Happy enough that she’d made peace with the rest of it. She’d helped make a new world. She’d helped rid it of so much evil--not just fought it off an evening at a time, but banished it for good. She was content, more than, with her handful of limited, mortal years.

She sank into a depression of sorts, for a good 80 years, after their daughter died. Time rolled on, the world changed…and she slept through it, mostly. He stayed with her. She wasn’t sure how many would, but he did. None of them gave up on her, and it was all that kept her from drowning. She pushed herself out of it because they deserved better from her. Her husband deserved to have a wife that could at the very least lift her head from the pillow every morning.

The others had died. Hank, Karina--even Annie eventually followed them all into whatever came after.

And still, death never reached for her again.

Hundreds of years went by, and she wasn’t certain that she could claim with any honesty that she’d been truly happy for a single moment of it.

He deserved better than that. He deserved to have the woman he’d fallen in love with, the woman he’d made promises to, not the colorless husk she’d become, drained of all her vibrancy, her love for life, her glitter, her wonder. She’d lost that, all of it. She wasn’t even sure if her blood still ran bright and red.

A selfless woman would walk away, would let him go and find someone that could make him happy, but she wasn’t a selfless woman. She was utterly and irrevocably dependent on him. She had no purpose without him, no reason to exist except to be his.

For better or for worse, selfish or no, she stayed.

[TMW] 10.4

May. 3rd, 2009 12:25 am
deep_red_bells: ([Future] Darkness in my soul)

Sanity calms, but madness is more interesting. -- John Russell

The constant influx of reports over the Cortex had slowed to the occasional trickle--which was, Baileigh thought, a good sign. She kept the channel open anyway, just in case something interesting filtered through, half-listened to the mostly inane chatter with one ear as the rest of her concentrated on the documents and files neatly organized into a handful of handheld readers stacked beside her. Adam was certain nothing would come back to implicate them, but it never hurt to make sure, and there was very little if anything that Julian didn’t have access to. Combing through highly classified information wasn’t nearly as exciting as one would think, but it did have its moments of interest. The science, or what she cared to decipher of the science, was intriguing, though she was having difficulty getting past surge after surge of irritation to really appreciate it. At Adam for coming up with such a stupid idea, at Mohinder for helping put it into action, at the government for their pathetic shod of a clean up job once things had gone south. They erased the evidence that the planet ever existed, but only on file, when the entire damned planet should’ve been erased. It could have been done. It might have been costly, but it could have, and should have, been done. But no. Parliament remained a collective of greedy men with egos too inflated for them to see the many axes hovering around their necks. Never dreamed that someone like Malcolm Reynolds, a man they labeled as an uneducated inbred Browncoat from a backwoods rim planet, would be the one to bring one of those axes crashing down. They were too smart to see how stupid they were.

Read more... )

deep_red_bells: ([Future] And we all got hurt)
(ooc: part of this fic series)

All around me are familiar faces
worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for the daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow

and I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad )

Muse: Baileigh Solis
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (OC)
word count: 654 (including lyrics)
deep_red_bells: ([Emote] Sad)

(continued from here)

Oh, we couldn't bring the columns down
Yeah we couldn't destroy a single one
And history books forgot about us
And the bible didn't mention us, not even once
You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first


It was like waking up into a whole new world.

She no longer had to fight against her nature, because all of the things that pulled her out into the night were gone. It was the first time in so many years that her life felt completely her own. Nothing was drawn to her, nothing crawled under her skin. There was nothing left of that life except the other girls who survived. After a few years, she even stopped looking over her shoulder.

She watched her child grow from a girl into a teenager into a woman. Bright and strong and beautiful. Happy and loved.

Time passed, but it never seemed to touch her. It takes years for it to really sink in. That she didn’t just look good for her age: she wasn’t aging. There were no lines on her face or grey hairs to complain about. She felt the time. It just didn’t show.

At her daughter’s graduation, she looked around at the faces of other mothers, some familiar to her, some not. Even factoring in the opportunities for Botox and lifts and nips and tucks, none of which she’d had or needed, she knew she didn’t look like she could’ve possibly been the parent of an eighteen year old girl. Neither of them did…but she knew that Julian never would, now, and had spent so much time accepting it, accepting the fact that she would have to age and grow old alone.

She was afraid to acknowledge it, or talk about it, or let any sort of hope in, so she ignored it, until it became an issue that could no longer be ignored.

Eventually a reset button was needed. New names and identities, a new place to live, and she became her daughter’s elder sister to the public eye rather than her mother. They adjusted their lives around her, so that they could remain in her life, close to her. Still she didn’t change. She poured over books, Watcher’s diaries, even though she knew it was pointless, there was no precedent. Slayers didn’t live this long. Twenty years, thirty, going on forty years after she’d been called--that didn’t happen. Four Decembers, that was a generous long life for one of her kind.

Time passed. She felt it, but not once did it show.

The same pearls she wore to her daughter’s graduation, she wore to her funeral. A little piece of her broke away and shattered, ground into powder, and couldn’t be repaired. The first piece, and sadly, it would not be the last. But it would prove to be the biggest piece, the hardest, the most painful break she would feel in what would come to be a long, long life.

She buried her child. The child that, when asked, she would have to pass off as her grandmother. They buried their child, their strong, beautiful, bright and brilliant child.

Time passed. Somehow, they kept moving with it.
deep_red_bells: ([Appearance] Bruised and bloodied)

“Sometimes you find your destiny on the road you took to avoid it.” - The International


It wasn't her destiny. )


deep_red_bells: (Default)
Baileigh Solis

December 2010



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