“You’re hurt!”
“Yes, well. Therein lie the dangers of playing hero.”
“You’re the best partner.”
“No, you are. I’m a Pretender to the title.”
*snort*
“What?”
“Pretender.”
“You have got to be joking.”
“I am.”
“...I walked straight into that one.”
“Throwing yourself in harm’s way is something for the Slayers, mister.”
“Aww, come on, aren’t you at least going to tell me you’re proud of me?”
“...Okay, I am happy you saved that civilian, but I don’t want there to be one less Xander in the world!”
“We don’t know that I saved his life yet. He’s in worse shape than I am. At least he’s here so I can listen to what they’re doing. To know for sure we’d have to be in something like a video game and have restarted the level because he died the first time.”
“Cordy and Lucy need to never meet and swap bullying ideas. I don’t think I’d survive the continual inspired humiliation.”
“I didn’t think it’d trigger fight-or-flight but it did, and my reaction was to babble like an stream and run like one too.”
“Xander, your sarcasm is showing.”
“Oh, my, thanks for that. I would never have noticed on my own without your help.”
“Xander!”
Buffy nearly attacks when someone silently joins her, only for her instincts to pull her punch at the last second, and it’s a good thing she listens, because it’s Xander. “You know, you don’t have to be here.”
He grins goofily and shrugs. “Just because you have this great destiny doesn’t mean you have to be alone all the time.”
“Anya’s been sending me postcards.”
“From her travels?”
“At first, yeah. Over the past year they’ve all been coming from the same place. I don’t think she realizes postcards are more of a vacation buying item like souvenirs, but it’s sweet and I don’t have the heart to tell her.”
It’s weird having vaguely normal conversations now, but Xander’s pushed so hard for them to just hang out that Buffy’s finally starting to get the hang of it. “So, how’s school going for you now?”
Xander actually perks up. “There’s so much material banned by the Federation for being seditious or not furthering their plot to erase individuality, particularly the history.” At a look, he fidgets in his seat. “If I concentrate on the enthusiasm, I can forget the tedium. This is all fascinating—incidentally, I’ve worked out that ‘primitive’ is exactly as rude as I’d suspected, because it’s not as if we’re much more than less technologically advanced, which hardly means much—consider the Decimas…”
“Whereas I,” Jesse interrupts in a way that Buffy has worked out suggests that what’s left of Avon has decided that what Xander is about too say is highly embarrassing, “...am extremely bored.”
“You could always snag that computer science elective,” Xander mentions contemplatively, running his thumb over his lip. He doesn’t even notice he’s doing it; Jesse and Willow, on the other hand, have. He doesn’t even flinch at the withering look Jesse sends, smiling amusedly. “It would be a challenge for you. You’ve barely worked with non-tarriel cell computers, you have none of your usual tools with you, and with the beginnings of the internet you don’t even need ORAC to perform basic computer networking functions.”
“Giorno, there’s been a lot complaining about your animals.” He hates to bring it up, but the Don deserves to know.
“I see.” The Don is noncommittal, but that’s about half the time an indication to keep going, and he doesn’t tend to actually get angry at Mista, so it’s probably safe to finish. It’s not like anyone else has enough guts to tell Giorno this kinda stuff. (And he’s honestly not that intimidating, but people keep telling Mista he has special treatment for some reason.)
“Mostly just grumbling about poop and some of them stealing papers or stuff like that, but a couple of them keep feeling like they’re being watched.” Some of them deserve it honestly. It keeps them on their best behavior, and then Mista doesn’t have to keep wasting money on bullets.
“How odd.”
...Oh. That’s on purpose. That’s Giorno for you, always eight steps ahead.
Whelp walks out of the warehouse, covered in blood, dragging a metal chair and bat behind him. Not a single one of the demons behind Spike moves. He’d attack, but he’s curious about where this is going. Then the boy sits, legs splayed, casually rolling the baseball bat (blood still actually dripping) in one gloved hand. “Can’t wait ta see what happens now,” he announces, voice carrying, and then before Spike can even be on him he’s taking a bat to the ribs with enough force to crack every single one of them and the boy’s dancing out of reach.
Akiyama just...shows up, for year 4 of Ye Olde Miyamoto Family Christmas. She doesn’t treat it like it’s strange, she doesn’t even comment on the fact she’s here, she just treats it like it’s normal. That’s probably the best approach, honestly, because that’s how half the things in Miyamoto-gumi happen, so while it briefly puts everyone on edge (some more than others), it’s quickly forgotten in the hustle and bustle of getting ready.
Inoue nearly starts a fight with the Matriarch over the honor of cookie baking, until the Matriarch offers to serve as sous chef, and suddenly everyone’s treating the lieutenant of a different Family bossing around a Matriarch like that’s normal, too.
She also begins a new ancient custom, and that would be Christmas Movie Night. Your average foreign Hallmark movie would probably result in someone getting stabbed, which is why it’s really intelligent that absolutely none of the movies as far as an internet research frenzy can tell even exist. She doesn’t bother to explain that, either, but that’s why it’s perfect for the Miyamoto, and she actually may or may not be seen smiling now and then. It always features at least one version of the Christmas Carol, and somehow despite there being at least fifteen different versions that actually exist, it’s always a new one. That doesn’t.
The discussions are heated, but the only casualties there are those getting verbally eviscerated, so the Healers loudly declare them a runaway success.
“You’re in trouble, Xander.”
“Always.”
“Would you take this seriously?”
“I am. Always.”
“You gave Willow caffeine. You know that’s not allowed.”
“I didn’t want to be lonely.”
“You’re both on caffeine.”
“Yeah, we were bored. It’s been too quiet, and yeah, maybe that’s a good thing, sorta, but it also means we’re bored.”
“Giles. He’s your problem.”
“Actually, Buffy, you’ll find it’s relatively easy—just throw a plenitude of baseballs at him.”
“Are you talking about a dog or your son?”
“Buffy!”
“Nah, it’s…it’s cool. Neither of you meant it that way. But swingin’ a bat around’s a good way to blow off steam, even if I’m cracking balls and not heads. I’m game.”
I've been holding onto this fic snippet since 2016 or 2018 and you could see it as a kind of prototype to Casts Shadows (obviously I didn't get very far). The thing I think was holding me back was that I was trying to fit Xander into an 'exactly like Raidou the XIV' mould and it wasn't working in my brain. It should be obvious that each Kuzunoha successor has a different take since the second game, because Nagi was definitely different from Geirin the XVII, but for some reason I got stuck. I like that I didn't try to push it because I like the results better, but now that I'm finally giving up on this, I figure I might as well share what I have.
These are extra notes I had. (one where Buffy finds this book about it and accidentally summons a Xander Raidou [though he’s Japanese] working out of William’s bookstore/detective agency. I might never make this one obvious, though. One where they’re all Kuzunoha. One where Buffy is Raidou and Giles is her supervisor.)
Buffy sighs. Going on the weekend is a bit of a drag, majorly, but on the other hand she wouldn’t have time on a weekday and it’s difficult enough to get away from Giles’ watchful eye. If he protests, she’ll probably pout and mention the Crucimantium, and his own guilt might do the rest. Never mind what she told the others; she’s still shaken. Would Merrick have gone through with it? She definitely didn’t trust the Council after this. She thought she could trust Giles, but in some ways he still followed their orders blindly, and she doesn’t want to be caught unawares next time.
Giles still refused to show her the Slayer Playbook or Rulebook or whatever they called it, but she has alternatives. Nice, shiny alternatives that Giles himself had sparked. Sure, she might not like research, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t understand its value. If it can keep her prepared for anything else, she’s all for it. It’d be better if she could get someone else to do it, but with this particular topic she’s better off just keeping it to herself. For now.
Unfortunately, this particular shopkeep is Asian and doesn’t quite speak the same brand of English. She does her best to muddle through with ‘speaking properly’, before the woman brightens at the mention of ‘demon slayer’ and hurriedly gestures her to follow her.
Tatsuya had thought himself ready for Maya-nee’s arrival. As expected, she doesn’t ask any questions or bring any personal grudges to bear. Just like everyone else, she appears to have been crying a little, makeup hastily reapplied (and it seems she’s still relying on her former roommate to help her out there, because there are mistakes even an amateur like Tatsuya can spot). She is, however, beaming through the tears, and whether she’s actually happy his hand has been forced and he can no longer hide behind excuses or she’s putting on a brave smile, trying to get through this with positive thinking, is entirely unclear, but extremely admirable either way.
He was not ready for her to simply hug him like a big sister would, and all of a sudden he finds himself crying uncontrollably on her shoulder as she gently lets him and his big brother watches helplessly.
I realize this chapter is short. I was getting stuck trying to add description or whatever, but the next chapter is long enough for both and the chapter feels complete as is, so.
“Hey, Orelia, what’s up?”
“Willow’s coming soon. Just ask her.”
“So you don’t know what’s going on either.”
“I will skin you. Alive.”
“All in one go? Willow did that once.”
“...I hate you.”
“So you really don’t have anything new.”
“I assume someone’s already told you you have absolutely no sense of self-preservation, so no, I have absolutely nothing.”
“I, um. I guess I’m sleeping on the couch tonight?”
“Are you kidding? I’m not letting you out of my sight. I’m clinging to you like a limpet.”
“...Fair enough.”
Most of Ashley’s existence is pain, right now. It’s hard to tell how long it’s been, but it feels like one or both grabbed her, like she’s on Leon’s couch right now.
“Babe. What’s that.” She can’t even be mad at the cutesy nickname. It feels like she’ll never be warm again.
The other—Redgrave, that’s it—sounds confused. “Oh, uh. Huh. That’s a thing that happened. You can bandage it in a bit. If I’m right, this is big, Leon. I don’t think it can wait.”
Ashley’s head is killing her. She whimpers.
“But she broke your hand.” She did what? It’s not like he has to shout.
“It’ll heal.” It’s too flippant, and she half wants to scold him, but she’s out again.
Teen!Klavi has a music channel and occasionally does coops with his best friend, Daryan. Apollo needs music for homeworking and stumbles across Klavier’s channel.
“The only reason he’s still watching your channel is he’s gay,” she pipes up, grinning.
“Athena!”
“Well, then,” and Klavier’s grinning from ear to ear and that’s really bad, “I suppose he saw the announcement video—I’m bisexual. And single.”
“Go get ‘im, Polly,” his sister says and shoves him at an annoyingly hot German.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
timeasmymeasure