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revasserium · 11 months

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狐と蛍の物語 (the story of the fox and the firefly)

harrison; 4,064 words; fluff and angst a/n: for @violettduchess and @aquagirl1978's summer days, sultry nights event -- prompt "fireflies" (obviously); i'm also gonna say this counts for my 31 days of au prompt -- reincarnation!au; inspired by hotarubi no mori e and catheryn m valente's deathless and honestly, i'm so proud and happy with this one that i'd encourage you to read it even if you have no idea of the fandom/character. u__u i would love, love, love to know what you guys think!

once upon a time, a long, long time ago, there lived a girl who only danced to the firefly’s light and a fox who could tell nothing but lies.

01.

for as long as you can remember, there’s always been the wood. and it has always been behind your house, it’s leaves and branches foreboding in the winter wind, and somehow less so in the simmer of mid-summer afternoons, when the sunlight dappled light across the soft, forest floor. it isn’t a very large wood, but it’s a wood nevertheless, and deserves all the respect and fear afforded to bigger woods in faraway places. woods that warn of teeth and terrors, woods that hide both dreams and monsters.

you’d been wandering the wood from when you were a little girl, and to you, there’s not a single rock you don’t know, a single tree you haven’t tried to climb. and the forest knows you, as forests do the people who frequent them, and it welcomes you with open arms, it cradles you to its chest, whispers stories into your ears, carves itself open to show you it’s secrets —

“you’re late.”

you crinkle your nose at the familiar voice, letting out a huffing breath as you drop your picnic basket in the middle of the small, sun-lit clearing, taking your time with laying out the checked picnic blanket and two cups and saucers for tea, and finally, pulling out a tray of confections, covered by a thin, linen baking towel.

“no, i’m not! you just want me to think i am so i’ll give you more than half of the sweets.”

a boy settles over the picnic blanket, cocking his head at you before you narrow your eyes.

“well? isn’t that true?”

“ahh… i wonder if it is…” he says, but you can hear the grin in his voice, even through the material of his fox-faced mask, which, after a few more seconds of posturing, he pushes up onto his forehead. he shakes out his milk-tea hair and slates you a poison-ivy grin. you know that grin like you know the woods— and you know the woods like you know the backs of your own hands. better, even, you think sometimes.

because for as long as there’s been the woods, and as long as you have wandered it’s depths, the boy with the fox-faced mask has always been there.

“there were fresh strawberries at farmer’s market today,” you say, setting up the tea service as you nudge the opened picnic basket towards the boy with a foot. he peers in with wide, curious eyes before letting out a soft noise of contentment as he reaches in to pull out a slice of freshly baked strawberry cream cake.

“your grandmama makes the best pastries in the world,” he says, and there’s such sincerity in his voice that for a moment, you almost believe him.

but you nod and take the compliment in stride, “she sure does!”

he digs in with gusto even when you tut that the tea hasn’t steeped properly, but you laugh as he smears a large dollop of whipped cream across his cheeks. you point it out to him with a dainty finger, and as always, you fight the urge to reach over and wipe it off for him. instead, you hold yourself still and sigh as he finally gets to it, smudging a bit into his hair in the process.

“clumsy fox,” you giggle, pressing a hand up to your lips.

“picky girl,” he snipes back, but there’s that full, sated grin on his own lips as he leans back, his elbows propped up on the soft grasses of the clearing.

after a moment of pleasant silence during which the leaves sang on their trees and the grasses swayed beneath the breeze, the boy turns towards you.

“so. no dancing today?”

you turn your head towards him before casting your eyes up towards the still bright blue sky.

“you know it’s not time yet.”

the boy heaves a melodramatic sigh, sound much bigger and larger than his 14-year old body should be able to hold.

“ah… right, right — because you can —”

“— only dance by the fireflies’ light — yep!”

the boy regards you with an imperious sort of look before breaking into a fit of bright, open laughter.

“you’re the strangest girl i’ve ever met!”

“just you saying that tells me it’s not true,” you stick out your tongue at him, even as heat washes up into your cheeks.

the boy shrugs, lying back down on the picnic basket, “i don’t always have to lie, y’know.”

and it’s your turn to regard him with the imperious look, and, a the cock of a singular eyebrow, his lips tug into a lopsided grin. his eyes flash, the color of budding spring.

“liar,” you say, but you’re smiling too as you lie back down to watch the clouds pass.

he makes no sound to correct you.

02.

once, you’d asked him what his name is and he simply shook his head and said —

“call me whatever you’d like.”

“but i want to call you by your name.”

“what’s in a name anyway?”

“uhm… nothing’s in it but…” you’d frowned then, your eight year old mind spinning to try and catch up with this strange, strange question and this strange, strange boy.

“see? so why should it matter what my name is? just… call me whatever!”

but you’d only frowned hard enough for him to roll his eyes.

“fine then — uhm — what’s the name of the current prince?”

you’d blinked, “harry.”

“then call me that.”

“but is that your name?”

“well, now it is.”

you hadn’t been convinced but you liked it better than not calling him anything at all.

“harry, then,” you’d said, smiling. and the boy — harry — had smiled too, slipping his fox-faced mask back in place as he led you further into the forest.

03.

“y’know…” harry says, his voice light as the sun dips beneath the horizon line, leaving behind a blaze of reds and pinks. you turn your head, eyes catching on the shape of him, inked out against the dying light.

“you’re the only person i’ve ever met who’s wanted to be cursed.”

you take a long breath and turn your eyes back up to the bleeding sky.

“well. you’re cursed, and you seem just fine to me,” you try to keep your voice strong, resolute and steady. grandmama had always said that if you keep your voice strong, people are more willing to believe your words. you wonder if that’s why harry’s voice is always soft, always lilting, his words slippery as moss-covered stone.

“yeah, but you can’t even touch me,” he says, and for once, his voice is harsh, his words sharp and hard as broken glass.

“that’s okay though — once i get my own curse, i’ll be able to touch you, right?”

harry fights back the urge to turn, to take you by the shoulders and shake you till you push him away. he wants to scream, to howl at the moon like the mother wolves and the hungry cubs that live in the heart of the wood. he wants to run through the woods, crash into things, climb up the trees and shake off all their branching leaves.

but he can’t, and so he doesn’t.

instead, he turns to look at you and look at you and look at you.

he wonders if it’s a strange thing, to like looking at someone so much, to find something new about a face every single time it’s looked upon — the wisps of hair fallen loose to frame your face from the velvet ribbons holding it back, the curve of your button nose, the dip of your cupid’s bow. he wonders if this is a normal thing, the thick weight of it in this chest, the truth of his curse sitting heavy on his tongue.

“yeah… probably,” he says — and the lie is smooth as milk, sweet as just-spun sugar.

“good. then we won’t have long to wait, hm?”

04.

there’s a story, so you’ve been told, of a fox that lives in the woods — and the fox can tell nothing but lies, lest the truth cut open it’s throat. and when it bleeds, because even monsters bleed (oh especially monsters), it will bleed in blue and silver, which everyone knows is the color of magic.

“but why would telling the truth kill it?” you’d asked, your eyes wide and round as the full-bellied moon.

your grandmama had sighed, rocking you in her lap as the forest outside shivers and shakes with the steps and breaths of creatures unseen.

“that’s what curses do, my sweetest… they’re unfair things, they are. and they don’t like to make a lot of sense.”

and that had been that. she’d moved onto a nicer story, a sweeter story, a story that was not so much truth and mostly lies — because the truth, as your grandmama had said, is sharp and unfair and makes so very little sense.

lies are much, much the better for the makings of stories.

05.

he has never complimented you on your dancing, not even once — not in all the years you’ve been dancing for him, by the light of a million and one fireflies.

you’d been eight when you made the promise, it’s been ten years since then.

and at eighteen, you wonder how many more years it’ll be before the moon or the forest or whatever it is that chooses people to curse will take pity on you.

it’s just after sunset, and you’d just finished your customary sunday afternoon picnic. harry is sprawled out on the picnic blanket, his fox-faced mask lying in the soft, long grasses, an arm thrown over his eyes. you wonder if he’s asleep, though you don’t think you’ve ever seen him fall asleep, not in all the time you’ve known him.

“music, please…” you announce to the clearing, and after a long pause, as if the forest itself is coming to life, the wind picks up — the leaves rustle on their branches, the birds sweep up into a twitter wingbeats and song, the grasses around the clearing hish and hush the thrumming baseline to a music that only you and harry and the forest can hear.

slowly, harry pushes himself up, making a show of rubbing his eyes, and in the darkness you can only see the shape of him.

you don’t see the prickle of tears at the edge of his eyes as he wipes them away.

instead, you close your own eyes and wait.

and wait.

and then — at the first flicker of a firefly’s light, you lift your hands and start to dance.

06.

once, you’d asked him how he’d gotten cursed in the first place.

“it’s a long story,” he’d said.

“i’ve got a long time,” you countered.

he’d crinkled his nose, pursing his lips as the pair of you hopped over a narrow stream, him watching as you teetered on the edge of the water.

“hm… well, if you do something a ton of times in the wood… the wood decides that that’s all your good for, and it becomes your curse!”

you’d blinked up at him from over your shoulder, a soft smear of mud on your cheeks.

“oh… it’s that easy?”

“easy?”

“i mean, to get a curse.”

he’d narrowed his eyes, “why would you want a curse?”

you’d straightened up, pressing your palms down your rather sullied dress.

“because — you said that i can’t touch you cause i’m human, right?”

“uh-huh…” harry had nodded, uncertain of where your child-logic had taken you.

“but other cursed things can touch you, right? like the wolves and the shadows and the queen of ravens.”

harry bit his lips. but you seemed to have taken his silence for consent and happily skipped off further into the forest. he’d never corrected you even as he heaved another world-weary sigh and followed after you. because technically, you hadn’t been totally wrong.

and his curse was only that he couldn’t correct you.

07.

your mind wanders as you begin to dance, and these days, it’s been doing a lot of that — wandering. so your grandmama says that it’s a part of growing up — learning when to let your mind wander and when to reign it back in, hold it on a tighter leash and tell it to wander no more. it’s a blessing to be able to let your mind wander, and so you do.

it’s just that these days, you can’t help but notice that it’s less of wandering and more of… well, a straight-shot descent to a well-known destination. and you know from a whole childhood of actual wandering that if you know the way and you know what you’ll find at the end, then it’s not wandering at all.

it’s just going.

but still, you let your mind go where it wants, and lately, it’s been going and going and going... to harry.

harry and his soul-soft laughter, harry and his knife-edge smiles, harry and his loose, lethargic movements, unhurried and always so certain. back when you were both still children, he’d led you through the forest with nothing but his voice, spouting out random facts that were much too outlandish to be true, and later, when you were both a bit older (and you’d long since memorized every bit of forest there was to memorize), he’d walk alongside you in companionable silence.

you knew his favorite trees, his favorite flowers, his favorite birds and colors, his favorite season, his favorite sweet, his favorite fruit and so many others.

and still, it feels as if you don’t know him at all, even though you’re certain he knows everything there is to know about you.

except…

you spin out on the long grasses, the light of a million and one fireflies dancing across your skin, dancing with you, singing with you as the forest does. and above you, a crescent moon cuts a sinister smile into a lonely, starless night.

years later, you’d wonder if the night had known — if the wood had known (of course, of course it had known, because there are no secrets the woods do not know, no secrets the waning moon doesn’t keep from the sleeping earth), if the entire world had conspired against you and for you that night.

when you finish dancing and the last of the fireflies flicker down to rest on the long, soft grasses, you’re breathless with exertion, luminous with exaltation and drunk on the song of the forest and a million and one lightless stars.

in the middle of the clearing, harry is smiling, you can see it even from here, and for the first time since you’d danced for him the very first time, he brings his hands together and claps.

“that was… beautiful,” he says, and his voice is deeper now, supple and sweet with the night air.

“th-thanks! phew — i really think that might do it,” you say, plopping down on the picnic blanket next to him, spreading wide your arms and staring up at the velveteen sky above you.

08.

once, you’d been told another story, though you don’t quite recall who you’d heard it from. maybe your grandmama, and maybe the old man who sits in the village square after all the longest days of the year, smoking his pipe and telling his stories.

“do you know why the cursed forest creatures can’t touch humans?”

“why?” a village boy had asked before you had the chance to.

“because… if a cursed creature touches human flesh, the cursed creature will die.”

“oh…” you said, clutching your hands to your chest, and you’d never really thought about dying. because really, what ten year old in their right mind would? but you knew of the concept from when grandmama talked about grandpapa — how he was there one day and then the next day he just… wasn’t.

“he died in his sleep,” she’d said, a tone of sadness in her voice that you’d never heard there before and wished you’d never have to hear again, “it was the best way to go.”

you’d wondered then if there’s really such thing as a “best” way to go. wouldn't the “best” thing to be not going at all?

“then… do the cursed creatures get to live forever?” you asked, before the village boy could cut in.

the old man took a long sip from his pipe and blew out a few concentric rings of smokes before coughing and waving it all away.

“no… you see, if the cursed creatures get to pass on their curses, they’d get to be reincarnated into being a human once more.”

09.

“do you… really want to be cursed?” harry asks as the pair of you share in the silence after your dance.

you suck in a long breath before pushing yourself up to sit in front of him, careful to keep your knees from bumping his.

“of course i do! it’s… it’s what i’ve been trying to do since i was like — eight!”

“but… why?” and harry’s voice is small, smaller than you’ve ever heard it, even though now, his eighteen year old body should carry a much heavier, harder sound.

“because,” you say, resolute as you’d always been, “once i’m cursed, i’ll be able to touch you.”

“and why… is that so important to you?”

harry casts his eyes towards you; you catch his gaze with yours, holding it steady. and in that moment, you mind lets go of the story that the old man told you. because it was a long time ago, and the story was so, so far away. and sometimes, the mind chooses which truths it wants to listen to, which truths it wants to believe in.

sometimes, it chooses truths that don’t look like truths from the outside in, but from the inside out — they’re the truest things to ever be true.

like this one —

“because i want to touch you. because… it’s what i’ve wanted since i was a little girl. because… sometimes, i think i want to do more than touch you — sometimes —” your voice catches on a hitched breath, lost somewhere in your chest, somewhere between your heart and your throat.

but then, darkness descends over your vision and it takes you a long moment to realize that you’re staring at the inside of a mask, thin but solid — the fox-faced mask that harry always wears.

and then pressure, and warmth, right where the fox’s dagger-carved grin usually is, so close to your own lips you can feel the heat.

it holds for a long, long moment, and then it’s gone.

the light returns as harry tugs the mask from you, grinning that teasing, lopsided grin of his, though there’s something about it tonight that makes your heart seize.

“tell me, one more time…” he says, and his voice is jagged with something that sounds painful and true and so, so terrible.

“i — i want the curse…” you say, before you really realize what you’re saying, and it takes you a moment to realize that this too, is the truth.

“okay then… it’s yours.”

and he leans in to press his lips to yours.

the truth, harry realizes, is always bitter, and harsh, and much too sharp. when he pulls back, he presses his palms to yours and lets the moon wash the clearing in blue and silver. you gasp as you feel the magic creeping into your bones, tugging you under, dragging you through the cracks in the world even as harry is tugged away from you back to the world of the living.

“w-was this all a lie?” you ask, because inside you, your heart is fighting for it’s last few beats.

“no,” harry says, his voice is pained, and his expression even more so, because every truth he tells cuts him a little deeper, and he feels his throat constrict over the words, “your dance really was beautiful… and…”

he swallows hard, feeling the knife-edge of this one final truth slicing through him, sharp as moonlight, sweet as the lightless stars.

“i love you. please… don’t forget me.”

and already, you can feel the truth starting to hurt, starting to constrict inside you like a curse. but still, you force it from you as harry flickers and fades along with the light of a million and one firefly lights.

“i — i won’t.”

10.

“but how exactly do you transfer a curse?” the village boy asked, his voice loud and jarring.

the old man takes another long sip of his pipe, puffs out a few more smoke rings.

“through a kiss,” he said.

you blinked. a kiss?

“ew!” the village boy recoiled then, shrinking back from the thought of kissing — because that’s what children are taught to do at such grown-up concepts as kissing.

you, on the other hand, you stayed right where you are, but a frown has creased your tiny, child-like brow.

“and the trick,” the old man continues, his smile going wide and a little lascivious, “is getting someone who will take their curse willingly… to accept the kiss.”

01.

for as long as harry can remember, there has always been the wood. and in the wood, there’s always been a girl with a fox-painted mask who danced to the light of the fireflies.

once, when he’d gone exploring (even though his grandpapa had warned him time and time again about going into the wood by himself), he’d nearly run into her and she’d cocked her head when he’d fallen face-first near the bank of a tiny stream, smearing mud across his cheeks.

“you’re strange little boy,” the girl said — and she could be no more than his age, harry thinks.

“and you’re a weird little girl,” he counters, his eyes catching on the bright red of the fox’s painted mouth.

there is magic at work here, harry knows, though he doesn’t know what kind, and all he really wants is to explore the woods behind his house, to know all there is to know of the world, and perhaps — he thinks as you turn and make your way deeper into the forest — to one day hold the hand of the girl with the fox-faced mask.

but that’s a wish for another day, he decides as he follows after you, jogging to catch up and ask for your name.

“ah… what’s in name,” you say, you voice light and languid, even as he frowns, “you can call me whatever you like.”

02.

once, harry had asked his grandpapa what the truest feeling in the whole wide world is.

and his grandpapa had answered —

“that, harry, would be falling in love…”

“falling in love?”

“yes, my dear boy — and the thing about love is that it’s like a curse… but it’s also like a blessing.”

“but… how can a thing be a curse and a blessing?”

then, his grandpapa had smiled, a smile that is starlight and wolfsong and all the secrets the forest ever has to tell.

“because we are doomed to always, always fall in love, my boy — and it will always, always be like handing someone and knife and asking them to cut open your throat.”

#harrison gray #ikemen villains #ikevil #ikevil harrison x reader #ikevil harrison #harrison gray x reader #ikemen series #summer days sultry nights ccc #angst mcgee #floofy floof floof #uHM i refused to apologize hoLY shit you guys i fucking adore this story.#fUCK goddamnit i am so high rn on having written this u__u but like PLS dear god tell me what you thought i have SO MANY THOUGHTS AS WELL #here are some concepts that i rly fucking adored: the ease of lies and the difficulties and harshness of truths #the fact that loving someone will always be the most painful thing you'll ever do #and that sometimes a thing can both be a lie and a truth -- or a lie that becomes the truth #and GOD it is not a sin to want things because sometimes the world wants us to want things that we shouldn't want #and sometimes the world wants us to want things because there are stories carved into the grooves of the world #stories so old that the world would end before it stopped telling these stories and children have been getting lost in the woods #since the inception of humanity itself u__u and that's a story that always needs to be told #because isn't that what growing up is about? the realization that not all truths are true and not all lies are all the way lies #and that most things actually live in between? uGH #anyway u__u im emotional and tired #pls read this <3

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oveliagirlhaditright · 8 months

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So... I don't really know where to start this meta thing I'm going to attempt to write here? I suppose I'll begin with what prompted me to really think of this and want to write the whole thing: there's a new Buffyverse book that's come out, about a new Slayer (it's called "Sign of the Slayer"), and from having read some reviews for it on Amazon, I guess the MC falls in love with a vampire in it. And I should mention that I'm really not trying to knock this novel here. At all (especially since I'm sure it's a fine book). I mean, I haven't read it, so it's not fair for me to have any opinion on it as a novel at all.

My issue, however, is the whole the Slayer in it being in love with a vampire thing. And it's definitely not the first thing to do it. And that's my problem: that this is sort of starting to become a trend.

I'll admit that I got into Buffy the Vampire Slayer pretty late (namely because I was too young to watch it when it was airing). I think I first watched it and Angel around 2018, or something like that. And I knew from cultural osmosis that both Angel and Spike where characters who were vampires in the show, and ones that would be love interests for Buffy. And I just remember feeling before watching the show, "She's a vampire slayer and she has a relationship with two vampires? She must not be doing her job very well." And I felt like the show would be something like The Vampire Diaries, True Blood, and/or Twilight (Bella doesn't have two vampire love interests. Rather it's a paranormal love triangle between her, a vampire, and a werewolf, but you know what I mean)... when that couldn't be further from the truth.

Joss Whedon himself said that he felt that when he was doing the Buffy and Angel relationship that, yeah, it was a bit of a cliché: but it felt like one he had to do: one, because the chemistry between Sarah Michelle Gellar and David Boreanaz was off the charts. And two, that it was just kind of too perfect, that Buffy would fall for the one person that she was meant to destroy.

And you know what? I definitely think Buffy and Angel worked, for the most part. Buffy started to fall for Angel before she knew that he was a vampire, so it was probably impossible to halt those feelings even when she did learn the truth. Whereas Angel is taken to see Buffy when she's Called to be the Slayer, and it gives him something to fight for for the first time ever, really.

After a hundred years of just wallowing in guilt because of the things he did after getting his soul, he now realizes he can do more--and try to make amends--by helping her in the good fight, and trying to help this poor girl who wouldn't have much of a chance without him, and who has no idea the things she's really about to face.

And when he sees her parents fighting about her that night (the first night she had to sneak out to slay a vampire), about whose fault it was their child snuck out, Angel sees himself in her--because his own life used to be like that. And he wants to protect her from some of the fall-out of what happened to him.

Then they meet and fall in love (partially because they can understand each other like no one else can, in that both of them are creatures who neither fully belong in the human or demon world. There's a demon in the Slayer, too)... the vampire thing is revealed, and they realize there can never be anything between them and try to stay apart, but can't.

They truly start dating in S2, and are happy, but then they learn more about the curse that was put on Angel that returned his soul: if he ever experiences a moment of pure happiness, he'll lose his soul and become a monster again. Which happens, because he loves Buffy too much (after one night of passion between the two). So Angel and Buffy become enemies, and when he eventually tries to destroy the world she has to send him to Hell.

He does come back a year later (with his soul back, after Willow restored it). And they try to make a go at it again, but they can't ever really be together--and deep down, they know they're kidding themselves and there's no real chance for them--and eventually Angel leaves for his own show, to continue fighting in L.A. instead of Sunnydale (after Buffy's given him the confidence that he really can do good). And they'll have some crossovers after that: always being there for the other, if the other needs them and connected.

It works because their story is tragic... and that they know a Slayer and vampire can't be together. There's also just something so deep and profound, that Buffy and Angel are perfect for each other, in that they'll always put the fate of the world before their own selfish desires--as any good person should--but that's the exact reason they can't be together.

But then, later, they try to do stuff with Spike... And even when I was more of a Spuffy fan, it still worked less for me and I was starting to feel that, "This is giving Buffy a bad look" thing (even if I get how people might argue it instead shows that she realizes the world isn't black and white). Like, writers, if you're saying that Buffy and Angel can never work/should never work because Buffy's a Slayer and Angel's a vampire, why are you almost acting like that's not true of Buffy and Spike, then? And the fact that this becomes Buffy's second vampire lover... like I could accept one, the way they handled it. But two? Really?

There was Buffy and Dracula stuff, of course, too. And Buffy definitely didn't have feelings for Dracula, as she was under thrall the whole time with him. But he's the only vampire she ever drank the blood of. And there was probably supposed to at least be a physical attraction, since originally they'd planned to cast Freddie Prinze Jr in the role.

Then in Boom's first Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU, Xander got turned into a vampire and Buffy wasn't sure if she loved him or not.

And people probably don't count this--and probably for good reason--but Ford was someone Buffy had a crush on before she came to Sunnydale... but in dying of brain cancer (and not wanting to die a slow, painful death), and knowing Buffy was the Slayer, he came to Sunnydale and made a deal with Spike and Drusilla that he would lead her into a trap for them if they changed him. And he succeeded in this... even though she escaped, and they of course didn't get to kill her, so they turned him, and Buffy had to stake him at the end of the episode.

In the "In Every Generation" series, Frankie likes a demon (Aspen, as well. These two Slayers are in love with the same one). But, I guess, at least that's a demon instead of a vampire to make it somewhat different.

And I'm worried the new Slayer in "Slayers" will be in love with a vampire...

I also just know that if the Buffy the Vampire Slayer reboot show would have happened (if it had been a sequel, instead of a reboot. Because if it would have been a reboot, I would have been okay with Buffy falling in love with Angel again. Even though I would have wanted it to be just Angel. Or Angel and Spike combined into one character for the aforementioned reasons. -shot-), they would have had her fall for a vamp, too.

(I haven't finished reading "Slayer" and "Chosen" yet. So far, I'm not getting the impression that Nina will fall for a vamp, because she's so anti-Buffy, but I could also be wrong. And maybe this could be part of her character development, in realizing the world isn't in black and white as she thought. IDK. I'll keep reading.)

Let's also not forget Faith hitting on Angel and Spike. Though, to be honest, I'm less inclined to count this... because I think we all know she really didn't want them, but Buffy instead.

But, I mean, can we stop? I thought our Slayer Buffy having a thing for a vampire was supposed to be special?

And now, for the heck of it, I'm going to go through any Slayer I can think of who has had a thing for not just vampires (but also those, of course), but a magical being:

The Slayer in the "Girl in Question," who was not Buffy, who slept with the Immortal.

In Buffy season 8, the "Twilight" prophecy is talked about. It seems like a Slayer was meant to have sex with a vampire for this prophecy--this was a part of the next stage of evolution--and they were then meant to evolve even more together (into gods, create a new world together, etc.). This is clearly Buffy and Angel, but I guess there was one point where a group of Watchers had thought it had happened earlier than this--and the prophecy was coming to pass--and they all killed themselves because of it. So was there some sort of vampire and Slayer romance back then (probably not. The comics at least make it clear that Buffy was the first Slayer to ever have sex with a vampire). Unless it was romance between these two (at least temporarily), and it just didn't go as far as sex. Or maybe it was none of this, and they didn't know that part of the prophecy (about Twilight happening because of love because of a Slayer and vampire) at all yet.

Kennedy with Willow, who is a witch.

In one of the Buffy "Tales of the Vampires" comics, this guy and this girl are best friends (it's also pretty clear they like each other). The guy gets turned into a vampire, however... He then finds out his best friend was a Slayer (this is after Buffy activated the Slayers in S7). The two of them are fighting at the end of the story, and it ends on a cliffhanger about who will win. But you kind of get the sense that the vampire will, and that he'll turn the Slayer.

Melaka Fray, at the very least, acknowledges after Angel has this powerful leader moment why her sister Erin thinks that Angel and Spike are hot, even if she still thinks she's a deviant for it. LOL

Satsu with Buffy, who is a Slayer.

Faith with the hitting on Angel and Spike, mentioned above, while surely really wanting Buffy. She also got with Robin Wood, who is the son of a Slayer and has some slight powers because of that. And I also swear there was something between her and Gigi in the comics, who was another Slayer. And that, maybe, the comics were hinting at something between her and Willow in the end.

Gigi: I feel like she and Faith had some feelings for each other (both of these girls being Slayers). And it also seemed like Gigi felt for her one guardian figure (it's been a while since I've read S8). Who was some sort of warlock or sorcerer, who ended up betraying her in the end?

Edit: And, yes. I get why some probably think these relationships work best for Slayers, because Slayers have demons in them and vampires and demons do too, obviously. Or because Slayers have super strength and these beings are strong like them and won't get hurt, and that's fair. (People also find Slayer/human relationships boring, the way they've been portrayed in the Buffyverse.)

But I still think Slayer/human relationships could be done (and at this point, it would actually be more original than pairing a Slayer with a demon): like look at how people love the idea of the Buffy Summers/Dean Winchester crossover ship. It can be done. It just needs to be done right.

#we don't know who robin wood's father was but i assume he was human #i want to headcanon some other relationships here but i won't #in 'child of the hunt' it becomes clear that the 'erl king' loved the slayer lucy hanover but it definitely seemed like she didn't love hi #though. to be fair. we don't get her pov of it at all. but i really doubt it since he took her captive until she escaped and all #i mean that's what the wild hunt does. but still #buffy the vampire slayer #slayers #slayers and vampire relationships #slayer and demon relationships #slayer and supernatural creature relationships #i guess i might as well mention my one headcanon here since i edited the post to list some of the ones i have after all. but this truly is #headcanon heavy--and i don't really know if it's much canon at all. so that's why i'm not putting it the post itself--but i wonder if nadir #might have had slight feelings for the slayer that she was so adamant that angel find a way to bring back or she would kill him #the one who was maybe youngest of their group but was also the sweetest and best person you would ever meet according to them or something #like that. who became an unwitting pawn/victim of eyghon's #the slayers

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