Hiraeth (pronounced [hiraɪ̯θ])

        by

       Cat Hepburn

      We hate the woman who made the sex tape

      but forgive the man who leaked it.

      We hate the woman in a skimpy stage outfit

      but buy tickets to her abuser's concert.

      We hate the woman who testifies on the stand

      as her violent ex is swarmed by adoring fans.

      We hate the woman who married into royalty,

      but we celebrate the family who uphold white supremacy.

      We hate the woman who got a facelift at seventy

      but applaud her male peer's beer belly on his yacht holiday.

      No matter what they do, how they behave

      or how they choose to age,

      we just love to hate.

       Published by Burning Eye Books 2026

       burningeye.bigcartel.com/

                 I ~ Annyeong, We who both met and parted

                 II ~ Annyeong, We who have neither met nor parted

    AUTHOR: kerk_hiraeth

    FANDOM: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (femalehusband!verse)

    CHARACTER(s): (I) Olivia, Rupert Giles ; (II) Olivia, Lisa, Fairuz (oc),

    SHIP(s): Olivia/Giles, Lisa/Dawn;

    WORD COUNT: (I) 100; (II) 100; 200 in total (not included titles);

    SUMMARY: Olivia is in the same Yorkshire cottage as when she and Rupert were reunited after the destruction of Sunnydale; two years later, 2005, than in canon. The spell was performed primarily by Tara and Dawn, with many of the same results as in canon but with many differences as well.

                        This is set slightly after the real life passing of Anthony Stewart Head, but in a fictional setting so not in the same circumstances or on the same dates. This is early in June of 2026, and Olivia is a few months short of turning sixty-six & Lisa had just turned forty (I have no set age for Fairuz, but she is a bit young than Lisa in age, but in her early to mid-thirties as of this time; this may change if I write the character properly).

    A/N: Immediately I was done posting my In Memoriam Giles fics in tribute to ASH I was seeing the fictional Olivia, as portrayed by Phina Oruche, in the same setting as the 2015 fic mentioned in the summary, but waiting for the confirmation of something she already knew; that is that her long, very unusual relationship with Rupert Giles was ending.

           Until today; afternoon of 23^rd June here in Scotland I could not quite place the exact circumstances but, a couple of days ago I found my fictional Olivia referring specifically to a new character (Fairuz, a Jewish/Muslim Syrian refugee from the many conflicts in the areas of Kurdistan; Syria & Lebanon) who arrived just prior to the lockdowns of 2020, and works as a taxi driver for a women only service in the North Riding of Yorkshire.

           Connected to passages of poetry & prose in Han Kang ( 한강 )'s most recent book, Light and Thread https://han-kang.net/Light-and-Thread_English-UK , I reached the title(s), Annyeong for the two parts in completion & two brief lines of poetry from the book; published in December 2025, in Korean, & March 2026 in English translation.

     I ~ Annyeong, We who both met and parted

      She hated Ziggy Stardust.

    If he wasn't already dead,

    Bowie had best avoid her.

    She reached for Muddy Waters,

    The howls of Bowie wolves resounded in his stead.

    It wasn't Davie Jones she hated right then

                                                                        after all.

    Somewhere deep,

                                  brave Ulysses, sallied forth against the Wargs.

    Behind Blue Eyes.

    Pictured with flowing locs on butterscotch ponies.

     Soul of a poet, he was no painter.

     No need,

                    close her eyes and it was there before her.

     This place was frankenstein's lair with no pictures.

    Brave Ulysses;

                            mythical fraudster.

    Skeletal army;

                           Amazons defending their home.

    Greeks, not greek, stealing their land.

    Annyeong.

     II ~ Annyeong, We who have neither met nor parted

      Merciful Sisters;

                                Mother Russia, sung in Ukrainian.

     
    The child; turned forty now,

                                                  smirking in her face.

   Turquoise,

                    fed happily on the supper she had prepared.

    Not wived;

                      three fathered partner of a surrogate daughter.

    Tea steeping, Biafran via Jorvik. 

    Home.

    'The bastard knew he was going to die!'

    They drank; eating the Jolof rice Fairuz had brought.

    They reminisced over Cheesesteaks and Fenway Dogs.

    Romani song,

    Dawn born anew.

    They sang; joining her,

                                         understanding unnecessary.

    Lisa's voice.

    Janna's voice.

    His farewell.

    Their children in the ancient city.

    A father departed,

                                 a father declining,

                                                              a father forgiven.

    He'd known where she'd be.

     ~

      Written in memoriam for Anthony Stewart Head, and Rupert Giles.

     ~

      Goddess watch over you, 

       

      kerk hiraeth 
 

      ps. Addendum with the specific references, and some backstory, will be added at a later date.

    kerk hiraeth 

     

      Fics for 2018 # 004 ~ Ophelia; She is Not 

      kerk-hiraeth.dreamwidth.org/4751.html 


    TITLE: Ophelia; She is Not

    AUTHOR: kerk_hiraeth

    FANDOM: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (au-from The Harvest onward)

    CHARACTER(S): Nancy (from The Wish); Buffy Summers; Cordelia Chase; Rupert Giles;

    LENGTH: 1,800;

    A/N: This 'verse comes out of the discussions in the comments for kerk-hiraeth.dreamwidth.org/3131.html 

 the second one since my 'comeback' to writing fanfic, with yourlibrarian 

               I was really set to thinking as to the history of the show, and how it might differ if, as in this 'verse, it was Willow who was vamped and killed in the pilot. 
             Those thoughts led me to Nancy. Nancy who? Well I have given her a surname; and have sketched out enough of a backstory in my head to carry more stories forward but this 
 buffy.fandom.com/wiki/Nancy_(Wishverse) says all you need to know vis-a-vis the canon of the TV show, though in my head she's a college student, with an interest in theater ; she's also gay, which leads me to the girlfriend.
        Jan, or Janan, to give her her full given name has appeared in one of my stories before. She was Tara's first girlfriend and, though it wasn't ever stated in this drabble kerk-hiraeth.dreamwidth.org/7416.html ; one of a set of three for open-on-sunday, was much older than Tara at the time; as Nancy would have been when they were together before this story is set.
        I hope to see Nancy and Jan again*, but it occurs to me now that, even when I was writing Nancy's moments in my mind; Jan was her girlfriend, and she was the same Jan as in the drabble.

       The dodgy lighting over the theater parking was the same; one light had been fixed since last semester, that was it. The air was crisper; though not even close to the weather she'd grown up with, still strangers to California got a brisk shock when they experienced it. Traffic was lighter than most expected for a town this size; but the docks sounded lively; must be a couple of ships in.

      Nancy felt strange about it tonight that's all; first rehearsal for a production since...

      She grimaced; she'd gone and wasn't coming back. She sighed, reflecting that now she was starting her final year; strangeness walked hand in hand with Sunnydale every night.

     She couldn't fault Jan for leaving after... After it happened. She had no warning of Sunnydale's rep before she arrived; Nancy remembered Jan being so shocked that she had come to UCSD even knowing about it she'd been rendered speechless for the rest of what had turned into their first night together.

     Hadn't been planned as their first date, and Jan had made it clear enough over the months that learning about this town had not affected her decision to begin sleeping with her, but Nancy had always wondered.

     Jan had nearly finished her Freshman Year when she'd been... it had happened. Nancy cursed Greyhound for it's timetabling, but she'd known; with increasing certainty that the moment her remaining projects were completed Jan would be heading somewhere safer.

     It had started as a tiny humorous thing; this ritual, but it had quickly become part of their nights rehearsing at the local theater for the local drama group's productions. Jan had grasped onto it; Nancy now saw, as a way of controlling her fear.

     Her last year here; Nancy had rather it had been 'The Winter's Tale', but this would do ~ if only this had not been Jan's favourite, and if Cordelia had not been the part that Jan would have been perfect for.

     She wondered if she'd have got to play The Fool anyway; boyish as she looked at times, but she liked Cordelia anyway. She did ponder what it would be like to play Gloucester, or even maybe Lear.

     But Cordelia would do.

     So she settled her books and notes into the crook of her other arm; lifting her left to the sky to declaim.

 
     “Hark! Hark! The lark at heaven's gate sings,

      And Phoebus 'gins arise;

      His steeds... “

 
    And there it ended as she was unceremoniously shoved aside by a pair of giggling high school rich... divas. Ironically, she supposed, one of them appeared to be Cordelia. Nancy didn't recognise the asian girl with her, but the not so surruptitious glance backward told Nancy that the moment had been deliberate.

     Actually it surprised her, because she knew that Chase had become part of the production team on the recommendation of one of the teachers; Nancy knew her and respected her, the woman had given up on a theatrical career of her own because of racism on Broadway; deciding on a career she loved better anyway.

    She didn't have to work hard to figure why she'd been targeted; for once not because she was a lesbian.

    She smirked; kinda refreshing that actually.

    Sighing she began to turn to pick up her belongings when she was almost knocked onto her backside by another; this time clearly accidental, collision. As she collected her wits, Nancy thought she heard a mumbled apology and almost clashed heads with the, apparently, extremely nervous girl flapping about in front of her; Nancy having, by this time, knelt down to assist in the recovery of her own belongings.

    Gripping a hard wooden object she suddenly recognised who it was.

 
    “Buffy Summers,” she said calmly, but so appreciatively that the poor girl actually stopped wrecking Nancy's notes and looked directly at her; admittedly confused until Nancy pointed out where she knew Buffy from.

    “Last semester? You rescued my girl... “

    Choking off that sentence, Nancy smiled; with only the slightest of grimaces, as she inwardly berated herself for, once more, forgetting that Jan was gone; never to return to Sunnydale. She knew the letter waiting to be opened in her room told her where Jan was spending the rest of her college life.

    In a different City; different State? Different country.

    Anyone speculating on different continent, would not be crazy to lay money on.

 
    She thought she almost detected a moment's relaxation; only to be distracted by the object she realised she was holding. It smelt of ash, and a little blood; wasn't sharpened of course, and appeared to be made of the same wood as the chairs the cast used between scenes.

    Bemused, Nancy watched Buffy pick up; calmer and steadier now, her books and notes; gather them together neatly and hold them out to her. Nancy stood confused for a second, and then held the makeshift stake out to the Slayer.

 
     Fuck, but she was even tinier up close!

 
     From somewhere Nancy's personality kicked in and she smiled. “Fair exchange?”

    It was Buffy's turn to be confused again; especially when Nancy held out her hand; her left hand, and it took her a couple of seconds to respond and take hold of it as they shook hands; Buffy remembering at the last moment to move the stake to her other hand.

    “Nancy Walker, “ she said, feeling it unusally necessary to explain; unintentionally repeating herself as she did so, that Buffy had, “... saved my... “

    She cursed, in arabic; which didn't help, as she kicked herself for... She was gone; Walker it's time you got used to it. She was never the u-hauling romantic, but Nancy knew she had almost begun to imagine a future with this one.

 
    She was rescued from further maudlin reflections when Buffy's head dropped and she mumbled ~ damn she was so small, “I'm sorry.”

    Nancy's chuckle made Buffy glance up again.

 
    “For what? Saving her? She's still alive, and I can hardly fault her for leaving a town with the rep this one has; now can I?”

 
    Nancy thought Buffy looked a bit nonplussed at that; suddenly it occurred that the poor girl wasn't used to people actually having conversation with her; talking to her.

    As that thought formed; another more disturbing one beat it to her vocal chords.

    The beads of sweat; the still heavy breaths and the biting of the lip.

 
     “You're scared... was there a vampire on the crew?”

    Buffy didn't have to answer, though she held up two fingers, “Scheisse!”

    Suddenly Jan's frantic messages; that scared timbre to her voice when they spoke after Nancy called to let her know that the bus was finally getting into Sunnydale and to meet her at College, the way she'd had to be calmed down and didn't appear to be all there when they made love.

    Her constant trips to the bathroom.

 
    How could I have been so obtuse?

 
    Aloud, she muttered, “I was too horny to see straight!” A titter from nearby brought her back to the present. She saw this tiny child, but was saved from sudden anger by that grin, and laughed herself as she realised that she had, indeed, said that last out loud.

    Nancy looked at her and abruptly offered to buy her a coffee at the bus station if she'd escort her there. Buffy looked like she was about to refuse, then shrugged, muttering absent-mindedly that she would, and would miss working at the theater now her mission was over.

    “Why leave? “ Adding, before the Slayer could point out what, she imagined anyway, was obvious, “You really are good with your hands.. you turned a piece of chair leg into a weapon with... what? Your fingernails? That blood is yours, yeah?”

 
    Buffy seemed to relax a bit; telling Nancy about her friend Xander; who'd passed on tips, apparently from some alcoholic relative, so she wouldn't seem too out of place working on the sets.

 
    “You still seem lonely, if I can say that. Do you only have... “ She needed to choose her words carefully; almost having forgotten how to talk to a girl she wasn't trying to seduce. “Boys in your life?”

 
     Buffy tried not look too regretful, but it was clear she had no girlfriends. She seemed about to say there was one, but thought better of it; bit her lip and, eventually, admitted, “I could use a girlfriend.”

 
     Nancy almost doubled over in silent mirth as Buffy almost seemed to turn the colour of the Sunnydale sports jerseys as she realised what she'd said.

    Nancy held up her hand, “Small 'g' is fine; been a while, but I think I can recall how to talk to, “ she gestured the appropriate apostrophes; promising to kick herself later for using them, “ 'straight' girls,”

    The kid actually laughed at that and gestured towards the parking exit on the bus station side of the building. Nancy mocked the swooping of a hat; inappropriately as Buffy was the 'hero', but what the heck.

    It was actually kinda nice to play the romantic hero to a girl for once.

    Maybe she would try for the male lead next time after all, she smiled to herself.

 
    “He sounds like a good teacher, “ she was saying to Buffy as they turned onto the sidewalk, and waited patiently for the lights to allow them to cross.

 

    Now, if you were following the two young women ~ at a discreet, and stealthy, distance ~ you might have been expected to miss the knowing smile on the younger ones face at that remark.

    If that same smile, and the thought behind it hadn't also been on your mind.

    You might also have missed the pain on the face of the watcher as they recalled the misery at the death of an even younger girl, because of your; not your charge's, mistake.

    You might also have been wondering what to do about the two earnest, and dangerously heroic young people trying to assuage their own survivor's guilt by helping you and your charge; two tragically ill-equipped; angry, very young men to be, who felt far too much like yourself at that age for comfort.

    You might further feel that you were in too deep to cut them loose; especially as they were showing signs; buried in their earnestness, but there nonetheless, of promise that could lead them to become much better adults than you felt.

    You, further to all that, might be concerned at how to marry that with the need to actually do your job and keep your charge alive for as long as possible; even unto your future mandated betrayal.

     Which you so wished you could see a way out of.

     Then you might see in this new – possible – female influence a way of providing a release from your charge's overwhelmingly masculine social group which, in the dog eat dog atmosphere of an American High School, could leave all three of them dangerously isolated.

 
    Carefully you retreat as you realise you've got too close behind them, but not before you hear the older woman offer her hacking ~ whatever that was ~ in return for your charge carrying on with the work on the sets; also promising doughnuts; pizza and some of those horrendously sugary confections Americans called mochas.

     So you decide to stand, eventually, where you are, until you are sure they are safe inside the bus station. Feeling hungry yourself now, you might recall the younger boy offering you and the aforementioned Xander, pizza and a movie at his house, since his parents were going out to visit relatives and would not mind at all a teacher acting chaperone; since you couldn't be somethng they were too old for anyway.

    Sadly you might also reflect on how grateful Xander looked at the prospect at this, possibly, meaning not having to go home at all.

     As you turn away, your thoughts might avoid what their choice of filmic entertainment might be and turn to the easily digested pizza; as long as you could persuade them to stay away from those evil anchovies...

     You might also decide her report could wait until morning.

     Goddess watch over you,

      Morning Song

         Hark, hark, the lark at heaven’s gate sings,

      And Phoebis gins arise,

     His steeds to water at those springs

     On chalic'd flow'rs that lies;

     And winkling Mary-buds begin to ope

      their golden eyes;

     With every thing that pretty is, my lady sweet, arise:

     Arise, arise!

        (Act 2, Scene 3, William Shakespeare's Cymbeline)

          ~ from A Shakespeare Anthology, published by Collins (pocket-sized edition)

      kerk hiraeth

elisi

       by Carol Ann Duffy

      Published in Sincerity (PICADOR POETRY, 2018)

      More my shadow than my shadow,

      it is mute, as it must be.

      I walk it along the world's wide road,

      chanting its reticence; what I think it might say

      if it could, or wished to.

      If it snags on the hedgerow,

      a nest is a choir I could hold on a glove.

      In love, its surface shines like ink;

      I dip my pen again.

      But it hoards grief, sometimes for years.

      So I am supplicant; alert at the lip

      of wordlessness, how can I tell?

      Or it circles me, a sundial's slow arrow,

      patient, waiting to cover my face

      with its scrap of black silk.

      Though should it stand still in the lane,

      even the empty chapel speaks in chimes.

      I have known it;difficult, accessible.

      It is the taste of imminent weather.

      If its eyes smell onions, I shall weep anon.

      by

    Brian Bilston

     England is a cup of tea.

     France, a wheel of ripened brie.

     Greece, a short, squat olive tree.

     America is a gun.

     Brazil is football on the sand.

     Argentina, Maradona's hand.

     Germany, an oompah band.

     America is a gun.

     Holland is a wooden shoe.

     Hungary, a goulash stew.

     Australia, a kangaroo.

     America is a gun.

     Japan is a thermal spring.

     Scotland is a highland sling.

     Oh, better to be anything

     than America as a gun.

      Paul Millicheap, who writes as Brian Bilston, is a British poet and author.

     Born in Birmingham, he studied at the University of Wales, Swansea, before entering the publishing industry as a marketing manager; notably for John Wiley in Oxford.

    Goddess watch over you, 


     


      One Nation, Under the Gun by David Horsey
      www.pilotonline.com/2023/06/10/david-horsey-one-nation-under-the-gun/ *

      beniciaindependent.com/america-is-a-gun-poem-by-brian-bilston/


    
     kerk 

    AUTHOR: kerk_hiraeth

    CHARACTERS: Xander, Buffy;

    LENGTH: 100;

    'VERSE: The 'verse in which this is set is called the 22'verse; original fic of which was named so because 22 was the average age of the pilots who fought during the Battle of Britain from England and Scotland; Australia and India; Poland, Belgium and France, and Canada and the United States of America.

                    It was a ten-part series of drabbles and originally meant to be al l posted in 2012, but I lost the work 'on pencil & paper' I had done and couldn't complete the series for three years. This first one of the re-started series was dated for the final minutes of 2015 but Lj recorded as being posted in the first hour of New Year's Day 2016, which I now see as kind of appropriate.

    A/N: This fic is, coincidentally, the sixth in this series of re-posts and also the sixth in the 'birthday series for elisi' of which is a part. It was written á la ronde so is almost at the apex of that story. It also acts as a fitting end to these re-posed fics as tribute.

            There will be a final post, but that story is already posted to this DW so I will link to that and try to add some thoughts; hopefully that will be tomorrow, but likely will be later on in the week.

            In context the operational HQ of the Slayers is based somewhere on the coast West Africa at the time of this drabble; international Slayer Central is in a fictional town in Pennsylvania.

     Xander sat down beside Buffy; silently joining her in contemplating the fishermen landing their cathches. He wanted to ask how she was doing, but changed his mind when she gently rested her head on his shoulder.

   They both understood that she was handling Spike's death, but didn't want to talk about it just now. Not that they talked much these days; he was simply here for an old friend if she did want to talk.

   They talked about his marriage to Faith some; other simple things, until the sun eventually went down. Then he left her alone and went off to find his wife.

    Goddess watch over you, 

      “The power of the night, the press of the storm,

      The post of the foe;

      Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form,

      Yet the strong man must go.”

      (Prospice by Robert Browning)

    kerk

    AUTHOR: kerk_hiraeth

    LENGTH: 200;

    'VERSE: Buffy S7;

    CHARACTERS: Kennedy, Spike, Xander, Willow, mention of Andrew;

    A/N: This was originally posted on Lj in 2014, and as a birthday fic for slaymesoftly. This is a link http://www.sjtrek.com/trek/rules/ to the page with the answer to Kennedy's question; just in case Andrew is unavailable...

            Also one change was including this delightfully descriptive word I wish I had used in the original version, a stramash is '1. An uproar, commotion, hubbub, disturbance, a broil, squabble, row' and used in Scotland and Northern England when Spike was Human (last heard by me in, I believe, a John Wayne movie from the 1960s.)

      Kennedy and Spike took out the demons in double-quick time, but not before Xander had shoved Willow out of the way and got himself well and truly pummelled; once, totally by accident, by Spike.

   Dust settled, Kennedy helped her girlfriend up, as they both glanced over at their masculine guardians.

   Spike was holding his hand out to the pile of hurt on the ground.

   “You ok there Carpenter? “

   “Get lost! “ was not what Xander muttered loudly, but under his breath.

   Spike chuckled and reached down to pull him up anyway, and Xander was just about to go off on him ...

   “Thanks. “

   Xander looked totally non-plussed. Opening his mouth like a goldfish for a few seconds, all he could finally do was go, “Wh – huh? “

   Spike held his hand out again; offering it to the very confused Xander who, not knowing quite what to do, shook it.

   “What the hell was that all about? “ Kennedy asked a grinning Willow as they exited the site of the recent stramash.

   Willow's grin just got wider; only getting Kennedy's ire up, when all she would say was, “Rule number 76. “

   Relenting, Willow turned to Kennedy; pecked her on the cheek, and adding crytically, “Ask Andrew. “

     ~ 
      This was posted on LJ, in it's original form, on January 25th 2014 as a birthday fic for slaymesoftly 
     ~ 



    Goddess watch over you, 


      


    kerk 

    AUTHOR: kerk_hiraeth

    LENGTH: tbc;

    'VERSE: post-series;

    CHARACTERS: Angel, Spike, Buffy Summers, Willow Rosenberg, Jesse; mention of Dawn, Faith & Kennedy;

    A/N: Written for my fic challenge to myself of 2013; this was the third written (posted on the 4^th of January on my lj). Looking back there is definite reference to the world of Dead Like Me for which I wrote a crossover with Buffy at another time. 
             A little more significant re-editing of this one, but only in the last third. 
             (edit ps. as I complete this post I think I see where I can fit this into my season six au) 

     “We can't. “

   Angel winced but, even though he knew Spike was right, he couldn't prevent his uncoperative legs from taking a couple of steps closer to the bed.

   Spike never moved; instead lighting a highly illicit cigarette and, not even looking, asked him softly, “You'd really take away everything he was?”

   Angel turned his face to the ceiling, barely managing a whsiper in response.

   “He saved my life.”

   'More fool him, ' was what Spike wanted to say; instead making the more cogent statement, “Taking his Humanity from him would be a bit of a poor thank you, mate. “

   “But to let him die... “

   There was no response from the other vampire this time; Angel was speaking to the Heavens, not him in any case.

   Angel leant backwards against the wall; slumped against it in defeat more like, was Spike's thought.

   He knew Harris would never forgive Angel; nor him for that matter, if he didn't stop Angel.

   Glancing at the bed, he said carefully, “And, you great bog-trotting Irish pouffe; putting Red's soul at risk is off the menu as well. “

   He'd been right, it had been on Angel's mind and, though he had no way of knowing who Spike was speaking to, the older vampire caved; sliding down to the floor, head in hands.

   Defeated.

   Spike left him alone, sort of and once, a short time after he returned he fell under the grip of the drugged coffee Spike gave him before he carried him to a nearby room to recover.

   Not long after that Buffy arrived; answering his call. She said a brief final farewell to her old friend; she, Dawn and Faith had been near constant presences for days until the Doctors finally gave up on his chances for recovery.

   “Will he never come out of it? “

   She still had to ask, even though the answer wouldn't change; could never change, without solutions he'd never forgive them for. He just shook his head; words pointless, even though she wasn't really looking at him.

   He did ask; not looking at her, if they'd found Red; relieved that Buffy didn't notice he wasn't watching her, or looking at the bed, he was aware of her shaking her head.

   “Not even Kennedy's heard from her; neither of us is really on speaking terms with Will these days. “ She seemed to come out of her funk for a second then, telling him firmly, “ Best to keep Dawn away from here in case she does make an appearance though. “

   “Well, somebody'd better find her, “ he muttered too loud, and unnecessarily, “or the Carpenter here will stay like this for years.

   Don't seem right somehow, “ he said quietly as they looked, well Buffy did anyhow, at the figure in the bed.

   Buffy, still thinking he was speaking to her, kissed him gently on the cheek, and arm placed gently around his neck told him softly, “You take care; get some rest yourself. I'll get Angel moved to the van; got a long drive ahead of us if we're going to beat the storm. “

   Somehow he managed to not make the obvious comment; just responding with a steady eyed, “I'll keep an eye on him. Call; anything if... you know. “

   Buffy took a last look at Xander; eyes closed; bruises fading; at peace, if only by virtue of modern technology; she left to arrange Angel's move to their getaway vehicle.

   Outside, he watched as they loaded the great pouffe into the van.

   Buffy managed a brief smile, hugging him farewell as he told her to be careful of the blizzard headed down from north of the lakes.

   “Best avoid Chicago; especially as the Kings are playing there this weekend. “

   Buff gave Spike another kiss; this time on the forehead, before she watched them drive away, with Buffy waving briefly as she gestured to the young Slayer who'd be doing the bulk of the driving to Pennsylvania.

   Spike only briefly stepped back into Xander's room a couple of minutes later.

    “Thanks, blondie, “ a tired; rasping, voice spoke from the ether as a much older figure than he remembered materialised and sat down in the chair next to Harris.

    “I'll be in the canteen when you... I'll leave you in peace. “

   He watched her silently for a second, then stepped out and left her alone with the Carpenter.

   A pained, but appreciative expression appeared on Willow's face as she watched his back disappear through the door.

   “Thanks... , “ she told him, knowing he was only just out of her sight, “... you know for calling me. “

   She could hear him breathing; unnecssarily so she knew he really was there. She could almost see his head and shoulders slump just a little bit before he was gone.

   The rest didn't need to be said.

   And she wanted to be alone with her oldest companion before she did what had to be done.

   Neither could see the two shades watching the interchange.

   “So how long before we head out of here? “

    A still apparently solid Xander turned and queried of his still teenage looking conductor.

    Jesse shrugged.

   “I'm still new to this duty; only got transferred a few days ago; guess someone must have owed you a favour. Beats conducting the souls of Vampire victims.

    Hardly seems like the Willow I remember. She'd have dived into a volcano to bring you back.”

    What was left of Xander was grateful she hadn't tried anything; part of him wondering where Spike's soul was, even as he thanked him for talking Angel out of...

    Whatever he'd been planning.

    He couldn't tell how long he'd been waiting for her to turn up, but it had been nice to see Jesse again after all this... however long it had been.

    He had no concern about Buffy or Dawn, and Faith had never got on with Will.

    The two Vampires had surprised him; struggling to remember why that was as he found himself drifting in and out of this place.

    They stood there until the darkness began to fall; talking about whatever the dead talked about while they waited for their journey to begin, though neither pondered on why they could still feel the floor beneath their feet.

    Somehow Xander hadimagined that a nerd like they had been would get an answer to that at least.

   They waited for nearly an hour before, as the stars began to appear, Willow leant forward and kissed her oldest, and bestest, friend on the forehead before she turned off the machines keeping his body alive.

   More than an hour after he had been taken away Willow stood up and, tears all shed, failed to notice the two shades fade away as he walked through them and out the door.

   She found Spike in the cafeteria; seven empty coffee cups; all full and cold, in front of him as he took another swig of whisky from his flask. Silently she took it from his grasp; knocked it against each of the coffee cups and took a swig herself.

   He nodded.

   There was no need for words.

   They silently shared the whisky and, occasionally, coffee until pre-dawn arrived.

   It was snowing as they stopped out into the coming dawn's light and got aboard his Triumph then, as she silently hugged him, he started the machine that was older than her parents and slowly trundled out of the vicinity of the hospital approved parking.

   What could they say really?

   Everyone's right hand man was off to register and the Great Comicon in the sky.

    Goddess watch over you,

     He always gravitates to the minor key

     As he navigates his way away from me

     He claims a guardian for every sailor in the storm

     But where are the patrons for those left on the shore

     And as the darkness falls around me

     He takes my hand and starts to pray

     This is a hymn for all those left behind

     This is a prayer for every heart left barren

     This is a call for all the saints to be reminded

     To sing a hymn for all those left behind

     She only dreams in shades of gray these days

     Now that her children have all grown

     And though her husband sleeps just two feet away

     When she wakes she feels alone

     And as the dawn comes through the window

     She lies awake, tries to recall

     If there's a hymn for all those left behind

     If there's a prayer for every heart left barren

     If there's a call for all the saints to be reminded

     To sing a hymn for all those left behind

     { ~ Hymn for Those Left Behind by Shannon Moore, from the soundtrack of Latter Days, 2003 }

    kerk hiraeth

     AUTHOR: kerk hiraeth

     FANDOM: Firefly {post- Serenity the Movie};

     LENGTH: 425;

     CHARACTER(s): Zoë Alleyne; River Tam; Jayne Cobb; Oc (Saisyu Washburne);

     SUMMARY: allpoetry.com/Here-Is-A-Wound-That-Never-Will-Heal,-I-Know by Edna St. Vincent Millay {No words that I can find would summarise this story better}

     A/N: This was inspired by halfamoon's Big Damn Admin cmk418's Day 5 Firefly fic halfamoon.dreamwidth.org/567034.html ; mind was too busy writing stories in my head, including this one.

It's also inspired by the idea that when the show ended Zoë was unknowingly waiting to meet that beautiful baby she was talking to Wash about. This idea seemed to fit the post-movie Firefly better so there we are.

The title was inspired by the poem linked above and two songs Abba's 'Hole in your Soul' genius.com/Abba-hole-in-your-soul-lyrics and Nat King Cole's Smile genius.com/Nat-king-cole-smile-lyrics; all three came to mind while I was seeking a new opening line.

     He'd never done it, but she imagined knocking the Shepherd to the floor for saying it.

   Zoë watched River and Jayne; like co-parenting siblings, playing with 'lil Wash as she happily escaped one or the other's grasp.

   A walking and talking knife in her soul.

   Reminder of what her life had stolen from her.

   A life she had chosen.

   Until she had first held that child to her chest she had never truly known pain; not through the war; not when Tracey had died from the bullets they had carried; not even when the battle fever had finally ebbed away and she'd put on that gorram dress.

   She had finally understood the pain her Captain; her Sergeant; her comrade; her friend had felt losing his faith. The moment the door had closed on the quarters she now shared with their baby she felt a pain she had foolishly imagined she was prepared for.

   “Mā mī!”

   Knife twisting in gaping hole where her heart had been, she hunkered down and gathered the waddling, giggling, chubby bundle of laughter in her arms.

   She buried the pain deep; 'lil Wash would never know his face; never see her smile reflected in his eyes; never feel his warmth; never groan at his humor; never hear his voice.

   She'd never know how much he could annoy her; nor understand her love for him every time she so riled at him she'd yell to bust her lungs.

   Zoë could almost see him snickering the first time this tiny creature broke her calm and got herself yelled at the way she'd yell at him.

   She could almost hear him too; thoughts interrupted, she looked up as Jayne lay a hand on her shoulder and she returned the invisible smile he had on his face that made him look so much like the preacher.

   Her eyes closed before her gaze fell on River's expression but she knew it was telling her she would heal one day.

   As much as she imagined River lying on the floor next to Shepherd Book, she knew she didn't want to heal.

   She didn't want his memory ever to fade to where she didn't feel that pain.

   That pain kept her man alive.

   She found herself anticipating the day this child got her so riled up she wanted to shout at her just as she would her father.

   She wanted to see him smiling at their child the way he smiled at her after a fight.

   She wanted to see him in their child; their little girl; their Saisyu.

      Goddess be with you,

       天下無不散之筵席 { There is no such thing as a feast that never ends } 

      kerk

    "Saisyu" most commonly refers to the Japanese word 最終 (saishū), meaning "last," "final," or "closing". In this case it is a compound name, 'Sai' being Cantonese for 'Wash' and Syu the Cantonese for 'Book'. 



    

Here is a wound that never will heal, I know,
Being wrought not of a dearness and a death,
But of a love turned ashes and the breath
Gone out of beauty; never again will grow
The grass on that scarred acre, though I sow
Young seed there yearly and the sky bequeath
Its friendly weathers down, far Underneath
Shall be such bitterness of an old woe.
That April should be shattered by a gust,
That August should be levelled by a rain,
I can endure, and that the lifted dust
Of man should settle to the earth again;
But that a dream can die, will be a thrust
Between my ribs forever of hot pain.

{Edna St. Vincent Millay}