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anythingbutgreyTitle: I Can Play Games 'Cause I Know All the Masks
Ships (Fandom): Wesley/Lilah (Angel)
Timeline/spoilers: "Habeas Corpses" and "Calvary"
A/N: for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mini_miss's prompt "turned your back and you just walked away" at the small fandom and rare pairings ficathon. Title from Ida Maria's Keep Me Warm
Summary: She doesn’t know which of these wounds burns brighter, or even when one ends and the other begins.
In the sewer, Lilah turns from Wesley before he disappears from sight. There is a long, choking moment when she wants to stop, to call him back, to follow him, to say – something. She doesn’t know what she could say: that she should be the one to walk away this time, that she fucking hates today, that she hates him, that it hurts – there are a lot of options. Lilah dislikes them all. The wound in her side is spreading, reaching down, splitting her apart, and something else, something deeper, aches as well. She doesn’t know which of these wounds burns brighter, or even when one ends and the other begins. She knows she feels steeped in it, soaked in it, drenched. A thin film of rage coats her nonetheless – anger at him for walking away, at her for caring about him walking away, at the blood pouring out of her and staining a well-ruined suit. She wants to throw something. She wants to scream, actually, but the echoing sound would announce her presence. Instead, she continues to hobble into the dark, teeth clenched.
For the next month the blood won’t stop. She doesn’t know how she survives all the dirt and grime that covers her, dragging with it the chance of infection. If she gets sick with fever, Lilah wants to know what delirium would bring her. Would Wesley come swooping in to save her? Would she shoot him and then weep over his imaginary corpse? Light Fred Burkle’s clothes on fire and cackle from the sidelines? Lilah has imagined worse. Lilah’s done worse.
But she doesn’t get sick. She gets stuck, caught underground with the one suitcase she was able to tug away with her. She barely sleeps; every squeak of a far-off mouse marks the possibility of an oncoming attack. It makes rest difficult. She should get out of L.A. She doesn’t. She does, however, work. Lilah has never been good with time off; she thinks all of her unused vacation days add up to about five months. A workaholic from birth, her mother used to say. She goes to the inter-dimensional black market and finds out about the Beast. She checks in with contacts every week or so, makes appropriate payments and threats – mostly payments; the wrath of Wolfram and Hart doesn’t mean much these days – in order to find out what is going on in the world above. She keeps track of the battles. She asks about Angel, but isn’t really asking about Angel.
This is how she learns the ever-brilliant souls at Angel Investigations have decided to bring Angelus back. Wesley’s idea, she knows. He’s the only one who would make that call. It rings of just the right mix of dangerous and purposeful; the sort of stupidly brilliant move that only Wesley would pull. It takes her a few days to fully grasp the reasoning behind it, but she spends enough time with her books to finally understand. When she does go to Angelus, she doesn’t know if she wants Wesley to find her, but he does, and she runs and when she hears footfalls behind her she is all too aware of who it will be. When he catches up, she’s too weak to punch him, but strong enough to call him a son of a bitch, though she probably should have used a harsher word. It’s just hard seeing him. It feels like a punch in the gut, and takes far more air out of her than all this running has. He’s staring at her, and she has no room to turn away. She doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like it at all.
“Is that where the Beast –” he starts, staring at the blood on her clothes.
She winces. “I can’t make it stop,” she says. She can’t make it stop.
“I could take a look at it,” he says, stepping toward her. Lilah turns away. She doesn’t look at him as he paces around her little space. She just tries to maintain her nonchalance. This is a survival tactic well taught at Wolfram and Hart. So, they do their too-familiar dance; she bites, he bites, and much to her dismay there’s no literal biting, but she goes back to the hotel with him and she has to smirk at it, the whole gaggle of them wandering and lost and not a single person looking the other in the eye for more than an instant. She likes that. She likes that a lot. What she doesn’t like is what everyone keeps talking about, her guilt, guilt they see because she escaped the Beast, and she escaped the Beast because of Wesley, and she doesn’t like the way everything these days keeps circling back to Wesley. His name tastes sour and sweet on her tongue, and she keeps bleeding. The limp upstairs to shower is too hard. Another string of curses against the Beast runs through her head; it’s the usual static. The water creaks on, and Lilah’s mouth waters. She gingerly tugs her shirt over her head, wincing with each motion. She moves to take off her pants when there’s a knock at the door.
“Who is it?” she calls, standing close enough to the water to feel the faint spritzes of warm water against her shoulders.
“It’s me,” Wesley says. “I brought you a change of clothes.”
She looks down at her body, and at the dirtied t-shirt on the floor. Her half-naked body is nothing he hasn’t seen before, so she opens the door and smirks as his gaze automatically falls to her breasts.
“Thanks, Wes,” she says, and reaches out to take the clothes from his unmoving hands.
“I should really look at that,” he says, and she’s about to make some crack when she realizes his sight has fallen to the ever-gaping hole in her side. She feels, for the first time, truly naked, and tries to turn away. He stops the door before she can shut it.
“Lilah,” he whispers, looking her in the eye, really looking at her, for the first time all day. She shuts her eyes. She can’t. She can’t do this, this familiarity, this intimacy and the word makes her feel sick. She can’t look at him or be near him or god forbid be this close to him where she can smell the familiar scent of him and he can smell the sewage-filled scent of her. She takes a step back, but cannot close the door. He still has his hand pressed against it.
“What,” she hisses. “Your little friends would tell you how I’m being punished for my evil, evil ways if you asked. So why don’t you just go work on this apocalypse thing. I believe a nice Texan girl is waiting for you downstairs.”
Wesley looks away from her. She likes that. She can breathe a lot easier this way.
“Lilah,” he begins, with that slow apology in his voice that makes her want to scream. “There are things –”
“Save it, Wes,” she says. “I’m familiar with your reasoning. All stalwart and true, I’m sure.”
He looks back at her. She looks away.
“I’m going to get some bandages from downstairs,” he says, and his voice is low and distant and commanding and does not belong to her Wesley. This is boss Wesley. Wesley owns a variety of costumes. Lilah actually likes them all, but she knows when one is being put out on display.
“Fine,” she mumbles, because there is no arguing with this Wesley, and slams the door shut when he steps away. She pulls off the rest of her clothes and steps into the shower, closing her eyes as the water pours over her. She sighs into it, the water splashing over her face. A murky mix of blood and dirt puddles around her ankles and then gets washed away. She stares at these remnants, and spends a moment trying to imagine her life now. Wesley would never force her out, but she also could never stay here. Too many white hats. Too much awkwardly placed sexual tension. Too much Wesley-staring-in-other-directions. That’s a scene she doesn’t need. All the same, Wesley wouldn’t let her just wander out into the cold. She’ll have to run off one night when he’s not looking. She’ll have to walk away.
“Lilah,” she hears Wesley call from beyond the shower’s patter. “I’m back.”
She turns and shuts off the water. Wesley pretends not to look at her as she meanders toward the towel rack. She would think he’d have learned by now that that he doesn’t do well with hiding things from her. Neither of them speaks as she pulls the pants on. She likes the feel of them, the soft fresh scents.
“Whose are these,” she asks.
“Cordelia’s,” he says. “We have some of her clothes here. I think they’re your size.”
She winces as she pulls the shirt on and Wesley starts to move toward her, and says, “Do you need –,” but she glares at him and he falls into silence.
“I don’t need help getting my clothes on,” she says. “I’m not a child.”
“Never said you were,” he murmurs, gaze turning to the ground.
“And besides,” she says, “getting my clothes on was never one of your strong suits.”
The punch falls flat. His eyes tick up to her and stare. For a moment, they are caught that way, cramped into the small space with their breathing the only sound. She doesn’t even try to scramble to say something to fill the void; she just breathes. It’s been a long time since she did that. There’s a part of her that wants to leave and a part of her that needs to stay and most of her is just caught up in the momentarily peaceful hum. Her hands feel so warm, like they have been resting near a fire. Her entire body feels that way, warm and encased, safe. Safe.
Wesley holds up the bandages. Lilah jolts awake, snaps back to the reality, to the hole in her side and inside her and the drama downstairs and the demon in the basement, to the ex-lover standing in front of her and leaning against the sink.
“Let’s patch you up,” he says.
Ships (Fandom): Wesley/Lilah (Angel)
Timeline/spoilers: "Habeas Corpses" and "Calvary"
A/N: for
mini_miss's prompt "turned your back and you just walked away" at the small fandom and rare pairings ficathon. Title from Ida Maria's Keep Me WarmSummary: She doesn’t know which of these wounds burns brighter, or even when one ends and the other begins.
In the sewer, Lilah turns from Wesley before he disappears from sight. There is a long, choking moment when she wants to stop, to call him back, to follow him, to say – something. She doesn’t know what she could say: that she should be the one to walk away this time, that she fucking hates today, that she hates him, that it hurts – there are a lot of options. Lilah dislikes them all. The wound in her side is spreading, reaching down, splitting her apart, and something else, something deeper, aches as well. She doesn’t know which of these wounds burns brighter, or even when one ends and the other begins. She knows she feels steeped in it, soaked in it, drenched. A thin film of rage coats her nonetheless – anger at him for walking away, at her for caring about him walking away, at the blood pouring out of her and staining a well-ruined suit. She wants to throw something. She wants to scream, actually, but the echoing sound would announce her presence. Instead, she continues to hobble into the dark, teeth clenched.
For the next month the blood won’t stop. She doesn’t know how she survives all the dirt and grime that covers her, dragging with it the chance of infection. If she gets sick with fever, Lilah wants to know what delirium would bring her. Would Wesley come swooping in to save her? Would she shoot him and then weep over his imaginary corpse? Light Fred Burkle’s clothes on fire and cackle from the sidelines? Lilah has imagined worse. Lilah’s done worse.
But she doesn’t get sick. She gets stuck, caught underground with the one suitcase she was able to tug away with her. She barely sleeps; every squeak of a far-off mouse marks the possibility of an oncoming attack. It makes rest difficult. She should get out of L.A. She doesn’t. She does, however, work. Lilah has never been good with time off; she thinks all of her unused vacation days add up to about five months. A workaholic from birth, her mother used to say. She goes to the inter-dimensional black market and finds out about the Beast. She checks in with contacts every week or so, makes appropriate payments and threats – mostly payments; the wrath of Wolfram and Hart doesn’t mean much these days – in order to find out what is going on in the world above. She keeps track of the battles. She asks about Angel, but isn’t really asking about Angel.
This is how she learns the ever-brilliant souls at Angel Investigations have decided to bring Angelus back. Wesley’s idea, she knows. He’s the only one who would make that call. It rings of just the right mix of dangerous and purposeful; the sort of stupidly brilliant move that only Wesley would pull. It takes her a few days to fully grasp the reasoning behind it, but she spends enough time with her books to finally understand. When she does go to Angelus, she doesn’t know if she wants Wesley to find her, but he does, and she runs and when she hears footfalls behind her she is all too aware of who it will be. When he catches up, she’s too weak to punch him, but strong enough to call him a son of a bitch, though she probably should have used a harsher word. It’s just hard seeing him. It feels like a punch in the gut, and takes far more air out of her than all this running has. He’s staring at her, and she has no room to turn away. She doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like it at all.
“Is that where the Beast –” he starts, staring at the blood on her clothes.
She winces. “I can’t make it stop,” she says. She can’t make it stop.
“I could take a look at it,” he says, stepping toward her. Lilah turns away. She doesn’t look at him as he paces around her little space. She just tries to maintain her nonchalance. This is a survival tactic well taught at Wolfram and Hart. So, they do their too-familiar dance; she bites, he bites, and much to her dismay there’s no literal biting, but she goes back to the hotel with him and she has to smirk at it, the whole gaggle of them wandering and lost and not a single person looking the other in the eye for more than an instant. She likes that. She likes that a lot. What she doesn’t like is what everyone keeps talking about, her guilt, guilt they see because she escaped the Beast, and she escaped the Beast because of Wesley, and she doesn’t like the way everything these days keeps circling back to Wesley. His name tastes sour and sweet on her tongue, and she keeps bleeding. The limp upstairs to shower is too hard. Another string of curses against the Beast runs through her head; it’s the usual static. The water creaks on, and Lilah’s mouth waters. She gingerly tugs her shirt over her head, wincing with each motion. She moves to take off her pants when there’s a knock at the door.
“Who is it?” she calls, standing close enough to the water to feel the faint spritzes of warm water against her shoulders.
“It’s me,” Wesley says. “I brought you a change of clothes.”
She looks down at her body, and at the dirtied t-shirt on the floor. Her half-naked body is nothing he hasn’t seen before, so she opens the door and smirks as his gaze automatically falls to her breasts.
“Thanks, Wes,” she says, and reaches out to take the clothes from his unmoving hands.
“I should really look at that,” he says, and she’s about to make some crack when she realizes his sight has fallen to the ever-gaping hole in her side. She feels, for the first time, truly naked, and tries to turn away. He stops the door before she can shut it.
“Lilah,” he whispers, looking her in the eye, really looking at her, for the first time all day. She shuts her eyes. She can’t. She can’t do this, this familiarity, this intimacy and the word makes her feel sick. She can’t look at him or be near him or god forbid be this close to him where she can smell the familiar scent of him and he can smell the sewage-filled scent of her. She takes a step back, but cannot close the door. He still has his hand pressed against it.
“What,” she hisses. “Your little friends would tell you how I’m being punished for my evil, evil ways if you asked. So why don’t you just go work on this apocalypse thing. I believe a nice Texan girl is waiting for you downstairs.”
Wesley looks away from her. She likes that. She can breathe a lot easier this way.
“Lilah,” he begins, with that slow apology in his voice that makes her want to scream. “There are things –”
“Save it, Wes,” she says. “I’m familiar with your reasoning. All stalwart and true, I’m sure.”
He looks back at her. She looks away.
“I’m going to get some bandages from downstairs,” he says, and his voice is low and distant and commanding and does not belong to her Wesley. This is boss Wesley. Wesley owns a variety of costumes. Lilah actually likes them all, but she knows when one is being put out on display.
“Fine,” she mumbles, because there is no arguing with this Wesley, and slams the door shut when he steps away. She pulls off the rest of her clothes and steps into the shower, closing her eyes as the water pours over her. She sighs into it, the water splashing over her face. A murky mix of blood and dirt puddles around her ankles and then gets washed away. She stares at these remnants, and spends a moment trying to imagine her life now. Wesley would never force her out, but she also could never stay here. Too many white hats. Too much awkwardly placed sexual tension. Too much Wesley-staring-in-other-directions. That’s a scene she doesn’t need. All the same, Wesley wouldn’t let her just wander out into the cold. She’ll have to run off one night when he’s not looking. She’ll have to walk away.
“Lilah,” she hears Wesley call from beyond the shower’s patter. “I’m back.”
She turns and shuts off the water. Wesley pretends not to look at her as she meanders toward the towel rack. She would think he’d have learned by now that that he doesn’t do well with hiding things from her. Neither of them speaks as she pulls the pants on. She likes the feel of them, the soft fresh scents.
“Whose are these,” she asks.
“Cordelia’s,” he says. “We have some of her clothes here. I think they’re your size.”
She winces as she pulls the shirt on and Wesley starts to move toward her, and says, “Do you need –,” but she glares at him and he falls into silence.
“I don’t need help getting my clothes on,” she says. “I’m not a child.”
“Never said you were,” he murmurs, gaze turning to the ground.
“And besides,” she says, “getting my clothes on was never one of your strong suits.”
The punch falls flat. His eyes tick up to her and stare. For a moment, they are caught that way, cramped into the small space with their breathing the only sound. She doesn’t even try to scramble to say something to fill the void; she just breathes. It’s been a long time since she did that. There’s a part of her that wants to leave and a part of her that needs to stay and most of her is just caught up in the momentarily peaceful hum. Her hands feel so warm, like they have been resting near a fire. Her entire body feels that way, warm and encased, safe. Safe.
Wesley holds up the bandages. Lilah jolts awake, snaps back to the reality, to the hole in her side and inside her and the drama downstairs and the demon in the basement, to the ex-lover standing in front of her and leaning against the sink.
“Let’s patch you up,” he says.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-09-03 03:16 am (UTC)It's obvious you know those characters very very well, it's so them, and it makes it that good. Love, love, lovelovelove.
the sort of stupidly brilliant move that only Wesley would pull
THAT! I love that.
And that she knows she'd have to run away when he's not looking, and the part about the inter-dimensional black market, and just EVERYTHING.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-03 03:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-03 03:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-03 03:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-03 02:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-03 04:56 am (UTC)at the risk of flailing and quoting your entire fic i will just c/p my favorite part, about which i am speechless because YES YES YES
This is a survival tactic well taught at Wolfram and Hart. So, they do their too-familiar dance; she bites, he bites, and much to her dismay there’s no literal biting, but she goes back to the hotel with him and she has to smirk at it, the whole gaggle of them wandering and lost and not a single person looking the other in the eye for more than an instant. She likes that. She likes that a lot. What she doesn’t like is what everyone keeps talking about, her guilt, guilt they see because she escaped the Beast, and she escaped the Beast because of Wesley, and she doesn’t like the way everything these days keeps circling back to Wesley. His name tastes sour and sweet on her tongue, and she keeps bleeding.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-03 01:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-03 05:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-03 02:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-03 08:01 am (UTC)I'm glad to see some people are still writing Lilah/Wes fic!!
no subject
Date: 2010-09-03 02:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-03 06:55 pm (UTC)It's so funny, because you do write her differently than the way I think of Lilah, but at the same time, your vision of her makes perfect sense and I can see all the things I love about her in your words. I thought about quoting all my favorite parts, but since I'd end up pasting the whole fic into the comment box, I just want to say that this:
For the next month the blood won’t stop. She doesn’t know how she survives all the dirt and grime that covers her, dragging with it the chance of infection. If she gets sick with fever, Lilah wants to know what delirium would bring her. Would Wesley come swooping in to save her? Would she shoot him and then weep over his imaginary corpse? Light Fred Burkle’s clothes on fire and cackle from the sidelines? Lilah has imagined worse. Lilah’s done worse.
perfectly sums up Lilah's character to me. The things she thinks she might see -- ranging from the ultimate romantic hero return of Wesley to violence and petty outbursts -- and her acknowledgment that it would still all pale in comparison to who she really is, just underscores how complicated she really is. Love it.
Erm...yeah. Sorry for taking so many words to basically say "OMGLOVE!", when a fic rocks in as many ways as this one does, I tend to get a little flaily. Especially when the fic is about an awesome female character.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-03 07:33 pm (UTC)i love this comment. i love you. i love lilah. EVERYONE IS HAPPY.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-03 08:33 pm (UTC)Seriously, this fic is worth getting flaily over. Lilah deserves more flail. You deserve more flail. FLAIL FOR EVERYONE.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-04 03:01 am (UTC)so i did.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-04 04:28 am (UTC)"His name tastes sour and sweet on her tongue, and she keeps bleeding."
Which just OH LILAH.
And then, when you ended with "Let's patch you up," it felt to me, at least, like a direct callback to my favorite line and all the double and triple meanings packed into THEM. You are a genius. That is all.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-04 03:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-04 09:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 01:27 am (UTC)So, on September 1st, I was on 2x07 of Angel, and as of today, I just finished 4x12: Cavalry. I have problems. May I make a quasi-stalkery confession and say that one of the reasons I pour all my willpower into making my season 4 and 5 torrents speed the hell up is so that I can finally read your Angel fic without getting spoilered? Really really.
Anyway. I'm trying to work out what it is about this fic that I like so much, trying to turn it over in my head, so excuse me if I get a bit rambly.
Lilah/Wes struck me as ten different kinds of hot and wrong, but there is something deeply right about your portrayal of them. Lilah is a vicious bitch; I like her because she's so damn unlikeable. But she has these moments and it's just so interesting to see that this whole fic is essentially a whole series of these moment strung together; it's the interior monologue of Lilah during these two episodes, her thoughtscape, and it meshes so perfectly with the canon, enriching it.
It's weird - I don't really enjoy watching Lilah in the series, but I can never look away from her. There's always the ferocity, the push, the aggression - she always ups the ante. Even when she topples during the power games, she eventually finds a way to push back harder. She has that kind of tightly held control over her speech, her face, her body, the kind you see in ballet dancers, sword fighters - this punishing kind of self-awareness, the ability to take a hit, and then another, and then another.
... So it makes perfect sense for me, that extended metaphor of the wound - the vulnerability of the body, the vulnerability of the heart. It's the other side of that terrible strength. It's so fascinating to see Wes from Lilah's pov - He’s the only one who would make that call. It rings of just the right mix of dangerous and purposeful; the sort of stupidly brilliant move that only Wesley would pull - and to realise that she sees him with more clarity than anyone else. A merciless kind of clarity.
Does Lilah really know herself as well as she claims to? I don't know. I go back and forth on this. This fic makes me go back and forth. There's self-recognition, there are these moments when she lets herself just feel (like that beautiful moment at the end) but there's also a lot left unsaid. I like this because it seems to capture all of that, the difficulty of what she is and what she thinks she is and what she wishes she could be.
Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for writing this, since reading it and (haha, as you can see) commenting on it has forced me to think about and feel for Wes and Lilah in ways that I never imagined I would. Thanks.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 01:44 am (UTC)first reaction.
second, HOLY LONG COMMENT BATMAN.
this comment is interesting. i mean, lilah morgan is my favorite jossverse character ever, and i hope that this will sort of point you toward a place of being able to appreciate her more later. wes/lilah is indescribably complicated, which is why i love them, because they are built in such a way that it is doomed to absolute failure and yet it is absolutely perfect in its construction. a completely solid house, poised to crumble. i've written about them a decent amount in another ats fic but you can't read that one until you finish the series. so come back then and we'll chat~. :)
no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 02:05 am (UTC)Haha, yeah sorry for the novel-length comments... I'm immersed in the xxxholic fandom right now, and the girls and I are over there tend to talk about fic (via epic commentiness) just as much as/even more than we write fic. XD
This fic has definitely upped my Lilah appreciation levels. This year was my year of Joss - I finished Buffy, ran through Dollhouse, started Angel, tried to get my brother into Firefly - and I never get tired of these incredibly tough bitches, or these intense relationships that like to tear my heart out of my chest cavity. I can't wait to see your (continued) take on Wes/Lilah, when all this is done. :D
P.S. Also, holy hell, Angel and Cordelia. When it comes to those two crazy kids, the incoherence, it is my friend.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 02:22 am (UTC)ats is my favorite jossverse thing. it's just - my heart. it has eaten my entire existence for three months and i'm totally okay with it. and i've made new friends! yes. but wes/lilah has been my otp since ats aired and one of my favorite otps ever and just stunning. i wrote 14 pages of meta about it. you can read it when you're done with the series. :D
also ANGEL/CORDELIA. this re-watch made me ship them SO HARDCORE AND I CAN'T STOP I CAN'T STOP MY HEART ISN'T MINE ANYMORE, IT IS THEIRS. MY HEART.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 03:04 am (UTC)I APPROVE OF THIS COMMENT MOST HEARTILY. My first reaction e-mails to my friend Tin as I watch the series are usually made up of either FLAILING or KEYSMASHING, especially after eps like "Waiting in the Wings" or "Spin the Bottle".
Were we in love?
DDDDDDDDDDDDDD:
no subject
Date: 2010-09-17 12:19 am (UTC)This is a survival tactic well taught at Wolfram and Hart. So, they do their too-familiar dance; she bites, he bites, and much to her dismay there’s no literal biting, but she goes back to the hotel with him and she has to smirk at it, the whole gaggle of them wandering and lost and not a single person looking the other in the eye for more than an instant. She likes that. She likes that a lot. What she doesn’t like is what everyone keeps talking about, her guilt, guilt they see because she escaped the Beast, and she escaped the Beast because of Wesley, and she doesn’t like the way everything these days keeps circling back to Wesley. His name tastes sour and sweet on her tongue, and she keeps bleeding.
GUH.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-17 12:22 am (UTC)or as happy as i can be, given the fact that CORDELIA WAS TORN AWAY FROM THE NARRATIVE. FFS.
but i make do.
but! this comment makes me happy. i love you.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-17 12:25 am (UTC)<3 ILU too. I FEEL WEIRD ABOUT GOING THROUGH YOUR OLD ENTRIES AND SPAMMING YOU THOUGH. TELL ME IF IT GETS OLD.
... though I think there's only one more fic left? IDK, we'll see.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-17 12:26 am (UTC)the last fic is a personal canon fic. i fixed it. you're welcome.
pun intended.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-17 12:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-09 02:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-09 02:40 am (UTC)softly_me fic recc
Date: 2010-12-09 01:18 pm (UTC)Secondly, this is now canon to me.
Thirdly, here are my fave lines:
She doesn’t know what she could say: that she should be the one to walk away this time, that she fucking hates today, that she hates him, that it hurts – there are a lot of options. Lilah dislikes them all. The wound in her side is spreading, reaching down, splitting her apart, and something else, something deeper, aches as well. She doesn’t know which of these wounds burns brighter, or even when one ends and the other begins. She knows she feels steeped in it, soaked in it, drenched. A thin film of rage coats her nonetheless – anger at him for walking away, at her for caring about him walking away, at the blood pouring out of her and staining a well-ruined suit. She wants to throw something. She wants to scream, actually, but the echoing sound would announce her presence. Instead, she continues to hobble into the dark, teeth clenched.
-- I just love this so much. It's freaking HER. AND THEM!
She feels, for the first time, truly naked, and tries to turn away.
-- Whenever I think of Lilah, I think of strong, and how the worst thing for her was appearing weak.
All the same, Wesley wouldn’t let her just wander out into the cold. She’ll have to run off one night when he’s not looking. She’ll have to walk away.
-- GUHKLJKDJLG.
Lilah jolts awake, snaps back to the reality, to the hole in her side and inside her and the drama downstairs and the demon in the basement, to the ex-lover standing in front of her and leaning against the sink.
-- I don't know what it says about me that I practically quoted the entire fic. I think it shows that when I'm into something and I really love it. I am so excited and completely swept away.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-13 11:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-17 11:19 pm (UTC)