writing 'bout big damn heroes

Happy Birthday to two beautiful ladies!

Tue, 26 May 2009 00:16:32 GMT

Happy birthday today to both deird1 and sirenwater! Eat too much cake, laugh till your bellies hurt, and have a fantastic day! Big love and many smoochies to the both of you. -squeeze- I'm so happy to have met you both.

Also, both your pressies are about half-written as of this morning.. because the muse hates me, and I am a procrastinator extraordinaire. But you will get them! Soon!

Ats - Surrender - PG (Lilah/Wes)

Thu, 02 Apr 2009 03:03:47 GMT

Title: Surrender
Author: dreamincolor
Fandom: Ats
Pairing: Lilah/Wesley
Genre: Romance/Dark
Rating: PG
Highlight for Warnings/Spoilers: **implied character death**
Summary: Her name on his tongue has a terribly familiarity.
Word Count: 1292
Disclaimer: Joss wins.

Beta'd by: the amazing deird1, who's help is invaluable. (-tackle smooch-)
A/N: For prompt #27, "more than life itself", of my table.

**********

Three knocks. Solid, but not loud.

Lifting her head from her pillow and freeing herself from the sheets - tangled tight around her legs from sleepless tossing - it was mere moments before Lilah was peering out through the keyhole at a familiar face.

“Lover.” Lilah’s voice left her in a purr as she swung the front door open, hand on her hip, and a smile on her lips.

Wesley’s eyes traveled up and down her body shamelessly, up over bare legs, and along the sheer, clinging curves of her nightgown. Reflexively, she smirked.

She loved it when he came to her.

“Lilah.” He greeted her with a slow smile, his frame outlined in hesitant, dim moonlight, creeping in from a window down the hall.

“You know,“ she glanced at her watch, raising a brow, “I did only get home from work an hour ago. I have to sleep sometime.”

His face seemed strangely relaxed; void of the usual scowl, but not of the usual hunger. As they moved over her again, his eyes were nothing if not predatory. “May I?”

“May you come in?” She leaned against the door frame with a leisurely smile, slowly giving him the up-down. He’d been out fighting. Dark jeans, and a shirt torn at the hip, exposing a glimpse of pale skin.

More rugged than his usual. She liked.

“Wesley, are you asking permission?” She raised an eyebrow suggestively, drawing the game out. “That’s a first.”

“Lilah,” His hand reached out to touch her fingers, looped out around the door frame. His skin was shockingly cold. “Invite me in.”

She smiled, something low in her stomach clenching in anticipation. She hadn’t seen him in over twenty-four hours.

Taking his hand, she pulled..

..but he didn’t budge.

His palm flattened against the air in the doorway, as if blocked by an invisible piece of glass. An invisible door.

She jerked away instantly, stumbling several feet backwards, and he only watched her, through those unnaturally bright eyes.

“Wesley..” Something inside her twisted painfully, and her voice sharpened, high and strained. “What happened to-”

“I slipped.“ Two scabs spotted dark at his throat, easily deep enough to scar. “Clearing out a nest. It was only a moment, just a single, wrong move..”

Jerking the drawer beside her open, Lilah’s hand fumbled until it closed around the handle of a pistol. Then, after a second’s thought, abandoned it in favor of a wooden cross.

“Lilah..” His eyes were as earnest as they’d ever been. “Please, invite me in.”

Hissing in disbelief - how stupid did he think she was - she held out the cross protectively in front of her. “Wesley, I don’t want to die.”

“Lilah, come here,” he coaxed, trying to ease her past the invisible barrier between them. “Give me your hand.”

She took a somewhat shaky step forward, lips pursed and the cross held out firmly in front of her, jabbing it forward enough to make him recoil. “Get away from me.”

Pulling back, he watched her through quiet eyes, his body shrinking down and away like something harmless and small, eyes full of what he must have hoped looked like sincerity.

“Lilah,” her name on his tongue had a terribly familiarity, “I only want-”

“Stop it. You’re a horrible liar, Wesley, not even death can change that.” Something inside her continued to ache and twist, and she shoved the cross out closer to him, throat tightening. “Get out of my hall.”

“You can invite me in, Lilah,” she watched his face harden subtly, eyebrows bowing down as his body straightened out, “and this can be something gentle and careful, something you chose. Something you enjoy.” Lilah cringed at the suggestion, but couldn’t shake the sudden surge of memory - of Angel kissing her ferociously on his office desk, licking and nibbling down her jaw and throat with an urgent hunger, until she could feel his teeth sinking down into her, penetrating her -

A memory that had made its way into her darker dreams.

“Or,” his eyes were unwavering, “I can catch you on your way to your car, or meeting a client for dinner.“ Her lips pursed in what she hoped resembled anger, but her shaking hands and sharp inhale were a giveaway, and he pressed on, “You can be born here, or I can take you in some filthy alleyway.” He stepped forward, and instinctively she started to step back.

No. She was safe behind the threshold. He would not scare her.

“-with bones snapping and blood spilling, and the beauty of it getting lost in the struggle..”

She was not shaking. She was not holding her breath.

“Or we can be here, like always. Just us -”

At his sides his hands opened towards her. Those beautiful, talented hands.

“- and I can give you something precious.”

Her voice left her in a low whisper, one that was softer than she might have liked. “Death.”

“Immortality. Power.” He paused long enough to let his lips tilt up in a small smile, “Companionship.”

She tried to speak, but her lips parted soundlessly.

He was lying, toying with her. This wasn’t the morally bound man she knew; this man - this thing - could pull her apart without a second’s remorse. This thing only wanted a meal.

“You and I, Lilah, bringing LA to its knees. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

She wasn’t safe. Not here - it wouldn’t take him long to find some way around the invitation - and certainly not at work. Angel had proved Wolfram & Hart’s penetrability only too many times.

And Wesley was much smarter than Angel had ever been.

“Wes-” Her voice shuddered with an uncharacteristic frailty as he stepped forward, his hands closing around the wooden tip of the cross she still held out in front of her - that extended just slightly past the doorway.

And she watched his knuckles whiten - if that was really possible - as his grip tightened; and as at what had to be instant pain, with his undead-palms pressed to sanctified wood, his face morphed into something ridged and demonic. Something animal.

And his now golden eyes fixed on hers, hypnotic.

“Lilah.”

The beast with her lover’s face leaned in close to the doorway, as close as possible without crossing the threshold; and she suddenly realized that she too was leaning forward, close enough that she could feel her own breath bouncing back off his lips and the motion of his fingertips hovering and moving the air over her extended wrist. Something inside her ached painfully as she weighed the alternative - envisioned a hired hand hunting him down - plunging a stake into his heart, turning him to dust.

Envisioned herself without him.

And if he wasn’t lying, if he meant what he said, and that hunger in his eyes - that need - was for more than blood..

Then he was ready to let himself possess her fully, and completely. Permanently.

“Lilah.”

His voice hit against her lips in an unneeded breath, a reminder of the mere inches between them, but it wasn’t until he whispered her name a second time, in a gentler, more intimate tone, that she realized she’d squeezed her eyes shut. Slowly, she opened them again -- this time greeted by the face she knew, ridge-less and smooth. Human.

Lilah’s lips parted again wordlessly, and in response his mouth slighted in the smallest of smiles, familiar eyes pleading with her.

And she couldn’t help but reach out just a few centimeters past the threshold, her fingertips skimming along his jaw line, her thumb brushing over his bottom lip.

“Wesley-”

The cross hit the floor with a clatter.

“Come in.”

**********

Lilah fic table

Tue, 31 Mar 2009 06:53:57 GMT

Prompt table from un_love_you for Lilah Morgan. I'll probably never finish it, but it couldn't hurt to try. Besides, the whole idea of 'un-love you' is just so very Lilah, I couldn't resist.

If anyone has suggestions for pairings to put with prompts, they would be welcome.

Wish me luck!

01.	You were right about me.	02.	I was wrong about you.	03.	This cancels out the hurt.
04.	I need to want you.	05.	You can be like me.	06.	I want to need you.
07.	Prove it.	08.	I'm cruel.	09.	Always wondered what this'd be like.
10.	I'm broken.	11.	Thought I needed this.	12.	I'm drunk.
13.	I want to hurt you.	14.	I'm awake and you're breathing.	15.	This is my desperation in action.
16.	I want to break you.	17.	Wish I didn't love you.	18.	I pity you.
19.	This isn't about you at all.	20.	I hate you, you bitch.	21.	You'll do.
22.	I hate myself.	23.	You remind me of me.	24.	I want you to hate me.
25.	You remind me of someone.	26.	I can be like you.	27.	More than life itself. (Lilah/Wes)
28.	Author's Choice.	29.	Author's Choice.	30.	Author's Choice.

19 Misc Bones Icons

Sat, 07 Mar 2009 04:05:00 GMT

19 Bones icons, for your snagging pleasure. Mostly from promo shots, they're fairly spoiler-free. Comments are nice, credit is a must.

The Breakdown:

8 - Brennan
4 - Angela
3 - Booth/Brennan
2 - Hodgins
1 - Booth
1 - Cam

1 2 3

4 5 6

7 8 9

10 11 12

13 14 15

16 17 18

Bones - "Smooth" - Music Video

Fri, 06 Mar 2009 07:02:20 GMT

Song: "Smooth" by Santana and Rob Thomas
Cast: Brennan and Booth
Video by: Dreamincolor
Summary: A music video made solely from clips of the season two episode, 'The Woman in the Sand.' (Because she just looked too damn good in that episode for it to go un-vidded.) All clips from beyond-bickering.net, everything Bones belongs to Fox. No money for me.
Enjoy.

Smooth - Booth & Brennan Undercover - aceofawesome

PS: My first contribution to the Bones fandom. Woohoo!

Ats - "Her Angel" - G (Cordelia/Fred)

Thu, 19 Feb 2009 22:54:59 GMT

Title: Her Angel
Author: dreamincolor
Fandom: Ats
Pairing: Cordelia/Fred
Genre: Romance/Angst
Rating: G
Summary: What keeps them whole, is remembering.
Word Count: 358
Disclaimer: Joss wins.

Beta'd by: the lovely deird1
A/N: There's something about having a billion important things to do, that makes me all drabbly.

Weird.

**********

Finding Fred was a one in a million chance.

Or that’s what Fred told her, anyway. There was a more specific percent, that came with a long-winded explanation that took everything into account from the proximity of the portals that brought them there, to the number of days they‘d been hiding out in Fred‘s cave; but it didn’t matter much. Not to Cordelia.

Because as grateful as she was to be out of the slaver’s stalls and into Fred’s cave - with a deactivated collar and a companion who stole enough food for the both of them, who took care of her - the more she thought about how long it had been since the portal, the more she missed LA.

LA, with all the lights and sounds of a big city, and all the comforts of civilization. She missed everything about it - even her dangerous, completely un-glamorous job.

Sometimes they would sit for hours, talking about hot showers and real food, and the people they had known before, outside of Pylea. Parents, friends and lovers. It wasn’t the same as being home, but they helped each other remember, to believe. They needed help believing - because sometimes it felt, even to Cordelia, like they had been born there, in Pylea, and that there had never been anything else; anything before slavery and hiding. That they had never been anything other than cows, and that LA and Texas were two halves of a beautiful dream they‘d built up together.

“You’re an angel,” the tiny Texan would tell her, curled in close against Cordelia’s body late at night, breath a tiny puff of warm air in the cold. “I know it isn’t fair, for me to wish this on you, bein’ here and all..” Fred’s eyelashes brushed Cordelia’s cheek, and thin hands clutched at her, holding her close. “But without you I just don’t know what I woulda.. How I could have lived like this, all alone.”

Cordelia had landed in Pylea because of a vision, about a small librarian from Texas. Landed there, because she was trying to save Fred.

And in a way, she had.

**********

Nominated at round one of the Absence of Light Awards for Best Angst - Drabble

Eeey!

Thu, 19 Feb 2009 21:55:13 GMT

I love people in the buffyverse fandom. Everyone is so damn nice. For example, both deird1 and snowpuppies wrote me fantastic, smexy gift fic for my birthday tomorrow. Squee!

Dreaming by deird1. (Buffy/Faith, Rish)
Better Than by snowpuppies. (Lilah/Fred, R)

You two totally made my day. Big love. -smish-

Ats - "Humanizing" - PG (Cordelia/Lilah)

Thu, 19 Feb 2009 10:48:36 GMT

Title: Humanizing
Author: dreamincolor
Fandom: Ats
Pairing: Cordelia/Lilah
Genre: Dark/Romance
Rating: PG
Warnings: Innuendo
Summary: Once in awhile, Cordelia catches sight of something.
Word Count: 100
Disclaimer: Joss wins.

A/N: Written for prompt 197 "caught" at slashthedrabble.
(Yep, I definitely have other things I should be doing. I fail at prioritizing.)

**********

It was always after the fact -- when they were both beaded with sweat, and their bodies scarcely touched -- that Cordelia caught sight of a loneliness in pale eyes, and a vulnerability in parted lips, that was shocking.

That was humanizing.

So humanizing, in fact, that it wasn’t until other woman rolled away, dressing in silence and saying goodbye with the click of heels and the silhouetted sway of hips; until the other woman’s presence was marked only by the scratches left by fingernails, and the smears left by lipstick..

..that she remembered, and Lilah became the enemy again.

**********

Nominated at round five of the Running with Scissors Awards for best 100 words.

Btvs - "Rewards" - PG (Willow/Tara)

Sun, 01 Feb 2009 02:54:41 GMT

Title: Rewards
Author: dreamincolor
Fandom: Btvs
Pairing: Willow/Tara
Genre: Fluff/Romance
Rating: PG
Warnings: Innuendo, smoochies
Summary: Monday morning goes a bit differently than planned.
Word Count: 635
Disclaimer: Joss wins.

Beta'd by: runs_w_skissors
A/N: Written as a fluffy, lovey, belated birthday gift to wehavedental. -big squish- You’re the best, sweetheart.

_________________________________________________________________________________

The world was soft, and warm, and moved to the rhythm of the other woman’s breathing, eased and sleepy under Willow‘s ear. She nestled into Tara’s soft, pillowy chest - one of the many wonderful things about dating a woman - and glanced up at the clock through half-open eyes. Her alarm was due in three, two, one..

Beep. Beep. Beep.

She always woke just seconds before the alarm. Years of class at the same time every day had her internal clock perfectly tuned.

The woman next to her pulled away to prod the alarm into silence, mumbling sleepily, “It’s time for class, Will.“

“But..“ The witch’s voice was a groan, face burying in the crook of Tara’s neck. “I was dreaming.”

“Mm,” Tara blinked down at her sleepily, fingers lifting to move lazily through copper red hair. “About what?”

She answered in a yawn, “Pancakes.”

Tara giggled, and Willow decided to leave out the part about the pancakes flying around her head like little UFOs, and dipping under a magically pouring fountain of syrup.

“Class,” Her girlfriend reminded.

Willow nestled her face in against her lover’s skin, fingers tangling up into Tara’s long, mussed hair with a whimper.

She was just so comfy.

And outside of the bed it was cold, and wet, and Tara-less. Outside, bad. Bed, good.

“You know,” Willow opened one eye tentatively, watching Tara‘s face, “it’s not like I have to go..”

“Willow Rosenberg,” Tara’s voice was all disbelief, “are you talking about ditching class?” Her lips tilted up in a playful, charmingly crooked grin. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Well..” Willow propped herself up on her elbow, eyelashes fluttering. “That depends. Do I get rewarded for staying?”

“Like with pancakes?” Tara teased, biting down on her lip.

Shifting til her hands and knees pressed into the mattress on either side of Tara‘s hips, Willow crawled up her lover’s body with a smirk. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind..” Chest to chest, Tara’s arms wrapped invitingly around her, the blonde’s eyes twinkling with the best kind of mischief.

Her gaze fixed on the upturned corner of Tara’s mouth, where she took to placing soft pecks, until gentle fingertips guided her chin straight, and an insistent tongue traced the curve of her lips. Her mouth opened instinctively, for what felt like it was going to be a long, deep kiss-

Until Tara abruptly went still beneath her, pulling back.

“Baby, wha-”

“Miss Kitty.” She followed Tara’s eyes to the kitten perched silently on her now empty pillow, tail flicking back and forth, round eyes fixed on them curiously. “She’s..watching.”

Willow buried her face in the sheets, muffling her laughter as Tara protested, indignantly. “Will! She’s our child!”

“Miss Kitty,” Willow giggled, reaching out to scratch under the kitten’s chin, who rewarded her with a soft purr. “Your mommies need alone time.”

With a flick of her wrist, Willow sent the feathery cat toy on the nightstand hovering through the air, to float temptingly over the feline’s head, before levitating over to the other side of the room, where it continued to wiggle-waggle in circles over eager paws.

“Now,” Willow turned back to Tara with a smile, their noses touching. “Where were we?”

“Rewarding you,” Tara purred, “for being a naughty, class-ditching girl.”

Willow grinned, and let the woman under her pull her down into a second kiss.

Sure it was calculus, and they were just starting up on differential equations - her favorite. But staying back?

So worth it.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Nominated at round five of the Running with Scissors Awards for best 501-1000 word ficlet.

This is getting ridiculous.

Sat, 31 Jan 2009 23:00:08 GMT

I'm actually looking forward to having cable-bound internet next year, because then I know that it will actually work. Wireless dorm internet is kind of getting ridiculous, in a completely unreliable, works-one-week-and-not-the-next kind of way. Which is extra evil, since half my school work needs to be completed online. -headdesk-

Anyway, catching up on my flist, and the fic that I owe all around. So I made a to-do list.

Willow/Tara ficlet - wehavedental's belated birthday pressie. Just needs to be looked over, and posted.

Finished here

Wes/Cordy drabble - obiwahn swap of awkward!Wes goodness. Half-done.

Wes/Lilah fic - notquitegood's holiday request. Half-done.

Lilah/Cordy - Afterlife plot bunny. Just started.

An Unlikely Pair Rewrites - I'm done with chapter 5 of that damn series, but first need to redo the first 4 chapters.. They're some of the first Angel fic I ever wrote, and they could really use some edits. If I weren't so weirdly attached to the idea of it all, I'd just drop it.

..I think some coffee is in order.

Belated Happy Birthday to Wehavedental

Wed, 21 Jan 2009 22:36:38 GMT

Wishing a belated happy birthday to the fantastic wehavedental, since my net was all dead-like yesterday. Your little ficlet is in the works, but will surely be intensely late - so to tide you over, here's a clip I know you love so much..

Love you to pieces, hunny! -big smoochies-

Ats - "Nothing to Lose" - PG13 (Wes/Lilah)

Sun, 18 Jan 2009 23:13:26 GMT

Title: Nothing to Lose
Author: dreamincolor
Fandom: Ats
Pairing: Wesley/Lilah
Genre: Angst/Romance
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Innuendo, and a bit of skin.
Summary: 'It's not always about holding hands.' -Wesley, S4 E16
Word Count: 1054
Disclaimer: All the things that make money belong to Joss.

Beta'd by: wehavedental

_________________________________________________________________________________

It was painfully quiet, the kind of too quiet that at first seemed almost too loud. The silence of Wesley's empty apartment pressed in on his eardrums like the blare of a single, monotonous tone, and he cursed himself for never investing in a TV of his own, if only for voices in the background to ignore.

Wesley's free hand reached to pour himself another glass of scotch, brushing past an unshaven cheek as he lifted the drink to his lips. His eyes roamed across the book laying open in his lap, tracing the text with his eyes. Over and over the same sentence, over and over the same line. Over and over, but nothing seemed to stick.

It was uncanny how the second he had time and quiet, unbothered and without obligation, he couldn't concentrate. It was too quiet, and left room for an unrelenting ache that had started in the base of his chest weeks ago, and had not faded since.

A single monotonous ache, a single monotonous tone. An inability to focus.

So it didn't take much to pull his eyes from the page when from across the room, Wesley heard a kind of creaking. With a frown, he closed the book in his lap.

It was the sound of a key turning in an old deadbolt, and the squeak of ungreased hinges. Feminine shoes tapped out his uninvited guest’s movements as she stepped through the front door, raising a brow derisively. "Research, Wes? At this hour? You really don't have any friends, do you?"

Wesley closed his eyes, frown deepening as the voice across the room continued; light, and irksomely familiar. "It's different when you're, you know, studying up to save the world, but once you start doing it on the weekends just to entertain yourself.."

Mechanically, Wesley poured himself another glass. ”I didn’t let you in.” His voice felt almost foreign, too rasped and rough to be his own.

Silhouetted against a window full of moonlight, Lilah’s slender torso slid out of a jacket, hanging it on the door. Scarlet lips were in a smirk. ”I have a key.”

He knew he hadn't misplaced the damn thing. "They teach you pick-pocketing in law school?"

There was a characteristic slink to her step as she crossed the room, heels clicking with the sway of her hips. "Not in the strictest sense."

”Get out.”

She slid down into the space beside him, shifting near until their thighs touched. A delicate-looking, carefully manicured hand moved to lift the glass right out of his and raise it to her own, smiling lips. ”Thank you Wesley, I’d love a drink. Hard day at work, trouble with the boss..nice of you to ask.” She tilted her head back, draining his drink dry in a single motion. The glass clicked against the table as she licked her lips clean, skirt inching up her thigh as it shifted against his.

Something clenched low in his stomach, and Wesley's eyes fell to the floor, features tensed into a scowl as he shifted. He didn't need to look to know that her lips were twitching up in a smirk, a silent laugh at how easy it was to make him uncomfortable.

Then she was eyeing the book in his lap, lifting it from him and fingering the binding as she read, “Rasselas, by Samuel Johnson." Her nail tapped against the cover page, eyes narrowed in mock concentration, "Now, wasn't he the one that said, 'the road to hell is paved with good intentions'?" The book landed on the coffee table in front of her with a thud, her voice silky. "Now, isn't that fitting."

He felt his frown deepen.

"Careful there lover, you strain your face like that.." Lilah’s fingertips reached to streak down his cheek, long nails dragging over his skin, down his jaw line. "You just might pop that little nick in your neck open, and bleed all over my brand new blouse." Her eyebrows arched, smile widening as her hand continued down, "That would be terribly unfair, considering the stain you left on my last one-“

His fingers dug viciously into her wrist as he snatched her hand away from him, forcing her long nails from the tender cut slanting his neck. He could feel the pulse in her arm speed up when he spoke, his fingers digging into soft skin. “Lilah..” His voice was the low, dangerous warning of a man with nothing, and something in the pair of pale, perfectly painted eyes before him flickered with fear, the lawyer’s lips parting to let out a short, shuddering breath.

But the very smell of her, the feel of her body so close to his, it was enough to evoke memories - things she’d said, things she’d done, things no other woman had ever..

Lilah’s free hand moved in a slow, cautious stroke up his thigh, her breathing hitched as she leaned her body in nearer to him, her chest brushing his, and her breath beating in a slow, soft pant against his lips.

And then he was kissing her, and they were colliding like they always did – too eagerly, too strong. Their mouths moved together in a frenzied clash of tongue and teeth, in a kiss too passionate to be smooth, and her hands were working the buttons of his shirt free even as he pushed her onto her back; his body pressing hers into the cushions beneath them.

She reacted instantly, instinctively, like she always did - pressing her body in closer to his, legs opening to let him between. His glasses had fallen crooked on his face, and almost thoughtfully she pulled back long enough to pluck them from the bridge of his nose and toss them onto the table; the world around him becoming pleasantly out of focus.

And it was always then, when they were half-way to the inevitable and he could smell her perfume and feel her body molding to his, and she was clawing desperately at the buttons of his shirt and he at hers, as they raced to vulnerability - that he realized it didn’t matter. That could kick her out or they could fuck all night, but either way nothing would change - because it didn't matter what people like them did in the dark.

No one was waiting on them, and they had nothing to lose.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Nominated at round five of the Running with Scissors Awards for best het.

Nominated at round nine of the Rogue Poet Awards for best het.

Squee!

Sun, 18 Jan 2009 22:58:31 GMT

Whoever has been nominating my fic, I love you muchly. It completely makes my day. I'm channeling big, squishy hugs in your direction, and small world of chocolate.

Bones Badassery

Tue, 13 Jan 2009 11:11:15 GMT

It's 4 in the morning, and I've been watching Bones since 10. First disk of season one down.

Love the cast, love the writing. Cover me impressed.

Lovely

Fri, 09 Jan 2009 10:56:52 GMT

Have I ever mentioned my intense attraction to Gina Torres?
Because..damn.

Ats - "Every Good Plan" - R (Lilah/?)

Thu, 08 Jan 2009 08:11:31 GMT

Title: Every Good Plan
Author: dreamincolor
Fandom: Ats
Characters: Lilah/?
Genre: PWP
Rating: R
Highlight for Warnings/Spoilers: **f/f sex, blood, bondage**
Summary: Every good plan needs a test run.
Word Count: 1037
Disclaimer: Joss made ‘em, I just put them in inappropriate situations.

Beta’d by: wehavedental, but any mistakes are mine.

* * * * * * *

It was dark and quiet. Lilah tried to open her eyes, but couldn‘t.

They were covered, blindfolded. A moment later, arms straining, she found she couldn‘t lift her arms or legs - handcuffed spread-eagle at the wrists and ankles to what felt like, to curious fingers, familiar wooden bedposts. The mattress cradled her back against smooth sheets; Egyptian cotton, the finest money could buy.

It was her bed, but she was outside.

She could feel the warmth of the sun on her face, and a gentle breeze. Laying on top of the sheets, not a thread of clothing covered her, and the warm air moved over her bare, naked skin; along and between open legs, and up over her stomach and chest. A stray hair blew into her face, and tickled her nose.

And Lilah instantly shuddered as something foreign - a slim, cold fingertip - brushed it aside.

Then almost immediately there was the weight of something - someone - small pressing down on her, a dainty figure straddling her and perching on her hips. She could feel the woman’s thighs, smooth and bare, brush her sides as knees dug into the bed on either side of her.

Delicate hands spread out over her stomach, cold palms flat against her skin. The stranger’s body brushed hers where their hips met, the smooth friction of skin to skin coupled with the subtle scratch of curls, telling her the other woman was equally naked.

And under the stranger, Lilah had all but stopped breathing.

“Relax..” The voice was low and feminine above her, as fingertips too cold to be human trailed the length of Lilah’s stomach to trace circles around her navel, tentatively.

“Who are you?” The lawyer’s own voice felt like a far away whisper, echoing out in the silence, uncertainly.

“Well that takes all the fun out of it,“ the words were a purr in Lilah’s ear, and she could feel the other woman’s chest brushing over her own as the stranger leaned in closer, the graze of nipples making her tense involuntarily, “Doesn’t it?“

The delicate figure pressed down closer over her, the other woman’s hair brushing her cheek as a cool mouth closed around her earlobe, sucking and nibbling in a soft, teasing manner. Lilah inhaled sharply, and she could smell a floral, feminine sweetness on the stranger, layered over a more subtle scent. Like vanilla, or something softer.

Something she recognized.

Lilah let her lips part for the whisper, “Darla.”

The stillness of the woman on top of her verified her assertion, so she continued in a firmer voice, “This is a dream.”

“..Is it?” Lips moved down the curve of Lilah’s neck, leaving the ghosts of kisses tingling on her skin. “What, don’t fall into bed with women often? I‘d think what with that heels and power suit thing you've got going, they’d be falling all over you.”

“I read Lindsey’s file on you, Darla,” she pressed, “on what you’re planning on doing to Angel.” Lilah paused at the feel of chill fingers tracing circles down the dip between her breasts, and swallowed. “Playing games like this on him, in his sleep.”

A thumb and forefinger plucked tentatively at an exposed nipple, and Lilah smothered a gasp by biting her lip.

“Well, every plan needs a test run.” A dainty finger looped under her blindfold, tugging it down till Lilah could see the blonde’s lips curving up in predatory smile, her face silhouetted by a warm, bright sun.

Then the attorney watched, heart pounding, as white fangs dropped and Darla’s face, Darla’s forehead, changed into something that was inhuman, a strong shiver moving through her at the new, deadly kind of beauty in the vampire’s face.

“Darla,” her voice was a hurried plea, “we can negoti-”

“Every plan needs a test run,“ The vampire repeated, touching a silencing finger to her lips. “And I’d say..” A moan escaped Lilah before she could gather the pride to stifle it, as the other woman shifted downward, straddling one of the lawyer’s thighs to let Darla’s hand move more freely; cold fingertips petting and circling and teasing between Lilah’s open legs. “This one was a success.”

Then Darla was leaning up and in, and Lilah could feel the graze of fangs on her neck, over her jugular.

Lilah screamed, both in pleasure and pain, as the woman’s fangs tore down into her throat just as slim fingers pushed inside of her, curving and stroking and rubbing against all the right places with a few steady, expert thrusts in and out as Darla began to drink greedily at her neck.

And with every push of the woman’s fingers deeper inside her, and every sink of the vampire’s fangs further into her skin, Lilah couldn’t help but let out an uncharacteristic whimper - her soft cries a melody in time to Darla’s motions, and her body one shuddering instrument at the whim of expert hands.

Then her back was arching suddenly, quickly, and her thighs were straining to clamp down on the hand between them as her body writhed and her fingernails dug into her palms, mind drowning in a sensory overload as she felt her inner muscles shudder and clench hard around Darla’s fingers against her will, as her blood left her, as Darla drained her..

And everything faded to black.

* * * * * * *

Lilah woke in her own room to a twice-snoozed alarm, with her head pounding like she’d been run-over by every bus in LA and her body aching. After a moment to process how many meetings she‘d already slept though, she managed to stumble to the bathroom, and catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

If the circles under her eyes and lack of color in her cheeks hadn’t screamed blood-loss loud enough, the two angry red bite-marks scabbing over on her neck did the trick. One hand gripping the marble sink, she steadied herself against a sudden wave of dizziness.

"That bitch."

And maybe it was the rasp in her tone that came from a used-up voice, or the soreness between her legs that standing was bringing to her attention - but as an afterthought, despite herself, Lilah smiled.

Fic Commentary for "A Simple Choice"

Tue, 06 Jan 2009 11:05:41 GMT

Fic commentary on A Simple Choice, as requested by snowpuppies. The original fic is included, with my ~~babble~~ commentary in blockquotes.

The prompt for this fic was Cordy/Eve, from the good__evil Love is Everywhere Fest. Out of the pairings I rolled, the only other one I had considered doing was Illyria/Buffybot, mostly just for the ridiculousness of it all. (And the whole, we wear the face of someone we’re not, thing.) But in the end, I’m glad I went with this one instead.

“I’ll only be a moment.” The words left Cordelia in a kind of choked exhale, and at Angel’s expression she forced a smile and cleared her throat, repeating the phrase with as much reassurance as she could muster. She must have been convincing, and maybe she should have been an actress after all, because it only took a few more, warm words and a second later he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

She'd been trailing after Angel towards his office, just for a moment, just long enough for him to get his coat, before they met the rest of the gang for a celebration drink. Both of them had been all victorious smiles and affectionate brushes. They’d saved the day; they’d cracked the books and beat the baddy, and it was just like old times.

Just like old times, before she’d been possessed and had watched her body do things that would haunt her forever. Before she’d gone comatose. Before she’d died.

They’d moved out of the hall and into the conference room that linked to Angel’s office. The vampire had already stepped past the threshold into the other room, into the office, when he paused. She hadn’t followed, so he turned those big, dark eyes on her, deep with worry in that way that made her knees want to buckle, and her hands want to pet down that stupid, spiky hair of his in soothing strokes until he knew everything was going to be okay. Made her want to tell him that she was going to take care of him now, tell him that she was never going to leave.

Cordelia Chase was a lot of things, but liar wasn’t one of them.

That’s probably one of my favorite things about Cordelia’s character – she may not have always been tactful, she may not have always been sweet, but she was always honest. Not necessarily because she was virtuous, but because at her core she was simply a crappy liar. (Which, could potentially explain the bad acting.)

So she could only tell him to go on, and to lose the frown, Tiger, because she'd only be a moment. The corners of his lips twitched up in a little smile, and then the door was clicking shut behind him, and leaving her alone with the background noise of people passing in the hall.

When I actually thought the episode through, the only time period I could think of in which both Cordelia and Eve could potentially be alone together, without running around doing other things, was this. Right before the big dramatic kiss, and the phone call.

In his absence the room suddenly felt extraordinarily large, and empty. Her eyes wandered the walls absently, and she found a painting of a large, picturesque, snow-covered castle. A faint smile curved the corners of her lips, and she was reminded keenly of a long forgotten image, a picture of a castle from one of her childhood story books.

When Cordelia was younger; her favorite story had been Cinderella. Of course, she laughed at the whole concept now, but she’d spent a good portion of her life harboring the hope that someone strong and handsome would carry her off into the sunset, to someplace far away. Far from the hellmouth she had grown up on, far from the absent parents and the IRS, and far the demons that had picked off a good third of her graduating class. She had wanted someone to sweep her off her feet and rescue her, wanted someone to save her from everything.

One of the most fun things about Cordelia’s character was that we got to see her grow from being the complete picture of annoying-damsel-in-distress, to her own hero. Which, I felt like, was a fairly realistic transformation, considering it took her three years in Sunnydale, and another three in LA to really get there. (We’re going to ignore Cordelia’s overly-heroic, to the point of uncharacteristic, arc in season three, where she actually lectured Angel about money. Pffft!)

She had looked for that someone, she’d looked hard. In fact, she’d looked so very hard that she’d found nearly a fourth of the varsity football team, around a fifth of the varsity cheer squad, a vampire slayer’s cheating side-kick, and a man who got her six months pregnant overnight. And the best part was, it was only when she called it quits and stopped looking that the prince charmings started falling into her lap. Though of course, to verify the theory that her love life was the universe’s big joke, both of them wound up being dead – the first in the more traditional, actually-no-longer-on-this-plane-because-I’m-a-stupid-Irish-man-and-sacrificed-my-life-for-you, sense, and one in the look-out-I-bite sense.

It’s remarkable how crappy Cordelia’s luck really was, romantically. Personally, I think she would have had much better luck if she had just gone ahead and seduced Fred, like we all know she wanted to. I’m just saying.

Either way, this whole getting swept of her feet thing was probably only happening if the janitor accidentally tripped her with the broom - especially now that she only had, presuming The-Powers-That-Screw-You were keeping a tight schedule, around another twenty minutes to live.

Twenty minutes. Some fairytale she lived in.

She looked down at her hands, long, polished nails glinting in the light, and flexed her fingers, realizing with a frown that this could very well be the last time she was corporeal. A second later she was pressing the very tips of her fingertips to the glass wall in front of her, eyes on the view of the city streets below the Wolfram and Hart, LA branch. All the people looked so very small from far away, like ants. Slowly she pressed her palms down into the glass, and the surface was smooth and cool, and reminded keenly of perfectly pale, icy skin; skin like she’d felt when Angel had walked through the hospital door and held her, their cheeks brushing for one, perfect second - a second where she could almost forget about the body on the bed behind her.

In a way, she’d gotten her fairytale after all. She’d been pulled from a body that was going nowhere, and gotten to walk through the world she wanted; but only until the clock struck twelve. Until her glass slippers faded away and her carriage became a pumpkin, and her tall, dark and handsome prince would be left with empty arms, wondering why his princess had been replaced with a phone call from the hospital, asking him whether she would have wanted a traditional burial, or cremation.

"I like the shoes.” A voice from the hall doorway behind her rung out, light and female, and Cordelia spun on her heel to find Eve standing behind her, lips in a little frown. "Think they've got Versace in the afterlife? Cause, I kind of doubt it."

So, starting out, the only thing I could remember about the Cordy and Eve interaction was that it was only one episode long, and that Cordelia had threatened to shove a pair of shoes down Eve’s throat. Which, while making for a hilarious mental image, didn’t exactly make for a likely pairing. But, I also remembered Cordy calling Eve Lilah-Junior (which completely made my day – since that was actually a nick-name I’d given her at the very start of the season), and that made me think of how I would pair Cordy and Lilah together in the same situation.

Lilah would try to seduce her into working for Wolfram & Hart, of course. So, presumably Lilah-Junior would try to do the same. (Of course, if it were actually Lilah doing the seductive convincing, I’d imagine it might have had a better chance of working - since they’d teamed up before against Billy, and Lilah seems to be a better negotiator than Eve, as well as being, in my opinion, much more seductive.)

Cordelia’s hand found its place on her hip, rolling her eyes as she turned back to the window. ”Haven’t you taken enough abuse for one day? Because I’ve gotta tell ya, I think me handing your boyfriend over to his demonic, royally pissed off ex-bosses and dragging you around by your earlobe is more than your share. Not really fair of you to hog my aggression, when there are so many other deserving subjects.” She gestured absently towards several other, presumably evil Wolfram and Hart employee’s whose heels clicked as they passed by the room, Cordelia’s gaze moving back down to catch on the different colored specs that moved like ants on the street, twelve stories below.

"The senior Partners have told me a lot about you, Cordelia.” Lilah-Junior was next to her now, looking out the window, her slim, manicured hands folded mildly behind her. Cordelia hated lawyers, because they had near-permanent poker faces, because their voices were annoyingly even, and because what she needed was some peace and quiet, not a devil talking in her ear. “I know what's waiting for you in Angel’s office."

Cordelia answered dryly, "A Lamborghini?"

"Hardly."

"How about a vacation for two?"

The other woman’s head cocked, eyebrows raised and voice flat, "Death."

I actually wrote almost the entire dialogue out for this fic in one sitting – which was really nice, since normally it takes me a lot longer than that. I was just laying in the bath (my place of thinky goodness) wondering how the hell I was going to pair those two up, and suddenly, ding! Like a little light bulb. I literally scrambled out of the tub, and stood soaking wet, dripping all over my floor, as I hovered over my desk and scribbled the basic arc of the conversation down. It wasn’t until I had a good few pages down, and half a dozen arrows and circles re-arranging everything, that I finally went back, and rinsed the bubbles out of my hair..

"Technically,” Cordelia flexed her fingers again absently, “I’m already dead.” Though for a temporary reflection of her real body; the skin she wore now was incredibly convincing. Everything felt perfectly normal, perfectly healthy; almost, as if she had never died at all. “But if the Senior Partners know so much about what's coming for me, then you already knew that."

There was a pause, then Eve’s voice was back, close to her ear. "You don't have to be."

And Cordelia couldn’t help it, her eyes widened and she was staring now, staring at Eve’s lips as she continued, slender arms folded over a blouse that made the most of a small bust. "Your soul is still on this plane. We can harness it, give you a new body – or, well..” Cordelia was blinking now, because either it was her imagination, or the other woman had just given her the up-down, ”your old one restored, anyway. No point in downgrading."

Might as well start the flirting out early – and hey, Eve isn’t lying. Cordelia looked fantastic in that episode.

The other woman’s gaze locked with hers, eyes big and green and surprisingly bright from all the light that poured in through the clear wall; and if Cordelia hadn’t known better, she might have thought the other woman’s furrowed brow was sign of sympathy. Cordelia folded her arms over her chest, lifting an eyebrow pointedly. ”And let me guess, all I have to pay is the small fee of my eternal soul? Or maybe, ten virgin sacrifices?"

I wanted to make sure it seemed like Cordelia could see through Eve’s bullshit right away, snarking back, and even outright mocking her. But as the argument went on, and became more convincing, more tempting, I wanted her comebacks to get less and less sure. There’s that old phrase, about time being the enemy of logic, and when somebody is talking you in circles, especially somebody who works for a law firm, it’s completely true. If they can build a good enough argument against you, it can really blur everything up, and twist around logic in a way that makes a person really susceptible to emotion.

Eve wasn’t looking at her anymore, she’d moved across the room to meet a man that stepped in through the open hall-door, only long enough to hand Eve a paper and pen, before darting back out. Eve closed the door behind him, moving to lean against a desk several feet away, eyes moving over the paper in her hand as she answered absently, "No, nothing like that.” She was uncapping the pen now, the tip of it lingering someplace near the bottom of the page as she added with a glance, “Although if you don't believe me, I'm sure your friends would be happy to help you read over the fine print."

"Senior Partners give you your name, Eve?” Cordelia’s lips were a thin line, trying hard to purge her expression of curiosity. “Seems too fitting to be coincidence. Don't have an apple on your person, do you?"

”No,” The pen in Eve’s hand made a brief scratching noise as she trailed it over the page, before dropping it without ceremony, and crossing the room on long, shapely legs. “I’ve something much better."

As the conversation goes on, I wanted Cordelia to start noticing little things about Eve – legs, eyes, lips, all things Eve is surely trying her hardest to flaunt, and things that will make her proposition that much more attractive.

She held out the paper out, out of her reach, but just near enough that Cordelia could clearly make out the words, ‘Employment Contract’ at the top. Instantly Cordelia’s eyes narrowed and she took a step back, hands jerking as if to shove it away. "If you think for one second that I'm signing that little death-trap-"

"It's not for you." The smaller woman’s fingers tapped at the bottom of the page, where a signature already sat on top of the dotted line, the still-wet ink slanting across the contract in tiny, unreadable cursive. "It's mine, accepting my new job as your personal assistant."

"So this is what, your last ditch effort to not get beheaded by your bosses for teaming up with that tattooed boy-toy of yours? What kind of hell do you think he’s in, anyway?” Cordelia’s arms folded back over her chest, leaning her shoulders against the glass wall behind her. “Think the Senior Partners will give him his own, personalized hell, or it will be something generic? My vote is on a big pit of fire. Classic.”

As Cordelia starts to feel herself actually considering it, she’s going to lash out at Eve personally. In this case, knowing nothing about Eve herself, the best she can do is talk about Lindsey.

Of course, Eve knows better than to even acknowledge the personal shot, and by-passes it completely.

Eve was folding up her own contract neatly, tucking it away into her back pocket. "Think about this for a second, Cordelia.” Those green eyes were on her again, unwavering, and the other woman’s tone was soft like understanding, “For starters, you won't die - kind of enough reason in and of itself - but on top of that you'll have access to all of Wolfram and Hart's resources." Then the eyes in front of her were blinking one too many times, almost as if the dark lashes were being fluttered in her direction purposefully, and Cordelia couldn’t help but wonder if Eve counted as a resource. “That means everything you need to go shoe shopping or to save the world, it's really up to you.”

Eve starts playing up the sympathy card subtly – soft tone, sad eyes, like she actually really cares about what’s going to happen to Cordelia, as one human being to another. And, not knowing anything about Eve, a performance like that might be fairly believable.

Cordelia couldn’t help but let her eyes wander down to her wrist, even as she felt Eve watch her. Watch her checking the time, watch the panic flash in her eyes as she registered: fifteen minutes.

I’ve always thought that knowing the exact time that you were going to die would have to be one of the most terrifying things imaginable, and here would add serious pressure and leverage to Eve’s argument.

"If you're offering me a job, I'd like to remind you that I have one.” Cordelia slid her wrist behind her back, out of view. “I'm contracted with the Powers; you know, seer for the forces of good and all. I'm pretty sure that kind of thing doesn't mesh with pushing papers at Evil Incorporated.”

Cordelia’s back-lashing starts getting weaker as she starts feeling out Eve’s argument instead of directly rejecting it. By pointing out its flaws, she more or less prompts Eve to argue back against them, almost as if she’s hoping Eve can explain them away.

"A job with the Powers that you didn't volunteer for,” She had hardly finished her sentence when Eve’s tone struck up again, low and serious. “And what have they done for you? Rewarded your service -years of visions that literally tore your brain apart- by letting you be possessed by something truly evil? By letting your body rot in a coma until you died?" Eve suddenly felt very close to her, close enough that Cordelia was suddenly very aware of her own breathing, and the breathing of the woman in front of her as Eve spoke, her tone a low, ardent whisper. "You call us evil, but who do you think are the bad guys here? The Powers that have every intention of letting you walk through that door for one last kiss before shipping your soul off and out of the way, out of their way because they're done toying with you? Who are letting you die when they have every bit of power to restore your body?" Cordelia only had a second to wonder if Eve knew how the visions were passed, if she’d put two and two together, before the other woman’s hand drew her attention elsewhere, fingertips touching up the outside of her forearm only for a second; the stroke brief enough that Cordelia didn’t have time to object, but gently enough, warmly enough that the touch felt like empathy, and seemed to linger. "Haven't you given enough for them, enough that you deserve the last years of your life?”

Here Eve quickly takes the cue, and jumps on the opportunity to lay out all the wrong the Powers That Be have done to Cordelia, and at the same time, takes the chance to invade Cordelia’s personal space, and breach the no-touch boundary with a quick brush.

"Last years of my life?” Cordelia turned her head away, eyes fixed on the office doorway, “Now you're just making me sound old." Then her eyes were closing, staring at the back of her eyelids, staring into the black. "It's not about what I deserve." If it was, there really would be a Lamborghini on the other side of that door, filled with purses and shoes every color of the rainbow and one hell of a chocolate cake. If it were about what she deserved, she would get a fucking parade.

Cordelia’s argument really starts to weaken around here, as she falls back on the good old Greater ood explanation. Which, of course, is something vague enough that it’s easy for Eve to twist around.

"You may feel like you're going to die a heroic martyr here, Cordelia, but what will it achieve?" She opened her eyes to see Eve gesturing out the window, indicating the people in the street below, "It's not going to help any one of them, your death. Not having you around to play hero like you did today isn't going to make their lives any better. In fact I'm willing to bet that they'll be worse off without you.” The other woman’s face was solemn, eyes narrowed in concentration as the movement on the street below held her gaze. “How many people do you think you've saved? How many more do you think you could save?"

Like deird1 pointed out, this really does have the same tone as Faith in “Consequences”, and Spike in “Dead Things”. The always convincing, lets-compare-the-numbers argument.

It only took a second of Eve’s eyes on hers for Cordelia’s gaze to shift back down to the street, shift away as the other woman kept talking, hands gesturing emphatically at her side. "Clearly it's not fair to you, killing you off after they screw you over –literally-” Cordelia flinched at the memory. Connor who she’d held as a baby, who was like her kid.. “and it's not fair to your friends. You saw for your own eyes today how much they need this, how much they need you.” Then Eve’s voice was another octave lower, softer. “How much he needs you."

Now Eve’s really going for the heart – the very reason Cordelia feels like her sacrifice is important, to help the man she loves.

Cordelia’s gaze jerked up, catching first on Eve, light brow furrowed and pink lips in a solemn line, and then the office door behind her, the seer’s voice leaving her with much more emotion than she had intended, "Angel-"

"Can handle himself?” Eve was shaking her head, “Oh, yeah. That's why you and me and everyone else here can tell he's struggling just to get up in the morning. He doesn't understand the good he's doing by being here, he doesn't see. People like Angel need to see the blood and the tears, needs to come home bruised and battered to know that he's doing good, that he’s helping; but people like you and I.." There was the soft brush of fingertips on her arm again, and then Eve‘s eyes had caught hers, holding her gaze, "We can see beyond that." Eve tilted her head back down to look over the street below them, and Cordelia’s eyes followed, watching the specks move about their lives, oblivious. "Those 50 people down there, what if there was a fire in the building across the way, and it started to collapse, started to crumble on top of those people down in the street?"

Cordelia paused for a moment, then reflexively re-folded her arms. "Then chances are, some Wolfram and Hart lackeys set it on fire."

"Angel Investigations could never save them all.” Eve pressed on, unabashed, “You, your friends, and Angel, you couldn't save them all, not all at once.” Then those long, prettily manicured hands were gesturing to the walls around them, Eve’s subtly painted eyes deep with frustration, as if she were struggling to get across a simple concept. “But here, you could. You can save exponentially as many lives, even you can't deny that."

The seer’s eyes moved to the office doorway, voice flat. "And you want me to help Angel see that.”

Here’s where Eve starts to see Cordelia as even more than a possible problem, should she die all nobly, and leave Angel with this strengthened sense of right and wrong; she starts to see Cordelia as a possible ally.

"Because it's true."

"Since when do you people give a rat’s ass about what's true?" She’d been aiming for angry, but the words left her in more of a frustrated sigh.

"Since we're under new management.” There was a light, quiet knock at the hall door, and Eve continued speaking as she crossed the room, hips swaying rhythmically with each step. “Your big, heroic hunk of a boyfriend owns this place Cordelia, it's his.” Another paper passed through the doorway into Eve’s hands, and then the door swung shut again, leaving only the noise of Eve’s heels, clicking as she moved back across the room. “It's mindless for him to continue treating this place like something he's fighting against, when this entire company is his tool.”

I have a thing for the clicking of heels. I don’t know why, because in reality I find them to be rather impractical...but I would be *so* seduced by a woman in heels. Thereby, virtually any chance I get, my fics all include clicking heels, generally in the form of Lilah Morgan. Random tidbit..aaanyway..

Cordelia’s eyes caught on the word ‘contract’ on the top of the new paper Eve held, and her arms folded more firmly over her chest, nails digging into her own arms. "Angel’s tool? Oh yeah, and the Senior Partners-“

I just realized that I actually mentioned ‘Angel’s tool’ in there. Oy vay..

"Haven't done a thing to interfere yet, have they?" There was an increasingly quiet, intimate tone to Eve’s voice, "Look, Angel and your friends..they're in it for the long haul. Their contracts are already signed, they've already changed this company into something it's never been before, into something completely new.” Eve was gesturing to Angel’s office door, and Cordelia’s eyes followed. “They're invested in this place, don't you think they could do a better job with you here?"

And Cordelia couldn’t help it, her arms were unfolding and she was looking at her wrist again, frown deepening. Ten minutes.

Again with the time pressure, as Eve plays off the for-the-good-of-your-friends card, and tries to ennoble her cause.

"This can keep you here with him, to help him here on earth - as friend or love, that's completely up to you; you know the risks. We’d never get in the way of that.” There was tentative pause, where Eve set the unsigned contract and pen down on the table beside them, within view and reach. “I'm just here to help you if you need it, if you need help with..anything.." Eve’s eyes were on her again, and her face was tilting up closer to Cordelia’s as she spoke, and the more she heard the other woman’s voice the more Cordelia realized just how sultry Eve’s voice was - feminine, low, and smooth like velvet. "We both know that having you here would help him, help give him the support he needs." Cordelia’s breath hitched at the feel Eve’s hand brushing up the side of her hip, fingertips slipping horizontally to trace along the exposed skin between the belt of her pants and the end of her blouse, "But Angel alone might not be enough to, well.." Dark lashes fluttered, the corners of Eve’s lips twitching up in a smile, "He isn't exactly able to help you with all the things that you might..need." Then Eve’s body was pushing in even closer to hers, their figures pressing together as the smaller woman pushed Cordelia back gently against the glass wall. Slender arms on either side of Cordelia trapped her as hips pressed in against hers, Eve’s fingers moving to trail in one smooth stroke up the outsides of her arms. "I am." Eve's face tilted up, and instinctively Cordelia's face tilted down to meet hers, nearly closing the small gap between them. Eve's word’s came in a hot breath against Cordelia’s lips, a shiver rolling down the length of her body, magnifying the warm sensitivity building between her legs.

After thoroughly picking apart Cordelia’s argument, bulking up her own with a for-the-greater-good spin, and letting the time pressure build till Cordelia’s reserve is all but gone, Eve throws in one last incentive – herself.

And for the second time tonight, Cordelia was drowned in the realization that she was never going to feel anything again; that her skin would never shudder under someone else’s touch like it was then, and that her eyes would never again slide shut, mind’s eye full of what Eve was offering, of what could be. The other woman’s fingers moved to draw Cordelia’s hand up against her, up and over the arch of a slender stomach to cup a small breast through thin layers of fabric, Eve’s fingers resting encouragingly over Cordelia’s, holding her hand in place. Eve’s lips were brushing hers, brushing them in a tempting shadow of a kiss as her voice left her in a whisper, "The Powers That Be aren’t looking out for you, Cordelia.” Then the other woman was pulling away, eyes flickering open to catch on hers, but body leaning back far enough that Eve could lift the contract from the table, and hold it out to her. “And they're not looking out for Angel. If you know anything about their plan for him and for your friends, you know that.”

Instinctively Cordelia reached forward, fingertips brushing over the back of Eve’s hand as the paper passed between them. For a moment their eyes lingered, locked and silent, and then Cordelia’s gaze was moving over the page. Phrases like ‘captured soul’ and ‘restored body’ leapt out at her, Eve’s voice a quiet whisper at her side. “This is a simple choice, Cordelia.” Soft fingertips reached up to trail down her jaw line, then down the side of her neck in a coaxing stroke, “You're not a stupid woman.”

The ‘simple choice’ line was actually the first line I wrote for this fic, in correspondence with the title. I actually start out that way a lot, with a matching line and title, but often times the fic itself turns out different than I had intended, and I end up deleting the line, and giving it a different title. This fic, however, actually turned out exactly how I’d imagined it the first run though – with one not-so-minor change. In my first run-through, Cordelia actually gives in.

For a moment she could feel the other woman’s breath on her collar bone, Eve’s slim, soft body near against her side, and Cordelia’s own eyes slipping shut. Then, "No.” In one smooth motion, Cordelia ripped the paper straight down the middle, dropping the remaining halves to the floor unceremoniously. "You're right. I'm not." Her heart was pounding in her chest and she could see Eve’s eyes light up with alarm as she spoke, “The choice between encouraging Angel to keep on compromising everything that he is, everything that we've all worked for, that some of us have died for-" Her voice cracked, the image of an Irish smile in her mind’s eye. "Between that, and helping the man I love see what is wrong with this place. That the senior partners are playing him,” She brushed past Eve, her heels puncturing the torn paper on the floor as she walked over it, "that this place is not his tool, that he is its tool, that this whole thing is a lie-"

”You’re going to die,” there was a desperate strain to Eve’s voice now, one that was much more genuine than anything Cordelia had heard out of her yet, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it was the Senior Partners had threatened her with, and how steep the price was for failure. “You’re going to die for the Powers that Be, Cordelia, and you can’t even trust them, you’ve seen that for yourself.”

Now Eve gets to play the desperate one, which is actually, I thought, her best roll in the series. I never really felt much of anything for her until the last episode, when she stood in the crumbling Wolfram & Hart office, looking like she had nothing left to live for.

Cordelia crossed the room, eyes never leaving the office door. Her hand closed around the doorknob in front of her, knuckles white. “It’s not them that I'm trusting.” She’d had enough of Cinderella stories, and enough of waiting to be saved. Her prince had slipped the track, and it was up to her to get him back on it. She trusted him to take it from there. “Everybody dies, Eve.” Her gaze moved down to her wrist for a split second, registering: five minutes. It would be enough. “Some of us just get to say goodbye.”

She took a deep breath, and the door swung shut behind her.

While this fic initially started out as a scheme for me to get Cordy to stay, and throw in a little femslash too, by the time I’d reached the end of their argument, I felt like I’d changed my own mind. Like I understood that her death, a completely uncompromising decision, even after all that had happened to her, to put her faith in her loved ones, was the only thing that could show Angel what was wrong with what they were doing - what was wrong with blurred lines and compromises - and the only thing that could really snap him out of it, and, like Cordy said in “Your Welcome”, remind him who he really is.

Fic Commentary on "Time"

Tue, 06 Jan 2009 08:27:55 GMT

Fic commentary on Time, as requested by deird1. Hope you find it interesting, if not mildly amusing. :P The original fic is included, with my commentary in blockquotes.

So, I actually started this fic sitting in Astronomy class the day we covered the theory of alternate dimensions. Which, is kind of how I thought heaven might be viewed in Jossverse - as a type of alternate space that exists on top of the regular reality, where souls are transferred to after death.

Death was much more life-like than Cordelia had expected.

There was no light at the end of the tunnel, no golden gates, and no white, fluffy landscape. Instead there was a big, cushy armchair and elevator music.

In front of her were around two dozen seats, two to a row. The tops of heads peaked out from behind them and swayed lightly with the train's motion, the walls and floor vibrating faintly around them. A man two rows in front of her was snoring.

I have to theorize that the snoring man died in his sleep, and hasn’t quite woken up yet..

Out the window a sprawling field of long, green grass - dotted with groups of fat, grazing cows - crept by. Passing through the aisle beside her, a woman in a pale pink dress offered Cordelia something to drink. In a daze, she declined.

I just couldn’t get this image of a train ride out of my mind. It always feels like in movies and books when people die, they’re just suddenly somewhere completely different - which, to me, would be really distressing. It seems so much more relaxing to *ride* to heaven, with soft music in the background, and cows and grass going by in the window..

The last thing she remembered was being in Angel’s office – Angel’s Wolfram and Hart office - and having an unbelievably important conversation about why dealing with evil law firms is a bad idea.

She knew that they would all be lost without her, but honestly.

The woman in pink offered her some of those airline peanuts, and she took them without thinking; fingering the package in her lap.

But Cordelia had to admit, evil law firms aside, there was a lot to be said for the lot of them surviving the last apocalypse - even if Cordelia hadn't. Now that she’d gotten a certain C.E.O.'s undead ass back on track, they would be just fine.

Even if a selfish part of her was wishing passionately that they wouldn’t, wishing that they would miss her and need her so terribly that they would bend the laws of time and space to get her back. That at the end of the day she could go back with them to the Hyperion and it would all be normal again. They would sit up late eating crappy Chinese take-out and bitching about the forces of evil, and there would be warm arms and more kissing, this time without good-bye tears.

But Cordelia knew better. She knew that she wanted them to go on and live their lives; to move on and be happy, and all that Hallmark crap.

So she was dead, life went on. Or..unlife. Whatever.

Cordelia was pleased to see that she was still wearing the same fashionable, button down blouse and slimming black pants, finished off with a pair of heels so stylish she might have given Lilah Morgan -(though surely she would be in a much more firey place)- a run for her money. She had been worried the afterlife would throw her into some tacky white robe like in the movies - because the last thing she needed was to spend eternity looking like she had just gotten out of the shower.

Because I apparently can’t resist mentioning Lilah in almost every fic. Me, obsessed? What?

The chair beneath her was soft and comfortable, and the view out the window was constant. As the train ride drew on time took on a strange sense of meaninglessness, and Cordelia became increasingly aware of the odd sensation that she’d been on the bus for either moments or weeks, but which she couldn’t say.

Couldn’t really pin down the time it would take someone to get to heaven, so I decided that it should be an indefinite time, maybe even a time that bends to the person’s needs. A person who has a traumatic death to process might be on a different, longer train, so they have enough ride time to think it out and calm down a little more.

In time the cows and grass fazed from view, and they were passing buildings, cars and people. The gentle rumble of the train’s engine died down as the world outside became stationary, a light voice ringing out over the loudspeaker, “Sarah Terange, Jessica Beskle, John Small..” Cordelia blinked, eyebrow arching as it continued, “Tenecia Serae, Mark Hares and Cordelia Chase, this is your stop. Please exit to the right, and watch your step. There will be someone waiting to greet you.”

I’ve seen it played off before in books, and I’ve always loved the idea of someone waiting in the afterlife to greet the deceased. Like the train ride, it was stuck in here to make the transition to the afterlife seem less scary.

Cordelia’s first instinct was to grab for her luggage, but looking around she found that she didn't have any. A few expectant faces had lined up behind her in the aisle so, empty-handed, she filed out, stepping down curiously onto a crowded platform.

Almost instantly a hand was in hers, pulling her away from the people congregated around the door. Bodies nudged and bumped around her, and faces of all colors and shapes moved past in the crowd. Once they'd come to a stand-still on the outskirts of the mob, her hands found themselves on the surface of a worn, brown jacket that stretched over an average set of shoulders. A pair of smiling green eyes and a familiar, distinctly Irish voice greeted her, thumb brushing her chin. “Hey there, Princess.”

Cordelia's unintelligible shriek was not nearly as loud as the one that left Doyle as she tackled him enthusiastically to the ground.

I can’t imagine a better greeter for Cordy. I was so upset when Doyle died in season one, and kept hoping all series that he would return in some way, at least for some sense of closure. (I didn’t hear about the actor dying till I’d nearly finished the series. -sniff-)

So, really, this whole fic is really just my way of inventing a greater sense of closure for the two, as well as cushioning how sniffly I got at Cordy’s death. (Same with “A Simple Choice”, really.) We spend all this time watching these characters grow and develop over the seasons, so when they finally die, it’s like someone we know has passed away. For me, that means processing - which apparently in Cordelia’s case also means a lot of fic.

**********

The grass was soft under her feet, heels abandoned temporarily at the edge of the park they now wandered through. People of all sorts passed by, most of them walking, but a few floating. Several were naked - in a vague, misty way - and looked almost incorporeal.

Doyle explained that the longer people stayed in the afterlife, the more things like their appearance and their surroundings came under their control - became unearthly, ethereal. The more they let go of life, the less life-like the afterlife became.

Again with the adjustment theory. I’d guess that, if there is such a thing as the afterlife, people would initially long for the familiar; like their own solid bodies, their own clothes, plus food and water and other things they took comfort in in life. Then as time went on, and as they slowly let go of the things they had needed in life, but don’t necessarily need in the afterlife, they’d be traded in for new things. Like, a floaty, misty-type body.

Since Doyle's hand was still very much hand-shaped, intertwined casually with hers, she presumed that he too was still attached to the feel of his good old, Doyle-shaped body - and apparently also to his old, Doyle-shaped clothing.

That man's fashion sense was tragic, and she was beginning to think that he might have done better in the white robe getup.

I love snarky!Cordy, and I spent a lot of this fic trying to get that side of her down better. There was actually a whole hunk of bickering that I ended up having to take out of here, but stashed away for later use.

“Well, ‘least ya got a hero’s exit.” His voice was soft and familiar at her side, listening quietly through the details of her last few years of life. Though, she got the distinct impression that he already knew them.

Another one of the classic afterlife images I really like: the deceased watching over their loved ones from heaven. And of course, even if Doyle *had* been watching, and already knew about everything she was telling him, I’d imagine he’d listen to her re-tell it anyway, because he’s just sweet that way.

“I'd imagine you know a little something about that.” She nudged his arm with her elbow, shooting him her best attempt at the stink eye. “Nice parting gift, by the way.”

‘Parting Gift’ of course being a reference to the first episode in which Cordy had the visions, and ‘The splittin’ headaches with pictures’ from the next paragraph being the phrase that Doyle used to describe his visions in the very first episode.

“The splittin’ headaches with pictures? Yeah, sorry ‘bout that.." His thumb brushed the edge of his lips absently, twitching up into a smile, "S' got a kinda ring to it though, don't it? Cordelia Chase, seer!" His free hand gestured at the air emphatically, adding with a smile, "Part demon now too, way I hear it.”

I had quite a bit of trouble with his voice, because I’ve never actually known anyone with an Irish accent. Eventually I ended up playing season one in the background while writing this, just to listen to him talk.

“Yep. Well, I think so..not totally sure how the PTBs were playing that one. Could have been a sham..but," she offered with a shrug "there’s was floating, and random bursts of light.”

Not really on board with the way they played out the half demon thing in cannon. It seemed like that could have been part of the whole Possessed-by-Jasmine thing, but if that didn’t start until her ‘ascension’, then she really was just half demon for a tiny bit of time, prior to being possessed. (Which, in my personal opinion, means she should have gotten a nifty tail or something – flashes of light just do not say demon to me.)

“No scales, no tail? Sounds like you got the short end of the demonic stick,” His eyes were twinkling, and she wondered if they had always been that bright. “Was a brave thing, that. Takin' those visions from Angel. Man would’ve been lost without ya.”

Wandering into references to another alternate reality – the one where Cordelia was a movie star, and found vision-crazy Angel, before giving him a big smooch. I’d imagine that since that was how she became half demon, supposedly, she would have covered that in her story telling.

“Don’t I know it." She was looking at the grass beneath them. Their feet lifted off it and almost immediately the blades sprung back up into place with an unearthly determination. Her eyebrows knitted together, eyes on the motions of the grass. "Well, me-me anyway. Evil-possessed-me I think everyone could have done without.”

Dark magic and murder and sex with somebody who was practically her kid. None of that had been on her agenda. Ever.

Personally, I always found the sex-with-Connor thing to be the most disturbing. You have no idea how upset I was with my TV screen when I watched that episode. Popcorn was thrown.

Doyle's hand was on her shoulder, gently turning her towards him. Her eyes lingered on his jacket collar, but his hand tilted her face up. “None a' that was your fault, Cordy. None a' it was you, ya know that..” Her eyes were closed, blocking out the view of his painfully sincere face. With a thumb stroking along her jaw line, the soft Irish tone added, “Angel knows that.”

When Cordy came back in ‘Your Welcome’, there was that quick talk with Wes about Lilah’s death, but that was really the only mention of what she did while body-jacked. If it were me, I’d need a whole lot more reassurance that it wasn’t my fault.

"You loved him, an' he loved you." Her hands grew momentarily rigid, eyes flickering open to see his locked onto hers, unwavering. "He understands, n' he 'aint mad. Nobody blames ya, you've seen that fer yourself."

"Doyle, I-"

"S'alright Cordy," his hand gave her shoulder a soft squeeze, lips in a small smile. "Didn't expect ya to wait around - stay madly in love with me once I'd gone. Movin' on, it's all good n' natural."

"Madly in love?" A smile flickered over her lips, "A little vain of you, don't you think?"

He winked, "Just call 'em like I see 'em.”

Doyle has an advantage over Angel in the sense that Cordy was going to die sooner or later, and go to heaven to join him, where as Angel has to hang around and repent for his sins for the next forever. So, I can’t imagine he’d be too jealous when he saw the little Cordy Angel love that panned out. In fact, he probably preferred her being with Angel to her being with Groo. (As, I’d imagine, did half the audience. –throws popcorn at the Pylean goof-)

She rolled her eyes, but just the same couldn't resist a smile when his fingertips reached for hers.

They took to walking again, meandering along the edge of the park in silence. The sound of birds twittering goodnight was around them in the trees as the sun began to sink down in the distance, leaving a trail of pinks and golds across the sky.

Somewhere along the way Cordelia's smile faded into a thoughtful frown, eyes on the sunset as her voice left her tentatively, "He'll move on without me, won't he? Move on like I did."

There was a pause, then Doyle nodded. "He will. Takes time, though."

"Especially with Angel." She felt a smile on her lips again. That man took forever to get over anything, especially women. Then again - being immortal and all - he wasn't exactly in a hurry. "He's got that though, doesn't he? Time."

"Yeah, he does." The hand in hers gave a quick squeeze, green eyes fixed out on the sunset and lips in a smile. "N' so do we."

I love the idea of those two having forever to spend together, they certainly deserve it.
End!

LJ hates me

Tue, 06 Jan 2009 06:54:01 GMT

For whatever reason, I simply cannot get my fic commentaries to format. I think something about the blockquotes is making the whole thing do the wacky when I try to put it behind a cut. (The cut doesn't lead to anything, the rest of the text just sits outside it.) It's driving me nuts.

Anybody have any ideas?

Fic Commentaries

Tue, 30 Dec 2008 08:45:08 GMT

This fic commentary thing going around looks like fun..

I wanna play. Anybody wanting?

(For anyone who hasn't seen them, they're just where the author re-posts a fic with comments interspersed inside it, about the writing of the fic, what certain lines were intended to mean, ect.)

Buffyverse - "The Figment" - G (Fred/Buffy)

Mon, 29 Dec 2008 11:05:34 GMT

Title: The Figment
Author: dreamincolor
Fandom: Buffyverse
Characters: Fred/Buffy
Genre: Gen/Romance
Rating: G
Warnings: Slash..if you squint.
Summary: In Pylea, anything good is just a figment of Fred’s imagination.
Word Count: 2239
Disclaimer: Joss rocks.

Beta’d by: wehavedental
A/N: Requested by deird1, with the prompts of ‘Fred talking about snow’ and ‘Fred/Buffy.’ Hope you like! (Also, for anyone else who feels inclined, I’m still taking Holiday requests for fic here.)

* * * * * * *

It had snowed in Texas, but never like this. There, she’d run out of front door to make snowmen. Now, Fred would have given anything for a front door to hide behind. For a warm bed, for a heater, for anything other than the snow that was falling all around her and freezing the air that blew into her cave. The snow that was blocking up the entrance, and snowing her in.

In the corner she huddled against stolen furs at a fire‘s side, and dreamed of beds, baths, and warm bodies. Of touch and taste and a world where melting snow didn’t remind keenly of fragile sanity, slipping and dripping away through her fingertips - melting and seeping into Pylea‘s dirt, never to come back to her. Dreamed of a world where snow was just that: H2O’s solid form, maintainable only in an environment with a temperature of 32 degrees Fahrenheit or lower, made of molecules held together by two sets of hydrogen bonds..

But logic didn’t work the same way in Pylea. In Texas, it was only logical that people had the right to speak without being electrocuted or hit. That people were never executed in the town square for trying to find something to eat. That people were always people, and never cows.

And in Texas, Fred’s math always worked. Not like here, where she started to run out of space on the wall because no matter how many times she tried, no matter how many times she worked the equation out and cast the portal, it never came where she needed it. Where no matter how many portals she cast, the only one she’d ever seen was the one that plucked her out of the LA library.

And with no portal, there was nothing better to do than dream of Texas, drifting off by the fire.

* * * * * * *

Fred woke to the sound of footsteps beyond the crackling flame, beyond her cave; footsteps loud and crunching in the silence outside, just beyond the wall of snow.

And suddenly her heart was racing.

Because they had found her this time, the little thief that snuck down to town and took scraps. They were going to catch her, pinned where she couldn’t get away - trapped by the snow. They could see the light of her fire though the darkness outside, through the snow, and she knew shouldn’t have lit a fire at night, but it was just so cold, and they were going to know she was there. They were going to set a trap and pin her in til she starved. Even if they couldn’t get in right that minute because the entrance, low to the ground, was sealed shut by a wall of snow, too thick and solid and frozen for anyone to-

Fred smothered her own scream as a fist flew through the ice and snow, sending hunks of ice flying and crumbling on the cave floor.

But through the newly-formed hole she could see, silhouetted against the darkness, light hair and skin. Fair, human, not-green-at-all skin.

Which didn’t prevent her from shrieking again as another punch pounded through, and the last of the snow wall came crumbling down at the stranger’s feet, remnants of Fred’s scream still echoing around the cave.

But it didn’t matter if the blond woman heard her, because the stranger was already looking at her, staring at her with big, green eyes and parted lips, breathing out foggy-breath into the cold. She had her arms crossed over her chest and her body huddled down like she’d never been so cold in her life - silhouetted by snow, but wearing nothing but a tank top and jeans-

Jeans.

Fred remembered jeans. Jeans and sneakers and belts, all like the things the girl was wearing and oh God.

She couldn’t bring herself to move, not even to close her open mouth.

“Hey, uh..” The stranger was shaking almost violently, and her teeth chattered as she shifted under Fred’s gaze, inching forward. “I didn’t mean to scare you, what with the punching and the barging, I was just..” Fred tried to speak, but only something like a squeak left her throat. “I could see light through the snow, and it was cold..I’ve been wandering around since before dark. There was some kind of portal in the park hours ago that something nasty jumped out of, I was fighting it and I think I fell back through with it - and..do you speak English?”

Fred was trying hard to pull herself to her feet, but her limbs were shaking nearly as bad as the half-frozen girl‘s, with her long wavy hair and big gorgeous eyes and sincerity written all over her face, like she really was sorry for pummeling through the wall of snow like it was Styrofoam packing. And suddenly Fred was keenly aware that she hadn’t bathed in days and probably looked like some kind of cavewoman, and that that wouldn’t make any sense to the person in front of her because she wasn’t from around here. And God there really had been a Texas, or a United States, or a planet Earth anyway because this girl was obviously from it, since she spoke English and wore clothes and it was all just too much.

Hands gripping tight to her bare, dirty knees, Fred looked back into to the fire, and pointedly ignored the woman on the other side of it.

Slow, deep breaths.

But despite her best efforts, she couldn’t help but notice when the woman came to tentatively stand next to her, shivering with her arms stretched over the fire as she spoke with an uncertain awkwardness. “So, uh, you don’t speak then.. I hope you don‘t mind the company, I was just..cold, with the snow..” There was a pause, and Fred was tempted into looking in time to see the other woman’s face screw up as she pointed to her own chest, and cleared her throat, before speaking in a slow, obnoxiously loud voice. “I’m..a friend. Friend Buff-eey.” The stranger pointed to herself again firmly, “Buffy.”

They were silent for a long moment, Fred’s arms wrapped tight over her chest, as she shifted to stare back into the fire.

“That’s an awfully silly name.”

Buffy jumped.

Then she was dropping down beside Fred, sitting, and opening and closing her mouth soundlessly like some kind of fish. By the time Buffy had finally managed to find her voice again, a flush had crept into her cheeks. “I thought you uh..couldn’t talk-”

“Oh, I can talk.” Fred’s fingers toyed with the rough hem of her rag dress, eyes back on the fire. “Better than most, actually. I was almost a language major, ‘til I realized that then I’d have to be a translator or somethin‘, which would mean talking to a buncha strange, foreign people - and people are strange enough in LA without cultural differences and the like, and I never really liked language that much anyway so it wasn’t a big deal, but I can definitely talk. I just don’t want to talk to you.” On the edge of her vision she could see green eyes staring at her, wide as saucers, as she finished, “So..stop trying to talk to me.”

When Fred closed her eyes several seconds later to keep from looking at the woman beside her, Buffy was still gaping.

And the Texan was finally starting to focus, tucking herself away into a mental recitation of the period table, when she heard the clearing of a throat beside her. Fred wrinkled up her nose in frustration as the other woman started, “I know you asked me not to talk, but-”

“Shhhhh!” Fred held her finger up to her lips, eyes never opening. Then, firmly, “Shh.”

A few minutes passed in silence, and she had moved on to the twenty-fifth integer of pi when the voice was back. “So..why can’t I talk?”

“Because!” Fred threw her arms up in the air in exasperation, and the woman beside her jumped again. “You’re not real! And not-real people don’t talk.”

Green eyes blinked. “I’m..not real?”

“You most certainly are not.” Fred’s hand reached out to grab a stick and stoke the fire, stabbing at the logs roughly. “And if I act like you’re here, if I talk to you..” She was picturing the snow, melting between her fingertips. “Then I’ve really lost it. Lost it more than talkin’ to myself and makin’ a song out of the quadratic equation and pretendin’ tree-bark is an enchilada - lost it like seeing people who aren’t there, who can’t be. Because I’m the only one here, the only one to come through a portal..“ She felt her eyes beginning to sting with moisture as she stared into the dancing flames, fingers clenched tight against her thighs. “I always have been.“

The fire sparked and crackled, and her eyes squeezed shut.

Then there was the feel of soft, cold hands closing over the top of hers, and lifting them up; the feel of the other woman bringing Fred’s fingers to Buffy’s cheek, and pressing her palms against fair, smooth skin.

“I’m real.” Buffy’s voice was matter-of-fact, but gentle. Quiet.

Something inside Fred’s stomach that had been clenching twisted, tightened, and she could feel the tears trailing her cheeks as she moved her fingers down the other woman’s face. With shaky fingertips she traced the shape of a sweet nose and the curve of bow lips, then with her gaze outlined the subtle textures in the other woman’s eye, loosing herself in a sea of green.

If the other woman was a dream, it was one Fred never wanted to forget.

Surprisingly strong arms pulled her in against Buffy’s body, Fred’s face falling in against the other woman’s shoulder as she wrapped her arms around her neck, fingers lacing up into Buffy’s hair; tangling into blonde, loose waves.

Breath hit on the shell of Fred’s ear quietly, hesitantly. “So..I’m not in California anymore, then.”

“N-no.“ Fred could feel her teardrops leaking in through the fabric Buffy’s shirt, down to the other woman’s skin. “Pylea. I-it’s a different dimension, as far as I can tell.” She was pulling back slightly, feeling a bit sheepish, but she couldn’t bring herself to move too far. Her thigh still touched Buffy’s, and their shoulders still brushed as she spoke into her knees, rubbing the teardrops from her cheeks. “I’m afraid it’s not a very nice place..we got more demons than people.”

“That’s convenient.“ The other woman’s hand closed over hers again reassuringly, squeezing. “Demon-fighting is kind of my specialty.”

“Fighting them?“ Fred‘s still-moist eyes blinked. “Like..a superhero?”

“..Yeah, kinda.“ Buffy blinked back at her slowly, “No cape or anything, but there‘s the super-strength, and that kind of thing.”

Well, that did explain bowling over the wall of ice, and the not dying from the cold.

“Oh.”

They were quiet for another moment, before Fred blurted, “It’s my fault that you’re here.” There must have been a guilty blush rising up in her cheeks, she could feel the heat. “I didn’t mean to..I was trying to conjure a portal home, and you must have gotten caught in it, and this is a terrible place to be, and even though I‘m glad for the company I wouldn’t wish this place on anybody, so I really am sorry, and I understand if you don‘t want to talk to me anymore, especially since I called you a figment of my imagination-”

“Conjure?” The other woman was leaning forward, closer. “You conjured it..like with magic?”

“..In a round-about, mathematical sense,” she offered. The woman next to her was starting to smile, and Fred felt her heart skip a hopeful beat. “Why? Do you have magical powers, too?”

“A friend does.” Buffy was smiling full-on now, “If we can contact her somehow, send out any kind of energy..I’m sure Will can find us, piece of cake.”

“She can do that?”

“I sure hope so.” Buffy leaned in closer to the fire slightly, “I don’t wanna have to go find someone magical here, it’s too cold out there.”

“You’re awful positive about this whole thing..“ Fred squinted suspiciously, “Sure you aren’t a figment?”

The shoulder against hers shrugged, “I have finals this week. Demon dimension? Definitely better.”

The fire crackled, and between it and the warmth of the woman beside her, Fred felt safer, and more hopeful, than she had in what felt like forever.

She could get used to his. “I’m Winifred, by the way. But folks call me Fred.”

“Pfft.“ The other woman‘s hand squeezed over hers, shooting her a smile. “And you made fun of my name.”

Fred squeezed back, and smiled.

Yep, she could definitely get used to this.

* * * * * * *

Nominated at Round Four of the Running With Scissors Awards for Best Short.

Nominated at Round Eight of the Rogue Poet Awards for Best General Fic (non-spuffy).

Happy Holidays - and other randomness

Thu, 18 Dec 2008 10:18:49 GMT

Couple things:

1) Happy Holidays everybody!! I know I'm a smidge early, but my net's been on and off, and I can't say for sure I'll have any once I head home for the month. But..I will have my computer, with or without internet. Which is why I'm asking early foooor...

2) Christmas Requests - if any of you lot want anything particular to make your holidays a little bit shinier, (or, you know..smuttier) let me know! Net or no net, I should be having a lot of time on my hands this month, and I'd love to write some fic, if any of you are wanting. Also, I'm open to doing icons, or any other graphicy-type things. (Of course, graphics are way not my specialty. But I certainly don't mind trying.) So, just let me know what pairing or characters, what kind of medium, and if there are any other specifics you've got in mind. You're probably safest if you give me two or three options I can pick from, and extra-safe if you mention at least one of the characters or pairings I'm used to writing. Also, if I'm net-less, you won't be getting any of your requests till mid-January..but hey, late pressies are fun too, right?

3) Finals suck. A lot. I think I'm going to caffeine overdose and die of sleepiness at the same time.

4) I'm still catching up from by busyness/absence. If it's been a few days and I haven't seen something you've posted, feel free to link me. There's a lot of stuff to sort through, and sometimes I miss things.

5) My icon speaks the truth. If I could ask for Lilah/Wes smut in my stocking, I would. Or, really, any Lilah fic. Or any femslash. Or anything Fred-centric. So, if anybody wants to write me some, I'd be ecstatic. :D Of course, if I'm doing something for you, you certainly don't owe me a thing - but if you've got the itch, I won't say no!

6) I've got a beautiful new header by the always talented selene2. Thanks again darling! I adore it. -smooch-

Aaaand..that's it! Again, happy holidays everybody. Hope all is well with you and yours! Hugs all around.

Dreamincolor's Btvs/Ats Fic Masterlist

Tue, 25 Nov 2008 06:02:28 GMT

Dreamincolor's Btvs/Ats Fanfiction

Femslash:

Lilah/Fred

Bare
PG13 - Dark/PWP - 300
Lilah sees Fred how she is, not how she wants to be.

An Unlikely Pair
PG13 - Gen/Romance - WIP (4 chapters so far.)
In Pylea, everything is different.

Fred/Cordelia

Her Angel
G - Angst/Romance - 358
What keeps them whole, is remembering.

Like the Movies
PG - Romance - 500
Cordelia imagines she and Fred are in a movie.

Tuned In
PG - Romance - 500
Fred and Cordelia have a girls' night in.

Faith/Darla

Eternity
NC17 - Dark/Romance - 6893
Darla wants to give Faith eternity.

Her Game
PG13 - Dark/Romance - 1423
Darla loved the hunt, but Faith prefered the kill.

Cordelia/Lilah

Humanizing
PG - Dark/Romance - 100
Once in awhile, Cordelia catches sight of something.

Two of a Kind
PG13 - Romance/Gen - 3663
Cordelia needed good wine, leather couches, and someone who didn't think Burberry was a dessert.

Willow/Tara

Rewards
PG - Fluff/Romance - 635
Monday morning goes a bit differently than planned.

Cordelia/Other Female

A Simple Choice
Cordelia/Eve - PG13 - Angst/Romance - 4051
Cordelia has twenty minutes to live, and Eve makes her an offer.

Somewhat Compatible
Cordelia/Anya - PG - Humor/Romance - 916
Anya and Cordy talk about martinis, money and men.

Lilah/Other Female

Every Good Plan
Lilah/? - R - PWP - 1037
Every good plan needs a test run.

Professional
Lilah/Bethany - PG13 - Romance/PWP - 200
Lilah Morgan was a professional.

Fred/Other Female

The Figment
Fred/Buffy - G - Gen/Romance - 2239
In Pylea, anything good is just a figment of Fred’s imagination.

Let Your Demon Be Your Guide
Fred/Willow - PG13 - Romance/Gen - 1556
Lorne plays matchmaker.

Het:

Wesey/Lilah

Nothing to Lose
PG13 - Angst/Romance - 1054
'It's not always about holding hands.' -Wesley, S4 E16

Comfort
R - PWP/Romance - 1,238 words
Wesley used to take comfort in dusty texts and hot tea. Now, he finds comfort in something else.

Just Dinner
PG - Romance - 100 words
“Dinner tonight, my place.”

Power Shift
PG - Angst/Romance - 100 words
'Lilah's body was a tool.'

What was Surprising
PG - Romance/Angst - 100 words
'There was something about Lilah that made Wesley's blood boil.'

Romeo
PG - Romance - 100 words
'Feel like carrying me home, Romeo?'

Angel(us)/Cordelia

Stay
PG - Romance - 741 words
'Angel could hear her heartbeat against him, tellingly quick for such a quiet embrace.'

Doyle/Cordelia

Time
PG - Romance - 1523 words
Cordelia takes on the afterlife, and the surprises that come with it.

Maleslash:

Angel/Other

Bad Idea
Angel/Doyle - G - Humor - 557 words
Sometimes, using magic is just a bad idea.

Feelings
Angel/Lindsey (sort of) - G - Humor - 333 words
Angel has an unexpected, and all too revealing moment.

"Bad Idea" - G - Doyle, Angel

Sat, 22 Nov 2008 23:28:52 GMT

Title: Bad Idea
Author:dreamincolor
Fandom: Ats
Characters: Doyle, Angel, Cordelia
Genre: Humor
Rating: G
Highlight for Warnings/Spoilers: ** Man Smooch! **
Summary: Sometimes, using magic is just a bad idea.
Word Count: 540
Disclaimer: Joss wins.

Beta'd by: wehavedental, but all errors are mine.
A/N: Prompt was 'Magic,' from wehavedental.

Angel hovered over Doyle‘s shoulder, brooding expertly. “This is a very, very bad idea.”

“Common, it’s only temporary.”

“Which means she’s going to kill you when it‘s over.”

The Irishman waved a hand dismissively, “She’ll never even know what hit ‘er.”

“No, she’ll know exactly what hit her. She’s from Sunnydale.”

“..had a lot’a blokes casting spells on her in high school?”

“Only the one.”

“Didn‘t go well then, I take it?”

“Buffy’s mother tried to kill him with an axe.”

Doyle looked up from the open text, eyebrows raised. “..he was trying ta seduce Buffy’s mother?”

“No! It..“ Angel paused, lips moving soundlessly for a moment. “Just, listen to me. I’ve been around for two hundred and forty-seven years, and I’ve never seen a love spell go right.”

“Angel, man, it’s only a kiss.”

“No, it’s a magical kiss. It’s a you’re-jinxing-Cordy-to-kiss-you kiss.”

Out of the corner of his eye Doyle could see his boss fidgeting, picking something up off the desk.

“I’d prefer to think of it as..encouragin’ her ta get a taste ’a what she’s missin‘.“ He flipped several pages ahead, licking his thumb as he went. “The kiss is good enough, n’ she‘ll just think it was my devilish charm that drove ‘er to it, no harm done.” He ran his finger along under the words, squinting in concentration. “Now, I’ve done all the preparations, all I gotta do is make sure she touches that Nigerian sphere, and that I’m the first person she sees-”

“Uhm.“ Angel held up the glass orb he‘d been fingering. “This Nigerian sphere?”

The two men stared at each other for a long moment.

Then Doyle was putting up his hands, and taking a step back. “Angel, just keep yer calm, you don’t want ta - wait! Stop! No! Don-unnf!”

Several muffled protests, a few flimsy smacks to the side of his assaulter’s face, and a sincere attempt at a blind, backwards escape only landed Doyle in the corner of Angel’s office, pinned between the wall and a vampire with twice his strength, who was suddenly kissing him with an unbridled intensity.

Which, actually wasn’t completely horrible, once he stopped flailing.

It wasn’t until Cordelia burst in cheerily through the door, holding their morning coffee, that Angel finally snapped out of it enough for Doyle to shove the other man off him, lips and all.

But it was too late. The brunette stood staring at them, gaping.

“Cordy, it’s not what it looks like, I can explain-”

“No!” Her voice was irregularly high, and she jumped as the mugs of coffee she’d been holding hit the floor, slipping out of her fingers in surprise. “No! No, you two keep on..uh.. I’ll just be in the other..just come out when you’re…sorry about the coffee, I’ll just..right!”

With a slam of the office door, she was gone.

Angel’s eyes had finally started to widen in horror when Doyle rubbed his newly-smooched lips on the back of his coat-sleeve, sighing.

“I hate magic.”

Can this thing read my mind, or what?

Tue, 18 Nov 2008 22:52:48 GMT

Reach Out and Touch Lilah Morgan.

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Do it! Tiz fun. Stollen from divadea

(In particular, I tag deird1, wehavedental, snowpuppies and sirenwater.)