First Impressions

mph0506 @ 2007-12-16T18:02:00

2007-12-16T23:02:49Z

Been a good week. Dexter season finale (!!!) tonight! Met up with an old friend, recognized some dating potential. I also had a very Cordelia-esque moment last night, as my mother let me try on the knee-high boots she got me for Christmas to check sizes. I pranced around the house, in a t-shirt, my underwear, and the boots for about thirty minutes. Even going "new boots! la-la-la-la...!"

Hope everyone else is having a great holiday as well. BTW, where can I get good Dexter icons? I need at least one! Also, since I've got a little bit of time on my hands... who wants a drabble? Anyone?

FIC: My Loving Vigil

2007-12-01T19:57:59Z

My Loving Vigil
Gen, mostly, starring Cordelia and Angel. Mentions multiple pairings.

This was completed in about two days. I wanted to write something involving Christmas, and this is what came out. I just can't seem to give Cordelia and Angel a bona fide happy ending. Posted today to start the holiday season officially. Post-NFA, with mentions of earlier seasons of AtS & BtVS.

It's Christmas, and Angel's after the Senior Partners. Cordelia has other ideas.

Cordelia leans over his shoulder. "So this is what you do now, huh?"

"Yes," he says, without looking up. "This is what I do now."

She moves away from him, to the opposite end of the desk, propping her hip against it just as she always had. "What is this stuff, anyway?"

Angel leans back, surveying the suite. The walls are hung with maps-- the United States, North America, Europe, and even a small one of Africa-- and the floor is a calico of ancient scrolls, archaic compendiums, and the occasional weapon. "It's how I'm going to get to the Senior Partners," he replies.

"Good plan. I mean, it's not like you've never tried that before. Except for that time you indirectly killed a room full of lawyers and kicked me out on the street."

Before he can react, his cell phone rings. It's one of the few remaining memoribilia from his old life, and he vowed many months ago to use it until it simply fell apart. All of their numbers are still programmed in. He lets it ring, as he always does, then picks it up to listen to the voicemail. Nina.

"Hey, Angel, it's me. I know you never answer but--"

Cordelia crosses her arms, frowning. "All those years of cell phone training and now you don't even answer? Are you serious?"

"--I just wanted to tell you that I'm still here, and since it's Christmas, I thought it would be really nice to see you--"

"God, Angel, ungrateful much?"

"--and that I'm sorry. About everything that happened with your friends. I'm really sorry."

Angel hangs up the phone. Cordelia glares, and there was a time he would've slunk away, chastened by the expression alone. But now he just returns to his book, because it's sort of comforting. "This is what I do now," he repeats.

It was their first Christmas together. Cordelia dimmed the lights in the apartment, to better admire the decorations. The tree on the table was small, but it gleamed proudly, decorated with a string of tinsel and a star lined with white lights. It was also fake, because it was Angel's apartment, and the scent of pine bothered him.

She seemed proud of it, regardless. There were only two presents tucked beneath it, because Wesley had traveled back to England for Christmas, and they had given their gifts to him before. Cordelia was drinking a glass of red wine, the grocery-store variety, while Angel watched the chicken baking in the oven. "Dinner'll be ready soon," he said, over his shoulder.

"For the fifteenth time-- I GET it. Dinner, soon." She rolled her eyes, turning away from the tree. "Have you ever even celebrated Christmas before? Why are you being so awkward?"

He stared at his hands, holding the kitchen rag. "Sorry. I'm not used to social gatherings."

"Just so you know, two people does not really count as a 'social gathering.' It falls more into the category of 'pathetically friend-less.'"

Angel hung the rag over the handle of the oven, picked up his glass of wine, and moved into the living room to stand next to the tree. "I'm sorry that it's just the two of us. I know you like big holiday celebrations. We can call Wes, wish him a merry Christmas, if you want."

Cordelia sat down heavily on his ottoman. "Hello! It's not Wesley. I mean, he just got here, and now he's in England for Christmas. Big whoop." She bit her lip, tilting her head to conceal her expression. "It's just-- it's Doyle. I miss Doyle."

He put his hand on her shoulder. "Me too."

"As much of a freak as he could be, I bet he would be really fun at Christmas. Drinking all of the eggnog. Buying stupid presents. He'd probably carry around, like, a whole bush of mistletoe just to try and get me to makeout with him."

"That sounds about right," he said, giving her a smile. "Although I think eggnog would be a little bit soft for him."

"God, Doyle," she murmured. "I never really figured it out. Not until the end."

"Figured out what?"

"How brave he could be. How happy we could've--" she stopped, swallowing, then fixed him with one of her soft, wide-eyed looks. "Do you think he loved me?"

He hadn't really thought much about it. It crossed his mind, naturally, as Doyle only mentioned Cordelia every other sentence. But he never said so, at least not explicitly, and now Angel wished he had. If only because, with everything else gone, she would at least have that to remember him by.

"He never told me," he said, after a moment. "But, yeah. I think he did."

She leaned her head against his shoulder, looking at the tree. The gesture surprised him; he gave a little start she didn't seem to notice. For a long time, they sat together on the ottoman, watching the lights on the star flicker in and out.

The streets of Los Angeles are filled to the brim with Christmas decorations. Trees, wreathes, tinsel: the cityscape is even brighter than usual, flecked with multi-colored lights flashing competitively with the gaudy dress of the crowds. He's developed a pattern, at this point: spend the night scouring the streets, painstakingly following each thread of the Senior Partner's power, then hitting the books during the day.

It's easier, outdoors, where Cordelia can't follow. Alone, he can concentrate on things beyond the hole in Wesley's guts or how his hands smelled like Gunn's blood for weeks afterward. The only small comfort is Connor, up in San Diego, but Angel can't even visit him for fear of luring the Senior Partners. Even Spike is gone, more than likely dead: Angel never found any sign of him, never saw that familiar shock of overbleached hair ever again. And probably won't, when he allows himself to think of it.

Eventually, he has to return to the hotel. Cordelia doesn't appear until he has trudged up the stairs and into the suite. His boots have tracked a purplish ichor all the way into the bedroom. Cordelia tsks disapprovingly, sitting in his desk chair with her feet propped on a stack of books. "You used to be better about keeping house. Find anything interesting?"

Wordlessly, he crosses a name from one of his lists, then moves to the map. He adds a single thumbtack to the map of Los Angeles, then studies it contemplatively. After a moment, he takes a pencil and draws an acute angle from it to another tack of the same color.

"So, this is what you're pinning your big vengeance plan on, huh?" Cordelia comments. "Looks like a half-ass game of connect-the-dots."

"There's something here. I just haven't found it yet."

"Did you ever think that maybe you'll never find it?" she asks. Her voice has softened. He refuses to face her, to see the gentle sadness in her face. It makes him think of everything he's lost, of how he still wakes during the day reaching for his baby son or staring down into the abyss of the Deeper Well and Illyria's empty eyes. "I know what you're doing, Angel."

He keeps staring at the map. "What's that, Cordy?" he asks sharply.

"Obsessing, obviously. What you do best." He doesn't hear her move around, but suddenly she is beside him. "This isn't going to help. There are people who need you, and you're tossing them aside for some stupid kamikaze mission that won't bring any of us back."

"What did you think I would do?" He whirls to face her. He can't stop himself from shouting. "That I would just let them do this to you, to all of you, and just not care? They took everything from me! From all of you! How can you talk like it doesn't matter?" Without realizing it, he has begun to pace. He wants to kick something. "Like it doesn't even matter. Jesus."

"I'm sorry," she sas simply. Although her eyes are shining with tears, her mouth trembling, she scowls at him as viciously as she ever has. "But, in case you were wondering, I'm the one who's dead here. You've had, what, 200 plus years? I got about twenty, you ungrateful ass."

He often forgets how young Cordelia is. With a sigh, he slumps into the nearest chair. "I can't just let them get away with it."

"Whatever. I can see you have no intention of stopping," she snaps. "But just so you know, they already did get away with it."

He can't bear to look at her any longer. "Yeah," he replies, without looking up. "Maybe they did."

Buffy's hand was small and incredibly warm. He followed her through the streets, hazy with snow and the strands of lights dangling from the shop windows. He could hardly look away from her, her face flushed pink with cold and happiness, her golden hair freckled with half-melted snow.

"You're staring," she said, dimpling up at him. "Is my hair already frizzy?"

She was so beautiful, and yet she never even seemed to realize it. "No," he said, undone.

"Well, quit it. No brooding in the snow." Grabbing his hand, she began dragging him down the street, her boots leaving smeared footprints in the slush. "C'mon, Angel, it's Christmas. And you're still here, and so am I, and it's snowing. Let's enjoy all the miracles the Hellmouth has to offer, because most of the time? They seem to be in short supply."

He allowed her to drag him along. "Well, what do you want to do then?"

She paused, considering, then seemed to shiver with happiness. "This way. There's a little yard over there. I've got an idea!"

"Alright, alright. But I don't sled."

"Whatever," she replied. Buffy pulled him into the yard, peering about the house for any sign of activity. Satisfied by the darkened windows, she pulled her hand from his to stand in front of him. "I don't know if you've ever done this before, but if you haven't, it's about time you learned."

"If you say so."

With a grin, she flopped down into the plush snow. For an instant she simply laid there, staring at the sky and blinking against the falling flakes. Then she began moving her arms and legs, and although he instantly knew what she was doing, it pleased him just to watch. "Snow angels!" she yelped. "Come on. How often do you find someone who can actually be a snow Angel with a capital 'A'?"

He stepped away. "I don't know. This is my nice coat, and--"

"And this isn't mine? Who cares! Get down here."

With a put-upon expression, he eased down into the snow, turning his head to look at her. She wiggled her eyebrows encouragingly. He nodded and cautiously began moving his arms and legs, and eventually, he found he had a reasonably neat angel. He closed his eyes and simply laid there, content.

When he opened his eyes, Buffy was smiling, the little puffs of her breath as comforting and sweet as smoke from a distant chimney. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

He reached out and took her hand. "You make everything easier," he said.

"Liar," she replied.

The next morning, when he returns from his nightly patrol, Nina is sitting in the lobby with a clay pot in her lap. "Hi," she says.

"What are you doing here?" he replies.

She stands hesitantly to her feet. Over her shoulder, Cordelia is standing in the shadow, shaking her head. Angel refuses to meet her eyes. "I've been calling you for weeks," Nina explains. "I knew you were here, and I know you also probably don't want me here. But I don't want you to be alone on Christmas."

Angel walks past her to place his sword in the half-open cabinet. "I'm used to being alone."

"Maybe. But I'm not."

He turns toward her. "Look, Nina--"

She bows her head. He notices her hair is longer. "Before you get into the get-out-of-here speech, I brought a pot. I didn't wrap it and it's early, but-- pottery always makes me feel better. And rare steaks, but you probably knew that." Her laugh is brittle, a little afraid.

"Does she always make jokes like that?" Cordelia asks.

Angel crosses his arms. "Thank you. It's nice, but-- but I don't really have time for this anymore. And just being here puts you in danger."

"After everything I saw on the news, I pretty much knew that already," she says. "But I wanted to come by anyway. Maybe, after you finish-- whatever it is you're doing, I guess-- we can go out sometime?"

"Ballsy," Cordelia remarks.

Angel accepts the pot. He stares at it awkwardly for a moment, then places it gently on the edge of the counter. Cordelia used to keep a vase there, filled with fresh flowers, until he and Gunn knocked it over with Connor's miniature hockey sticks. "I'm sorry, Nina," he says finally.

Nina stands and starts for the door. As she closes the door behind herself, she turns to glance at him over her shoulder. "I figured. I'm sorry too. Merry Christmas, Angel."

After things had begun to calm down at the hotel, Cordelia and Fred helped Angel clean out his suite. Fred was in charge of carrying the salvageable items to the local shelter, with Gunn's truck, while Cordelia and Angel carefully sifted through each layer of charred material and melted plastic. Most of Connor's things had been removed, before. Now it was just his own things. He hardly even cared.

As he piled away one of his books, he heard Cordelia gasp and sob. He turned, instinctively, and found her holding a burned box with a strip of blue and white material inside, her other hand pressed tightly over her mouth. Her eyes were wide and wet, horrified, and her shoulders were shaking.

He moved to her side, his hand on her shoulder. "Hey. Hey, what's wrong?"

"I bought this for Connor," she explained. "For Christmas next year. It was a sailor's outfit. I knew you wouldn't ever let him wear it, but I-- I just--" She stopped, turning her head as he put his arms around her, and cried.

His hand began stroking her hair, but before he could, she pulled away. After a quick gulp and a wipe of her eyes, she looked up at him with hard smile. "I'm okay now."

"You sure?"

She nodded and gently laid the box to the side. "Yeah. I'm okay," she said. "It's just weird, you know? All this time, and I just realized he's never coming back."

He falls asleep trying to puzzle out his next move and piece together what he knows of the Senior Partners so far. When he wakes up, Cordelia is lying across from him, her cheek resting on the smooth skin of her hands. "Hey," she whispers.

He rolls to face her. Thinking of the night, long ago, when he fell asleep to the crest and fall of her and Connor's whispering breath. "Come closer," he says.

She does. Her hair is a dark wing behind her, spread elegantly across the pillow. "I've been watching you sleep. Now you know it feels like."

Suddenly, he thinks he might cry. He rarely does, except after particularly bad dreams, but when he does it leaves him frazzled and lost for days at a time. Cordelia pulls her knees closer to herself. "I'm sorry," she murmurs. "Don't get upset. What's wrong with you?"

"What do you think is wrong with me?" he says. He doesn't want to start yelling again, and makes a conscious effort to lower his voice. "I'm the only one left, Cordy. You're all-- you're all--"

"You can say it," she says. "I mean, I used to call you dead all the time."

He puts his fist against his eyes and pulls in a deep, trembling breath. "Don't do that. It's not funny."

"Well, duh. But it's better than the alternative. Exhibit A: you."

The conversation is wearying. There is a moment when, against his better judgment, he wishes she would just leave. But an instant later, overcome with the idea that she might actually disappear, he opens his eyes and instinctively reaches for her. His hand, passing over her waist, meets nothing but empty air. But Cordelia shudders from head-to-toe.

"Did you feel that?" he murmurs, half-hopeful, half-afraid.

Her voice is breathless. "No," she says.

After a moment, he shifts away from her. Cordelia doesn't follow.

"I can't do it without all of you," he says.

It seems to touch her: there is a terrible moment where, her breath held, her face is completely open and the ache spills over. But then she looks away. "You can. You'll find someone else. Another little gang of misfits to follow you around."

"I don't want anyone else."

"Well, yeah. You better not. But-- but you have to move on, just like I do. There are people waiting for us. You should think about that."

Cordelia burrows a little further down into the comforter. He wants to touch her. His hand hovers over her shoulder, and he thinks maybe if he tries, if he just wants it enough--

She opens her eyes. The little twist of her mouth is almost a smile. "I wish it was that easy."

Angel nods and pulls away. Cordelia turns her face against the pillow, out of sight.

Their only Christmas together, all of them. Cordelia was sprawled over the couch beside him, her legs dangling affectionately over his lap. Angel had his hands on her knees, rubbing, and every once in a while she sighed and smiled up at him. Her sweater was red: for the first time, the color made him think of joy and family, instead of blood and a different type of family. Fred came in from the kitchen, holding Connor in the crook of her skinny elbow, and sat down on the floor next to Wesley and Gunn.

Gunn pressed a series of buttons and, in his excitement, nearly tossed the controller in the air. "Did you see that? I just ripped your head completely off your body, and then threw it at you. Sweet."

"Can we please keep the mutilation talk to a minimum?" Cordelia said, without opening her eyes. "Honestly, it's our first night off in weeks."

"This game will be the downfall of society," Wesley sighed, staring forlornly down at his controller.

Angel raised his head to peer down at Connor, tucked away in his new blanket. "Fred, he isn't looking, is he? He's too young for this stuff."

"He's almost asleep. And unless he's some kind of super genius, I don't think he'll remember much of this, anyway. Not that he, uh, couldn't be a super genius."

Cordelia gave a short, snorting laugh and prodded Angel with her foot. "Hey, where's Lorne? I can't slip into my food coma until after the presents."

Lorne chose that moment to burst into the room, balancing a stack of presents which swayed dangerously from side to side. Wesley leapt to help him and, together, the pile reached the floor without too much disturbance. "Don't worry, mistletoe," Lorne said. "Santa's here. Everyone ready?"

And so it went. The presents were handed out, one for each person, although Connor had a suspiciously higher number than the rest. Angel rested his on his lap, examining the shoddy wrapping job, and noticed that it was from Cordelia. "I can see this wasn't professionally wrapped," he remarked.

"It would've cost me an extra three bucks. Get over it."

He gave her a smile, then began carefully tearing away the paper. Cordelia leaned over his shoulder, watching, and she seemed to be nearly trembling with excitement. Finally, the last strip pulled away, he realized he was holding a photo album. He stared at it, confused, then glanced up at Cordelia. "Thank you."

Cordelia slapped his hand away and turned open the cover. "Why would I buy you an empty album? Open it."

He began flipping through the pages. It was filled to the brim with photographs, each one in black-and-white: Fred and Wesley pouring over an open book; Lorne singing as he walked through the lobby; Gunn and Cordelia arguing over the placement of his ax in the cabinet. There was a group photo, of all of them, although Wesley was slightly cut off in the corner. There was even one of himself and Buffy, although it was one of Cordelia's prom photos: behind herself and an unknown boy, he was holding Buffy's hand as she smiled up at him.

The last ten pages were of him and Connor. The first one was of himself, holding Connor in his arms, staring down adoringly. Connor was reaching upward with his tiny hands.

Everyone in the room was silent. Angel put his hand on the page and turned to Cordelia. "Cordy, it's-- thank you."

"I figure, if you're gonna live forever, you're gonna need something to remember us all by," she explained. "Is the black-and-white okay? I was trying to be artsy."

He took her hand and held it. "It's beautiful," he murmured, his voice quieter than he expected. He realized it was difficult to speak, around the soft press of tears at the back of his throat. "It's perfect."

Cordelia tugged on her hand, averting her eyes. "Oh, stop it. Don't get all Kodak on me."

He cleared his throat, nodding, and released his hold on her. "Sorry, sorry. But thank you."

To his surprise, she leaned over and pecked him on the cheek. "Merry Christmas."

He stands in the doorway of the suite. For the first time in many days, Cordelia is no where to be found. He spent the night tracking a Rathmis demon, but in the end, he found nothing except the half-eaten corpse of a young girl and a puddle of the same purplish ichor from earlier in the week. He spends the first hour after dawn staring at all the maps on his walls, color-coded and scribbled on, and studying the piles of books on the floor.

He closes one of books on his desk. Surprisingly, it makes him feel better: the soft slam is soothing. He closes the others, too, and with a sigh picks them up and begins carrying them out into the hall.

Cordelia is leaning in the doorframe across the way. "You're doing the right thing," she says. "No more vengeance."

"I'm just moving some books," he replies.

She ignores him. "Did you even realize it's Christmas morning?"

He glances down at his watch. Sure enough, the date flashing across the screen is December 25th, 2005. "I guess it is."

She moves toward him. "I think it's time for me to go, Angel."

"What?"

"To move on," she explains. "I can't be here anymore. I used to love it, but now that I'm stuck here, all I can think about is how I can't wait to get out. There's nothing here for me now."

Despite himself, he feels the cold panic sink down on him. "No, you can't. I'm here. I need you, Cordy, just like I always have."

"You just think you do." Her eyes are shining. He starts to step toward her, but she lifts her hands, as if to keep him away. "You should go out with Nina," she says. "Or, I don't know, call Buffy. Go to Europe."

"Cordy, no. I can't--"

She breathes a short, sobbing little laugh. "It's time for you to stop chasing old ghosts," she says. "That includes me."

He puts his head in his hands. "You can't do this," he says, desperately. "Not again. Please."

Her mouth begins to tremble. "Promise me you'll start helping people again, that you'll stop this self-destruct mission. It can't be about me anymore. It can't be about any of us, not like that."

"It'll always be about you."

She steps toward him. "Promise me."

"How can you do this?" he says. "How can you just leave?"

Despite the tears running down her face, she smiles. He begins to see the others, standing behind her: Wesley and Gunn, even Fred, as she had been before, without a streak of blue on her. Wesley moves to Cordelia's side, sliding his arm through hers. "It'll get better, Angel," he says. "You'll see."

"Not you," Angel says. "Don't take someone else away from me."

Wesley doesn't even flinch. He glances down at Cordelia, then meets Angel's eyes solemnly. "Not everything is always about you."

Cordelia slides her arm from Wesley and moves until she is standing directly in front of Angel. He closes his eyes. "You'll make it here, big guy," she murmurs. "Just give it time."

And when he opens his eyes, she's gone.

He slides to the floor, his head on his knee, and stares down at the musty carpet beneath him. He thinks of how long he has been on this earth, how long he has suffered and fought, how many people he has lost. He thinks of Connor, asleep at home, waiting to spend his Christmas morning with the family Angel gave him. Buffy is probably asleep, too, and Nina. Each of them waiting for the growing dawn.

He doesn't have to stop. The Senior Partners are still out there, and if he keeps trying, maybe one day he'll figure it out. He'll connect the dots in the right way and, despite everything Cordelia said, he'll finally put and end to Wolfram and Hart. He'll destroy the things which destroyed his family and everything he ever really cared about.

Or, maybe, he won't. He can abandon all the work he has done, forget the Senior Partners, and start over. It'll be just like this: wandering the world alone, or perhaps not, and helping those who need it the most. And people will die, and he'll make mistakes, and he'll spend another handful of Christmas holidays with whatever family he creates or, maybe, doesn't.

He sits in the dark hallway of his old hotel, the only piece of his life still standing. Beyond the walls, he can hear the city reawaken, the lyrical sigh of carolers drifting in through the windows.

He isn't sure if he'll get up, today. He's got some things to think about.

Office, 4.8? 4.9?

2007-11-09T04:37:46Z

So, I don't know if I'm going to be in the minority or not, but I was insanely pleased with this episode. The Michael vs. Nature plot was amusing, as was Dwight's creepiness-- the Overkill Killer? HA!-- but what did I love more than that?

JIM. HAHAHAHAHAHA. I love what they're doing with Jim this season-- that he is becoming the office asshole. The Finer Things Club? FAIL. The birthday idea? FAIL. And worse yet: mocking Toby! Out of anything that they could have had Jim do, that is the one thing that firmly established Jim as a jerk. Or maybe it's because I have this pure and innocent love for Toby, I don't know. And Michael's interaction with Jim at the end, about being at Dunder-Mifflin in 10 years? I can really see that, when you think about it, which is disturbing but also kind of satisfying. This, combined with Pam's disapproval of the birthday decision? Awesome.

The end also made me all warm and happy with Michael. I love him, sometimes, and seeing him all satisfied and content in that big sweatshirt? So cute.

I love Thursdays. Also, I caught up on Bones, which I have been thoroughly enjoying. The FOX player got caught on a scene where Booth was walking away, and I didn't even mind! I could stare at those shoulders and hips all night.

Absence

2007-11-07T23:46:00Z

I won't even try to apologize for my recent disappearance. This has been one of the worst few months ever: was rear-ended in town a few weeks ago, received a speeding ticket on Halloween, had a falling-out with my mother, let myself get drawn back into a destructive relationship, and now am just getting things back on an even keel. Not that it was all bad, but it could've been better.

Plus I have been neglecting all of you wonderful people! I did sign up for the Stranger Things ficathon and managed to come up with something, so with that I'm pleased. But I need to go through my friend's list and catch up.

Is anyone else as insanely pleased with the support of the WGA strike as I am? I hate that I'm going to probably miss out on some great television, but I like that the networks are catching crap and that there is so much support (like David Boreanaz and Steve Carrell and other great actors/directors/producers!)

I can't promise that I will start posting regularly again, but here's to trying!

busy busy

2007-08-02T03:39:38Z

Had a rough week: busy at work, packing to leave DC, then woke up during the night with food poisoning. I've seemed to recover, though, which is nice. I've been swamped with life, lately, so I haven't been keeping up with my reading list and what-not-- I promise I'll get around to catching up with everyone. BUT I have a request?

I want some recs. What are your top three Angel/Cordelia fics? Top three Angel/Spike? Top three Angel/Wesley? Also, I think I'm going to clean out some of my Office icons (as I don't use them that much) and fill them up with Jossverse. Any communities for good icons? I click around the herald, but that's the only place I know.

If I'm sketchy for the remainder of the week, I'm sorry. I've got a paper due on Friday that I haven't started on, I've got to finish packing, I've got work, then I'm leaving DC to head straight to a family reunion down in NC until Sunday. So I'll probably be scarce for a few more days. Hope everyone's having a good week!

Sometimes I have coherent thoughts? Rarely, however, do they lead to fic?

2007-07-21T22:36:43Z

GOD, I just had my foot bitten off by a huge bunny. S3, Wishverse, Cordelia & Angel road-tripping? But not so much about Cordelia and Angel as a couple, but more about Cordelia and Angel in regards to their motivations and ideas of heroism, and how the timeline is affected by Buffy's absence.

I have this idea of Angel dragging Cordelia out of Sunnydale-- sort of a random rescue deal-- just because she's with him. Not because he actively wants to protect her or save her, but because of the fact that she's already within arm's reach, it seems pointless not to exert the little effort it would require to haul her out of Sunnydale. It seems the only way Cordelia and Angel would ever form a friendship or relationship is through uncontrollable circumstances which bring them together, as it happened in City Of. I hardly think Angel gave Cordelia a second thought throughout all of Buffy s1-s3, or she him; Angel was focused entirely on Buffy, as a symbol of his redemption and his first dose of real acceptance post-ensoulment, and Cordelia just wanted to stay out of the good fight as much as she could. On a side note, it bothers me a lot when I read fics stating that Angel held some unrealized, all-encompassing desire/attraction/love for Cordelia, or vice versa. Cordelia was attracted to him originally, yes, but I hardly think it goes beyond that. This was one of the points I wanted to be clear about Angelus and Cordelia's interaction in The Worst Are Full of Passion. Angelus may have been molesting or following Cordelia, but Cordelia was nothing more than a means to an end, that end being Buffy. Anyway, I digress.

This idea intrigues me largely because of here, by tkp, which I discovered today. I have a secret love for reading meta on Angel (and Wesley, too, but that has absolutely nothing to do with this). I think most of what she says is true, especially in regards to Angel's motivations and opinions of himself, although I'm not sure how I feel about Liam. I think Liam really wanted nothing more out of life than to piss off his father at every possible point and to the highest amount of severity (so long as it didn't bring any life-threatening consequences to Liam himself), but I can see that developing because of the fact that Liam's father thought absolutely nothing of Liam and expected his lewd and worthless behavior. I also think that Liam expects his future to simply fall into his lap, without his assistance, and so he is already resigned to either a life of greatness or a life of mediocrity but feels he has no final say in whichever one it is. I don't think he had a desire to engage in any career at all; I think he figured that, in the end, whatever happened to him would happen, and that would be the extent in of his involvement. Sort of like Angel, in early BtVS. God, I keep getting distracted.

Anyway, basically, I want to play around the idea of what if Buffy had never shown up (as it was in the Wishverse) and, therefore, never had exerted that influence on Angel and drove him a little bit closer to heroism? I think that, before his relationship with Buffy developed as it did in s2, he really was just an existenialist who wanted nothing more than instant gratification, ie: love, acceptance, comfort. As demonstrated by Prophecy Girl, Angel was resigned to fate even when it took away the one thing he was beginning to want/admire, and I don't hesitate for two seconds to say that Angel would have left her to face the Master and die if it wasn't for Xander's timely appearance. Angel felt he had no control over anything at that point, even himself, and that he could do nothing more than follow what fate laid before him. Fate would always fuck him (which he never stopped believing, except in BtVS s2 pre-Angelus, although he would use that idea differently in future motivation), as it had with the curse and now with Buffy's inevitable death, so it didn't behoove him to try to exert any influence on the events unfolding before him.

Of course, in season 2, he begins to dismiss that idea due to his blooming relationship with Buffy. I think that a little selfish part of him thought he deserved the happiness he was getting, based solely on the idea that he had paid his penance wallowing around miserably in the sewers for a hundred years and was now helping Buffy in her mission. Up until season 5 of AtS, I still think he has some hope that one day he will deserve that kind of love and acceptance and family, but by season 5 he realizes that no matter how many people he saves, it will never erase the people he tortured/killed/etc and that redemption moved wholly beyond his grasp way back when he was Angelus. Which is why it's so easy for him to throw himself into a hopeless battle in NFA, because-- what's he got to lose? He has no future, really, except a continuous, up-hill battle littered with the bodies of his friends. That was a really harsh image I just painted, there.

So, what if Angel-- having been released from his cage only to watch Buffy, his would-be grail, be killed at the feet of the Master-- somehow stumbled across Cordelia and, due to the circumstances, ended up leaving Sunnydale with her? I assume Whistler showed up, as Angel was expecting Buffy to appear eventually in Sunnydale, as evidenced by his reaction at her presence. So Angel already feels like a failure, having been set up for this great big destiny with his leading lady, only to allow himself to be captured by the Master. And then, when he finally does escape and meets the girl, he watches her get killed across the room. Well, someone got fucked by fate again. This is where Cordelia would step in, although not so much as "step in" as be thrown beyond her will into Angel's company. Obviously, Angel wouldn't want her around, preparing himself for round two of rat wrestling. And I don't think Cordelia would particularly want to stay with him, either, except for the fact that Sunnydale is now a bust and she really doesn't have anywhere else to go. I also don't think Cordelia's opinion of Angel would be very high, after she heard his story. In Angel's mind, Cordelia would be a little like Judy (of Are You Now or Have You Ever Been), someone who Angel would help because she wouldn't leave him alone and also because of her potential as someone who could coddle and accept him.

It would be interesting to place Cordelia in Buffy's place, as a developing symbol of Angel's potential for heroism. She couldn't replace Buffy, or go about converting him the same way, for a number of reasons: Cordelia lacks Buffy's slayerly mission, which was one of the most important facets of her (in Angel's eyes), as it gave him the potential to attach himselft to a good cause; Angel fell in love with Buffy as a symbol, even before he knew her, which he wouldn't have with Cordelia; and Cordelia doesn't want to be in this situation and has the potential to actually escape it, where Buffy could not and, more importantly, would not. Cordelia, at least at this stage in her development, would be all for getting out of it as soon as possible.

Just a little idea I'm spinning around in my head and wanted to throw out there before I forgot it completely.

Well, that was fun. I went to see an ABSOLUTELY AWFUL movie with a friend last night-- it had Adam Sandler in it, who I hate now because of his lovey-dovey not Happy Gilmore self-- and paid, like, $9 for tickets. I hate the big city, and also wanted to see John Krasinski's movie instead, but my friend vetoed me. But the movie we did see had a preview for Dane Cook's new movie and WOW, he is smokin' hot. I remember very vividly this scene in the preview where he's macking hard on this chick, swings her around, and slams her against the wall. I'm sure the movie will be a bust, but I'm happy just to watch him sex up chicks and do, well, pretty much anything. I'd bang him in a second, but naturally, I'd make him tell jokes the whole time.

Book Review: The Screwtape Letters, C.S. Lewis

2007-07-14T23:01:23Z

I just finished The Screwtape Letters, and I'm not sure how I feel about it.

It wasn't bad. I don't know if I went into it with higher expectations and, consequently, set myself up for disappointment-- I had about five people tell me what a great book it was within the week that I started it-- or if it was too drastic of a change in tone after Steinbeck. Although I enjoyed it, it wasn't as much as I hoped or expected.

That isn't to say it isn't an interesting treatise on the human condition; it certainly is. I love reading things on human behavior and the tragedy of the human condition, and in each chapter, Lewis unveils a new flaw in the emotional nature of humanity. Most of which I have at least one recollection of exemplifying myself, which is sad to say. Screwtape is also a delightful character, with his unholy glee at picking apart human beings and his distate for God and His goodwill toward people, and a lot of times I found myself so entrenched in his philosophies I was actually agreeing with them. Which is even worse to say. But, away from the book, I can safely say most of what Screwtape advocates is horrendous and cruel.

I also like examining Christianity, as both a catalyst for human change as well as a subject of it. Lewis points out a lot of true reflections about Christianity; I particularly liked his ideas about predestination and fate. How, if something bad happens, humans conclude that no matter what they did/would have done, the result would have been the same as it had already been decided by God. But, when good things happen, people will notice each and every physical action and decision which led to the resulting good thing, leaving God completely out of the equation and chalking it all up to their own success. How very true.

It dragged for me, sometimes; some of the letters were too long and seemed to run circles around a point given in the first sentence or two. But overall it was a thought-provoking study of humanity with a nice touch of satire. Screwtape was fabulous, really. If you like theology and the like, I would definitely recommend it.

So, I went to the Natural History Museum here in Washington, and I wish I had gone earlier-- pre-college, preferably. As a Biology major, it spoiled a lot of the exhibits; I've studied evolution and the different phyla and sensory perception, etc. so most of what was there seemed incredibly juvenile to me. Although it makes sense, being a tourist-y attraction. I did like the Mammal Gallery, just because it was cool to see all of the different species. I really like giraffes. Before that, I visited one building of the National Gallery of Art, which I enjoyed more than I expected. In my previous Art History class, I loathed scultpure and preferred paintings. But today I found myself much more interested in scultpure-- the figures are so exaggerated and larger-than-life, which is neat and also necessary due to the limitations of the medium. I really like depictions of angels; they're so different than the commercialized cherubs of Hallmark. I prefer the old myth, where they were terrible but beautiful.

The mind boggles.

2007-07-11T00:31:41Z

So, does NASCAR make, like, shoes now? Because I was just skimming around Zappos-- I want a pair of ankle stiletto suede tan pointed toe boots, and with all of those adjectives, I can see why I haven't found a pair yet-- and BAM, I click on this boot, and it comes up as NASCAR brand. I mean, I understand that the soles of some shoes resemble tire treads, but-- but?

Bought two books today: The Screwtape Letters (C. S. Lewis) and Sons and Lovers (D. H. Lawrence). The first I'd planned on buying, the second I picked up on a whim. I'm reading Screwtape first.

Dwight: QUESTION.

2007-07-09T23:55:51Z

Hi! It's time for a poll. See, I have all of these ideas in my head and I can't decide which one I want to work on. All of them are longer in length, so it'll be a drawn out process, but I figure the only way I'm going to commit to finishing out one of them is if someone says YOU, write THIS. I lack motivation. I tend to flutter from one idea from the next-- I work on one fastiduously for days, then drop it and move onto the next one-- so basically I sit around with a bunch of unfinished beginnings on my harddrive. Suck. So, the choices are:

1) Post NFA Angel/Cordelia/Spike. This is going to be the most difficult, as I only have the vaguest of ideas of what I want to do. I just know the ending and, well, that's about it. It's mainly a sly way for me to indulge my two favorite pairings and also remedy the sad little screentime Cordelia and Spike ever had together.
2) S2 Vampire Cordelia vs. Angel Investigations (Gen)
3) Post You're Welcome resurrected Cordy (Cordelia/Angel)

And maybe I could convince someone to beta whichever one gets chosen for me? I think if I have a beta read over it chapter-by-chapter it'll run much smoother. I lose a lot of my steam because I think what I'm putting out is so terrible, or I get stuck at a certain point and don't have the skill to talk myself through it. Lame? Yes.

Book Review: East of Eden, John Steinbeck

2007-07-09T04:06:58Z

I just finished reading East of Eden, by Steinbeck, and I have to say that it was one of the most moving pieces of literature I've ever read. I never really liked Steinbeck, before; in my high school experience I'd read The Pearl and Of Mice and Men, and although I found the latter to be mildly interesting, I absolutely loathed the former. Enough to make me steer clear of Steinbeck as long as possible. But then a girl at work told me that Steinbeck was her favorite of all time, and that I should at least give it a try now, being older and more understanding of literature. So I read it.

The ending moved me to tears. At first, I found the book to be well-written but not mind-blowing, but by the last 200 pages I could hardly put it down. It speaks so loudly of human nature and the trials and tribulations of family and how fortune can favor you or fuck you. I found Cal to be absolutely heart-breaking-- so convinced of his own inherent badness, handed down to him by his mother and therefore trapped in his blood-- but Aron was equally affecting, striving so wildly for goodness and purity only to be dealt a bad hand. Like Abra said, he knew how he wanted the story to end and couldn't bear it any other way. The naivete there makes me ache, and that in the face of a disgrace beyond his control, he basically sends himself to death.

Steinbeck's style is lovely. I have trouble with long-windedness-- I like Hemingway largely because I would rather read "she said" than some convoluted description of the act of speaking, as I think wordiness can drag a reader from the story-- and Steinbeck was concise without being too bare. His descriptions were apt. I also enjoyed his little interludes, describing the going ons of the time and the progression of the war. There were parts that I didn't like-- although I thought the little detour concerning Steinbeck's mother, Olive, was charming and humorous, I kept waiting for it to somehow be connected with the plot and didn't ever find anything concrete enough to merit its inclusion. But oh well.

Steinbeck's preface was moving, as well, and I would transcribe it but I'm lazy and I'm sure it's all over the internet. It set the tone for the book very well.

Stories about family and brotherhood and fathers and sons are always the most compelling to me, and this one was no exception. It was moving and real and heart-breaking.

I would recommend this to anyone. Tomorrow I'll stop by Barnes and Noble on my way home and find something else, although I'm not sure what. I'm thinking The Screwtape Letters, as I heard that was a great read, but I'll probably just wander around the store until I find something I like. Lolita is sitting on my shelf. I started to read it, and at first it was tolerable, but about a third into it Nabokov becomes so explicitly sexual it makes my skin crawl. Funny, that I love reading Connor/Angel but can't stomach Lolita.

mph0506 @ 2007-07-04T17:25:00

2007-07-04T21:25:47Z

AHHH drunk on LJ!!!!!

HAPPY 4th :) :)

Lazy Sunday

2007-07-01T18:34:41Z

On a whim, I've started watching the s1 of the OC. God, I loved this show my senior year of high school, and-- boy, I still love it! Before it went and got all super-angsty. Also, I'm noticing Buffy- and Angel-like moments. Weird. Adam Brody is possibly the cutest thing on television. He's like a better-looking Xander (not that Xander is bad-looking!). I think I must find an OC icon. Benjamin McKenzie (UVA? YES) is a BAD ASS kisser, or so it appears. The hands in the hair? Cupping the back of the girl's head? Hands on the arms? GOOD GOD. He reminds me of DB in the earlier seasons of Buffy. Rein it in, cowboy. Actually, on second thought: please don't!

As I have a lot of time on my hands today and part of the following week, I was going to watch some Angel/Buffy episodes. What do you guys think are the definitive Cordelia episodes? Not necessarily the ones that she was a prime character in, but the one's that say a lot about her character. Same for Angel. Also, what episodes are the best for Angel and Connor interaction? I haven't watched a lot of those episodes since they aired, as the first time around I gnashed my teeth through every Connor scene. But having just read yahtzee63's On the Education of a Young Man, I am feeling so much for Connor and Angel that I must watch some episodes soon.

GIP. I am in a very indulgent mood right now, as Kate Walsh appears to be in this icon.

What I LOVE About Cordelia/Angel

2007-06-25T23:45:28Z

I promised, and I shall deliver! This is a list of everything I love about Cordelia/Angel, as a couple.

Firstly, I love how they come together in the first place. How coincidence brings them together and that, by even further coincidence, they remain that way. S1 is my favorite scene of the whole series, despite its often superficial and anvil-heavy plots, but the characters are so innocent and untouched and, in light of the future, the sweetness of it just aches.

I love that they confide in each other. As early as The Bachelor Party, when Cordelia tells Angel how she's beginning to feel something for Doyle, and Angel steeples his fingers and really listens to her. I hate the sweater he's wearing, but I forbear. I even love in s3, when he tells her his secret fears of raising Connor and having girl talks and whatever with him. I won't touch on her response, because this is supposed to be a nice review. I also love the discussion they have about Buffy, in Hearthrob, and how he quietly admits his getting-over-it stuff.

I love their mutual desire for pretty and/or luxurious things. I love that Angel is as willing to spend $200 on a pair of shoes as Cordelia is. In my little schmoopy heart, somewhere along the line, Cordelia taught Angel to internet shop and wackiness ensued. I think that, in the beginning, it's probably one of the few things they had in common. Angel is as much as a label snob as she is (on a side note, I also have label-snob tendencies when I have the cash, so I think it's one of the things that attracts me to both characters). Oh, my heart. Personally, Angel wearing his shirttail out all of the time makes me think of him as a pretty sloppy dresser-- and I, being a little preppy myself, enjoy all the crisp, pastel suits Wesley used to wear so I don't know how much credence my fashion sense has-- but I imagine he had his own special tailor and probably shopped at Neiman Marcus. I bet Cordelia would do the same, given the opportunity, and I hope that Angel was insightful and kind enough to buy her fancy clothes every once in a while. Disharmony-- yay! :)

I love that they respect and cherish each other's opinions and seek out each other for advice. I guess this links back to the Connor scene of s3-- I think it's Tomorrow, actually, when all of that happens-- because I find it endearing, that someone as old as Angel would appeal to Cordelia and actually trust her judgment. I imagine that they shared advice with other quite often, from things as simple as "what color shirt should I wear" to "how should I deal with Wesley being dumb" or some other hypothetical situation. Not that I find Wesley dumb or anything.

I love that Angel is frusted by and a little afraid of Cordelia. I love that, most of the time, he has absolutely no idea how to respond to her. She never follows the script he has in his head, and that amuses me to no end. Like in Dead End, where she says "Why does everyone keep asking me that?" and he stumbles because he's in such a hurry to get out of there and a safe distance from unpredictable female emotion (which I guess is not only applicable to Cordelia, but shush). Also, in Sense and Sensitivity, when he awkwardly tries to thank her for going over coroner reports and she says "LAME" and his face falls. I like, too, in Parting Gifts, where she carelessly describes the "gray blobby thing" and he slams his hands on his desk because he can't stand her nonchalance. It's realistic; of course he would get frustrated with her, but he would get over it.

I love that Cordelia continuously glosses over his anger and frustration with her. In s2, when she says "god, you are really unpleasant" and he threatens to fire her in that strange way, and she just sticks her tongue out at him? Love it. And to harken back to the Parting Gifts scene, even when he starts slamming things around, she just kind of looks at him oddly. Haha. Funny!

I love that Cordelia calls Angel on all of his bullshit. One of the most appealing thing about their relationship, I think, was that Cordelia constantly made fun of Angel and his melodramatic tendencies. One of the things I hated at the end of the run was, while before she consistently kept him from putting himself above everyone, she actually started enabling him in that behavior. Ugh. But at the beginning, she would always just make fun of him. I enjoy making fun of Angel, too. I'm noticing now how prevalent that is in all of my favorite moments.

I love that they trust each other wholeheartedly and unconditionally. I'm not saying that, if Cordelia had kidnapped Connor, she wouldn't be lying alone in her apartment with her throat cut like Wesley. But Angel was perfectly willing to share all of those dark deadly things with her-- like Somnambulist (boy, if you had seen how I spelled that the first time), when he has no qualms about telling her the things that he dreamt were pleasurable or what have you. I hardly imagine he would have ever said anything of the sort to Buffy, at least not so explicitly, but perhaps I don't give Angel enough credit on that count, so I don't know how well that argument stands. I guess it's reasonable that it could just being Angel growing up and accepting who is, too. Moving on. But their trust in one another is pretty evident throughout all of You're Welcome. Oh, and that scene in Judgment, where she tells him that it's not over but she'll be there. I should transcribe this stuff, or at least look it up, but I'm just too lazy.

I love how much they touch each other. Not in a sexual way, like Spike and Buffy, but just casually and without all of that heavy-handed meaning. It speaks of how comfortable they are with one another. And, I guess, they had to adjust pretty quickly with all of Angel's gut wounds and Cordelia flailing around with the visions all the time. But still. The hand-holding and back-patting and all of that stuff is just so affectionate and real.

I love that they teach other things, like compassion and trust and humor. I love how fiercely loyal they are to one another-- even in season 1, Cordelia constantly stresses how she won't leave or immediately discredit Angel. Somnambulist again comes to mind, when Wesley comes charging in with all of those accusations flying around his head, and Cordelia fiercely says: "Okay, you have to leave now" and proceeds to tell Wesley how good Angel is, how he's her friend, and he can just stop it right there. I know that changes on a dime a moment later, but still. The sentiment is present. And for Angel's example, all through the end of s2, when he's pretty much doing all he can to try and get back on Cordelia's good side. He betrayed her, yes, but he fought tooth and nail to get back to her. For a while at least, because: clothes!

My Favorite Moments, in no particular order:
1) To Shanshu in LA. Every single interaction. Really, this is hands-down my favorite Angel episode, because there is so much character growth and by the end, all of them are just glowing with the sense of family and loyalty and love (Wesley too, of course). God.

2) Parting Gifts. How much they care about each other, and want to help each other. Because Cordelia hugs Angel and says "I never doubted for a second you'd find me," because I think it was exactly what he needed to hear at the time and she knew that. Also, his surprised expression. Whee! This is another one of my top Angel episodes. I know. I have weird favorites.

3) Expecting. The ending. Angel and Cordelia's little matching smile as Wesley sniffs.

4) She. Angel attending a party for Cordelia's sake. Also, her convincing him to do something as stupid as try and smoosh coffee beans and he actually going along with it. What a doofus.

5) Hero. The hug at the end, and how upset both of them are, and that they just hug each other and don't say anything. Angel and Cordelia work so much better when subtle.

5b) (I left this one out by accident) I've Got You Under My Skin. The beginning, after Angel calls Wesley "Doyle," and how Cordelia forces him to talk it out. "I'm not unflappable." "So, flap!"

6) Sanctuary. Him signing something for her without even reading it, and then not even arguing about the paid vacation. Not particularly deep, I know, but I just think it's funny.

7) Judgment. The couch scene, with Angel losing sight of the mission in the glow of the reward, and her confidence and loyalty to him. Also, the cinammon exchange is cute.

8) The Thin Dead Line. The ending, where she says "now do us a favor, and stay away." Not a happy moment, but it makes me so proud that Cordelia doesn't stand down to Angel, and that he doesn't even argue with her. He just leaves.

9) Disharmony. The ENDING omg. Dancing! La-la-la-la! The little running thing she does, and how Angel just grins, shrugs, and walks out.

10) Over the Rainbow. Not any moment in particular, just how adamant Angel is about going after her. "I just got her back."

11) Reprise. How she doesn't stand down to him until Wesley demands her to. How, even as angry as she is, she keeps throwing little sarcastic insults. How Angel gets in her space. I don't know, I just like the scene. They're both so bull-headed.

12) Heartthrob. The hug at the beginning. In the sewers, Cordelia throwing her arms around Angel, frightened, as he stares up at the ceiling with that so very put-upon expression of irritation. How he eventually does open up to her about Buffy.

13) Birthday. I like Birthday for strange reasons. I think it completely out of character that this version of Cordelia, miss sitcom star, would ever really give a flying fuck about Angel and his vision-induced insanity. But I do like the kiss, I guess, because it's pretty and I have a weakness for crazy!Angel.

14) Forgiving. When Angel objects to Fred calling Cordelia. I think this is largely due to DB's acting, because he really owns that scene. But it rings true that he knows Cordelia will probably be the most devastated, other than himself, and I think it would really drive home the reality that he lost his son.

15) Double or Nothing. The chin-shoulder moment at the beginning-- both of them look so miserable it just hurts me-- and then how Cordelia comforts him not with words but just with her presence. Even if I do find it a bit odd that she decides to read a book, but as I'm typing that I realize she was probably researching. Okay, that makes sense now.

16) Provider. I hesitate to put this on there, but then I see an icon of that moment at the end and I just sigh. They really were happy, then. But the episode was bad, except for the gag about Angel and his voicemail. It never fails to make me laugh when that guy yells "I think it's your voicemail!" and Angel just gets pissed. Haha!

17) Awakening. I know, I just ragged on the episode, but I like a lot of it in context for what it says about Angel and his perceptions of those around him, and even himself. But I put this here because of the kiss in the cave. When Angel says "stop talking" and Cordelia says "okay." That "okay" just kills me. Ha!

18) The Magic Bullet. I just love this episode, in general, and Angel's bedside "I'm so sorry" is very sincere and makes me feel very, very sorry for both of them. What a terrible thing to have to endure.

19) You're Welcome. The hugging scene at the hospital: how he really squeezes her, so much you can see his hands press into her. How all of them are just smiling the entire time. "I am lost without you." The ending. The fact that I can hear the tears in her voice as she says "I'll be seeing you" makes me cry every time. And I really love the blurry out-of-focus telephone shot. As my icon states. Also, how she smiles as she says "you're welcome," but an instant before the camera switches you see her face crumble. Oh, it breaks my heart.

OTP for life, yo.

Rant! Feel free to skip!

2007-06-25T03:42:56Z

You know, I've been sitting here thinking about Cordelia and reading some old meta on her and her characterization over the course of the series (and, of course, the dubious behind-the-scenes issues with CC) and just feeling really disappointed with it, frankly.

There are so many things I like about season 3. I love the sense of family, most of all, and it's twice as poignant with the knowledge of what's coming. I love Hearthrob as a season opener. I love Darla, from the moment she returns, and I never fail to tear up when she stakes herself. I especially love this line: "we did so many terrible things together. We can never make up for any of it, you know that, don't you?" To me, it's the perfect line; I can't decide if Darla is saying that as to inform Angel, like, you DO realize that, don't you? OR if she's finally coming to terms with what Angel knew all along, that is, that she will never be redeemed nor will he. That just breaks my heart.

I digress.

Anyway, I just think about season 3 and get so utterly disappointed with so much of it, particularly Cordelia. I hate that, suddenly, Cordelia is nothing more than some holy relic of Angel's mission and the quest for redemption. She was interesting because, as much as she was invested in the mission, she didn't strive to be the long-suffering martyr Angel saw himself as. She was an effective foil to that. And, yes, people do grow up; but people do not lose every recognizable character trait in the face of the greater good.

I think ME could have taken a lot of different angles with s3. At the beginning, the build-up of the harrowing visions is this huge, multi-episode deal (even back in s2, such as 'Dead End'), and suddenly it becomes absolutely nothing post-Birthday. But, you know, if I were Cordelia and I had these visions forced upon me-- in order to enable me to help people, which I did as selflessly as I could-- and then I discovered that, for all my trouble, I was going to die? I would probably resent the PTB pretty strongly. And not only that, but if I had explicitly stated over and over how painful the visions were, and how much worse they were getting, and my friends never made a really definitive move to help me, or even ease my suffering? I would be pretty pissed about that, too. I think that could have been a very effective storyline.

Instead, we got Skip-- who had his funny moments, yes-- who inexplicably "demonizes" Cordelia (whatever that means, except giving one the power to act as a flashlight in random situations). Also, rather than striving against her own death, she is simply resigned to her fate. It's as if, working with Angel for so long, she suddenly thinks she deserves as much punishment as he does; consequently, she simply accepts it. Ugh. Thanks, Angel.

And the Cordelia/Angel on-screen relationship? I find it horrifying, most of the time, although it does have it's supremely wonderful moments. I love the ending in Disharmony; in fact, I love how Cordelia's forgiveness is so important to Angel, in general. I also enjoy the scene at the end of Provider (although I find the rest of the episode to be rather cheap), but more for the sense of family than the potential romantic entaglements. I also like Hearthrob, and every interaction between the two of them in the episode. You're Welcome, of course, I love. I think when Angel first sees Cordelia and hugs her-- well, I find it hard to believe that he didn't love her. I also like Waiting in the Wings, although Gunn's expression when describing the ballet is really the stand-out moment for me. CHARLES GUNN LOVES BALLET.

But I hate kyerumption, and moira, and the frequent anvils falling all over the place in regards to their relationship. I hate the Groo/Cordelia/Angel triangle beyond measure. I do like when Angel describes Groo and ends with "emotionally available," because it just makes me laugh. Oh, Angel. I hate Tomorrow so much I can't bear watching it; I think I've watched it twice, and most of the time, I have to grit my teeth to avoid fast-forwarding through the sappy Cordelia/Angel scenes. That is not Cordelia/Angel. That is a cheaper Buffy/Angel. Angel was a more adult show, and most of the time, I felt it handled relationships in a more adult manner; unfortunately, Cordelia/Angel is the one it didn't. I could buy the transcendent, all-encompassing love of Buffy and Angel, in the earlier years, as it seemed to be a natural progression for both characters. It does not work for Angel and Cordelia, and rightly so.

I do like some of the scenes in Awakening, however, but only in context. I love that, in Angel's psyche, he desires those grand, heroic scenes and melodramatic declarations of love or what have you. That is so very Angel. It amuses me, really, more than anything. The sex scene in Awakening, however, I have trouble watching; DB and CC seem so wildly uncomfortable that it makes me uncomfortable, too. I can hardly bear watching it.

As I'm writing this, I can feel it turning into a rant. I apologize. Angel and Cordelia could've worked so well, under a different scheme. I particularly would have enjoyed them "accidentally" falling into it, and resisting it the entire way-- I can just hear both of them going "oh my GOD what are we doing?!" in a vaguely disgusted manner. That would've worked for me, and made me laugh a lot. Kind of like in Waiting in the Wings, when they re-enact the melodramatic dressing room scene. It would be more effective if I transcribed the dialogue, but I just remember Angel: "You want me to have sex with you, now, right here" followed by them just pushing their lips together. Both of them seem so disinterested and we-have-to-do-this, and I think that was pretty much the essence of the two of them. Maybe Angel digs the "our love is forever yet very tragic," but I think Cordelia would've been very put-off by it. I know I would have, but that is neither here nor there.

But I think the most disappointing thing for me is that, as a result of how poorly the relationship and Cordelia's characterization were handled on the show, there is very little Cordelia/Angel written at all. There are some wonderful C/A authors out there, but on the whole, it hardly compares to the factions of Buffy/Angel and Spike/Buffy and Angel/Spike and whoever/whoever out there. In fact, there is an incredible deficiency of Cordelia at all. It saddens me to know that most authors actively avoid writing Cordelia. It saddens me that, when I write Cordelia, I typically avoid season 3 because I can't figure out how to deal with the character assassination going on.

There are some WONDERFUL C/A writers, that's for sure. And the stuff they write is glorious and leaves me shame-faced at everything I post. But there are epics about other pairings, while most (but not all!) Cordelia/Angel is one-shot. There are stacks of Buffy or Angel or Spike or Gunn or Wesley darkfic all over the place, and I've read maybe a handful of non-drabble darkfic involving Cordelia. I think it would be incredibly interesting to delve into Cordelia's darker urges, which seem neglected in fandom. I know that, on the show, she never had the wild, deeply sexual relationships that Angel/Darla or Buffy/Spike had; but I hardly doubt she was incapable of it.

In fact, I would love to see Angel/Cordelia involving a strap-on. Jesus.

I also want to see a Cordelia/Angel/Connor triangle. I know, how revolting, but I just have this image of the three of them, all dark-haired and beautiful, lying in bed together. Naked. I blame it on a lot of the gorgeous Angel/Connor and Angel/Connor/Spike stuff out there. Boy, howdy.

Basically, the handling of Cordelia and her relationship to Angel, canon-wise, depresses me because it deeply narrows the breadth of fic involving the two of them. How disheartening. I have a secret love of Angel/Spike, and probably read that more often than any other pairing; I harbor a suspicion that, in all honesty, their relationship (however subtextual) is the only one with the potential to span more than a few years. But that is not the point of this. The point is, I wish that there was the same span of Cordelia/Angel that there is Angel/Spike, or Angel/Buffy, or Spike/Buffy.

I should probably start working on that. My next post will be everything I love about Cordelia/Angel, because they are my OTP and one of the most realistic couples in the Buffyverse, in my opinion.

On a completely different note: HAHAHA for my disappointing mood icon. Oh KEVIN.

DRABBLE: To Give and To Receive

2007-06-18T00:04:29Z

To Give and To Receive
Angel/Darla, light R
This has been sitting on my hard-drive for months. 100 words.

He had scratches on his back. Darla was a fierce lover: she bit and clawed, wild with it, wild for him. That night, the rain pouring outside his window, Angel lied down with her and tried to recapture what he’d lost. With fingers, cock, mouth; he wanted to take back what she'd taken from him, those nights ago, on his knees in an alley with his hands tangled in her skirts.

Darla had thought she'd given him a new life, back then. He'd tried to give her one, too, this time around.

It hadn't worked. They were both dead now.

The RETURN?

2007-06-17T19:43:48Z

I have RETURNED!

Yes, since February, my life has been absolutely insane OMG. Second semester was so jam-packed with stuff I could hardly function, and NOW I'm working full time in Washington, DC. But now my life has pretty much calmed down enough to give me time to do enjoyable things-- you know, read, write, drink, relax a little, etc-- so I sat down and played around with LJ and made this place a little prettier.

And also: I've been writing again! I've had the idea for a long time now, and I finally sat down and wrote out every idea I'd ever had related to it and hashed out a pretty decent plot. The first two parts are finished (it will be longer than that) but I need to fix a bit more on them before posting.

Also: it's gen! No pairing, which is always more fun for me to write than when I have to play match-maker. Oh, yeah, and it's Angel gen.

So no more hiatus for me! I'm back and going to catch up on all of that lovely fic that I missed since I've been gone. If you've got any good recs for me-- leave them, please!

FIC: Refulgence

2007-02-15T22:12:47Z

Posted on Valentine's Day at Stranger Things, for Lysa, who wanted: candles, caresses, secrets. I'm really not sure exactly how much I like it; I'm pleased with pieces of the dialogue, but I kind of cringe away at schmoop, which I feel like this is. But I digress. G; post-Waiting in the Wings, no Groo; a power-outage, a forgotten Valentine's Day, and a mistake. Oh, yeah, and baby Connor.

Cordelia sat behind the desk, shuffling papers and occassionally typing. Angel leaned against the counter behind her, listening to the rapid click of the keyboard as her fingers moved; he found the noise soothing, almost, in its normalcy. Cordelia hadn't noticed him yet, so he allowed himself to gaze freely at the slim arch of her neck, the strip of tanned skin peeking out from beneath her shirt--

"Can I help you?" she asked, turning to him. "What have I told you about hovering like that? It's hard to get any work done with you creeping around back there."

Angel immediately stepped backward, chastened. "I wasn't-- I didn't mean to-- I wasn't hovering--"

She laughed, shaking her head and sliding out of her chair. Without looking up, she stacked a pile of papers, then reached over to turn off the monitor. "Please, three years with you and I know what hovering looks like," she said, but he could hear the smile in her voice. "But it also means I'm used to it. Are you hungry?"

"I can cook something if you want," he said, shrugging. He let her pass, grunting when she playfully nudged his side with her hip, then trailed after her. There was a sweating diet Pepsi sitting on the counter, without a coaster, so he grabbed it on his way. "Cordy. If you keep leaving cans everywhere, we're going to have to replace the furniture. It gets rings when you don't use a coaster."

When he looked up, she was standing in the threshold of the big commercial kitchen. At his look, she flashed him an awkward smile and shimmied a little. "Oops. Maybe we can get personalized coasters, with the little logo?" He began to reply, but she turned away and moved deeper into the kitchen. Her voice carried behind her. "And hey, how about pancakes? I know it's dinner-time, but you do breakfast so well, and everything else-- not so much."

Angel sighed. "I'll remember that," he said, passing her on his way to the fridge. When he leaned over to search for the milk, Cordelia's hand slid over his back, between his shoulders. Her palm was warm, even through the fabric, and he could smell her perfume and the shampoo she used that morning. Such a simple gesture, but it made him nearly shudder with want for her.

"I'm gonna go check on Connor," she said, next to his ear. "Think he's still sleep?"

Angel nodded, setting the milk on the counter and beginning the search for the flour. He really wished people wouldn't rearrange his cooking supplies. "I just put him down. You can check on him, just be quiet, okay?"

"Sure. Make me three of those, alright?" With that, she started for the lobby. As she passed through the doorway, she kicked off her shoes and pushed them against the wall, out of the walkway.

Out in the lobby, Angel listened as the office door slammed, preceding frenzied footsteps across the tile and, finally, through the double-doors to the outside. Cordelia had paused in moving her shoes aside to watch whoever was leaving; once the lobby returned to silence, she cringed noticeably, reaching up to press her fingers against her temple.

"What's going on?" Angel asked, looking up from the half-mixed bowl of batter. "Was that Wes?"

Cordelia nodded slowly, visibly upset. "Yeah."

"He didn't even say goodnight. Did something happen?"

Obviously something had happened. Cordelia, however, quickly hid her expression of concern, turning to him with an over-bright smile that failed to reach her eyes. "I don't think so. I'm gonna go see Connor."

He didn't have a chance to reply, as she turned and nearly bolted up the stairs. Angel, ignoring the irritable idea that he was (once again) out of the loop, returned to finishing the pancake batter. While he waited a for the skillet to warm, he began fishing around for clean dishes, then settled on paper plates to save himself the chore of washing later.

Angel heard it before it actually happened: the normal buzzing white-noise changed, just enough to distract him, seconds before the hotel was suddenly coated in darkness. It wasn't the diluted darkness of the city, either; it was nearly pitch-black, not even a sliver of light leaking in through the windows. Even the tiny red light of the stove had blinked off.

Cordelia's heartbeat, easily detected without the hum of the air conditioner, began to race. He heard her feet scuffling on the floor above him, and then, her voice: "Angel!"

Angel, dropping a pair of forks, scrambled out of the kitchen. In the lobby doorway, he nearly tripped over Cordelia's shoes; she hadn't pushed them aside quite far enough. Then he lunged up the stairs, guided by the sound of her heartbeat, which echoed the softer, bird-wing beat of Connor's. When he finally reached his suite, he nearly barged straight into Cordelia, who was standing in the center of the room with her hands over her mouth.

"Shit. Angel, is that you? I can't see anything--" Her hands grappled blindly in the dark.

Angel, trying to avoid an unintentional slap, managed to capture her wrist. "Yeah, it's me. The power's gone out. Is Connor--?"

"He's still sleeping," she replied, gazing somewhere near Angel's right ear. "Am I even looking at your eyes? Or is it your nose? It's kind of hard to tell--"

He chuckled despite himself. "It's alright. And no, you're actually looking at my ear." He tentatively released her wrist, then moved toward the crib. When he looked down, he found Connor curled happily beneath the blanket, his breathing soft and even.

"Where are you?" Cordelia snapped. "You can't just go wandering away like that."

Angel made a shushing sound. "I'm at Connor's crib. Hold on a second." To appease her, he reached around and squeezed her hand, although he remained bowed over the crib.

Cordelia sighed. "As cute as your doting daddy routine is, it would be a lot cuter if I could, well, actually see it," she said. "Hey, why don't you go find some candles? I think we have some left over from that time Wesley had to exorcise that paisley demon from Mrs. Chenault's puppy."

"Paisley?" Angel repeated, puzzled. "I don't remember-- oh, the Pezzliyer demon. Right."

"Yeah, whatever. Now that we've laid to rest that great mystery of pronunciation, why don't you go find those candles?" Cordelia stepped tentatively toward him, swiping her hands at him. There was about a two feet of distance between them, however, so he wasn't that worried. "I think they're in the kitchen pantry, somewhere on the bottom shelf."

With one last glance at Connor, Angel reluctantly backed away from the crib, causing Cordelia to bump into him. "Oof," she grunted, then wiped at her nose, which seemed to have bumped against his shoulder. "Sorry. Help me find the bed."

He took her arm and led her over to the bed. "Here. I know you can't see, but try not to break anything while I'm gone."

"Very funny," she replied. "Now I see why you don't make jokes. Now go find those candles!"

With that, he left the room to go find the candles. "Don't forget the matches!" Cordelia yelled after him.

XXX

After all the candles were lit, there was a hazy, golden light spread over the suite; it was bright enough for Cordelia's vision, but dim enough to keep her soft and a little bit sleepy. During the set up, she had tipped over an empty glass on Angel's bedside table. It didn't break, but the thump of it hitting the floor-- accompanied by Cordelia's yelp of surprise-- was enough to wake Connor.

Angel finished lighting the last candle, carefully placing it far enough from the dresser's edge, and joined Cordelia and Connor on the bed. Cordelia was stretched out on her side, gazing adoringly at Connor, cooing to him as he squirmed and gurgled. Angel gently lowered himself beside them, propping his head on the palm of his hand to admire the image they made: woman and child, framed by the soft light of the candles. It was times like this he wished he could paint rather than sketch: he wanted to capture the shimmering gold of Cordelia's skin, the darkened blue of Connor's eyes.

Cordelia interrupted his reverie. "This is nice," she murmured, glancing up at him. "If the power wasn't out, I'd think you were trying to seduce me."

Angel blinked at her, surprised. "What? No, that's not--"

She laughed softly. "Your daddy's so easy," she crooned, tucking her head to whisper in Connor's little ear. Her smile was secretive. "Good thing he's got us, then, huh?"

It moved him, to see the two of them together, almost as much as what she'd said. Overcome, he reached across Connor's soft belly for her hand, clutching it in his own. "Good thing," he said.

Cordelia squeezed his hand, giving the tiny bit of skin between his thumb and forefinger a pinch. When Angel jumped, Cordelia laughed. "Not too good, though, right?"

"Uh, right," Angel replied, nodding.

Cordelia had already moved on, burrowing down into the comforter so her face was right next to Connor's. "He's asleep," she whispered. "That was easier than normal."

Angel, somewhat regretfully, scooped Connor gently up into his arms. "I'll put him down," he said quietly, carrying Connor back to the crib. Angel lowered him down onto the blankets, tucking them around him just so, carefully lying the stuffed bear nearby. "Sleep tight, son," he murmured.

Once Connor was settled, he turned back to the bed. Cordelia wasn't looking at him; in fact, she was staring despondently up at the ceiling. "Cordy?" Angel asked, lowering himself gently down onto the mattress next to her. "What's wrong?"

Cordelia jumped, startled, as if she'd forgotten where she was. "Oh. Nothing, I was just-- thinking, you know?"

"Thinking," Angel repeated, unconvinced. "About what?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. You get to brood twenty-three hours out of a twenty-four hour day, no questions, and I can't brood for twenty-three seconds?"

Angel glanced away sheepishly, clearing his throat. "Caught me," he said, after a moment. "No more questions, then."

With a sigh, Cordelia scooted a bit closer to him, looking up at him with a worried expression. It was hard to concentrate on her face, at first, because the length of her leg-- her calves were bare, where her skirt had ridden up above her knees-- was pressed against his, her knee bumped against the side of his. "It's just-- God, I don't know why I'm telling you this," she began. "It's not like you can help."

"I might can," he said, shrugging. The heat of her body was beginning to seep into his; he could feel himself sinking into the warmth, had to concentrate to really listen to what she was saying.

"I think this is a problem left for someone besides Mister Emotionally Stunted," she said, not unkindly. "But here goes. It's Wesley."

Angel blinked and angled his body closer to hers, studying her face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she replied, and at that point, she seemed hesitant to look him in the eye. "I didn't mean to, but I think-- I think I hurt his feelings."

"Did you say something? Because I doubt you really hurt his feelings, unless you said something worse than that time you said that thing about his father--"

Cordelia jerked away from him. "Gee, thanks, Angel, you really know what to say in these situations," she snapped. With a scowl, she rolled over, turning her back toward him. Angel reached for her shoulder, his fingers hovering over the cotton of her shirt, but before he touched her she pushed herself even further away. "God, you can be such an ass sometimes, you know that?"

He reached for her again. Now, she was at the edge of the bed, with no choice but to lie still or leave. His hand rested lightly on her waist, his thumb brushing over the bare skin between her skirt and shirt. "I know. I'm sorry, that didn't-- that's not what I meant. I was just trying to-- look, I'm sorry--"

"Oh, for God's sake," she said, then moved back, rolling to face him. She ended up closer than he expected, startling him, but she didnt't seem bothered at all by their sudden proximity. "Quit stammering before you strain yourself and fall out of bed. For someone who's been apologizing for, like, over a century, you're awfully bad at it."

"I know," he agreed, sighing. "I'm--"

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched, and he knew she was fighting a smile. "Sorry, I know. Can we move on now?"

When he nodded, Cordelia settled back down into the mattress, stretching her legs out with a sigh of satisfaction. "Thank you," she said. In reply, Angel squeezed her waist, which she interpreted as a gesture to begin. "It has to do with the ballet."

Angel blinked in confusion. He didn't remember much of the ballet, except for the way Cordy's breath hitched when he ran his mouth between her breasts, or the way she--

"Angel?" Cordelia asked, glancing at him suspiciously. "Oh my God, are you still hung up on that? Yes, you saw me topless. How old are you, twelve or two-fifty?"

Angel shook his head, clearing his mind of the vision of her-- writhing and moaning and arching underneath his hands, his mouth-- and refocusing on her face. Cordelia, after giving him a brief scowl, continued with the story. "Wesley-- well, he kind of had a thing for Fred. And nobody knows but me, so you have to keep this a secret, okay?"

"Wes has a thing for Fred? How come I didn't know this?"

Cordelia blinked. "I just told you, no one knows but me, moron. It's a secret. Anyway, I-- I made a mistake." She lowered her eyes. "I went shopping with Fred for the ballet, right? And she was asking me these questions about this guy. And I mean, she kept saying 'he' and 'him' and, you know, maybe if she hadn't been so loose with her pronouns this thing would have never happened--" She caught herself, shaking her head and sighing. "Sorry, that's not the point. I just, well, I thought it was Wes. The whole time, I was so sure it was Wes."

Angel moved a bit closer to her, carefully sliding his arm further around her. She relaxed beneath him, tucking her feet so her toes pressed against his. "Was it not Wes? Cordy, there's no way you could've known. It sounds like an honest mistake."

"But I should've made sure," she protested. "And so, I told Wes. I told Wes to make his move, that she wanted him, too, but then-- it wasn't him. It was Gunn."

"Fred has a thing for Gunn?"

Cordelia flapped her hand carelessly. "I know, it's starting to sound like a soap opera, isn't it?"

Angel shook his head. "No, not that. It's just-- I thought Fred had a thing for me. But Gunn? Gunn's nothing like me--"

Cordelia sat up, causing his arm to slide down the side of her body, and looked down at him with undisguised shock. "You're impossible! I'm talking about serious issues here, and you're freaking out about your reputation." She huffed, then settled back down beside him, her arm curled between them. "Anyway, Wesley was trying all night, at the ballet. And then-- then he caught them kissing. That, on top of the thing with Billy, and Wesley's just falling apart. I think he's really upset."

"Have you talked to him?"

Cordelia bowed her head, her forehead against his shoulder. "How can I? I'm the one who caused all of this, getting his hopes up, telling him stupid things like 'the iron is hot'--"

"Hey, hey," Angel said, easing himself down so their noses nearly touched. "It's not your fault. You couldn't have known, and you thought what you were doing was right."

"It's Valentine's Day," she said suddenly. Off his look, she nodded, giving him a small, sad smile. "I know, right? I hadn't thought about it either, until I got an e-card from Willow this afternoon. But I know Wesley thought about it, because he had to sit around all day, watching Gunn laugh and flirt with the girl he thought was his. On Valentine's Day. And it's all because of me."

Angel narrowed his eyes. "Stop saying that. It's not your fault."

Shaking her head, Cordelia sniffed quietly, ducking her face against the pillow to try and hide it. "It was stupid. I should've known. I mean, I told him before-- I told him that people like us... we're just meant to be alone, you know?"

Angel lifted his hand to push her hair aside, trailing his fingers back behind her ear, down the side of her throat. "Cordy," he murmured, then tilted his head to gently rest his forehead against hers. "You're not alone. You're not going to end up alone, and neither is Wes."

"Easy for you to say. You've got that sweet little boy over there to keep you company," Cordelia replied, laughing. It wasn't a happy laugh; it was tremulous, touched with tears. "Me? All I've got a dead guy guy who's good at doing the dishes." Noticing Angel's puzzled expression, she added, "Oh, not you. The other dead guy. Dennis."

"You've got both dead guys," he said vehemently. "And I don't know how well Dennis celebrates Valentine's Day, but even for not remembering, I think we've got a pretty good set-up here. I mean, look-- candles."

Cordelia laughed again, and this time, it was genuine. To his surprise, she reached up and began caressing the skin behind his ear, running her nails gently over the nape of his neck. "You've gotten a lot better at this whole pep-talk thing," she whispered, tilting her face toward his. Before he could respond, she kissed him softly on the mouth: it was long and lingering, and when she pulled away, it was hard not to follow after her.

Angel must have looked dazed afterward, because she dimpled sweetly for him, a blush rising to her cheeks. "That was me, uh, saying thanks. For everything. Also, it's Valentine's Day, so kissing is--"

"You're welcome," he said, interrupting her rambling. She started to speak again, but this time, he kissed her, running his hands up and down the warm slope of her back. When she pulled away, he pressed his forehead against hers. "You're not going to end up alone," he whispered.

"I'm holding you to it," she replied, winking.

When she was smiling like that, cast in the warm, golden glow of the candles, she was absolutely stunning. He touched her hair, smoothed his palm over her cheek. "You're beautiful," he murmured, mesmerized.

"Now I know you're trying to seduce me," she said, but she cuddled up to him anyway, turned her face up when he moved to kiss her again. "And you're right. We do have a good Valentine's day set-up going on here. But there's one thing missing, I think."

Angel, who had begun running his mouth along the line of her jaw, stopped to look up at her. "What's that?"

Cordelia beamed. "Duh! Chocolate!" She immediately collapsed into giggles, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

He pulled her closer, pressed his face against her neck, and laughed with her.

-fin

Beta, anyone?

2007-02-14T01:28:26Z

I've got a new fic that's due for the Vday Exchange at Stranger Things tomorrow. It's not my best work, but I'm pretty satisfied with it, so I'm ready for beta. Any takers? Oh, yeah: it's Cordelia/Angel, of course.

One day I'm going to start branching out. Also, this is a total GIP. GOD I LOVE THIS ICON.

I have a dream--

2007-02-05T16:21:46Z

My goal for the next week: finish fic. I'm getting very disgruntled with myself, for:

a) having ideas but not the time to sit down and write them
b) also lacking the time to leave feedback for great authors and their fantastic stuff
c) not having time to do anything, really

I hate college sometimes. Also: yay COLTS, who I don't really care about but I just wanted to antagonize my bears-loving roommate!

Back again!

2006-12-26T15:31:23Z

Well, guys, I'm not dead! Or undead. But since exam week, I've been going non-stop: skiing, cocktail parties, and all the various holiday family goings. Today I get a short break, but then tomorrow I'm off again to a debutante ball down at the beach for two days. THEN, after that, to Charleston for new years! Then things will calm down, and I'll still have about two weeks before I have to start worrying about school again.

I do have this wonderful fabulous idea for a fic that I can't wait to write. I started on a little bit of it, but things get so busy a few minutes into it that it really hasn't gone anywhere yet. I didn't get in until 4 last night, so writing was not on my agenda.

Oh, yes, and to those who celebrate: Merry Christmas! I'll check back in in a few days, maybe with fic!!

New clothes!

2006-12-11T15:00:36Z

New clothes, new clothes, I got new clothes! /Cordelia

My new jeans came in today-- citizens of humanity, and I got them for only $40 (thank youuu Ebay!). Plus mom shipped away my ski stuff last week, so that should be coming in soon, too. Now if only I can get through this genetics exam without failing I will be perfectly content with my life...

FIC: All The Things (That Might Not Be)

2006-12-07T18:05:50Z

Well, guys, it seems I might've told a little fib since I'm back already from study-like things. But at least I bring fic! This was inspired from the Stranger Things board, in which Gabrielle said I should try season 3. Well, I tried season 3, although I doubt it's what she had in mind! I also wanted to try a little writing exercise, so: 5 drabbles, all 100 words exactly. Yippee!

All The Things (That Might Not Be)
PG-13; Cordy, Angel, Connor; AtS s3
It could've been better. Or a lot worse.

1. Lullaby

Cordelia can't believe how small he is. "What are you going to do?" she asks quietly, touching the blanket's edge.

Angel tightens his hold, curling around the bundle in his arms. "I don't know. Wesley says--"

"Did I ask for Wes' opinion?" Cordelia says sharply. Then, regretfully, she softens her voice and expression. "He's your son, Angel."

Angel moves the blanket aside. The baby mewls, waving his tiny, clawed hands, blinking up at them with golden eyes. His mouth is ringed with blood, smeared from the bottle they'd fed him earlier.

"Connor," he says, finally. "He's my son. Connor."

2. Provider

Cordelia drifts out of sleep, warm and comfortable, blinking owlishly up at Angel's face.

He smiles, his face creased with wrinkles from the comforter. "Connor's asleep," he murmurs.

She remembers the baby between them. Angel, to her surprise, reaches across Connor's rising belly for her hand. "I'm putting him in his crib."

Cordelia curls her body closer. "What for?"

Angel doesn't reply, lifting Connor and carrying him away.

When Cordelia opens her eyes again, Angel's face is inches from hers, his gaze dark and adoring.

"Because I want to be with you," he says. He smiles as he kisses her.

3. Double or Nothing

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

They were supposed to be a family, she thinks, lying underneath Angel and staring at the burnt-black walls of the suite. The movement of his body is heart-wrenching. The room smells like smoke and baby-powder.

But she isn't really thinking of him. She thinks only of Connor: the way he laughed when she pressed her lips behind his ear, the way he smelled after bathing him in the sink, the way he--

Angel comes, finally, like a sob. Cordelia doesn't, can't, but she is sobbing too.

They were supposed to be a family.

4. Benediction

Angel's smile is blinding after Cordelia describes the vision, as if the memory alone, of him and Connor together, sustains him.

"It was beautiful," she says, her fingers ghosting over his hand, affectionate.

His face-- god, it's the most radiant thing she's ever seen. "I have a son," he says. "A son."

The laugh bubbles from her throat. "We got him back! Angel, we got him back!" She squeezes his hand; a pinch in a dream.

He presses his forehead to hers, so sweetly it nearly undoes her. "What I always wanted," he murmurs. "This is what I always wanted."

5.Tomorrow

The knife gleams, sheathed in red. "She was a demon, like you," Connor says.

"No, no," Angel says, disbelieving. He can see her: the gown was white, but it's hard to tell. From the blood.

Connor wipes the knife on his shirt. "I didn't want to, but she was lying. Talking about family."

Angel slides to the ground. Connor keeps talking. "You killed my family. My father."

"Connor, no, I swear--" Angel says. Cordelia's eyes are still open.

Connor moves closer. "I killed her to save her," he says. "That's too good for you. You get to live-- forever."

FIC: Dangerous Type

2006-12-05T03:29:49Z

I'm back! But only to post a fic I've been working on, because I've got 2 papers and exams coming up. Oh, the college life. I'll probably have to go back into my study hibernation, so I figured I'd post this just to prove I'm still alive.

Dangerous Type
R, Post-The Thin Dead Line, s2; Cordy/Angel

oh inside angel, always upset
keeps on forgetting that we ever met
can i bring you out in the light?
curiosity's got me tonight
-the cars

Of course, she thought. Of course. Gunn and Wesley were off with a client-- hopefully there would be money involved-- and Cordelia was sprawled on the floor in front of the desk, trying to hold in her guts because the vision hit her so hard she thought she might puke up everything inside her. The floor was cool against her cheek; she held onto the leg of the desk and focused on her breathing, slow and deep, soothing.

As she regained her strength, she began going over the vision in her mind, turning over each image like a card from the deck. Two vampires. A girl looking for a good time. An alley, covered with trash, its mouth opening next to the Chinese place on 17th. Rape, cutting, feeding--

Cordelia wretched into the trashcan next to the desk, eyes watering, her skin sticky with sweat. Once she was finished and her legs were strong enough to support her, she started tossing things into her bag: stakes, holy water, her favorite ax. She left a note for the guys pinned to the calendar on her desk, then headed out the door, trying not to think about the fact that she was going to face-down two vampires or she was going to die.

The cabbie dropped her off a block down from the restaurant. Cordelia picked her way down the sidewalk, dodging heavy-handed men and empty-eyed prostitutes, trying not to scuff her heels on the trash littering the curb. The Chinese place was open, its neon sign casting pale, vibrating shadows over the dimly-lit street. She took a moment to stare into the flourescence, then made her way around the building, into the alley.

The smell hit her face: cloying, suffocating, the heavy scent of rotting meat and spoiled vegetables. Luckily, she'd already puked, so she was able to walk past without gagging. Standing behind a dumpster, she waited, listening to the far-off beat of the club's music and voices, growing closer. Peeking around the corner, she spotted them: a young girl in black pumps, jeans, and a questionable silver halter top. The boys were behind her, laughing and jeering: one had shaggy hair and subtle freckles, while the other had beefier features that made her think of-- well, not Angel.

His name alone was enough to spike Cordelia's adrenaline. Shortly after, the first vampire grabbed the girl's wrist and pushed her toward the wall, smirking. The second followed after him, leaning toward her with his game-face on; the girl screamed, which Cordelia interpreted as her cue. The second one noticed her immediately, turning toward her with a toothy smile. "Hey, look," he said. "Now we don't have to share."

Cordelia saw the girl struggling against the wall like a hooked fish. Cordelia didn't think; she lunged forward instantly, pulling her stake, aiming it in a downward arch toward the vampire holding the girl. The stake was so close; she waited for the whoosh, but instead, her shoulder connected with something hard. As she fell back, she realized it was the heavier vampire, bowling her to the ground with a snarl.

He was on top of her like a rabid dog, nearly slavering at the mouth, pawing at her chin to wrench her throat back. Cordelia flailed underneath him, but she was still holding the stake, clutching it desperately in her fingers. The vampire's mouth was near her throat, his breath ghosting over her skin. Cordelia slammed the stake into his back and then there was only ashes.

The first vampire, seeing his buddy dissolve, shoved the girl away from him and prowled toward Cordelia. "You bitch," he snarled, his mouth ringed with bright, fresh blood.

"Run!" Cordelia shrieked at the girl, who was lying in a sobbing heap on the ground, her shimmery halter top dulled with the blood oozing from her throat. She didn't respond, and Cordelia didn't have time to waste; she jumped back just as the vampire swung, aiming at the side of her head.

The vampire just smiled. "Well, now there's more for me," he leered, then lunged at her again.

Cordelia tried to jump back, but he was faster. The vampire grabbed her wrist and swung her toward the wall; the brick sent a jolt up her back, left her spine tingling with pain. He had her pinned against the side of the restaurant, his face inches from hers, as if he was about to kiss her. Cordelia howled and swung wildly at his head, kicked her feet, but he just ignored it. Instead, he plucked the stake from her hand, tossing it onto the ground at their feet.

The vampire snapped his fangs in front of her face, laughing. Her elbows were bleeding, where they'd scraped against the wall; it oozed down her forearms, pooling at the place where his hands held her trapped. She closed her eyes when he leaned forward, thinking: this is it, i tried, i tried--

His fangs scraped her skin. Then, suddenly, there was nothing: his weight was gone, leaving a cool sheet of dust which fell quietly over her skin.

Angel was standing there, his face expressionless. He tossed the stake on the ground at her feet. "You're trying to get yourself killed," he said, although he sound more annoyed than concerned.

Cordelia dusted off the front of her blouse. "What are you doing here?" she hissed. "I told you to stay away!"

"Next time I won't bother," Angel sighed, already walking away. "Go home, Cordelia."

She was hurt and infuriated, and here was Angel, walking away like he'd actually done her a favor. She had to argue with him; it was like a reflex. "Good thing I'm not blonde, then you'd be really happy," she spat, picking up her stake of the ground. "Might lose that soul of yours, right? What's left of it, anyway."

Angel stopped cold. At his sides, his hands were clenched, the knuckles white. "I would stop if I were you," he said, without turning around.

Cordelia refused to back down, glaring hard into his back, fueled by adrenaline and the memory: Don't make me move you. "I'm sure that's what those lawyers were saying too, weren't they?" she said, her voice deadly, quiet. "Stop. Don't. Please. Too bad you slammed the door in their face and walked away!"

There was a shift in the air, and an instant later, she was pressed back against the wall. She was pinned beneath the hard weight of his body; his eyes were crazy, his mouth gone tight. "You're just like them," he whispered, shaking her with each word. "Just like them. Everyone keeps trying to figure it out-- how far can we push before Angel starts to lose control?"

Cordelia tried not to flinch, but he was hurting her, his fingers clutching with such intensity she could feel the bones in her arm shifting. She'd never seen him like this, wondered if he would kill her, here, right in this alley. "Stop it," she said quietly, looking him in the eye.

It was like he didn't hear her at all. He pushed her further against the wall, his face so close to hers she could see the brown-gold kaleidoscope of his changing eyes. "Gonna push me too, Cordelia?"

She wanted to run, to scream, to shove her stake in his chest so far it went all the way through. Instead, she clenched her teeth and said, "You're deranged. Get off me!"

His rage coiled between them like smoke, seeping into her skin and the cold, angry scent of her fear. Angel was perfectly still, more than any human could be, until he abruptly shoved away from her. The strength of his arms was strong enough to crack her head against the wall, and she realized with a start that he was no longer staring at her face, but at his own hands. They were covered in blood.

Her blood.

Cordelia narrowed her eyes, fighting the wave of nausea inside her. "Don't you dare," she said.

Angel glanced up at her, then back at his hands. In the darkness of the alley, his eyes gleamed yellow like a cat's, hungry and secretive. Then, to her horror, he raised his hand to his mouth and started licking away the blood.

It was too much. Cordelia lunged at him, not even caring about the stake, hitting him anywhere her fists could find. "You disgusting freak!" she howled, punching him as hard as she could. "I hate you! You're a sick, deranged monster! Don't touch me! Don't--"

Angel shoved her away easily, back toward the wall. This time, when he came toward her, he was moving like a hunter. Cordelia pressed herself against the wall, all of her survival instincts fading away at the sight of him, his mouth stained with her own blood. "You are a monster," she said again.

"I thought you already knew," he whispered. For the first time, something flickered in his eyes, something other than anger.

He lifted her arm, still stained with blood, and raised it to his mouth. Cordelia watched him with sick fascination: he ran his lips up to the crease of her elbow, where the blood pooled, still seeping from the cuts and scrapes on her skin. She started to struggle, but he pressed himself closer to her, holding her easily against the wall. This time, when his mouth ghosted over her wrist, she could feel his fangs.

Cordelia shoved at his face. "If you bite me, I'll shove this stake so far--"

Angel obediantly dropped her wrist. He stared down at her, his hands clasping her arms, and for an instant she thought he was going to simply let her go. "What about this?" he murmured, moving closer, his mouth nearly touching hers. "Can I do this?"

And then he kissed her, slow and deep, sliding his tongue into her mouth. It shocked her: she could taste her own blood and something else, smoky and masculine. He pressed against her more insistently, his knee wedging between her legs, and she didn't want this but now that she had it she did, she did. She grabbed his shoulders and held on, tried not to think about what she was doing, how he had fired her and helped Darla and Drusilla kill a room full of people and--

His lips trailed over her throat, down to the shallow scrapes left by the other vampire's fangs. Cordelia had forgotten about them, until now: Angel sucked gently at them, biting the skin softly to draw more blood. It hurt, but at the same time, she felt herself falling down into the pleasure. Down to Angel's level, dark and dangerous. He slipped his hand between her legs, unbuttoning her pants and sliding his hand inside.

The skin of his cool hand against her warm belly sent her reeling. She jerked forward at the contact; he moved his hand down, between her legs, his fingers ghosting over the wet strip of her thong. It was like sensory overload: the rhythm of his fingers on her clit matched the rhythm of his mouth at her throat, each pull of her blood sending her higher, higher. Cordelia made a short, strangled sound, something between a moan and a whimper.

Angel looked up, and she realized his game-face was on. It startled her and angered her in turn, and she dug her nails into the soft, fleshy side of his neck. "I'm not Darla," she spat. "Don't touch me with that face."

He stared at her defiantly. When she dug her nails deeper, he shuddered, a long motion from his head to his feet. Then his human features reappeared, although his eyes glimmered still, and he lowered his head back to her throat. His fingers hadn't stopped moving; she sunk back into the rhythm, let her head fall back. Sucking and pulling and now she was starting to feel light-headed, delirious--

The orgasm snuck up on her, beginning in the pit of her stomach and climbing up her body until she felt like she was falling apart. Angel held her against the wall, following the motion of her body and holding her there, trapped at the pinnacle. It was amazing and terrifying all at once.

Then, just as suddenly, it was over. Angel lifted his head to look into her face and now, his expression was sad and lost. His mouth was wet with her blood; he wiped at it viciously and she realized he was ashamed, just as she was. Now that the euphoria was gone, she felt worn out and dirty, tired from the loss of blood. Angel cleared his throat. "I'm--"

"Don't you dare say you're sorry," Cordelia snapped, buttoning up her pants and trying to wipe away the blood. It was everywhere: her arms, hands, neck, chest. "You're disgusting, and what we just did was disgusting too."

He looked away but said nothing. Cordelia picked up her stake from the ground-- she didn't even remember dropping it-- and held it in front of her, like a threat. "We used to have something good," she told him, no longer angry, just empty. "And then you started going and sticking your fangs in the every bad thing you could find. And now all we have is this-- this freakshow."

He recoiled, as if she'd struck him. "Cordelia," he said, then stopped, as if unsure of what he wanted to say. Finally, he settled on, "Let me take you home."

When he reached for her, she cringed away from him. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"It's late," he said, a final attempt.

Cordelia shrugged. "I'll take my chances. Just-- get out of my way." He moved to the side, letting her pass, and she carefully avoided even brushing against him.

Angel's gaze burned into her back. "It's not safe," he called after her.

She stopped, but didn't turn to face him. Cordelia was finished with him, completely; anything she said now was just to keep him away, to make sure he didn't bother her again. "What about what we just did? Was that safe?"

When he spoke, she could barely hear him. "No," he whispered. "No, it wasn't."

"I didn't think so," she said. "I meant what I said, back at the hospital. You walked away, Angel. Now do us a favor and stay away."

Cordelia didn't wait for him to reply. She walked out of the alley and onto the street, trying not think of what she'd just done, what they'd done together.

If only she could stop looking at the blood.

-fin

FIC: Revival

2006-11-26T02:03:53Z

I've been trying to make myself write more recently, just to get in the groove. This is a short little piece, BTVS s3, post-Lover's Walk. Angel/Cordy friendship. The end isn't as satisfying as I'd hope, but oh well. Just practice. Oh, and unbeta'd, so beware!

Title: Revival
Rating: G

Angel stumbles over her as he makes his way up the stairs; luckily, he catches the railing before he lands in a face-down sprawl on the concrete. He was so focused on seeing Buffy he hadn't even noticed her, nor her heartbeat; he hadn't seen her at all until he tripped over her.

There is a flash of bright yellow fabric, and then: "God, do I look like a doormat to you?"

"Cordelia?" Angel asks in disbelief, instinctively reaching to help her to her feet.

She brushes him off irritably. "What, are you blind and deaf now?" With a scowl, she pushes herself to her feet, smoothing the soft, dark material of her skirt down. Although Angel finds Buffy to be the most beautiful creature on earth, he appreciates Cordelia's sense of style: she dresses older than the others, out of place admist high school childishness.

Embarrassed, he begins to stammer. "Sorry. I didn't-- I was in a hurry, and--"

Cordelia slides her hands through her hair, pushing it away from her face. In the pale arc of light from Sunnydale High, Angel notices the damp lines on her face, her tight, miserable expression. She sniffles between sentences. "Please, stop before you strain yourself and fall down again," she tells him. "Besides, it's not like you're the only one trampling all over me this week. Join the club."

Angel hardly keeps up with the going-ons of high school. "I'm sorry," he repeats, and winces at his own awkwardness. "Are you okay?"

"Do you see my makeup?" Cordelia snaps, gesturing at her face. "I look like Buffy. There is nothing okay about me right now."

It would be much easier to feel sympathetic, Angel thinks, if she wasn't so-- well, herself. He sits down awkwardly on the steps next to her feet. "Did-- uh, did something happen?" he asks.

Surprisingly, she flops down on the steps next to him. "Not really, no. I just had a rebar through my stomach, and that was after I caught Xander cheating on me."

"Oh. Right," Angel replies quickly, wincing. "Buffy, she-- she normally keeps me up on all of these things. But lately.."

Cordelia turns to him, eyebrow raised. "Trouble in paradise?" she asks.

"I don't know if it was ever paradise," he says.

"Well, it must've been that one time," Cordelia says, then winces, averting her eyes. "Uh, sorry."

Angel shrugs and tries not to think too hard about it. "It's okay," he replies, then goes for a subject change. "I'm sorry about what happened with Xander. If it helps, I don't like him either."

She flashes him a quick, unexpected smile. "It does. And if it helps you, I don't really like Buffy either."

"It doesn't," Angel replies, but he finds himself smiling despite himself.

After that, a comfortable silence settles over them, interrupted only by the hum of the lights and cars whooshing down the street. Angel starts to stand, thinking the conversation over, but Cordelia stops him before he can. "I can't figure it out," she says. Her voice is neither sarcastic nor harsh; she sounds shy, hesitant.

Angel has enough trouble holding normal, polite conversation; he isn't sure if he can handle being someone's confessor. Luckily, Cordelia seems not to expect a reply. "I mean, they were friends for like-- ever. And senior year they decide they've got the warm, groiny feelings for each other? What gives?"

Angel glances down at his hands, resting loosely on his knees, considering. "People are pretty unpredictable," he says finally, hoping it wasn't too lame.

"From the master of unpredictability himself," she says. Angel decides to let that one go, for both their sakes, and Cordelia continues seamlessly. "We're a lot alike, me and you."

Angel blinks. "We are?"

"Well, yeah. Total hotties with a an unfortunate weakness for losers. Plus, recently single."

"You forget the part where I'm a vampire," Angel says wryly.

Cordelia grins. "You are?"

Together, they laugh quietly, then slowly dwindle into silence. Angel clears his throat and begins to stand. "Coming in?" he asks.

Dusting off her skirt, Cordelia stands with him, although she makes no move toward the door. "And see Xander? A world of no," she says. When he turns toward her, she is swiping discreetly at her eyes again.

Impulsively, Angel reaches out, swiping the corner of her eye with his thumb. Cordelia jumps, startled; Angel immediately begins back-pedaling, surprised at himself. "Sorry," he stammers. "Earlier you were talking about your makeup, and--"

Cordelia sniffles, giving him a small, watery smile. "It's okay. Thanks."

"It'll get better," Angel says quietly.

For a long moment, Cordelia says nothing, staring at him as if searching for something. "Yeah, it will," she says finally.

Angel nods and turns to go. Behind him, Cordelia begins making her way down the stairs, her heels making muffled clicks on the cement. Just before Angel closes the door, she turns back toward him. "Angel?"

He stops. "Yeah?"

"It'll get better," she says. In the dim light, she looks beautiful and vulnerable, the normal hardness around her eyes muted by the moonlight. Then, without looking back, she continues down the sidewalk to the parking lot.

Angel watches her leave until she is out of sight, then closes the door and steps inside. Yeah, he thinks, walking down the hall toward the library, it will.

Some Thanksgiving angst

2006-11-23T01:19:45Z

Look! I've got some fic to angst up everyone's thanksgiving. Yay drabbles, yay turkey!

And She Was
G, Angel s2, Thanksgiving angst, C/A if you squint really really hard

Cordelia sits on the floor with her head in her hands, covered head-to-toe in flour and breathing in a cloud of thick, dark smoke. Angel kneels next to her, his hand on her shoulder. "Jesus, Cordelia," he says, fanning the air around them with a dish towel. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Cordelia wipes viciously at her face, smearing the trickle of blood on her upper lip. "I asked those vamps not to rape and mutilate anyone on national holidays," she says angrily. "I guess they missed the memo."

In a show of apology, Angel takes the dish towel and gently cleans off her face, wiping away the flour, tears, and blood. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that, I just-- you need to be more careful. You shouldn't be cooking alone, with the visions."

"The visions don't make me an invalid," she snaps. "Do I need to be under 24-hour supervision now?"

Angel, sighing, reaches to hold her hand. "Cordy. You know that's not what I meant."

Cordelia tries to pull away, albeit weakly, but Angel doesn't let go. "Give me a break. You and I both know exactly what you meant, and that's for me to stay away from the spatulas," she says. "Let go of me."

"I'm sorry," Angel repeats, then cringes. "Look, let's clean this up, and then we'll go buy a turkey. My treat."

Cordelia wipes once more at her eyes, then starts to stand. Angel rushes to help her, but she gives him such a strong look he backs away instantly. "I've had about as much Thanksgiving as I can take," she sighs, weakly brushing off the front of her shirt. She looks at Angel, but it's like she doesn't see him at all. "Is this what I'm supposed to be thankful for?" she asks.

Angel blinks. "What?"

Cordelia turns away, looks once at him over her shoulder, then walks out the door. "This," she says. "My life."

-fin