E mail: F/F Slash
: TS is owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, WB, Fox, Sand Dollar and UPN.
2. I own nothing so please don't sue me
3. I'm a crappy writer so please bear with me.
4. I don’t read F/F Slash. So if this doesn’t flow . . . don’t hate me. Okay.
Spoilers: None that I can think of off the top of my head
Summary: Life’s a bitch and then you die . . .
You never set out to self destruct it just seems to happen when you least expect it. When live is a house of cards built on a foundation of lies. Lies we tell ourselves and the lies we live to please others. You think by now I’ve learned something, anything about how the game is played. The game of life, do not pass GO and don’t collect your two hundred dollars there’s no time out there are not do-overs and you pay to play every time.
Queen C, the bitch queen of Sunnydale High, I was going to be a famous and powerful movie star. I was a Diva, the brightest star in the heavens and like the Morning Star I fell into Hell. An Earthly Hell made of loneliness, of death, of mind numbing visions, of uncountable near-death experiences and encounters that would give Stephen King nightmares all while smiling gracefully in a designer outfit.
Love has worn many faces: the betrayer (Xander), the Deserters (my parent), the Trickister (Wilson), the Abandoner (Doyle I know he died, but he left me just the same), the Unattainable (Groo), the Untouchable (Angel) and now there’s Fred. Who’d have thunk it? Not me for one.
Two lost souls looking for comfort in a warm embrace. Both wanting something, we can never have and settling for what we can. Watching her watch him and a pang of jealousy hurts my heart and not knowing of whom I’m more jealousy of. Hiding in plain sight, I know he must know Vamp-y senses and all, but all he can offer is his friendship: the Hero to her tragic heroine.
I’m blood and bone and for a few short hours we can forget in each other arms. Fred understands what it means to hide . . . from the world, from yourself. Sometimes the only way to survive is to hide. I can look into her eyes and see a pure and ancient soul, and I want that purity for myself. It’s in that moment I know I could really love her if I let myself if I willed myself too, kooky talk and all.
The touch of her hand washes away the lies and in that moment, that brief fleeting moment I almost feel alive. The feel of soft skin and rounded flesh, of kisses that blend into one another for minutes, for hours and in that moment the lie of love seems real and her kisses block the bitterwinds and I almost believe as she whispers “I love you, Cordy.”.