Birthday Angel/Cordy Cordy/Angela, Angel/Angela (!!) for [livejournal.com profile] samsom

Jan. 3rd, 2007 03:55 pm
lostakasha: (Default)
[personal profile] lostakasha
Diamonds on the Inside

Cordy/Angela, Angel/Angela, Cordy/Angel
NC-17
Happy birthday, [livejournal.com profile] samsom! I hope you like this, and that your year is filled with joy and pleasure.

This takes place during A;tS Season 2 between Redefinition and Epiphany. My guess is that with Angela having lived at 25 different addresses in 6 countries in 8 years, she had to be in LA at some point!

I wrote this as a series of 12 100-word drabbles. Eep!


Diamonds on the Inside

It could have been.

He came so close to suffocating the bansidhe song that howled with every ounce of borrowed animal blood he drank.

Until they reanimated his foul, fetid mother/lover/concubine/bitch and dissolved the humanity in his grasp with a single breath.

And reanimated him.

In that moment he fell back deeper than any alley, deeper than in the birth canal of Balinasloe where he died clutching Darla’s skirts with the tang of tarry stout and the barmmaid’s cunt on his breath and rose choking on ashy graveyard filth.

Had he not already been dead it would have killed him.



She was bold, once.

Brazen and fearless and unconquerable and so goddamn young.

She was bold until the pain of a city assembled in her heart and fed on her, pleading and preying on the fringes of her consciousness. At first it blazed in her, lighting her with terrible beauty and she loved it, loved the sense of hope it gave her, loved the pure white torrent of possibility it unleashed in her heart.

Loved the way he caught her when she fell into its hungry maw.

When he walked away her boldness fled with the echo of his steps.



Tethered to impulses.

Hung on the moon by her dreams, by shadow and line and scale as she follows each phase from full to dark with charcoal stains on her fingertips and turpentine as her signature scent.

Angela takes lovers like photographs, haphazard and quirky, rich and textured, rough and raw, sacrificing technical perfection for the thrill of revealing hearts from their shadows. She brings first their desire to life on the photosensitive page and the ones she loves she chases and recreates with oils and chalk, page after page until they are perfect for one luminous moment in time.



The Watchers lie.

“He’s not the person you knew. He may look like one you recognize, but he is not. He’s a demon, and no trace of the man remains.”

The truth is too dangerous and alluring to reveal and Watchers are nothing if not cowards, craving order and fearing lust.

This is the truth:

All traces of the man remain.

His every dream, every desire, every deathwish is glorified by bloodlust, sweetened by the hunt, sharpened by skill.

And when you see your reflection in his feral amber gaze you see everything you ever wanted and never dared seek.



Cordelia wants her freedom.

It’s easy to fool herself into believing that sitting for an artist would give her that, as if baring one’s breasts and ass for a stranger ever liberated anyone.

But she wants what she’s always wanted -- what he took away. She wants to be celebrated. Worshipped. Committed to memory. Lifted high above the screams of a dying, desperate city.

In the end it’s not the scrape of pencil on Bristol board that opens her, but the touch of small, warm fingers on her belly and the succulent press of another woman’s mouth on her own.




Her specter curls in the furnace flames.

Laughing as she burns, taunting him still, corners curled and consumed. A budding breast, the line of her back, crosshatched lines on rag and pulp disappear and if it were that simple he would have burned her in China and danced in her ashes.

If it were that simple he never would have asked her to show him the world and instead stayed content to fight and fuck and suffer a death equivalent to his easy, pointless life.

For the first time in 250-odd years he craves his own death.

First things first.



It’s Angela’s idea to lighten her hair, to streak it with sun, to show off the flecks of gold in her eyes.

The delightful familiarity of breasts and thighs and supple lips above and below could be heaven if Cordy didn’t know there was no such place. There’s no coldness in Angela’s touch or in the depth of her eyes and she wishes a simple change in chromosomal composition or the addition of an ‘a’ would be enough to make her not think of him.

Make her not wonder if his mouth would be so warm if prophecies came true.



Their screams lull him to sleep.

He delivered them back to hell on plumes of acrid smoke and he can rest, and dream.

And dream he does, of the first woman he ever loved and the one who could have made him whole. He wakes to the slamming of a door, to the echo of a heartbeat, his last meal feeding the pulse in his cock and the ache in his heart.

All traces of the man remain.

He rises in midnight’s shadow and takes to the street to hunt for the salvation of touch and the torture of release.



Angela kissed the plum shadows beneath Cordelia’s eyes and drove her home. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t afraid of the seizures; they were a line of demarcation that once witnessed couldn’t be crossed. She lied and said she understood.

“I’m sorry,” Cordy said. “Thank you for everything.”

Tears are pointless but Angela has no choice in the matter. In a life of texture and depth and color she’s known little of emptiness and when it comes, hollow and fierce, she tumbles into the chasm.

They were going dancing when the lightning struck.

No time like the present to heal.



Every club will always be The Bronze.

Angel will forever lurk in the shadows, yearning for the other foursome in his life. He loved them as he could, even if only one knew it.

But Cordelia – the least of their saintly cornerstones – is the one he will seek until his bones return to the soil from which they were wrenched. She is a muse for his new world.

Her scent reaches him above a tide of sweat and arousal that crests and recedes with the hypnotic concussion of tribal beats. Angel waits in the cover of undulating bodies, and hunts.



Angela is tiny in his arms, consumed to a whisper in the night.

Cold, solid, beyond ethereal; the antithesis of the woman who’d sought joy in her arms just hours before. The distance in his eyes cushions the fall as they dance, close and slow.

She wants to mourn, but kisses him instead. His mouth is nothing like hers but she can taste Cordelia there as if she’s tasting a reflection of herself and she goes deeper than she should.

She could have loved Cordelia, lifted her high above the screams of a dying, desperate city.

It could have been.




Angel sups Cordelia’s essence from Angela’s silken skin and wishes the taste would sing in his veins over the bansidhe’s scream.

He devours her until her flesh reveals a stranger’s flavor and he remembers what he’s driven away.

“Stay there,” she pants, and he kneels, death-still as ink bleeds into husk and she captures his form. “Close your eyes.”

Angel obeys, as he always has. As he always will.

All traces of the man remain.

He is the subject seeking mercy in his own reflection. Anything to keep the illusion alive for another moment, another hour.

It could have been.

†††end†††

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-03 09:25 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] samsom.livejournal.com
God, it's gorgeous! I love your writing so much, it's so evocative and raw and earthy, and it makes me die it's so good, when you hit my ship and my kink with this kind of precision. Thank you. I can return the cake and the cards, because this is perfect.

There have been times when I put Angela in the same thought as Angel - the art and the name seperated by one letter. I love, love, love that Cordy's the unseen third in that threesome,and the image of Angela going down Angel is...is...::thud::

makes turning 36 a bit easier to bear.

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-04 12:22 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lostakasha.livejournal.com
Happy, happy birthday! I hope the year to come brings you joy and the very best of luck!

And thank you for the lovely feedback. And I love how we're on that wavelength -- and how Angela/Angel is just. Yeah.

And! Omg! Icon!!!!!!

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-03 09:35 pm (UTC)
ext_2333: "That's right,  people, I am a constant surprise." (Default)
From: [identity profile] makd.livejournal.com
Wow. just...wow.

gotta go away and think about this awhile.

Annie: you got them -- in an essence, zen, way: you got them.....

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-04 12:23 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lostakasha.livejournal.com
Thank you! It was one of those aha! moments that spawned this fic. Now I get to write the one where Tempe finds the sktech of Angel and asks Angela about her need to idealize/sexualize Booth. Hee!

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-04 05:23 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jainanicole.livejournal.com
Oh, I am THERE.

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-04 07:48 am (UTC)
ext_2333: "That's right,  people, I am a constant surprise." (Default)
From: [identity profile] makd.livejournal.com
[taps fingers on desk.] did you finish it? ;-)

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-04 02:43 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lostakasha.livejournal.com
I am working on it as we speak. Watch this space! (Oh man, I am soooo lost...but in the very best way!)

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-03 09:36 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] southernbangel.livejournal.com
Wow, that is raw and beautiful and so damn painful but gorgeous in its heartbreak. The simplicity of the drabbles makes the content, the thundering beat of the story as it unfolds, all the more evocative.

The way you write Cordy/Angel makes me believe in them and actually mourn for the lost possibilities of that pairing.

Amazing job, darlin'. Amazing.

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-04 12:24 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lostakasha.livejournal.com
Thank you, Lee! And I miss them so much -- any time I can write them I do, even if it means bringing the pain.

*loves*

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-03 09:57 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] a2zmom.livejournal.com
You are a poet, your turn of phrase make me see so much. I wish I could explain it better. I just want to quote line after line, you cut to the bone of each character with this.

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-04 12:25 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lostakasha.livejournal.com
Flatterer! I'm so tickled that this moved you, that you felt it -- Angel never fails to bring me to that place where I just want to, well, you know.

You know.

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-03 10:28 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sweptawaybayou.livejournal.com
Beautiful.

:)

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-04 12:25 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lostakasha.livejournal.com
Thanks, babe!

*swoons with you*

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-04 12:54 am (UTC)
vikingprincess: Big girl panties?  I'm putting on my ass-kicker boots and going commando! (Default)
From: [personal profile] vikingprincess
these are gorgeous - I know nothing whatsoever about Angela, but it doesn't matter.

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-04 01:19 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lostakasha.livejournal.com
Thank you! That's a lovely compliment.

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-04 01:58 am (UTC)
lynnenne: (angel cordy by ?)
From: [personal profile] lynnenne
Your writing is so rich and gorgeous, I can almost taste it.

Angela takes lovers like photographs, haphazard and quirky, rich and textured, rough and raw, sacrificing technical perfection for the thrill of revealing hearts from their shadows. She brings first their desire to life on the photosensitive page and the ones she loves she chases and recreates with oils and chalk, page after page until they are perfect for one luminous moment in time.

What a fantastic description of her.

she wishes a simple change in chromosomal composition or the addition of an ‘a’ would be enough to make her not think of him.

Oh-so-excellent juxtaposition. Beautiful job.

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-04 02:46 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lostakasha.livejournal.com
*beams*

Your feedback means so much to me. ♥ I'm really pleased that you enjoyed this ...thank you for reading it!

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-04 02:43 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jans-intentions.livejournal.com
This is so wonderful. I don't have much more to say than that.

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-04 02:47 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lostakasha.livejournal.com
That's more than enough! Thanks so very much!

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-04 05:23 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jainanicole.livejournal.com
Don't even know the fandom, but it's beautiful all the same.

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-04 02:49 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lostakasha.livejournal.com
Awww, honey. Figured you'd like the wee bit o'gaeliege reference. On your next break you should try to catch a few episodes of Angel -- Boreanaz is exquisite as a vampire (from Galway -- go figure) but it's also an amazing show.

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-04 05:12 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jainanicole.livejournal.com
(Everyone. Seems. To be. Telling me this! :D)

Except Anya wants me to watch Buffy first. Thoughts?

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-04 05:39 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lostakasha.livejournal.com
My take is to watch the first few eps of Angel, and if you like them, go back and watch the episodes of Buffy with David in them -- Angel is the better show. Less cartoonish, more sophisticated, darker and more adult. I know lots of BtVS fans would disagree, but my view is one of the hard-core Angel watcher. Besides, if you're in it for DB? It's the only way to go.

You don't need BtVS to 'get' Angel. If you're gonna go deep in, maybe, but not for casual viewing. Just my two cents!

Watch this now

Date: 2007-01-04 05:44 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lostakasha.livejournal.com
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x_TEC7IfN7Q

you'll thank me... and understand this story better.

Diamonds on the inside

Date: 2007-01-04 12:35 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] a-mistletoe.livejournal.com
Bloody hell. That is all.

Re: Diamonds on the inside

Date: 2007-01-04 02:49 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lostakasha.livejournal.com
Hee!

*smooch smooch*

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-04 02:27 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ozma914.livejournal.com
Wow, that's fantastic writing. You made Angela fit right into the Buffy world, seamlessly. Well done.

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-04 02:50 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lostakasha.livejournal.com
Seriously, couldn't Angela have been the Fifth Scooby? She *so* could have!

And thank you for reading this, and forthe lovely feedback! LOL on that icon, too.

thanks go to slightlyiconic for the icon

Date: 2007-01-05 03:56 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ozma914.livejournal.com
She'd have fit in perfectly. :-)

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-05 06:52 am (UTC)
lyr: (Angel: cheesygirl)
From: [personal profile] lyr
Oh, very lovely and lyrical! I really like this part very much: Angela takes lovers like photographs, haphazard and quirky, rich and textured, rough and raw, sacrificing technical perfection for the thrill of revealing hearts from their shadows. That's simply gorgeous and profound.

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-05 02:44 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lostakasha.livejournal.com
*dances*

Thank you!I love her so!!!

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-08 09:07 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] ares132006.livejournal.com
Came here from Setje and your Bones fic. Well done, and Happy Birthday.

Gotta say, I love this. Absolutely gorgeous.

All traces of the man remain.

I lurve that!

Hugs

Ares

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-08 01:03 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lostakasha.livejournal.com
Thank you so much, Ares ... for the warm wishes and the nice feedback! *hugs*

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-08 09:35 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] akari-yagami.livejournal.com

Gorgeous, just gorgeous. Your prose is lyrical. ♥

(no subject)

Date: 2007-01-08 09:54 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lostakasha.livejournal.com
Thank you so very much!!

(no subject)

Date: 2008-09-17 11:55 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] chrisleeoctaves.livejournal.com
Don't know how I missed this...or maybe it's buried in my to-read folder (along with 8 billion other fics). In any case [livejournal.com profile] carlyinrome mentioned this in a recent recs post and here I am and oh, so, beautiful, Annie.

How can I even begin to comment on the fearful symmetry (tips hat to Blake) of this piece.

In that moment he fell back deeper than any alley, deeper than in the birth canal of Balinasloe where he died clutching Darla’s skirts with the tang of tarry stout and the barmmaid’s cunt on his breath and rose choking on ashy graveyard filth.

and

“He’s not the person you knew. He may look like one you recognize, but he is not. He’s a demon, and no trace of the man remains.”

The truth is too dangerous and alluring to reveal and Watchers are nothing if not cowards, craving order and fearing lust.

This is the truth:

All traces of the man remain.

His every dream, every desire, every deathwish is glorified by bloodlust, sweetened by the hunt, sharpened by skill.

And when you see your reflection in his feral amber gaze you see everything you ever wanted and never dared seek.

(which is just the most perfect description of Angel ever!)

and

And dream he does, of the first woman he ever loved and the one who could have made him whole.
and But Cordelia – the least of their saintly cornerstones – is the one he will seek until his bones return to the soil from which they were wrenched. She is a muse for his new world....this just breaks my heart a little, for reasons both obvious and perhaps not so obvious.

And this simple line: Every club will always be The Bronze. There's something about this line that just makes my heart ache; maybe it's because I miss the shows or maybe because it says so much about everyone's past.

One simple line - in the midst of so much poetry.

Beautiful. As always.

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