the girl who used to dance on fire and brimstone (whiskyinmind) wrote,
the girl who used to dance on fire and brimstone
whiskyinmind

Orpheus Drabbles

So yeah, our system's down at work and I have no work. I'm writing drabbles.

Do I have to put a disclaimer? I don't own the concepts behind BtVS or AtS.
All Faith-centric, all from Orpheus, all exactly 100 words.


You’re just like me

No! You’re wrong. I’m different now. I’m not like you

The pain is silver. She had thought it would be red, crimson like blood, but it shines when he sinks his teeth into her. Part of her wants this. Wants to be like him, wants to tell him to do it, make her what he is – she wants it. She wants the freedom, the power. She wants to take the night and make it hers.

He growls like an animal. She feels it vibrate through her veins. Into her heart.

The silver tarnishes.

She fights back.



You know just how good that blurry line tastes. You didn’t think my hell was private, did ya?

He’s taunting her, he knows what buttons to push because Angel knows. But somehow she knows it’s not that simple. He knows what buttons to push because he is Angel. He’s the real deal, he’s the part that’s pushed down, hidden from the world. The face he doesn’t want anyone to see.

She can relate.

For the first time in this whole deal, her heart sinks. They’re going to lose. She’s going to let them down.

She remembers how good that tastes.



She hits the ground hard, only it’s not really the ground. It’s all in his head – or is it in hers? Does it matter anymore?

It hurts.

She’s losing the fight now, but that’s okay because so’s that bastard. Only he’s not really, it’s not about the fight. It’s not about winning anymore. It’s about acceptance. Dealing and moving on.

She whispers. “Angel, I’m dying.”

Yeah, it’s a lot easier than redemption, huh?

She reels backwards, it was Angel speaking, not the other, but the words cut deeper than the other’s fangs did. She’s losing the fight now.

It hurts.



Shouldn’t it be easier now? She could always talk to him before, but after taking that stroll down his memory lane she can’t. She was there for him, to bring him back, not the other way around. But isn’t that what he always did? Turned it around and showed her what it was all about? Part of her wonders how he got so good at being a mirror when he can’t hold a reflection. She wants to thank him, she wants to tell him she’ll be there for him but she can’t find the words.

It shouldn’t be this awkward.
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