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slashthedrabble Feb. 15th, 2008 05:11 pm)
shinodabear.livejournal.com posting in slashthedrabble Feb. 15th, 2008 05:11 pm)Definitions
Fandom: Angel
Rating: R, some language
Pairing: Spike/Angel, Wes/Angel, Gunn/Wes, Lindsey/Angel, and Spike/Lindsey respectively.
Disclaimer: Vote Whedon.
i.
Love is saying “I love you.”
They have never been in love, and never will be. No matter how many times they fight and fuck throughout the years, it’s never anything close to love. It’s not about the blood. It’s the passion they get caught up in. He’s always been in it for the art, the white plane of the other’s body molding itself around him. The beauty of his face as he succumbs to the sensations. He’s always been in it for the crunch: the feeling, the adrenaline, it causes his heart to flutter.
They make each other feel.
ii.
Love is unrequited admiration.
He sits at his desk, pouring over papers and parchments, listening to the crinkling as he leans against them. He does this hours into the night, until dawn. He does all of this to help him. He wants to save people, and be a hero. Most of all, he wants more than anything in this grey shadowed world to hear “I’m proud of you.” He doesn’t think the other notices. He takes what he’s given. Smiles at the small smirks. Revels in the quiet touches. Stares and stares with longing.
Everything he does is for him.
iii.
Love is based on friendship.
They had a cohabitation that worked. Leftovers in the fridge when the other wasn’t home. Notes on the fridge is there was an emergency. Respect of their respective personal spaces. They shared interests, too, surprisingly, and bonded on their shared career choice. Talks of myths and battles passed the time on very quiet, very boring nights. And it was nice. Eventually, the individual domains shrunk. Who owned which chopsticks didn’t matter, and whose side of the couch was which became silly. Nothing was segregated anymore. Not even the bed.
Their love simply grew from friendship.
iv.
Love is a sickness.
They burn in their hate for one another. They need to destroy. They need to win. It’s always about who comes out on top, who gets the last word, the last laugh, the last everything. They exist to counteract the other’s deeds. Opposite. That’s what they are. Completely opposite. No matter where they are, they will find each other, and they will calculate the very best way to engage in their lifelong battle. It’s all about the game, this sick, consuming obsession they have. They know how it ends.
The cure for this disease is murder.
v.
Love is supporting your partner’s interests.
He pays some goons to cause a ruckus at such and such a place at such and such a time. It’s easier than guessing. It’s much easier than “seeing”. He tells his champion where to go and when, what to bring, what the bad guy will look like. He’s just trying to boost the guy’s self esteem. He needs a confident partner to pull this off, whatever it is he’s doing. He’s forgotten, in the display of pride and happiness he gets after a successful night.
He realizes this plan’s gotten away from him.
Fandom: Angel
Rating: R, some language
Pairing: Spike/Angel, Wes/Angel, Gunn/Wes, Lindsey/Angel, and Spike/Lindsey respectively.
Disclaimer: Vote Whedon.
i.
Love is saying “I love you.”
They have never been in love, and never will be. No matter how many times they fight and fuck throughout the years, it’s never anything close to love. It’s not about the blood. It’s the passion they get caught up in. He’s always been in it for the art, the white plane of the other’s body molding itself around him. The beauty of his face as he succumbs to the sensations. He’s always been in it for the crunch: the feeling, the adrenaline, it causes his heart to flutter.
They make each other feel.
ii.
Love is unrequited admiration.
He sits at his desk, pouring over papers and parchments, listening to the crinkling as he leans against them. He does this hours into the night, until dawn. He does all of this to help him. He wants to save people, and be a hero. Most of all, he wants more than anything in this grey shadowed world to hear “I’m proud of you.” He doesn’t think the other notices. He takes what he’s given. Smiles at the small smirks. Revels in the quiet touches. Stares and stares with longing.
Everything he does is for him.
iii.
Love is based on friendship.
They had a cohabitation that worked. Leftovers in the fridge when the other wasn’t home. Notes on the fridge is there was an emergency. Respect of their respective personal spaces. They shared interests, too, surprisingly, and bonded on their shared career choice. Talks of myths and battles passed the time on very quiet, very boring nights. And it was nice. Eventually, the individual domains shrunk. Who owned which chopsticks didn’t matter, and whose side of the couch was which became silly. Nothing was segregated anymore. Not even the bed.
Their love simply grew from friendship.
iv.
Love is a sickness.
They burn in their hate for one another. They need to destroy. They need to win. It’s always about who comes out on top, who gets the last word, the last laugh, the last everything. They exist to counteract the other’s deeds. Opposite. That’s what they are. Completely opposite. No matter where they are, they will find each other, and they will calculate the very best way to engage in their lifelong battle. It’s all about the game, this sick, consuming obsession they have. They know how it ends.
The cure for this disease is murder.
v.
Love is supporting your partner’s interests.
He pays some goons to cause a ruckus at such and such a place at such and such a time. It’s easier than guessing. It’s much easier than “seeing”. He tells his champion where to go and when, what to bring, what the bad guy will look like. He’s just trying to boost the guy’s self esteem. He needs a confident partner to pull this off, whatever it is he’s doing. He’s forgotten, in the display of pride and happiness he gets after a successful night.
He realizes this plan’s gotten away from him.
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They were all such different relationships, but they all follow the theme.
Great work.
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*hugs*
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