now_ish
When you pick up on a boy giving a girl the looks the Xander was giving Anya, and she's the only one with a dry top on, you it's love. I was happy to step aside so that he could get some...attention. In other words, I don't want them to bump into me when they hit the floor and start going at it. He's my ex, and she was my vengeance demon. Wanna talk match made in hell? And as anti-Cordelia as that one is, there's one that takes the cake.
Faith and Angelus. I've done my best not to think about it, because in that situation, thinking won't do me any good. It's not Angel, and really it's not Faith either, not entirely. Every time my mind wanders back to thinking about them, I end up wondering if she's what Angel wanted all along. I think he'd get mad at me about that; I think he'd swear that I'm wrong and insist that he just wanted to be her friend. Nevermind the fact that they always had the weird sexual tension thing going on, or how she'd do whatever he wanted, even if it included jail time.
My clingy shirt is finally too much to manage with my new frustration headache, so I slip it off and let it fall to the floor, then unzip my jeans and step out of them. It matches the rest of my bedroom, which can now best be described as a disaster area, and that's if you're messy person. If you're a neat freak, you might as well just shoot yourself before entering.
My dead boyfriend is still missing, and Anya's trying to keep herself from falling back in love with Xander. I hate it, I hate it for him. I hate it for her too. I can not, for the life of me, comprehend why they're trying to avoid something as precious as love.
I wonder if threatening to kick her ass or vote her out of the hotel would help.
((open to the first))
Faith and Angelus. I've done my best not to think about it, because in that situation, thinking won't do me any good. It's not Angel, and really it's not Faith either, not entirely. Every time my mind wanders back to thinking about them, I end up wondering if she's what Angel wanted all along. I think he'd get mad at me about that; I think he'd swear that I'm wrong and insist that he just wanted to be her friend. Nevermind the fact that they always had the weird sexual tension thing going on, or how she'd do whatever he wanted, even if it included jail time.
My clingy shirt is finally too much to manage with my new frustration headache, so I slip it off and let it fall to the floor, then unzip my jeans and step out of them. It matches the rest of my bedroom, which can now best be described as a disaster area, and that's if you're messy person. If you're a neat freak, you might as well just shoot yourself before entering.
My dead boyfriend is still missing, and Anya's trying to keep herself from falling back in love with Xander. I hate it, I hate it for him. I hate it for her too. I can not, for the life of me, comprehend why they're trying to avoid something as precious as love.
I wonder if threatening to kick her ass or vote her out of the hotel would help.
((open to the first))