Fic for EVERYONE!
Dec. 16th, 2008 04:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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absolutelybatty
Recipient: EVERYONE!
Title: Maybe
Pairing: Tom Riddle/Minerva McGongagall
Rating: R
Word Count: 933
Summary: There was something in his gaze, something hidden in those impossible eyes, that was special. It was like the smell of rotting corpses, the sharp glint of metal against skin, and roses all in one, and it was just for her.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my betas, P and T. Slightly inspired by ‘Versions of Violence’ by Alanis Morissette. Enjoy!
Sometimes it was all she could do to keep herself from falling asleep at night. She was scared to close her eyes, but the siren song, that terrible lullaby of sleep called to her like bloody, wingless angels. So she would close her eyes, and she would regret it in the morning when her finger nails had left trails on her skin, and she had to heal the wounds he’d left on her body. Maybe she just liked to torture herself, but maybe she liked it. Maybe it was unavoidable.
She saw him everyday in the halls. He was prefect and bright. He had a smile to die for, and it made her knees go weak. No, not weak. She was just a little wobbly. Unless he looked at her. There was something in his gaze, something hidden in those impossible eyes, that was special. It was like the smell of rotting corpses, the sharp glint of metal against skin, and roses all in one, and it was just for her. It made her shudder, and then he would look away. She imagined it satisfied him to see her so undone by that look even if it were just for a second in time. Maybe it was enough to tide him over until she went to sleep at night. Maybe it was to remind her that she couldn’t escape. Maybe it was because he was always one step behind no matter how fast she was running.
Oh, how she ran. She ran with her eyes wide open until she was so tired that she didn’t have the energy to keep her eye lids from dropping closed. She didn’t have the energy to keep herself from curling up under her sheets and succumbing to everything he offered in his glance. Maybe it was an offer she couldn’t refuse.
Maybe.
And when she slept, he would tease her without mercy. He would touch and taste until she was just there, and then leave her even though she begged. She hated him for it. So sometimes she pretended that she didn’t want him, that she didn’t want what he offered her. She would sit and stare at his figure with her eyes closed tightly and her fists clenched. He was just playing with her after all.
And then he’d do unspeakable things to her. Things that made her bleed, beg, and shriek her apologies and promises of subservience to the dream sky. He’d kiss her then. Just a soft touch of lips to prove that she’d made him happy. And maybe she liked that. Maybe she craved that, but she wouldn’t care to analyze that thought. That maybe was far too dangerous.
She thought, you can’t give your heart to a monster. He’ll eat it, and you’ll never get it back. You’ll be hollow. You won’t exist except for him, and he’ll hurt you. He’ll take just a little shard of glass and carve his name across your back, and you won’t even own yourself anymore. He’ll own you, and that’s not an acceptable end to this disaster. No, you can’t let yourself do this.
That’s what she said before she went to sleep every night, and every night she threw her own caution to the wind. She was worse than an addict, and she couldn’t crawl her way out of this hole she’d made for herself. Because maybe she didn’t think he was such a monster.
Maybe he was just a little unstable, a little fallen angel she had to nurse back to health. Maybe he was just on a rocky ledge, and she had to save him from falling over the edge. Maybe she could be his guiding light.
That was her reassurance. That’s what she told herself every morning. Even when they were older, wiser, and he was far more destructive. Even when people started to die, and she cowered away from him in fear every night when he appeared to her.
She still wanted him.
Maybe she loved him in some sick, twisted way.
But there was no room for maybes. She had to choose her sides. She had to align herself with what she knew was right, not what she thought could be. He wasn’t good for her. He was an illness, and she desperately needed a cure. Anything that would stop the aching gasps, pleading eyes, and smoldering glances across war lines. Anything.
Because she wasn’t corrupt. He hadn’t bled black into her heart. She was still pure. If, that is, she counted pure as something half rotten and dead inside.
She was hopelessly tangled between two sides. She was Persephone who had tasted the sweetness of the fruit, but who craved the light. Only he wouldn’t compromise. He wanted her completely. He wanted her to kneel beside him in submission, and bleed only for him.
Maybe the seductive taste of pomegranate was bittersweet, and maybe she was tempted to eat it from his hand. What did she have to lose? He would be eternal torment for her either way. She couldn’t win, not against this unstoppable force. She was already lying down anyway. He didn’t even have to push her over. The edge was waiting for her.
So she stepped away because maybe he wasn’t worth it. Maybe she could heal her heart in time, and the scars he had inflicted could be covered up.
Maybe she wouldn’t long for the fire he ignited in her, and maybe she would stop calling for him in her sleep when her eyes closed and he wasn’t there waiting for her.
Maybe.
absolutelybattyRecipient: EVERYONE!
Title: Maybe
Pairing: Tom Riddle/Minerva McGongagall
Rating: R
Word Count: 933
Summary: There was something in his gaze, something hidden in those impossible eyes, that was special. It was like the smell of rotting corpses, the sharp glint of metal against skin, and roses all in one, and it was just for her.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my betas, P and T. Slightly inspired by ‘Versions of Violence’ by Alanis Morissette. Enjoy!
Sometimes it was all she could do to keep herself from falling asleep at night. She was scared to close her eyes, but the siren song, that terrible lullaby of sleep called to her like bloody, wingless angels. So she would close her eyes, and she would regret it in the morning when her finger nails had left trails on her skin, and she had to heal the wounds he’d left on her body. Maybe she just liked to torture herself, but maybe she liked it. Maybe it was unavoidable.
She saw him everyday in the halls. He was prefect and bright. He had a smile to die for, and it made her knees go weak. No, not weak. She was just a little wobbly. Unless he looked at her. There was something in his gaze, something hidden in those impossible eyes, that was special. It was like the smell of rotting corpses, the sharp glint of metal against skin, and roses all in one, and it was just for her. It made her shudder, and then he would look away. She imagined it satisfied him to see her so undone by that look even if it were just for a second in time. Maybe it was enough to tide him over until she went to sleep at night. Maybe it was to remind her that she couldn’t escape. Maybe it was because he was always one step behind no matter how fast she was running.
Oh, how she ran. She ran with her eyes wide open until she was so tired that she didn’t have the energy to keep her eye lids from dropping closed. She didn’t have the energy to keep herself from curling up under her sheets and succumbing to everything he offered in his glance. Maybe it was an offer she couldn’t refuse.
Maybe.
And when she slept, he would tease her without mercy. He would touch and taste until she was just there, and then leave her even though she begged. She hated him for it. So sometimes she pretended that she didn’t want him, that she didn’t want what he offered her. She would sit and stare at his figure with her eyes closed tightly and her fists clenched. He was just playing with her after all.
And then he’d do unspeakable things to her. Things that made her bleed, beg, and shriek her apologies and promises of subservience to the dream sky. He’d kiss her then. Just a soft touch of lips to prove that she’d made him happy. And maybe she liked that. Maybe she craved that, but she wouldn’t care to analyze that thought. That maybe was far too dangerous.
She thought, you can’t give your heart to a monster. He’ll eat it, and you’ll never get it back. You’ll be hollow. You won’t exist except for him, and he’ll hurt you. He’ll take just a little shard of glass and carve his name across your back, and you won’t even own yourself anymore. He’ll own you, and that’s not an acceptable end to this disaster. No, you can’t let yourself do this.
That’s what she said before she went to sleep every night, and every night she threw her own caution to the wind. She was worse than an addict, and she couldn’t crawl her way out of this hole she’d made for herself. Because maybe she didn’t think he was such a monster.
Maybe he was just a little unstable, a little fallen angel she had to nurse back to health. Maybe he was just on a rocky ledge, and she had to save him from falling over the edge. Maybe she could be his guiding light.
That was her reassurance. That’s what she told herself every morning. Even when they were older, wiser, and he was far more destructive. Even when people started to die, and she cowered away from him in fear every night when he appeared to her.
She still wanted him.
Maybe she loved him in some sick, twisted way.
But there was no room for maybes. She had to choose her sides. She had to align herself with what she knew was right, not what she thought could be. He wasn’t good for her. He was an illness, and she desperately needed a cure. Anything that would stop the aching gasps, pleading eyes, and smoldering glances across war lines. Anything.
Because she wasn’t corrupt. He hadn’t bled black into her heart. She was still pure. If, that is, she counted pure as something half rotten and dead inside.
She was hopelessly tangled between two sides. She was Persephone who had tasted the sweetness of the fruit, but who craved the light. Only he wouldn’t compromise. He wanted her completely. He wanted her to kneel beside him in submission, and bleed only for him.
Maybe the seductive taste of pomegranate was bittersweet, and maybe she was tempted to eat it from his hand. What did she have to lose? He would be eternal torment for her either way. She couldn’t win, not against this unstoppable force. She was already lying down anyway. He didn’t even have to push her over. The edge was waiting for her.
So she stepped away because maybe he wasn’t worth it. Maybe she could heal her heart in time, and the scars he had inflicted could be covered up.
Maybe she wouldn’t long for the fire he ignited in her, and maybe she would stop calling for him in her sleep when her eyes closed and he wasn’t there waiting for her.
Maybe.
