carmilla: (M*A*S*H)
It could have been the alcohol, but he was fairly sure it wasn't. Dear Lord, he hoped it wasn't.

Because here was this beautiful woman (he was pretty sure she was beautiful, if he squinted slightly) talking to him. That was a rarity, if not something entirely new.

When she sat back for a minute, stretching her arms, making her shirt crease across her front in an extremely interesting way, that could almost have sealed the deal by itself. But then she did something better.

She leaned in close, and whispered those magical three little words.

"I vote Republican."
carmilla: (Default)
WARNINGS: (Technically) underage, potentially squicky.


In his sixth year, Harry Potter became an Animagus. Unlike his father, he had the help and consent of Dumbledore when he did it. Like his father, he used his shape at night, when he shouldn't, for reasons he shouldn't.

He had wondered if maybe he would become a stag. No. Nothing like it. He was glad of it. His shape was a large cat, coal black, with wide green eyes. Perfect. Better than an Invisibility Cloak, in some ways. The Cloak just made him unseen. This made him unnoticed.

He knew, really, he shouldn't use it to slink round the school, keeping an eye on the Slytherins, exploring the corners he'd never had access to before. But it was too exciting, this new world of darkness he could see through and smells he could taste and feel, far too exciting to give up. Besides, there was Her.

It had only been a couple of weeks after his first transformation when he met Her for the first time, stalking through the corridors as if she owned them. She'd fixed him with imperious amber eyes, wide and black-ringed. There was a challenge there, and he didn't know whether to fight or retreat. Then he smelt the musk rising off her.

Their matings were brief, frantic, wild. He would yowl to the echoing corridors and bury himself inside her, and claw at her tawny back, and she would give him back bite for scratch, or knock him on his back and run away. But never too fast.

The more desperate the battles on the outside became, the more he needed this world. The darkness, and the scent, and the tight heat of her around him, the branding claw marks, the chance, just once, to take the pain and deal it out and not worry about control.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to look McGonnagal in the eye in class. But it was worth it.
carmilla: (Default)
WARNINGS: Underage, some dark content.


Ginny learned a Silencing Charm in Second Year. It stopped her waking her dorm mates up with the screaming.

The dreams, which had almost gone away over the summer, came back again with the force of a fist when she came back to the place where it had happened. It seemed like every room, every hallway and every long and twisting corridor was etched with what she had done there, the thoughts she had had.... the writing was on the walls.

The dreams - they twined around her subconscious, elusive and fascinating, or burned through her gut like acid, so she woke up choking back vomit.

The easiest ones were where he killed her. Sometimes a curse, sometimes a knife blow, sometimes a quick snap of the neck... red-soaked dreams that made her bristle with fear, but at least they were easy to wake from. The moment of death jolted her from sleep; she never followed it down, into the inky blackness.....

Sometimes he would torture her first, silent and deadly or crowing with triumph at her pain. Those visions made her wonder whether, perhaps, he lingered in her mind still; whether they hadn't been able to root all of him out. Because surely she would never think of anything like that.

But worst of all were the dreams where he was gentle with her. Where he held her in his arms, soothed his with his dark, rich voice and fine boned hands, feather light, stroking, stroking.... reaching inside her clothes, drawing spiderwebs on her skin, stripping her down, opening her up for him, hearing her hiss of breath as his sharp teeth branded her neck.... because he wouldn't have done that. That wasn't him. So where did it come from?

She knew there was a possibility she could be cured. That there were people, or spells, that might be able to help her. She never sought them out. Partly, she feared that they would fail, and she would be left with these images in her mind for the rest of her life, unable to escape him or even to hope for escape.

But mostly, she feared they would succeed, and she would never feel his touch on her again.
carmilla: Buffy and Giles standing together (Buffy/Giles)
WARNING: It's called Epitaph, and yes, Buffy and Giles are dead before the fic starts. I don't think of this as an unhappy story, though.
NOTE FROM 2009: OK, this isn't really a story so much as a 'ship manifesto disguised as a story. There's nothing much wrong with it, but unless you're a 'shipper it's really not that interesting. I think I did the same thing rather better in 'The Truth About Buffy and Giles'.

Yours was the greatest love story I have ever known. )