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rainbowfic2013-09-17 12:15 am
bookblather) wrote in rainbowfic2013-09-17 12:15 am
Glitter 14, Nile Green 13: Forgiveness
Author: Kat
Title: Forgiveness
Story: Shine Like It Does
Colors: Glitter 14 (I am what I am. - La Cage Aux Folles), nile green 13 (Sacrifice of oxen) with shadowsong's paint-by-numbers (Miranda makes difficult choices every day)
Supplies and Materials: Miniature collection, acrylic (cathedral door), oils (atonement), feathers (i never understood/what made your lips on my neck/such an intimate affair/until your teeth grazed my pulse/and i realized/you could/tear open my throat/and make me bleed out in your arms/but instead/you chose to kiss - Untitled by Nell) (sorry, it's just so appropriate for Miranda and Peter), canvas, frame, glitter (Make a list of apologies.), glue (You're emotionally on edge today, yet you can still project enough confidence so no one realizes what you're experiencing.), novelty beads (let me help).
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Miranda and forgiveness.
Warnings: Erm. Sex? Also a slightly incompetent therapist.
So's You Know: Entirely consensual BDSM takes place during this story.
Notes: Let me know if I've messed up BDSM in any way. Thank you!
When Miranda was young, and her stomach started to weigh heavy in the mornings, she went to confession.
It helped. She still remembered the big-eyed awe she'd felt at her First Communion; going to confession brought that feeling back. She'd kneel in the shadowed darkness, fold her hands, and recite her sins to the shadow behind the lattice. She always felt a curious lightness after, even before the priest granted her absolution—she was a little more right with God. A little more holy.
It stopped helping sometime in her teens.
She missed it more than she cared to remember.
--
She tried counseling.
At first it even worked. Miranda didn't share her less legal activities—she wasn't as familiar with therapist-client privilege as she was with the seal of the confessional—but she spoke of protecting her siblings, of her loyalty to them and her lack of remorse for taking necessary actions, and once she half-talked about Andrew, about what he'd done to her family, and what she'd done in return.
After that, the therapist said solemnly that he thought she might have antisocial personality disorder.
She looked it up after the appointment, and nearly screamed.
She never went back.
--
Miranda grew ruthless as she rose through the family firm. Crushing the competition became second nature; making aggressive moves for her clients was merely good business. It worked, though not for her.
She couldn't talk about it; not with priests or therapists, not even her family. She was born to protect her family, by any means necessary. If she told anyone, they'd only try to stop her.
When her heart grew heavy and her actions harder, she dressed up, went out, and found a man to fuck her against a wall, fast and rough.
It helped. A little.
Not enough.
--
Now. Now.
Peter wound a hand in her hair and pulled her head back, gentle, but quick. She closed her eyes, and shuddered hard when he set his free hand around her throat.
"Tell me," he said, softly.
The words stuck in her throat. If she told him, he would see her, he would know her for what she was, he would stop loving her, he would leave her alone, kneeling, broken.
He tugged at her hair, little sparks of pain snapping through the panicked thoughts. "Miranda," he said. "I love you. Tell me."
She shuddered again, and told him.
--
Afterwards he held her, stroked her back, whispered reassurance into her ear and kissed along her hairline until she stopped shivering.
"Feel better?"
"Yes." She did; lighter, relieved. "I always do."
"Good," he said. "I wish—I wish you'd let me do this more often."
She pulled away to look up at his face. "What, dom me? You can do that anytime you want."
He shook his head, serious. "No. Forgive you. I always will."
She froze, speechless, overflowing.
Peter smiled at her, touched her cheek. "I forgive you, Miranda Hennessy," he said softly, and held her while she cried.
Title: Forgiveness
Story: Shine Like It Does
Colors: Glitter 14 (I am what I am. - La Cage Aux Folles), nile green 13 (Sacrifice of oxen) with shadowsong's paint-by-numbers (Miranda makes difficult choices every day)
Supplies and Materials: Miniature collection, acrylic (cathedral door), oils (atonement), feathers (i never understood/what made your lips on my neck/such an intimate affair/until your teeth grazed my pulse/and i realized/you could/tear open my throat/and make me bleed out in your arms/but instead/you chose to kiss - Untitled by Nell) (sorry, it's just so appropriate for Miranda and Peter), canvas, frame, glitter (Make a list of apologies.), glue (You're emotionally on edge today, yet you can still project enough confidence so no one realizes what you're experiencing.), novelty beads (let me help).
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Miranda and forgiveness.
Warnings: Erm. Sex? Also a slightly incompetent therapist.
So's You Know: Entirely consensual BDSM takes place during this story.
Notes: Let me know if I've messed up BDSM in any way. Thank you!
When Miranda was young, and her stomach started to weigh heavy in the mornings, she went to confession.
It helped. She still remembered the big-eyed awe she'd felt at her First Communion; going to confession brought that feeling back. She'd kneel in the shadowed darkness, fold her hands, and recite her sins to the shadow behind the lattice. She always felt a curious lightness after, even before the priest granted her absolution—she was a little more right with God. A little more holy.
It stopped helping sometime in her teens.
She missed it more than she cared to remember.
--
She tried counseling.
At first it even worked. Miranda didn't share her less legal activities—she wasn't as familiar with therapist-client privilege as she was with the seal of the confessional—but she spoke of protecting her siblings, of her loyalty to them and her lack of remorse for taking necessary actions, and once she half-talked about Andrew, about what he'd done to her family, and what she'd done in return.
After that, the therapist said solemnly that he thought she might have antisocial personality disorder.
She looked it up after the appointment, and nearly screamed.
She never went back.
--
Miranda grew ruthless as she rose through the family firm. Crushing the competition became second nature; making aggressive moves for her clients was merely good business. It worked, though not for her.
She couldn't talk about it; not with priests or therapists, not even her family. She was born to protect her family, by any means necessary. If she told anyone, they'd only try to stop her.
When her heart grew heavy and her actions harder, she dressed up, went out, and found a man to fuck her against a wall, fast and rough.
It helped. A little.
Not enough.
--
Now. Now.
Peter wound a hand in her hair and pulled her head back, gentle, but quick. She closed her eyes, and shuddered hard when he set his free hand around her throat.
"Tell me," he said, softly.
The words stuck in her throat. If she told him, he would see her, he would know her for what she was, he would stop loving her, he would leave her alone, kneeling, broken.
He tugged at her hair, little sparks of pain snapping through the panicked thoughts. "Miranda," he said. "I love you. Tell me."
She shuddered again, and told him.
--
Afterwards he held her, stroked her back, whispered reassurance into her ear and kissed along her hairline until she stopped shivering.
"Feel better?"
"Yes." She did; lighter, relieved. "I always do."
"Good," he said. "I wish—I wish you'd let me do this more often."
She pulled away to look up at his face. "What, dom me? You can do that anytime you want."
He shook his head, serious. "No. Forgive you. I always will."
She froze, speechless, overflowing.
Peter smiled at her, touched her cheek. "I forgive you, Miranda Hennessy," he said softly, and held her while she cried.
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