#46 wrath ~ Wicked, Elphaba/Dorothy
title: Absolution
fandom: Wicked (bookverse)
pairing: Elphaba/Dorothy
rating: M
words: 250
A/N: She said, "I will save you!" and she hurled the water at the Witch... A ring of expectant faces before the light dims... The Goddess of Gifts the last, reaching in among flames and water, cradling her, crooning something, but the words remain unclear. (402-403) // xposted @ wicked_fanfic (though when they see this pairing they're probably going to think I'm criminally insane)
She is afraid to sleep. Auntie Em frowned, thin-lipped, and pressed cold washcloths to her forehead. Outside her bedroom, she heard them whispering: "The girl has an overactive imagination." The doctor came and clucked over her and pronounced it all a bad dream, and she closed her eyes and willed the terrors into the land of make-believe. But it wasn't a bad dream. The bad dreams came afterward.
She paces the floor at night, silently mouths schoolyard rhymes, pinches her thighs till they're mottled with bruises. Because when she sleeps, she finds herself back on the parapet, watching in horror as the body in her arms sizzles. She's not sure which of them is screaming. The Witch doesn't melt away, but her skin blisters and splits where the water touches it, liquefying like candle wax into rivulets of green.
Or she finds herself beforehand, the Witch's hands clawing at her, closing around her wrists like manacles, spittle branding her face as the Witch hisses "Murderer! Murderer!" And then the hands change. They cradle her face where she cowers, weeping. They smooth down her shoulders, pushing aside her blouse and pinafore to cover the heaving buds of her breasts. They are everywhere -- under her skirt, following the elastic of her garters to secret places where she has never been touched. As the Witch's fingers split her, she gasps out "Oh, forgive me, forgive me." And as she tightens around them, convulsing in a ripple of guilt and pleasure, the Witch murmurs, "Yes."
fandom: Wicked (bookverse)
pairing: Elphaba/Dorothy
rating: M
words: 250
A/N: She said, "I will save you!" and she hurled the water at the Witch... A ring of expectant faces before the light dims... The Goddess of Gifts the last, reaching in among flames and water, cradling her, crooning something, but the words remain unclear. (402-403) // xposted @ wicked_fanfic (though when they see this pairing they're probably going to think I'm criminally insane)
She is afraid to sleep. Auntie Em frowned, thin-lipped, and pressed cold washcloths to her forehead. Outside her bedroom, she heard them whispering: "The girl has an overactive imagination." The doctor came and clucked over her and pronounced it all a bad dream, and she closed her eyes and willed the terrors into the land of make-believe. But it wasn't a bad dream. The bad dreams came afterward.
She paces the floor at night, silently mouths schoolyard rhymes, pinches her thighs till they're mottled with bruises. Because when she sleeps, she finds herself back on the parapet, watching in horror as the body in her arms sizzles. She's not sure which of them is screaming. The Witch doesn't melt away, but her skin blisters and splits where the water touches it, liquefying like candle wax into rivulets of green.
Or she finds herself beforehand, the Witch's hands clawing at her, closing around her wrists like manacles, spittle branding her face as the Witch hisses "Murderer! Murderer!" And then the hands change. They cradle her face where she cowers, weeping. They smooth down her shoulders, pushing aside her blouse and pinafore to cover the heaving buds of her breasts. They are everywhere -- under her skirt, following the elastic of her garters to secret places where she has never been touched. As the Witch's fingers split her, she gasps out "Oh, forgive me, forgive me." And as she tightens around them, convulsing in a ripple of guilt and pleasure, the Witch murmurs, "Yes."