First try. D;
My first official try at Diana/Meg! :D;;
I hate it, and I think my Diana blows pretty badly. In fact, I hate the whole thing; I feel I ended up rambling (from Meg's POV, when I intended to do Diana POV, too) and not going anywhere with the plot...but, here it is, all the same.
Title: 'Gradual'.
Author: Amie (mireille_x).
Pairing: Diana/Meg.
Rating: Pg-13, maybe R.
Summary: Some of Meg's thoughts, some of Diana's doubts, and a companionship they can't give up.
"Say it."
Silence.
"Say it, Margaret."
More silence.
"I won't give you what you want, until you've said it."
And, in the back of her mind, Meg wondered how it had ended up like it had. She supposed like most things in life, good and bad, it had been a gradual slope that they had been heading down. It hadn't always been this way, of course; things changed, and progressed, and that was as much a part of life as any gradual slope. It was a form of gradual sloping, wasn't it? She wanted to believe it was. She wanted more than anything to believe that this downward spiral had been gradual enough that she could claim to have been caught in it, before even realizing her mistake.
But, again, she didn't think Diana was a mistake. She couldn't ever think such an atrocious thing.
Perhaps, the way she allowed Diana to treat her, was the mistake, but /Diana/ was not a mistake; no more than each intake of her breath was a mistake, or each beat of her heart. Diana was as vital to her as each of those functions were. It was, in her own informed opinion, more of an addiction and less of a dependency. Diana would've liked that better; addicted to her, not dependent upon her. Using words like dependent would make Diana feel trapped; they would distress her, and make her act out. Words like addicted were playing into her ego; Meg knew just how to play into Diana's ego, she had been doing it for years.
The very beginning, however, of what transpired between them now, had begun long before; long before Meg learning just how to stroke her Duchess' ego, and long before the title of Duchess was even bestowed upon Diana. The beginning of it all had transpired many years before, when Diana was just Diana, and Margaret was becoming Meg. She had adopted the name upon encouragement from others; it was shorter, and easier to say, and they said it sounded a lot less stuffy than 'Margaret'. Meg didn't mind stuffy, and she didn't mind being named Margaret. But she had gone along with the suggestion, all the same. She had spent enough time stroking the general ego of society, before she began to specialize in all things Diana, to know when to conform.
She had conformed, to appease them, and that made them like her; agreeable little girls were best. Mousy little girls who carried around books and kept their noses in them were best. Supposedly better than fiery red-haired little girls who threw tantrums and refused to do chores. Supposedly better than fiery red-haired girls who said curse words, and wrote them on the wall in the girl's lavatory.But it was all of these things, that danger and that excitement and that defiance, that drew the mousy girl to the fiery red-haired girl. It was these traits that allowed Meg to stumble in devotion before Diana.
Meg supposed it had a lot do with vicarious living; Diana was being who Meg felt she wanted to be, and doing the things Meg wished she could do, and that was enough for an interest. That was enough to give her a taste, before consuming her in addiction. Even with her impeccable memory, and her constant taken notes, and everything else, Meg could not pin-point the time that she and Diana established what could be called a 'friendship'. It was more the relationship of a master and a slave, or royalty and a commoner, or a celebrity and her ever devoted fan. But friendship covered it better, if you looked beyond the basic dynamics; maybe even companionship, in a very abstract sort of way. Meg poured her heart out, and Diana stomped all over it; being kind when it worked for her, and mean when it didn't. Neither of them complained, and it was just how things went. It was indeed companionable. And somewhat admirable, perhaps, on Meg's part.
Either way, whatever it was, Meg could never quite remember how it had all begun. It might've been the day Meg was looking for a book in the library, and Diana had helped her to reach the cursed thing. It might've been the day at dinner, where Meg offered Diana half of her sandwich, and Diana accepted. It might've been one of the afternoons spent in the lavatory stall, talking about the other girls, and questioning their morals in doing such things. It might've begun the first time Diana's hand had moved beneath her skirt, in that same stall; her nails always kept long, and always stinging and managing to keep pleasure and pain so closely linked. It might've been from the moment Meg walked into the Rose Garden orphanage. It could've been fate, for all that she knew.
She just knew that it happened, and it happened gradually.
It was the sort of thing, and situation, that stuck with them. It stayed with them now, even as they got older, creeping toward adulthood, middle age, old age and then the inevitable fate of death. It was something that they couldn't shake; neither girl seemed to have the urge to shake it, either. As they grew older, Meg loved Diana more and more. Diana was meaner and meaner. As they grew older, Diana hated herself more and more. She was meaner and meaner and Meg kept on coming back. Meg always came back, of course; she had for years passed, and she would for years to come, as long as it were possible. This was something Diana felt she never would have to worry about it; losing Meg. Because Meg took it all, with a grain of salt and a strained smile or a sigh. Meg always stuck around, when no one else would; Meg provided love, and attention, when no one else could be bothered. And Diana loved to test it.
Lately, for the first time ever, there had been a secondary gradual slope, in which Diana feared she was testing too hard and pushing too far, for the first time in years. Diana would never admit it, and never discuss it, but the thought was there. What is too much? What is too little? and onward that train of thought went. Meg, naturally, had no idea about this and thus never brought it up. Diana was fine with that. She wasn't sure what she would say if Meg were to ever grow a backbone and question her. Even with the change in her demeanor and demands lately, Meg didn't question Diana. Even though Diana was much more on edge, and a lot more on edge; it was how she showed love, in her own way.
Meg probably wouldn't have questioned her, even if she knew about Diana's doubts. Because to question Diana would endanger this thing; this companionship of sorts, and Meg knew she couldn't live with out that. She figured, in her own way, Diana couldn't either.
It was easier to stroke the ego, and gradually, things would clear themselves up.
"I outrank you, and I'm on top, so you've got to say it."
"...I love you, Du-"
"Not that."
"...I'll serve you, Duchess."
And those long finger nails on her thighs again, and her back against the lavatory wall.
"And so?"
Those nails digging into the pale flesh, and squeezing.
"I'll stay, Duchess."
Fingers closer now, closer to home, and making Meg squirm a little; making her swallow hard, and close her eyes momentarily. Making hold gently onto the front of Diana; one hand on her shoulder, and the other pulling her tie. Their lips barely apart then.
"Forever?"
"Eternally."
Kissing then; as rough as anything else between them, teeth and tongues at work. Fingers sliding further up, pressing, making Meg gasp into the kiss, and making Diana smirk against it; her usual self-satisfied look of arrogance. The usual, but different; there was something off about it, that look on her face, and it wasn't until later, when they were in bed, that it occurred to Meg.
That was one of the few times she had seen Diana with tears in her eyes, aside from when she was scolded by Mr. Hoffman.
It scared her, a little, but she knew it would pass.
It would be gradual, like all things, but it would pass.
Diana's full and glorious confidence would return to her, when her doubts faded away. The Diana that had scribbled curse words in the lavatory, and picked on the other girls, but helped Meg to get things out of her reach and shared lunch with her. She would be back, someday.
Only time would tell; only gradual passing.
Dedicated to classicxsmile, my Meg. ♥
[x-posted to redcrayonclub~]
I hate it, and I think my Diana blows pretty badly. In fact, I hate the whole thing; I feel I ended up rambling (from Meg's POV, when I intended to do Diana POV, too) and not going anywhere with the plot...but, here it is, all the same.
Title: 'Gradual'.
Author: Amie (mireille_x).
Pairing: Diana/Meg.
Rating: Pg-13, maybe R.
Summary: Some of Meg's thoughts, some of Diana's doubts, and a companionship they can't give up.
"Say it."
Silence.
"Say it, Margaret."
More silence.
"I won't give you what you want, until you've said it."
And, in the back of her mind, Meg wondered how it had ended up like it had. She supposed like most things in life, good and bad, it had been a gradual slope that they had been heading down. It hadn't always been this way, of course; things changed, and progressed, and that was as much a part of life as any gradual slope. It was a form of gradual sloping, wasn't it? She wanted to believe it was. She wanted more than anything to believe that this downward spiral had been gradual enough that she could claim to have been caught in it, before even realizing her mistake.
But, again, she didn't think Diana was a mistake. She couldn't ever think such an atrocious thing.
Perhaps, the way she allowed Diana to treat her, was the mistake, but /Diana/ was not a mistake; no more than each intake of her breath was a mistake, or each beat of her heart. Diana was as vital to her as each of those functions were. It was, in her own informed opinion, more of an addiction and less of a dependency. Diana would've liked that better; addicted to her, not dependent upon her. Using words like dependent would make Diana feel trapped; they would distress her, and make her act out. Words like addicted were playing into her ego; Meg knew just how to play into Diana's ego, she had been doing it for years.
The very beginning, however, of what transpired between them now, had begun long before; long before Meg learning just how to stroke her Duchess' ego, and long before the title of Duchess was even bestowed upon Diana. The beginning of it all had transpired many years before, when Diana was just Diana, and Margaret was becoming Meg. She had adopted the name upon encouragement from others; it was shorter, and easier to say, and they said it sounded a lot less stuffy than 'Margaret'. Meg didn't mind stuffy, and she didn't mind being named Margaret. But she had gone along with the suggestion, all the same. She had spent enough time stroking the general ego of society, before she began to specialize in all things Diana, to know when to conform.
She had conformed, to appease them, and that made them like her; agreeable little girls were best. Mousy little girls who carried around books and kept their noses in them were best. Supposedly better than fiery red-haired little girls who threw tantrums and refused to do chores. Supposedly better than fiery red-haired girls who said curse words, and wrote them on the wall in the girl's lavatory.But it was all of these things, that danger and that excitement and that defiance, that drew the mousy girl to the fiery red-haired girl. It was these traits that allowed Meg to stumble in devotion before Diana.
Meg supposed it had a lot do with vicarious living; Diana was being who Meg felt she wanted to be, and doing the things Meg wished she could do, and that was enough for an interest. That was enough to give her a taste, before consuming her in addiction. Even with her impeccable memory, and her constant taken notes, and everything else, Meg could not pin-point the time that she and Diana established what could be called a 'friendship'. It was more the relationship of a master and a slave, or royalty and a commoner, or a celebrity and her ever devoted fan. But friendship covered it better, if you looked beyond the basic dynamics; maybe even companionship, in a very abstract sort of way. Meg poured her heart out, and Diana stomped all over it; being kind when it worked for her, and mean when it didn't. Neither of them complained, and it was just how things went. It was indeed companionable. And somewhat admirable, perhaps, on Meg's part.
Either way, whatever it was, Meg could never quite remember how it had all begun. It might've been the day Meg was looking for a book in the library, and Diana had helped her to reach the cursed thing. It might've been the day at dinner, where Meg offered Diana half of her sandwich, and Diana accepted. It might've been one of the afternoons spent in the lavatory stall, talking about the other girls, and questioning their morals in doing such things. It might've begun the first time Diana's hand had moved beneath her skirt, in that same stall; her nails always kept long, and always stinging and managing to keep pleasure and pain so closely linked. It might've been from the moment Meg walked into the Rose Garden orphanage. It could've been fate, for all that she knew.
She just knew that it happened, and it happened gradually.
It was the sort of thing, and situation, that stuck with them. It stayed with them now, even as they got older, creeping toward adulthood, middle age, old age and then the inevitable fate of death. It was something that they couldn't shake; neither girl seemed to have the urge to shake it, either. As they grew older, Meg loved Diana more and more. Diana was meaner and meaner. As they grew older, Diana hated herself more and more. She was meaner and meaner and Meg kept on coming back. Meg always came back, of course; she had for years passed, and she would for years to come, as long as it were possible. This was something Diana felt she never would have to worry about it; losing Meg. Because Meg took it all, with a grain of salt and a strained smile or a sigh. Meg always stuck around, when no one else would; Meg provided love, and attention, when no one else could be bothered. And Diana loved to test it.
Lately, for the first time ever, there had been a secondary gradual slope, in which Diana feared she was testing too hard and pushing too far, for the first time in years. Diana would never admit it, and never discuss it, but the thought was there. What is too much? What is too little? and onward that train of thought went. Meg, naturally, had no idea about this and thus never brought it up. Diana was fine with that. She wasn't sure what she would say if Meg were to ever grow a backbone and question her. Even with the change in her demeanor and demands lately, Meg didn't question Diana. Even though Diana was much more on edge, and a lot more on edge; it was how she showed love, in her own way.
Meg probably wouldn't have questioned her, even if she knew about Diana's doubts. Because to question Diana would endanger this thing; this companionship of sorts, and Meg knew she couldn't live with out that. She figured, in her own way, Diana couldn't either.
It was easier to stroke the ego, and gradually, things would clear themselves up.
"I outrank you, and I'm on top, so you've got to say it."
"...I love you, Du-"
"Not that."
"...I'll serve you, Duchess."
And those long finger nails on her thighs again, and her back against the lavatory wall.
"And so?"
Those nails digging into the pale flesh, and squeezing.
"I'll stay, Duchess."
Fingers closer now, closer to home, and making Meg squirm a little; making her swallow hard, and close her eyes momentarily. Making hold gently onto the front of Diana; one hand on her shoulder, and the other pulling her tie. Their lips barely apart then.
"Forever?"
"Eternally."
Kissing then; as rough as anything else between them, teeth and tongues at work. Fingers sliding further up, pressing, making Meg gasp into the kiss, and making Diana smirk against it; her usual self-satisfied look of arrogance. The usual, but different; there was something off about it, that look on her face, and it wasn't until later, when they were in bed, that it occurred to Meg.
That was one of the few times she had seen Diana with tears in her eyes, aside from when she was scolded by Mr. Hoffman.
It scared her, a little, but she knew it would pass.
It would be gradual, like all things, but it would pass.
Diana's full and glorious confidence would return to her, when her doubts faded away. The Diana that had scribbled curse words in the lavatory, and picked on the other girls, but helped Meg to get things out of her reach and shared lunch with her. She would be back, someday.
Only time would tell; only gradual passing.
Dedicated to classicxsmile, my Meg. ♥
[x-posted to redcrayonclub~]