noob here, bearing fic
Title: All In Time
Author:
deeply_confused
Pairings: Claudia/Stacey, unrequited Janine/Stacey, implied Claudia/Janine (though it’s more of insecurity).
Rating: PG-13/R, to be safe. There’s not a lot of objectionable content, if you take away the massivelesbianangst! factor.
Summary: Songfic that incorporates the lyrics of 10,000 Maniacs’ “Eden” in a relatively sombre story centred around Janine. Second person (Janine) POV.
Disclaimer: Characters aren’t mine, the song isn’t mine, I wish they were, blahblahblah.
Warnings: Femmeslash, slight incestual undertones, out of the traditional BSC canon (chronologically and story-wise), angst, reference to a torture device, etc.
A/N: My first complete femmeslash + songfic as well as my first realised BSC slash. c. 2005/6?
we are the roses in the garden, beauty with thorns among our leaves
She and your sister are best friends. Naturally, being both so beautiful. They possess different forms of natural beauty, features conflicting and complementing each other. You imagine how they might complement each other when they touch…
to pick a rose you ask your hands to bleed
You, in all your IQ-of-195 glory, should have known better than to fall for her. You tell yourself this every night and have been doing so for the last four years of your life. It’s wrong. It’s very wrong and you know this. It turns your stomach every night - your mind, filled with recondite knowledge, constantly wracked with guilt. You feel as if you are bound to a Catherine wheel, with your head spinning and every piece of you being shattered. It’s always been wrong, you think, and you are filled with the sickness of 13 and 17.
what is the reason for having roses when your blood is shed carelessly?
But now it’s 17 and 21, and that thought still kills you. Both of you are at these jumping off points in your lives. She’s graduating early. You always knew, back in that crowded head of yours, that she would. She’s sick of high school, she says. There’s no challenge in it anymore. She’s already taken the most advanced maths classes possible, gone through an accelerated learning program, scored above and beyond on all of the required tests…
You hear your sister cry about this every night. She knows that her precious beauty of a lover is leaving her in a few short weeks. You try to understand, but this is something that all 195 points of your IQ can’t dissect, and it makes you wish you were smarter.
Meanwhile, you’ve finished your final year at Harvard… excluding the remaining years for your advanced degrees, of course. But now it’s time for letting go. You’re 21, you say to yourself; you should have let go years ago. Now you’re an adult and it’s the real world and it hits you so suddenly that you’re paralysed by the thought.
it must be for something more than vanity
… But you still can’t get her out of your head. You don’t understand this either, and it frustrates you to no end. You haven’t decided yet, but you’re sure that it’s something more than what’s on the surface, something more than a superficial relic of your teenage years… You couldn’t have wasted four years of your life. You simply couldn’t have.
believe me the truth is we’re not honest - not the people that we dream
You’re keeping this from everyone, especially your sister. After all, she’s already sobbing every night, locked away in her room, just flinging angry paint at lonely canvas… And you feel utterly helpless… And perfectly dishonest.
we’re not as close as we could be
But tonight she has decided to cling to your motherly breast and sob into your waiting arms. And when she falls into a fit of tears and expects you to be understanding, you find yourself frigid. And when she reaches for you, you recoil - you couldn’t stand to touch and be touched by her. Your sister, the enemy.
willing to grow but rains are shallow - barren and wind-scattered seed
But you tell yourself constantly that you want to be understanding. Enemy or not, she is still your sister. You say you want to help her, but something stops you as you reach for her. You wonder if she touches her lover whom you covet so much, if she holds her the way she’s holding you now. And you move to brush your lips on her neck, but you catch yourself and draw back in your insecurity.
on stone and dry land, we will be
But she’s your sister. She’ll always be your sister, your flesh and blood, no matter how many tears either of you shed. The two of you will always be there, and no love or distance can even remotely change that.
waiting for the light arisen to flood inside the prison
You wake after a rough night, your eyes opening to a blinding flash of sunlight that washes away the dreams you had last night. Dreams that make you gasp, perspire, blush.
and in that time, kind words alone will teach us - no bitterness will reach us
But they are dreams only. There is no paradise in her arms, in your arms… No fingers, no tongues, no flesh… The sun forming a cloak of radiance that frames her entire immaculate body - with no outside world, no internal problems… But no such utopia exists.
reason will be guided in another way
And so you direct your troubled head back to thoughts that puzzle and perplex you. The answer to why you had such dreams came long ago… But now you must find the root of this thing that exists inside of you. After all, everything can be solved through logic, right?
all in time
But there’s none left, you think. You’ve already exhausted four agonising years of your life on this utterly hopeless endeavour - what more is there?
but the clock is another demon that devours our time in Eden, in our paradise
The days go by quicker and quicker, until they’re down to double, and now single, digits. You’ve been entertaining the idea of just letting it all out and telling her exactly how you feel: that she’s with the wrong sister and that you lo-- Your inner voice chokes on the word, though everything is practically screaming at you to say it.
will our eyes see well beneath us, flowers all divine?
She’s walking towards you now, and she looks like an angel floating on air. You catch your breath in your throat and it comes out in an awkward cough. But you know your place and start to explain that your sister isn’t feeling well, could she come back later?
is there still time?
You are ready to retreat back into your room, your refuge, your safe haven… Simultaneously bursting with desire and avoiding any nuance of confession.
if we wake and discover a life of precious love
Suddenly she smiles and the last four years flash before your eyes like a reverie. Then just as you start to pull the door back shut, she tells you that she hasn’t come to see your sister.
will that waking become more heavenly?
Author:
deeply_confused
Pairings: Claudia/Stacey, unrequited Janine/Stacey, implied Claudia/Janine (though it’s more of insecurity).
Rating: PG-13/R, to be safe. There’s not a lot of objectionable content, if you take away the massivelesbianangst! factor.
Summary: Songfic that incorporates the lyrics of 10,000 Maniacs’ “Eden” in a relatively sombre story centred around Janine. Second person (Janine) POV.
Disclaimer: Characters aren’t mine, the song isn’t mine, I wish they were, blahblahblah.
Warnings: Femmeslash, slight incestual undertones, out of the traditional BSC canon (chronologically and story-wise), angst, reference to a torture device, etc.
A/N: My first complete femmeslash + songfic as well as my first realised BSC slash. c. 2005/6?
we are the roses in the garden, beauty with thorns among our leaves
She and your sister are best friends. Naturally, being both so beautiful. They possess different forms of natural beauty, features conflicting and complementing each other. You imagine how they might complement each other when they touch…
to pick a rose you ask your hands to bleed
You, in all your IQ-of-195 glory, should have known better than to fall for her. You tell yourself this every night and have been doing so for the last four years of your life. It’s wrong. It’s very wrong and you know this. It turns your stomach every night - your mind, filled with recondite knowledge, constantly wracked with guilt. You feel as if you are bound to a Catherine wheel, with your head spinning and every piece of you being shattered. It’s always been wrong, you think, and you are filled with the sickness of 13 and 17.
what is the reason for having roses when your blood is shed carelessly?
But now it’s 17 and 21, and that thought still kills you. Both of you are at these jumping off points in your lives. She’s graduating early. You always knew, back in that crowded head of yours, that she would. She’s sick of high school, she says. There’s no challenge in it anymore. She’s already taken the most advanced maths classes possible, gone through an accelerated learning program, scored above and beyond on all of the required tests…
You hear your sister cry about this every night. She knows that her precious beauty of a lover is leaving her in a few short weeks. You try to understand, but this is something that all 195 points of your IQ can’t dissect, and it makes you wish you were smarter.
Meanwhile, you’ve finished your final year at Harvard… excluding the remaining years for your advanced degrees, of course. But now it’s time for letting go. You’re 21, you say to yourself; you should have let go years ago. Now you’re an adult and it’s the real world and it hits you so suddenly that you’re paralysed by the thought.
it must be for something more than vanity
… But you still can’t get her out of your head. You don’t understand this either, and it frustrates you to no end. You haven’t decided yet, but you’re sure that it’s something more than what’s on the surface, something more than a superficial relic of your teenage years… You couldn’t have wasted four years of your life. You simply couldn’t have.
believe me the truth is we’re not honest - not the people that we dream
You’re keeping this from everyone, especially your sister. After all, she’s already sobbing every night, locked away in her room, just flinging angry paint at lonely canvas… And you feel utterly helpless… And perfectly dishonest.
we’re not as close as we could be
But tonight she has decided to cling to your motherly breast and sob into your waiting arms. And when she falls into a fit of tears and expects you to be understanding, you find yourself frigid. And when she reaches for you, you recoil - you couldn’t stand to touch and be touched by her. Your sister, the enemy.
willing to grow but rains are shallow - barren and wind-scattered seed
But you tell yourself constantly that you want to be understanding. Enemy or not, she is still your sister. You say you want to help her, but something stops you as you reach for her. You wonder if she touches her lover whom you covet so much, if she holds her the way she’s holding you now. And you move to brush your lips on her neck, but you catch yourself and draw back in your insecurity.
on stone and dry land, we will be
But she’s your sister. She’ll always be your sister, your flesh and blood, no matter how many tears either of you shed. The two of you will always be there, and no love or distance can even remotely change that.
waiting for the light arisen to flood inside the prison
You wake after a rough night, your eyes opening to a blinding flash of sunlight that washes away the dreams you had last night. Dreams that make you gasp, perspire, blush.
and in that time, kind words alone will teach us - no bitterness will reach us
But they are dreams only. There is no paradise in her arms, in your arms… No fingers, no tongues, no flesh… The sun forming a cloak of radiance that frames her entire immaculate body - with no outside world, no internal problems… But no such utopia exists.
reason will be guided in another way
And so you direct your troubled head back to thoughts that puzzle and perplex you. The answer to why you had such dreams came long ago… But now you must find the root of this thing that exists inside of you. After all, everything can be solved through logic, right?
all in time
But there’s none left, you think. You’ve already exhausted four agonising years of your life on this utterly hopeless endeavour - what more is there?
but the clock is another demon that devours our time in Eden, in our paradise
The days go by quicker and quicker, until they’re down to double, and now single, digits. You’ve been entertaining the idea of just letting it all out and telling her exactly how you feel: that she’s with the wrong sister and that you lo-- Your inner voice chokes on the word, though everything is practically screaming at you to say it.
will our eyes see well beneath us, flowers all divine?
She’s walking towards you now, and she looks like an angel floating on air. You catch your breath in your throat and it comes out in an awkward cough. But you know your place and start to explain that your sister isn’t feeling well, could she come back later?
is there still time?
You are ready to retreat back into your room, your refuge, your safe haven… Simultaneously bursting with desire and avoiding any nuance of confession.
if we wake and discover a life of precious love
Suddenly she smiles and the last four years flash before your eyes like a reverie. Then just as you start to pull the door back shut, she tells you that she hasn’t come to see your sister.
will that waking become more heavenly?