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FIC: Flee into Fancy [Hard Times, Sissy x Louisa]
Title: Flee into Fancy
Author: Omnicat v''v
Rating: T / PG-13
Genre: Angst, Romance
Spoilers: Hard Times, Book the First.
Warnings: Femmeslash in your Dickens, yo.
Pairings: Sissy Jupe x Louisa Gradgrind
Disclaimer: Check.
Summary: [Hard Times] In the night there is something secret. Sissy x Louisa.
Author’s Note: I’m a bit rankled to be saying this about compulsory reading, but this book was fun. Louisa and Sissy are made of so much love. Tom Jr too, *snort*, but these two especially. And all that delicious, delicious subtext! :3 *nibbles on it*
One thing, though - when I was writing this it totally escaped my mind just how bloody young Sissy is. So, uhm, please bear with me when I say that she's of a decent age here? Fifteen or something, not much younger than Louisa. ^^;;
Flee into Fancy
In the night there is something secret. Something that is yet is not, because what you do not see in everyday life is not Fact, and what is not Fact does not exist at all.
And what is not Fact must not be spoken of.
“Tell me how wrong you were today, Sissy. Tell me all the wrong things you said to Mr M’Choakumchild and all the thoughts you had that you think are wrong.”
“Will you correct them then Miss Louisa? Will you tell me the right things?”
“I will. Please, tell me the wrong things.”
Miss Louisa pleads and Sissy tells her of wrong things and weeps. Always close to weeping as Miss Louisa says yes, she was wrong, oh how wrong she was, and kisses her, and takes her into her arms. Her stupidity lies bare in the dark for Louisa to covet and cherish, caress and kiss, her idleness and folly running free, flowing from her mouth and her heart like the tears from her eyes. In a place where no candle flickers and no moonlight reaches, only Miss Louisa’s fingers to wipe away her tears and Miss Louisa’s lips to cleanse the acid from her mouth remained after the words had died away.
“Now tell me about me, Sissy. Tell me all the wrong things you have in your head about me.”
“You are sad, Miss Louisa. You are pale and thirsty, like a flower locked away from its rain and shine.”
“Then, for a little while, will you quench my thirst and grant me colour, Sissy? Will you shower me in your sorrows and show me the radiance of your smiles?”“I will, Miss Louisa.”
And so in the darkness they hold on, hold out, together, drawing breath from each other’s lips, warmth from each other’s touch in secret places. The myriad tiny deaths of Fact – suffocation, freezing, insanity – cannot find them in the shelter of a whispering girl’s arms, its hollow glare cannot blind them when all they see is the shadow of one another, driving their gazes inward to find the vision of beauty they seek.
Wrong is hard to tell from right, here, and since there is no Fact they do not cling to definitions.
As long as the tears flow to be wiped from Sissy’s eyes and the hopeful baseless fancies soak Miss Louisa’s weary bones, they are purged of their mistakes and revived from premature age. They are healed from all that is real. Come morning, Miss Louisa will yearn and thirst again, and Sissy will be dense and confused beyond all hope. And they will hold on, hold out, because night will come again, and Fact cannot take away that which is not there.
PSAN: Now if only I didn’t feel like all my eloquence has been beaten out of me with a pointy thing and the rest of my brain could churn out some decent content, all would be well. But I fear it is not so. I can't even think of a title or summary. Woe.
Author: Omnicat v''v
Rating: T / PG-13
Genre: Angst, Romance
Spoilers: Hard Times, Book the First.
Warnings: Femmeslash in your Dickens, yo.
Pairings: Sissy Jupe x Louisa Gradgrind
Disclaimer: Check.
Summary: [Hard Times] In the night there is something secret. Sissy x Louisa.
Author’s Note: I’m a bit rankled to be saying this about compulsory reading, but this book was fun. Louisa and Sissy are made of so much love. Tom Jr too, *snort*, but these two especially. And all that delicious, delicious subtext! :3 *nibbles on it*
One thing, though - when I was writing this it totally escaped my mind just how bloody young Sissy is. So, uhm, please bear with me when I say that she's of a decent age here? Fifteen or something, not much younger than Louisa. ^^;;
Flee into Fancy
In the night there is something secret. Something that is yet is not, because what you do not see in everyday life is not Fact, and what is not Fact does not exist at all.
And what is not Fact must not be spoken of.
“Tell me how wrong you were today, Sissy. Tell me all the wrong things you said to Mr M’Choakumchild and all the thoughts you had that you think are wrong.”
“Will you correct them then Miss Louisa? Will you tell me the right things?”
“I will. Please, tell me the wrong things.”
Miss Louisa pleads and Sissy tells her of wrong things and weeps. Always close to weeping as Miss Louisa says yes, she was wrong, oh how wrong she was, and kisses her, and takes her into her arms. Her stupidity lies bare in the dark for Louisa to covet and cherish, caress and kiss, her idleness and folly running free, flowing from her mouth and her heart like the tears from her eyes. In a place where no candle flickers and no moonlight reaches, only Miss Louisa’s fingers to wipe away her tears and Miss Louisa’s lips to cleanse the acid from her mouth remained after the words had died away.
“Now tell me about me, Sissy. Tell me all the wrong things you have in your head about me.”
“You are sad, Miss Louisa. You are pale and thirsty, like a flower locked away from its rain and shine.”
“Then, for a little while, will you quench my thirst and grant me colour, Sissy? Will you shower me in your sorrows and show me the radiance of your smiles?”“I will, Miss Louisa.”
And so in the darkness they hold on, hold out, together, drawing breath from each other’s lips, warmth from each other’s touch in secret places. The myriad tiny deaths of Fact – suffocation, freezing, insanity – cannot find them in the shelter of a whispering girl’s arms, its hollow glare cannot blind them when all they see is the shadow of one another, driving their gazes inward to find the vision of beauty they seek.
Wrong is hard to tell from right, here, and since there is no Fact they do not cling to definitions.
As long as the tears flow to be wiped from Sissy’s eyes and the hopeful baseless fancies soak Miss Louisa’s weary bones, they are purged of their mistakes and revived from premature age. They are healed from all that is real. Come morning, Miss Louisa will yearn and thirst again, and Sissy will be dense and confused beyond all hope. And they will hold on, hold out, because night will come again, and Fact cannot take away that which is not there.
PSAN: Now if only I didn’t feel like all my eloquence has been beaten out of me with a pointy thing and the rest of my brain could churn out some decent content, all would be well. But I fear it is not so. I can't even think of a title or summary. Woe.