[fic] Wrong, For the Right Reasons
Title: Wrong, For the Right Reasons
Author: badboy_fangirl
Characters/Pairings: Elena POV; Damon/Elena (minor Stefan/Elena)
Word Count: ~800
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Spoilers: Everything through S3.
Summary: Weird future!fic.
Author's notes: This is sort of for the fic-a-thon going on over at upupa_epops journal, except that she gave me prompts from outside the thread because I'm super special. (Really, just blocked and in desperate need of fic assistance.) Thanks, Marta! Also, if parenthetical writing bugs you, you probably won't enjoy this, at all.
Prompt: Damon/Elena, You are the hole in my head / You are the space in my bed / You are the silence in between what I thought / And what I said
It will happen somewhere between compelled-away memories of Damon surfacing and her first kill as a vampire. Elena will embrace the anger that always hummed just beneath her skin.
(She as good as killed her parents, both sets, and her aunt, and so many others. It would have been a relief to just finally die.
But of course, that would have been too simple. And there was always someone else around, who made the decision for her instead.)
Damon's not alone in his sin, it's just that he's easier to find, to beat the shit out of, because he lets her; because he wipes blood from his chin, a smile-smirk cascading over his face, and he lifts his hands, his fingers flicking towards his body to invite her forward.
(Because when she found the girl, alone on a side street in Richmond, Damon had been right behind her. It's only here that he will observe, won't interfere. She only had to die to get that right from him.)
There had been a time when he warned her about hitting him, when he told her, don't ever do that again, but that has passed. Now he will beckon to her, spread his arms wide, stand still, as if he'll just let her run the show.
(Elena may have changed when she transitioned, but Damon never has. Later, she'll think she's a monumental fool. But that's later.)
She will hit him and he'll roll with it, turn it into a dance, one that carries her body with his; he'll flip them both head over heels, pin her to the ground, yank her up and let her get in another good lick, scraping the skin away from just under his eye with her knuckles. Then he'll move in that imperceptible way that she can now imitate, but her GPS is all off, because she goes farther than she intends and has to course-correct.
When she turns back, he's still there, the wounds on his face healing in tandem with their choreography. He will wait, dodge, spin her so she's got her back to his chest; she will remember other times, times he didn't compel her, times he held her close and she let him, her lungs fighting for a clean breath that didn't smell of sex.
That will be when she stops, when she refuses to move anymore, when she realizes he's wanted this more than he's wanted anything else, and she won't give him the satisfaction. He rubs himself against her as she shoves out of his embrace, and it's not the first time she's felt that either.
(There have been many times when she has been grateful that her arousal didn't show like his does.)
She will turn on him, her fangs erupting and blood swelling into her face, and she will understand. Now, her game face is long gone. There is no hiding it, no pretending, no promises to his brother that can extinguish the fire.
She is flame, and he is the north wind, stirring her until she rages over acres, over mountains and valleys, until her path of destruction is complete.
(She will leave his brother; not because she met him first, but because like Damon, she makes decisions for other people that they can't make for themselves.
She will leave Stefan because he won't leave her, even when he doesn't love her anymore, even when he sickens to look upon her.
She will leave because Damon doesn't deserve her, he never did. But none of that matters, because nobody ever gets what they deserve.)
She'll fight (with) Damon until the day she wins (no longer needs to prove she isn't right where she means to be), and that will take time (years, decades, millennia).
One day, she'll wake, and he'll be lying beside her, quietly watching, and she'll say, "Everything we've done, we've done for love."
Damon will tilt his head, his eyes brilliant in the morning sun. "Not everything," he'll say.
"No," she'll argue. "Everything. But we were wrong, so many times."
He will shrug, but not in carelessness. His mouth will quirk, and a tenderness will flow over her, cause her to lift a hand, touch his cheek. "Better wrong for the right reasons, than right for the wrong ones."
His face tells the story, the ravages of death that is not death upon him, upon his brother, upon the woman he has loved even when she did not love him in return.
(Elena will stand, surrounded by them all--Jeremy, Stefan, Damon, Matt, Caroline, Bonnie--drinking the blood of a nameless donor; each gulp will be for one of them, but mostly because she left him once, and she can't do it again.
She won't figure that out, not for a long time.)
(He will never know, because she'll never say it aloud, but when enough time has gone by, he'll suspect.)
Author: badboy_fangirl
Characters/Pairings: Elena POV; Damon/Elena (minor Stefan/Elena)
Word Count: ~800
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Spoilers: Everything through S3.
Summary: Weird future!fic.
Author's notes: This is sort of for the fic-a-thon going on over at upupa_epops journal, except that she gave me prompts from outside the thread because I'm super special. (Really, just blocked and in desperate need of fic assistance.) Thanks, Marta! Also, if parenthetical writing bugs you, you probably won't enjoy this, at all.
Prompt: Damon/Elena, You are the hole in my head / You are the space in my bed / You are the silence in between what I thought / And what I said
It will happen somewhere between compelled-away memories of Damon surfacing and her first kill as a vampire. Elena will embrace the anger that always hummed just beneath her skin.
(She as good as killed her parents, both sets, and her aunt, and so many others. It would have been a relief to just finally die.
But of course, that would have been too simple. And there was always someone else around, who made the decision for her instead.)
Damon's not alone in his sin, it's just that he's easier to find, to beat the shit out of, because he lets her; because he wipes blood from his chin, a smile-smirk cascading over his face, and he lifts his hands, his fingers flicking towards his body to invite her forward.
(Because when she found the girl, alone on a side street in Richmond, Damon had been right behind her. It's only here that he will observe, won't interfere. She only had to die to get that right from him.)
There had been a time when he warned her about hitting him, when he told her, don't ever do that again, but that has passed. Now he will beckon to her, spread his arms wide, stand still, as if he'll just let her run the show.
(Elena may have changed when she transitioned, but Damon never has. Later, she'll think she's a monumental fool. But that's later.)
She will hit him and he'll roll with it, turn it into a dance, one that carries her body with his; he'll flip them both head over heels, pin her to the ground, yank her up and let her get in another good lick, scraping the skin away from just under his eye with her knuckles. Then he'll move in that imperceptible way that she can now imitate, but her GPS is all off, because she goes farther than she intends and has to course-correct.
When she turns back, he's still there, the wounds on his face healing in tandem with their choreography. He will wait, dodge, spin her so she's got her back to his chest; she will remember other times, times he didn't compel her, times he held her close and she let him, her lungs fighting for a clean breath that didn't smell of sex.
That will be when she stops, when she refuses to move anymore, when she realizes he's wanted this more than he's wanted anything else, and she won't give him the satisfaction. He rubs himself against her as she shoves out of his embrace, and it's not the first time she's felt that either.
(There have been many times when she has been grateful that her arousal didn't show like his does.)
She will turn on him, her fangs erupting and blood swelling into her face, and she will understand. Now, her game face is long gone. There is no hiding it, no pretending, no promises to his brother that can extinguish the fire.
She is flame, and he is the north wind, stirring her until she rages over acres, over mountains and valleys, until her path of destruction is complete.
(She will leave his brother; not because she met him first, but because like Damon, she makes decisions for other people that they can't make for themselves.
She will leave Stefan because he won't leave her, even when he doesn't love her anymore, even when he sickens to look upon her.
She will leave because Damon doesn't deserve her, he never did. But none of that matters, because nobody ever gets what they deserve.)
She'll fight (with) Damon until the day she wins (no longer needs to prove she isn't right where she means to be), and that will take time (years, decades, millennia).
One day, she'll wake, and he'll be lying beside her, quietly watching, and she'll say, "Everything we've done, we've done for love."
Damon will tilt his head, his eyes brilliant in the morning sun. "Not everything," he'll say.
"No," she'll argue. "Everything. But we were wrong, so many times."
He will shrug, but not in carelessness. His mouth will quirk, and a tenderness will flow over her, cause her to lift a hand, touch his cheek. "Better wrong for the right reasons, than right for the wrong ones."
His face tells the story, the ravages of death that is not death upon him, upon his brother, upon the woman he has loved even when she did not love him in return.
(Elena will stand, surrounded by them all--Jeremy, Stefan, Damon, Matt, Caroline, Bonnie--drinking the blood of a nameless donor; each gulp will be for one of them, but mostly because she left him once, and she can't do it again.
She won't figure that out, not for a long time.)
(He will never know, because she'll never say it aloud, but when enough time has gone by, he'll suspect.)