Post by Sophia-Lynn on Jul 28, 2011 23:31:41 GMT -8
++Okay, so this is my first time posting fan fiction to King's Cross - well, to be honest, it's my first time posting fan fiction ever. It's my first time writing it too. I'm really nervous! Anyways, it's AU and I hope you like it.++
She sighed – light, arid. She was a wisp; lighter than air and brittle as dried moth wings. He would rupture her. His eyes swept the hall, lethargically back and forth. Never to be caught staring at the girl.
Her blood was thick, was brown – muck. Filth. His tongue flicked to the corners of his lips, collecting the dried out, brittle, skin. He smiled as he swallowed; he looked her in the eye at last.
“Do you think he’ll notice?”
“Shut up! He’s right there -”
“Oh c’mon Olive,” a child-girl of little consequence rolled her eyes, “even if he could hear us he’d be right nutty to be anything other than flattered.”
“Shhh, he’s looking over here!” pseudo-sly, Olive crossed her right leg behind her left – a vague attempt to show freshly shaved legs (nicks and scratches to be disregarded). Her pelvis tipped foreword awkwardly, and she held the back of her head with one hand, her elbow resting precariously on the wall. “Oh, hey there Tom!” Olive projected this time, a coy smile stretching across her face.
Bored, Tom lazily directed his gaze toward the gawky girl – too young for him to find truly appealing, though their gap in age just a few short years.
The much anticipated moment arrived, and Olive sucked in her breath tightly – their eyes met. A cataclysm of starbursts and explosions erupted in Olive’s chest - euphoria that only a schoolgirl’s crush can be catalyst to. Then wham.
Vision clouded, Olive did not notice the squirrely first year - whose mind was preoccupied with sweets from home - pushing through the crowded hallway. A short smarmy boy knocked into her shoulder, and Olive lost her perilous – though misguidedly seductive – pose, as her elbow slipped and her head slammed into the wall. Balance and poise abandoned, Olive watched Tom stroll by without so much as a word. Olive’s companion sniggered, though in an effort to epitomize class and dignity, attempted to stifle it.
From her indecorous position on the floor, Olive watched Tom through embarrassed lashes.
Tom gave the incident less than a thought as he walked past the girl, only grimly deciding that he had dawdled too long. He oughtn’t to have wasted so long watching the mousy brunette with books.
He ought not to have guessed how the lens of her glasses distorted her iris shape, texture, and warmth.
He shouldn’t have contemplated the taste of her chapped lips – shouldn’t have envisaged taking her lips’ skin in his teeth and pulling. He ached to devour her. A parting glance would have to satiate him. He stole it with internal brawl.
Had Olive’s mother not have sent her daughter a pubescent parcel containing Olive’s first straight blade razor - had Beauford MacDawsen not have been distracted by thoughts of chocolate frogs stashed in his dorm - had Olive not been at that exact spot on the floor, at that exact moment, perhaps the catastrophic events occurring in the days to come may not have passed.
But they did.
Watching Tom carefully, she followed his gaze. At first she dismissed the look as accidental, why would He be starring at Her? Then it happened – just a flash. Something in his look...longing? Desire? No... Inarticulate Olive would never quite be able to put her finger on it.
Ownership.
“Oh, that was cold, Olive! Though maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t say anything, maybe he wanted to...um...spare you the embarrassment. Not that it was embarrassing! You know, I once did that in front of -” Olive held out a finger to her friend, silencing her incessant babbling. As she stood, her eyes trained to the girl reading a book on a bench by the window.
“Katherine, who is that girl?”
Katherine scanned the hall. “What girl?” Olive held her classmate’s chin and directed her head in the reading girl’s direction.
“Her.”
“That girl with the glasses? She’s been in our classes for years...I think her name’s, um... Mary? Maya?”
Olive’s eyes narrowed.
“Myrtle.”
She sighed – light, arid. She was a wisp; lighter than air and brittle as dried moth wings. He would rupture her. His eyes swept the hall, lethargically back and forth. Never to be caught staring at the girl.
Her blood was thick, was brown – muck. Filth. His tongue flicked to the corners of his lips, collecting the dried out, brittle, skin. He smiled as he swallowed; he looked her in the eye at last.
“Do you think he’ll notice?”
“Shut up! He’s right there -”
“Oh c’mon Olive,” a child-girl of little consequence rolled her eyes, “even if he could hear us he’d be right nutty to be anything other than flattered.”
“Shhh, he’s looking over here!” pseudo-sly, Olive crossed her right leg behind her left – a vague attempt to show freshly shaved legs (nicks and scratches to be disregarded). Her pelvis tipped foreword awkwardly, and she held the back of her head with one hand, her elbow resting precariously on the wall. “Oh, hey there Tom!” Olive projected this time, a coy smile stretching across her face.
Bored, Tom lazily directed his gaze toward the gawky girl – too young for him to find truly appealing, though their gap in age just a few short years.
The much anticipated moment arrived, and Olive sucked in her breath tightly – their eyes met. A cataclysm of starbursts and explosions erupted in Olive’s chest - euphoria that only a schoolgirl’s crush can be catalyst to. Then wham.
Vision clouded, Olive did not notice the squirrely first year - whose mind was preoccupied with sweets from home - pushing through the crowded hallway. A short smarmy boy knocked into her shoulder, and Olive lost her perilous – though misguidedly seductive – pose, as her elbow slipped and her head slammed into the wall. Balance and poise abandoned, Olive watched Tom stroll by without so much as a word. Olive’s companion sniggered, though in an effort to epitomize class and dignity, attempted to stifle it.
From her indecorous position on the floor, Olive watched Tom through embarrassed lashes.
Tom gave the incident less than a thought as he walked past the girl, only grimly deciding that he had dawdled too long. He oughtn’t to have wasted so long watching the mousy brunette with books.
He ought not to have guessed how the lens of her glasses distorted her iris shape, texture, and warmth.
He shouldn’t have contemplated the taste of her chapped lips – shouldn’t have envisaged taking her lips’ skin in his teeth and pulling. He ached to devour her. A parting glance would have to satiate him. He stole it with internal brawl.
Had Olive’s mother not have sent her daughter a pubescent parcel containing Olive’s first straight blade razor - had Beauford MacDawsen not have been distracted by thoughts of chocolate frogs stashed in his dorm - had Olive not been at that exact spot on the floor, at that exact moment, perhaps the catastrophic events occurring in the days to come may not have passed.
But they did.
Watching Tom carefully, she followed his gaze. At first she dismissed the look as accidental, why would He be starring at Her? Then it happened – just a flash. Something in his look...longing? Desire? No... Inarticulate Olive would never quite be able to put her finger on it.
Ownership.
“Oh, that was cold, Olive! Though maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t say anything, maybe he wanted to...um...spare you the embarrassment. Not that it was embarrassing! You know, I once did that in front of -” Olive held out a finger to her friend, silencing her incessant babbling. As she stood, her eyes trained to the girl reading a book on a bench by the window.
“Katherine, who is that girl?”
Katherine scanned the hall. “What girl?” Olive held her classmate’s chin and directed her head in the reading girl’s direction.
“Her.”
“That girl with the glasses? She’s been in our classes for years...I think her name’s, um... Mary? Maya?”
Olive’s eyes narrowed.
“Myrtle.”