~~silly drabble & silly feedback
Jan. 24th, 2003 02:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
reenka*laughs and laughs*
oh... oh...... see... i -knew- i shouldn't have shown it to anybody, but well... i thought no one would read it, and the html-izing seemed useful. anyway, my aborted "epic", my very first hp fanfic -ever-, my former baby, got this review:
You ought to work on your characterisation. I'm sorry to say it's quite off. Have you even read the books? You must have if you're writing HP fanfiction, but it would be a good idea if you were to read the books one more time. Or even two or three more times. . .
ahahahahah!!
hee. i must have, it's true. i really must have. *giggles*
that fic should really be a huge embarrassment to me, shouldn't it? ha. although, who's to say i've ever done better? but yah. yah. i wrote obsessive!angsty!deep!draco. it was v. v. sad ><;;
~~
disclaimer: jkr broke my heart. not mine, baby, not mine.
warning: i -will- rot your brain.
a/n: this is for regret, because well, the other thing i promised her is kind of uncooperative.
Loving you broke my heart. But I knew it would-- I knew it did, because it always has, from the moment I saw you, and I didn't know what love was, or what one was supposed to do with it, or whether this was merely an aberration, and it would pass with a cup of warm milk and a good night's sleep. And then it didn't, and you just got more painful and bright and perfect, living out every ideal I never knew I had.
And I never had the words for it, even though I tried to tell you, I just couldn't. One look at you and I felt my stomach try to knot itself several times over, and my heart was leaping out of my throat, and of course I couldn't say anything. And then she came to me and said, "Don't you see?" And I didn't.
She said, "I'll show you," and she did. My heart wasn't really ever broken as long as you were in it, and you didn't have to notice, you really didn't. I could just look at you, and even though it hurt, I'd feel warmer, safer somehow, as if you gave off a light only for me, even if you didn't know it.
So when I realized you were never really there, and maybe I couldn't love you, then, if I never knew you weren't, or I never knew who you were. That broke my heart, you see, even though she didn't mean to, she just meant to show me the stupid boy we all hated, except she thought he was beautiful, and I could see what she meant, because he shone a little, like another star from your constellation. He was different though, maybe like one of those shooting stars, those green ones that you see around the last days of May, have you ever noticed them?
Anyway, I had a feeling, immediately, that you had, because it was clear that you'd caught him, just the way he looked at you, just the way I had looked at you. Did you notice? You never noticed, not with me, did you. But you must have, with him, you must have, because you looked back, it was unmistakable, the shooting stars that were right there, sparkling somewhere in the green depths of your eyes.
And she said, "See? It's all right, they go together," and then she kissed me, but. There was an empty, dark space behind my ribs somewhere, and everything felt wrong, and hollow, and meaningless. Yours was the meaning, and the future, and the present, and sometimes I'd thought the past was only a reflection of you as well. Still, you were never really there, and even your reflection was skewed and tainted and not your own.
Her lips were dry, and even if I screwed up my eyes really tight, I couldn't pretend she was anyone but an ugly girl, soft and bulky, with that heavy breath that smelled of pumpkin juice and tasted of damp sugar. Her name was strange and yet so familiar, so common, it had been everywhere in my mother's garden, and I never paid much attention. Even though, I couldn't bring myself to pay attention, only wanting to watch as his hand dipped lazily below the waistband of the other's trousers.
"Pansy," I croaked, my voice feeling rusty and useless, but I tried anyway. I pulled away, looking closer at her as her eyes closed in what must've been embarrassment. "Pansy. It's not you. It's not me, I don't think. It's just. I don't know, anymore. I don't know what I want, if I don't want him."
"I understand," she said softly. "I'm the same way."
And we just sat there in the grass, watching the empty space where the stars had fallen.
~~
EDIT - okay, i'll just pretend that didn't suck ><;;
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no subject
Date: 2003-01-24 05:20 pm (UTC)Femmeslash.
Sorry, just a contented purr. I haven't read Angsty!Femmeslash in so long--it's all just a) horny guys who've watched way too many lesbian chickflicks, or b) just really crazy "out-there" shit.
*loves*
no subject
Date: 2003-01-24 08:51 pm (UTC)although, apparently mistakable for being ron (or draco! or harry!) pov, eheheh.
am also v. glad it seemed natural, because well-- i'm not good with ginny/pansy/hermione (er, not like that), and arguably can't keep -anyone- in hp in-character. ahem.
but the "secret" is to just write them as characters and only secondarily as girls or boys. or i'd get all shy thinking, "she has a VAGINA!! omg!!" hee :D
It didn't suck!
Date: 2003-01-24 07:36 pm (UTC)With the opening sentence, I thought it may be Harry, Then the reference to "every ideal I never knew I had," made it seem like Draco (although that would have been an awfully cliched thing for him, and you're too good a writer to use it, really). In fact, the whole rest of the first paragraph had a very Dracoish tone to it, calling love an "aberration," etc. (Actually, that strikes me as OOC for Ginny - wasn't she infatuated with Harry practically before she even met him?)
When the mysterious "she" (mysterious only to me, I guess) was introduced, it hit me: it's Hermione! and the narrator is Ron! Draco is "the stupid boy we all hated," and the couple H/D. I had been wondering why you of all people would write a fic in which Draco is on the sidelines watching Harry with someone else (probably Ron at that) and still call it H/D - it doesn't seem like your type of angst at all (and I'll just take a minute now to tell you that "Death Wish" makes me cry every time I read it, and I really should have let you know that earlier but I suck at commenting). So, there I was, having happily puzzled out what's going on and then -- "Pansy".
My first thought was, WTF? My second was, well maybe- maybe- Ron is with Pansy, and... that doesn't work, does it. The third (grudgingly) was oh, damn, it is Draco narrating after all and that sucks!sucks!sucks! I really wanted our boys together... I reconciled myself to it, deciding it was simply supposed to leave a bitter aftertaste. And it was quite effective, too. It works from Draco's point of view, even if everything has a completely different meaning. Lines like "even your reflection was skewed and tainted and not your own," carry such different connotations for Ginny than for Draco, which is kinda obvious considering their very different perceptions of Harry, but it struck me as fascinating.
That was a couple of hours ago. When I went back to reread it (still considering it a very sad H/D fic - I'm a glutton for punishment, and it is very well written), I finally noticed that it's femslash. And it changed everything. It really shouldn't have; it isn't any less sad if it's Ginny rather than Draco, but the H/D shipper in me only cared that they were together. I wonder what that says about me...:D
Anyway: the writing is beautiful, and the shooting stars are sad, and I love how the entire story is still addressed to Harry, because Ginny just can't stop thinking about him.
(Also, hi :). This seems to be my week for delurking on people's ljs :D)
Re: It didn't suck!
Date: 2003-01-24 08:43 pm (UTC)pansy/ron disturbs me. of course, not as much as say, draco/ginny-or-hermione disturbs me. but few things disturb me that much... er, in fanfic anyway ><
but wow. i'm not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing that it could be read as draco or ginny. i think, personally, that the whole thing would be -natural- with ginny but -fanon!cliche- with draco, but. hmm. you're right about the aberration thing, though mostly i thought maybe ginny thought she might get over harry at some early point, because she didn't know if this sort of feeling was supposed to last or not. that was my gig.
plus, i don't think the "stupid boy" and the schmoopy poeticism isn't something i like to think i'd write for draco. i used to, but that was a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away ><
and wow, i'm amazed you feel you could predict my "type" of angst, though you're right :D
sometimes (a lot of times) i feel most people read this for the hp slash meta, if i judged by the amount of comments... but i'm happy if -anyone- thinks of me as a writer~:)
and i know what you mean about torturing ginny. i could do it all day long, and it wouldn't bother me one bit. ehehehe. i think my past hatred of ginny is peeking through, there -.-;;
but thanks for such in-depth (and amusing!) feedback~:)
no subject
Date: 2003-01-25 08:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-01-25 10:19 pm (UTC)*huggles*
hee. am v. v. glad, especially if you're one of the minority who didn't think it was draco pov ;) ehehehe :D
and, if you want i could send you the "hand" part of the hand!fic, which is like, plot for the rest of it (i know. unbelievable, but i can't seem to write things that "just happen"-- even if like, no one gets -why- they happen, -i- have to know why. 'tis strange.)
~:)
no subject
Date: 2003-01-25 11:34 pm (UTC)but yes, i would LOVE to read whatever part of it you are comfortable showing me. *bounces*
no subject
Date: 2003-01-25 11:48 pm (UTC)er. anyway. here:
this is from `fetish' ;)
Understanding is a lot like sex, he later thought. Once you breach that frontier, once the rush of -knowing- something (or someone) comes to you, you can never go back, can never be the same. And it's debatable whether virginity was, oftentimes, preferable. In a way, he would rather have never known what there was to know about him. Blindness afforded a certain distance, a certain ease of behavior, was soothing his ego and bolstering him in his arrogance. But knowledge, understanding, had an irresistibly seductive lure as well. Why? He didn't always ask himself that question, but once begun, he couldn't stop himself from obsessively going over it, and of course never getting anywhere. While his attitude was unchanged, his curiosity was certainly growing, as hard to ignore as the most persistent erection. Perhaps moreso. Perhaps it -was- lust. Perhaps if-- when-- he finally cracked Potter, he would understand-- perhaps he would be satisfied-- perhaps he would be content-- perhaps he wouldn't be lonely.
He didn't think so at the time. He liked being alone-- he made sure he was alone even surrounded by his mates. He was apart-- his was the strength. He didn't want any of them anyway. They were merely annoyances, useful annoyances but still hardly satisfying. Of course, his dissatisfaction fed his contempt, his rage, fueled his need to succeed. It was all for the best-- he had his father as an example if nothing else. Understanding and possession and attraction and need were all somewhat fused in his mind, all part of a general competitive drive, all things that drove his anger on. His focus tightened, his breathing quickened, finally he began to really pay attention. He needed every single detail, crystal clear, burned onto his mind with minute clarity, to achieve his ends. He needed the other's every breath, his every thought-- he would have every single facet of his mind and body, slackening within his grasp-- he would have all of it. And then he would crush him.
~~
... and later
~~
He was still pale, still skinny, still pretending he didn't notice the things he wasn't supposed to, unless he had something to gain. He had nothing at all to gain from noticing the drift of the dark blue clouds over his favorite constellation, and so he didn't. He didn't look for it, and he didn't find it. He hadn't looked for the barely-noticeable fuzz on Potter's cheeks that one morning in Potions, and he didn't find it. Potter, who was leaning across the table, reaching for the monk's-root, his brows furrowed in concentration and his mouth moving in silence. And then he heard them-- the names of the ingredients, softly repeated again and again. He sounded so fervent, so oblivious, as if he was hoping the repetition alone would grant him a working potion. If he was praying, he must have a forgetful god.
Potter sucked on his lip, mixing and stirring and adding, and ignoring Draco entirely for once. There was something different about him, but Draco couldn't put a finger on what it was. He seemed the same, completely the same no matter how closely Draco watched. And yet different. This wasn't something that should matter, and yet, somehow, it did. Something was different, because Draco suddenly wanted to smooth the line creasing his forehead, and dip the line that marked the edge where skin met smudged, splattered linen. He wanted to feel the cloth bunched up in his fist, starched and stiff, grip it and then pull until there was a loud, satisfying rip.
Draco wanted to crush, to shred, to pierce, to stab. What -didn't- he want?
no subject
Date: 2003-01-25 11:49 pm (UTC)The sample turned orange, and Potter laughed at his own expense before Draco had a chance to say anything, slapping himself in the forehead, mumbling something about having forgotten to let it cool for 45 seconds. Draco refrained from comment, noticing that the line heretofore crossing Potter's forehead had dissipated on its own, and the corners of Potter's mouth were twitching in a suspicious manner. Draco had to stop watching for his own mental health, he realized, so he began to meticuously section scraps of dried mermaid tails with the look of utmost confidence he'd come to expect would prevent any questioning.
It was only later that he realized that he was so intent on his own fingers, methodically handling the knife as he struck at the rubbery, mostly useless things between them, that he neglected to check the color of the potion in the actual cauldron. Potter probably couldn't even tell the difference between orange, bronze, and reddish gold. The Perceptivity Potion was a delicate, color-sensitive potion which had needed his utmost attention. Unfortunately, paying attention to it would've involved paying attention to Potter, and that was simply out of the question. He barely looked at the tall glass, taking a large, heedless gulp.
"Let's see, then," Draco said, and swallowed, fighting against the usual gag reflex, wanting to get this over with.
~~
It started with the hands. He couldn't take his eyes off them. Callused, dirty, skinny, narrow, tanned even from pale British sunlight, scratches both old and new streaking brightly across, a burn mark at the heel from the last time he'd had the misfortune of being partnered with Longbottom in Double Potions. His hands were truly a complete disaster like the rest of him. He refused to look him in the eye this year. He was really not looking at all. His eyes weren't moving. The hands were. They were completely bloody restless, never lying still for more than a minute at a time, constantly touching something, investigating, worrying the edge of his parchment, turning a quill between the index and middle fingers, or, most often, stuck in his mouth.
That mouth. He hated that mouth. He hated the hands, they were against everything he stood for, but he hated the mouth more. He didn't think the bloody pillock even knew how disgusting his habit was. He seemed to do it when distracted by something else, poring over a sudden quiz, or trying to think of an answer on the spot, pointedly ignoring the Mudblood's nudgings. Idiot.
The index finger flew immediately to the corner of his mouth, and the nibbling and chewing and biting frenzy began. His voice wasn't uncertain anymore, his manner almost confident. His eyes met the Professor's head on, and he never flinched, not for a year or more. The hands gave him away. He couldn't fool him. He wasn't that perfect fearless Gryffindor everyone proclaimed him to be. He bit at his cuticles and assaulted his fingernails until they were speckled with common red blood, no better than anyone's. Certainly no better than his. While he wasn't entirely serious when he said silver blood ran in his veins, it was close enough to the truth, really. He knew his own difference was genuine. He was a pureblood and it showed. Anyone who would dispute that was worse than blind, and he certainly had no use for them.
Just as he had no use for Potter.
no subject
Date: 2003-01-30 01:39 am (UTC)Just as he had no use for Potter.
*blinks more*
you... you have to finish it. *whimpers* please?