~~ breeding: a pansy ficlet.
Aug. 25th, 2003 04:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
reenkai had a dream that jk rowling killed off ron in the next book, and i thought (in the dream) that it was brilliant. hurt harry! hurt harry! yessss~! (that's kind of disturbing, actually, but there you go). as in, well, how could things possibly get worse? oh yes, ron could diiiiieeeeeee.
funny how that's rather a rare plot device in h/d fics. i mean, ron could die in sixth year. why hasn't anyone thought of that? or hermione. harry would be pretty messed up. enter malfoy. i dunno -how- that makes anything -better-, but there you go.
anyway.
i'm writing like a madwoman. my long-ass plotted fics, i mean. i'm almost done with one, and it's nearly 50 pages. 50. freaking. pages..!!
er yes, where was i?
oh yah. there was a point to this post. somewhere.
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pink_faerie? i kinda missed her birthday, 'cause it's damned hard to write semi-happy draco/pansy, even though she -likes- angst. but happy!d/p is a challenge, 'cause it's so -easy- to make him want harry instead, heheh. so. um. i wrote something or other. mostly, this is a messed-up pansy-centric character piece, but whatever.
Happy Really-belated Birthday, Michi!! <33!!
disclaimer: not mine.
author's note: this is Draco/Pansy, belatedly, for Michi's birthday. Love.
-breeding-
Pansy likes sugar.
She knows exactly the way she wants it, and she takes it exactly that way every single time. She makes her own tea every morning, and it's not that she doesn't trust the house elves to do their job, but it's clear to her that when you want a job done right, you need to do it yourself. Pansy knows exactly what she wants, and she knows exactly how she's going to get it.
Two cubes, sometimes a third when she's feeling particularly in the mood, and let stand for three and a half minutes in a sunny spot, stirred a few times with her own handmade silver spoon, given to her by her mum when she was just a baby.
"This is your spoon now, Pansy-love, just like it was mine and my mother's before that," her mum had told her, and little Pansy had smiled and cooed.
Pansy knows what's hers.
No one else understands. They whisper behind her back; jealous bitches. They look at her like they can steal the red carpet underneath her feet, grab the silver spoon from her gently-brewed tea. They have no breeding, pure blood or not.
Her mother had something to say about that, too. She told her all about breeding. If you have to be a bitch, you better make sure you mean it, she'd said, not in so many words. Even so, Pansy had understood. She was eight years old, and she was ready to take on the world with whatever means found necessary. Know what you have, and don't be afraid to use it, Rose Parkinson had told her daughter while braiding her yellow hair. You have your hair and your wits about you, and that's all you need, she'd said. Don't forget that, she'd said, and Pansy didn't.
"Bitch!" the other girls screamed, and Pansy laughed. It wasn't so much a case of the pot calling the kettle black as it was jealousy, pure and simple. She could get away with it, and she always knew it.
She'd always seen her mother's pretty face smiling at her whenever their ugly faces swam into view. "You know how to do this," her mother would tell her voicelessly. "You know you have the power, and they only wish they did. Make them yours, Pansy," her mother would whisper in her ear, and Pansy had always listened to her mother. She wants to be like her one day, except better. She's going to be the best.
Pansy sneers, even though the sun is in her eyes. She feels tall and strong and they are small and insignificant, ripe for the plucking. They might be Slytherin or Ravenclaw or even Gryffindor, it doesn't matter. What matters, what had always mattered, is that they're -hers-, like the spoon in her mouth, like her mother's fingers sliding through her hair.
"Remember, they were born that way," her mum had whispered when they'd taken their yearly vacation in Bath. Muggle-watching was a sport, and more fun than taunting seagulls. They would both laugh and get a tan at the same time. This was no different.
"So are you bitches -in- or are you -out-?" Pansy would call, hands on her hips, tossing her hair to the side. "I haven't got all day, so quit your yapping and let's go!"
It was an unspoken truth that there are Hufflepuffs to hex and Gryffindors to torture, and somewhere in between Pansy has to fix her hair and make the others do her homework for her. It's a full schedule. And then there's time with Draco, rationed out and spread evenly throughout the day. She doesn't want him to get tired of her, but she has her needs too. It's not like they had an -arrangement-, it's just that she doesn't want to go a whole six hours without a meaningful glance. That's really the highlight of her day. He'd look at her and his lip would curl in a way it wouldn't for anyone else, and Pansy's expression wouldn't change, but she'd feel warm inside, like she'd eaten a nice thick loaf of just-baked bread with cranberries and walnuts in it. Just the way she liked it.
Draco had always watched her and smiled, and Pansy had always felt it on the back of her neck like a warm hand, squeezing her reassuringly. That's just the way things -were-, between them, and the way things would remain. Draco had always understood.
He never tells her it would be forever.
He doesn't need to.
He just smirks in that carefree superior way he'd had even when they were six, and she thinks, "yes". Not "maybe". Not "someday". Just... yes. They were sharing their own private joke, and it wasn't really funny, except in that ticklish way that made everything all right with the world as long as the secret was theirs to keep. As long as Draco Malfoy was hers to keep.
She'd even come out and asked him the year before, on Christmas Eve when they were both left alone on the huge sofa by the tree. The snow had been falling outside the Manor window, and Pansy felt safe and soft-edged, like her nails were had been filed and buffed and her cuticles trimmed, hands soaked in warm rose-water and left to dry on a fuzzy towel. Draco looked as sleepy as Pansy felt, and she thought it was a good time to ask, so she did.
"So will you be mine to keep this year, darling?" she'd said softly, with a little smile like she wasn't really serious.
Draco had snorted and raised an eyebrow sleepily, like he thought Pansy was just a little bit daft, but it was an indulgent look. He was well-fed and they had no reason to quarrel, and there was also the fact that Pansy's knees were dimpling right over his own, thrown artfully across his legs as they sat. Pansy has to take care of these details so that Draco wouldn't have to. She thinks of it as good practice.
"Are you mine, too? Can I have your titties first thing then?" he'd said, and she'd pulled her legs off him with a highly scandalized look that made them both laugh.
"Of course I'm not, silly. You have to work for it."
"Nah," he'd murmured. "Too tired. Maybe later. Ask me again next year," he'd mumbled, right before he'd fallen asleep entirely, arm thrown negligently over her breasts.
But he'd said enough.
She knows she has him because he'd held her elbow just like he should, too, even though his mother had to remind him, and he growled at her about how heavy her arm was and how it was making him ache, and not in a good way. It was always there, in the details, like two little rings among her large collection in the old ebony box.
Pansy knows that they think it's just about the politics, or just about the image, or just about the tradition of it all. She knows they all expect her to be up the duff in a matter of months, now that they've been seen touching each other in public. He must look at her and see a great big dripping womb, that's what they think; what else is there? The Parkinsons and the Malfoys go way back; it's expected. But no one really expected this Malfoy and this Parkinson: they're something else.
She thinks that it's all right. Just as it should be.
Some girls have all the looks and some have all the wit, and she has Draco Malfoy, which is something else, isn't it? She sneers and wears her scarlet-woman lipstick to inter-Slytherin parties, and the other girls look at her like she's frightening, like she's something else. She may look like a slut sometimes, but everyone knows it's hands off except for Malfoy. Doesn't mean -she- can't look, and of course she does, even though Draco has no competition and he knows it, try as Pansy might to suggest otherwise. They know each other too well.
The year he gets "serious" after the incident with his father, which was really a shame, she just ignores it. It's just one of those phases, and what she really needs to do is lose some weight to fit into that fairy costume for Halloween. Didn't he say he wanted to see her in purple?
All purple-- lips and nails and toenails and blush. Pansy likes to blush; it becomes her. A purple fairy, and she'd lost the twenty pounds all right, but the bits on her tits and arse had stayed; he'd like that. Boys like a nice piece of arse, she knows that, and Pansy isn't a stingy girl. She already has what she wants, and she's not giving it away, either.
She could sit on his lap and air-kiss his cheek the way he hates, and he'd tolerate it, and it would be enough. He could stop thinking about all the ways he would get his revenge and start thinking about how tight her dress was across her bosom, and maybe he'd stick a finger in her cleavage and she'd gasp with indignation and slap him. He'd let her slap him, that has to mean something.
And if the arsehole had another little hissy fit the way he did sometimes, and refused to act the way he knows he should, she could always stick that second year's head down the toilet and laugh and laugh. It would be fun, and there would be more stories told about her. Pansy likes her fame; it suits her, though it doesn't really matter. Everything she wants, suits her-- that's just the way it is. She's realistic about her skills, and she has this one talent, but it's an important one. She learned it when she was young: it's all in the attitude. Her mother didn't have to tell her that, either.
Her mother would say that pink would really be best for her complexion, but Pansy chooses purple, because she's royalty. And if Draco-bloody-Malfoy doesn't see it, she'll make him see it, whatever it takes. If she has to break his face, she could do that, but she'd rather sit on his lap and purr.
It's his choice, and while she sits and waits like a lady, she won't wait forever. Half the Slytherin boys would die to go with her. Die.
Pansy Parkinson never cries, not then and not ever, especially not in her purple eye-shadow and charmed mascara. Draco is taking a while, but there's no way he would've forgotten. He's probably taking longer than she had, fixing his hair just right and choosing which fancy robe to wear out of his extremely generous collection. He'd probably come down looking like a peacock gone to Sunday faire, but Pansy would only snort and hold out her purple-painted hand for him to kiss. He'd better kiss it, too. She'd never laugh. Ever.
Draco Malfoy would never laugh at her.
He laughs at everyone else, anyone in the world but her, because he -is- hers, even if he doesn't know it. Everyone else that matters knows it. All the Slytherin girls know it; they wouldn't dare touch him, or even look at him the wrong way. It's in the way they -look- at her, like she's larger than life, and the way they turn their eyes away when they're together, as if they're all so jealous it hurt. She knows that, and it doesn't matter if Draco had ever noticed or cared, she knows it.
She decides to make an entrance, rather than coming to get him in his room. He might be in a delicate state, and if she really wanted him to strip, she knows she could just -ask-.
So she puts on her purple dress and her pointed purple shoes and her diamond-and-amethyst heirloom earrings that he'd given her last Christmas break, and she prepares to knock them dead. She's just walking down the stairs and sitting on the leather couch right next to Draco's usual spot; it's nothing special. She's had to spread her out dress carefully, so that now it drapes right over her knees. Draco thinks she had girly, dimply knees, and he'd never gotten tired of telling her, ever since they were children. Never a thing about her huge bosoms or her well-rounded bottom or those pouty lips, no, Draco likes her knees, so she has to hide them. He has to work for them.
She can't exactly make it -too- easy. He would lose all interest if she were to forget herself and just tear her bra off and shout, "So here it is! Here is my heart! Take it! Take it! Come on, hurry!" She'd barely survived his protracted "ewww, girls are filthy" period, and she isn't going to mess anything up this time. She's going to take it slow, just like she knows he should. He's going to want her so bad he'll feel like he's going to -burst-, and then she'll torture him some more and he'll want her some more. He'll start looking at her like he could just devour her with his eyes, from the tips of her toes to the little blonde hairs above her upper lip. Pansy may not have the best packaging, but she knows all about incentive. Love isn't enough, Pansy knows that. She knows what she has to do, and she's willing to work too.
It all comes back to the breeding.
There's a way to cross your legs that her mother taught her. You sit sort of straight but lean back a little and wiggle some, so that your thighs are layered well, and you look like you're lounging as if in invitation, but you're really not.
She really tries to go for the ultimate effect, but it doesn't work so well, having to cover up her knees. Plus, the purple lace rather itches, so she's doubly glad when Draco comes down, scowling like he'd like to kill a large rat right then and there. He should know Pansy would like that.
She smiles brightly, licking some of the purple lipstick off her teeth and purring a little, and she thinks it definitely came off like an invitation. The girls must all be drooling.
Draco Malfoy is a sex god, and it's not really looks at all, though he's pale and sharp the way a silver dagger would be. Sometimes Pansy looks at him and she forgets that she -has- him, and she can almost imagine getting papercuts if she were stupid enough to touch him. The thought makes her feel better, because she's not afraid of papercuts and she's not afraid of Draco Malfoy. Everyone else should be. Everyone else doesn't matter after all, though they're useful at times. It's just her and Draco, and they make up the real world.
It's all more to do with breeding. It's the way he walks, like he owns the place. It's the way he doesn't look around and only sees the things he -wants- to, because they are the only things that exist. Here, in their territory, everything works the way Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson say it does.
Pansy knows it, -they- know it. Probably only the Gryffindors would dispute it, but everyone knows what the Gryffindors are like. Not really worth mentioning.
She thinks she looks prim yet sexy. It's the right look.
He sneers a little, but it's more like a smirk. Draco had never really been smooth anyway, unless she was with him. She gives that to him. She makes him a prince because she's a real princess.
"You're something else, Parkinson," he says, and she takes that the way she wants it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
funny how that's rather a rare plot device in h/d fics. i mean, ron could die in sixth year. why hasn't anyone thought of that? or hermione. harry would be pretty messed up. enter malfoy. i dunno -how- that makes anything -better-, but there you go.
anyway.
i'm writing like a madwoman. my long-ass plotted fics, i mean. i'm almost done with one, and it's nearly 50 pages. 50. freaking. pages..!!
er yes, where was i?
oh yah. there was a point to this post. somewhere.
pink_faerie? i kinda missed her birthday, 'cause it's damned hard to write semi-happy draco/pansy, even though she -likes- angst. but happy!d/p is a challenge, 'cause it's so -easy- to make him want harry instead, heheh. so. um. i wrote something or other. mostly, this is a messed-up pansy-centric character piece, but whatever.Happy Really-belated Birthday, Michi!! <33!!
disclaimer: not mine.
author's note: this is Draco/Pansy, belatedly, for Michi's birthday. Love.
-breeding-
Pansy likes sugar.
She knows exactly the way she wants it, and she takes it exactly that way every single time. She makes her own tea every morning, and it's not that she doesn't trust the house elves to do their job, but it's clear to her that when you want a job done right, you need to do it yourself. Pansy knows exactly what she wants, and she knows exactly how she's going to get it.
Two cubes, sometimes a third when she's feeling particularly in the mood, and let stand for three and a half minutes in a sunny spot, stirred a few times with her own handmade silver spoon, given to her by her mum when she was just a baby.
"This is your spoon now, Pansy-love, just like it was mine and my mother's before that," her mum had told her, and little Pansy had smiled and cooed.
Pansy knows what's hers.
No one else understands. They whisper behind her back; jealous bitches. They look at her like they can steal the red carpet underneath her feet, grab the silver spoon from her gently-brewed tea. They have no breeding, pure blood or not.
Her mother had something to say about that, too. She told her all about breeding. If you have to be a bitch, you better make sure you mean it, she'd said, not in so many words. Even so, Pansy had understood. She was eight years old, and she was ready to take on the world with whatever means found necessary. Know what you have, and don't be afraid to use it, Rose Parkinson had told her daughter while braiding her yellow hair. You have your hair and your wits about you, and that's all you need, she'd said. Don't forget that, she'd said, and Pansy didn't.
"Bitch!" the other girls screamed, and Pansy laughed. It wasn't so much a case of the pot calling the kettle black as it was jealousy, pure and simple. She could get away with it, and she always knew it.
She'd always seen her mother's pretty face smiling at her whenever their ugly faces swam into view. "You know how to do this," her mother would tell her voicelessly. "You know you have the power, and they only wish they did. Make them yours, Pansy," her mother would whisper in her ear, and Pansy had always listened to her mother. She wants to be like her one day, except better. She's going to be the best.
Pansy sneers, even though the sun is in her eyes. She feels tall and strong and they are small and insignificant, ripe for the plucking. They might be Slytherin or Ravenclaw or even Gryffindor, it doesn't matter. What matters, what had always mattered, is that they're -hers-, like the spoon in her mouth, like her mother's fingers sliding through her hair.
"Remember, they were born that way," her mum had whispered when they'd taken their yearly vacation in Bath. Muggle-watching was a sport, and more fun than taunting seagulls. They would both laugh and get a tan at the same time. This was no different.
"So are you bitches -in- or are you -out-?" Pansy would call, hands on her hips, tossing her hair to the side. "I haven't got all day, so quit your yapping and let's go!"
It was an unspoken truth that there are Hufflepuffs to hex and Gryffindors to torture, and somewhere in between Pansy has to fix her hair and make the others do her homework for her. It's a full schedule. And then there's time with Draco, rationed out and spread evenly throughout the day. She doesn't want him to get tired of her, but she has her needs too. It's not like they had an -arrangement-, it's just that she doesn't want to go a whole six hours without a meaningful glance. That's really the highlight of her day. He'd look at her and his lip would curl in a way it wouldn't for anyone else, and Pansy's expression wouldn't change, but she'd feel warm inside, like she'd eaten a nice thick loaf of just-baked bread with cranberries and walnuts in it. Just the way she liked it.
Draco had always watched her and smiled, and Pansy had always felt it on the back of her neck like a warm hand, squeezing her reassuringly. That's just the way things -were-, between them, and the way things would remain. Draco had always understood.
He never tells her it would be forever.
He doesn't need to.
He just smirks in that carefree superior way he'd had even when they were six, and she thinks, "yes". Not "maybe". Not "someday". Just... yes. They were sharing their own private joke, and it wasn't really funny, except in that ticklish way that made everything all right with the world as long as the secret was theirs to keep. As long as Draco Malfoy was hers to keep.
She'd even come out and asked him the year before, on Christmas Eve when they were both left alone on the huge sofa by the tree. The snow had been falling outside the Manor window, and Pansy felt safe and soft-edged, like her nails were had been filed and buffed and her cuticles trimmed, hands soaked in warm rose-water and left to dry on a fuzzy towel. Draco looked as sleepy as Pansy felt, and she thought it was a good time to ask, so she did.
"So will you be mine to keep this year, darling?" she'd said softly, with a little smile like she wasn't really serious.
Draco had snorted and raised an eyebrow sleepily, like he thought Pansy was just a little bit daft, but it was an indulgent look. He was well-fed and they had no reason to quarrel, and there was also the fact that Pansy's knees were dimpling right over his own, thrown artfully across his legs as they sat. Pansy has to take care of these details so that Draco wouldn't have to. She thinks of it as good practice.
"Are you mine, too? Can I have your titties first thing then?" he'd said, and she'd pulled her legs off him with a highly scandalized look that made them both laugh.
"Of course I'm not, silly. You have to work for it."
"Nah," he'd murmured. "Too tired. Maybe later. Ask me again next year," he'd mumbled, right before he'd fallen asleep entirely, arm thrown negligently over her breasts.
But he'd said enough.
She knows she has him because he'd held her elbow just like he should, too, even though his mother had to remind him, and he growled at her about how heavy her arm was and how it was making him ache, and not in a good way. It was always there, in the details, like two little rings among her large collection in the old ebony box.
Pansy knows that they think it's just about the politics, or just about the image, or just about the tradition of it all. She knows they all expect her to be up the duff in a matter of months, now that they've been seen touching each other in public. He must look at her and see a great big dripping womb, that's what they think; what else is there? The Parkinsons and the Malfoys go way back; it's expected. But no one really expected this Malfoy and this Parkinson: they're something else.
She thinks that it's all right. Just as it should be.
Some girls have all the looks and some have all the wit, and she has Draco Malfoy, which is something else, isn't it? She sneers and wears her scarlet-woman lipstick to inter-Slytherin parties, and the other girls look at her like she's frightening, like she's something else. She may look like a slut sometimes, but everyone knows it's hands off except for Malfoy. Doesn't mean -she- can't look, and of course she does, even though Draco has no competition and he knows it, try as Pansy might to suggest otherwise. They know each other too well.
The year he gets "serious" after the incident with his father, which was really a shame, she just ignores it. It's just one of those phases, and what she really needs to do is lose some weight to fit into that fairy costume for Halloween. Didn't he say he wanted to see her in purple?
All purple-- lips and nails and toenails and blush. Pansy likes to blush; it becomes her. A purple fairy, and she'd lost the twenty pounds all right, but the bits on her tits and arse had stayed; he'd like that. Boys like a nice piece of arse, she knows that, and Pansy isn't a stingy girl. She already has what she wants, and she's not giving it away, either.
She could sit on his lap and air-kiss his cheek the way he hates, and he'd tolerate it, and it would be enough. He could stop thinking about all the ways he would get his revenge and start thinking about how tight her dress was across her bosom, and maybe he'd stick a finger in her cleavage and she'd gasp with indignation and slap him. He'd let her slap him, that has to mean something.
And if the arsehole had another little hissy fit the way he did sometimes, and refused to act the way he knows he should, she could always stick that second year's head down the toilet and laugh and laugh. It would be fun, and there would be more stories told about her. Pansy likes her fame; it suits her, though it doesn't really matter. Everything she wants, suits her-- that's just the way it is. She's realistic about her skills, and she has this one talent, but it's an important one. She learned it when she was young: it's all in the attitude. Her mother didn't have to tell her that, either.
Her mother would say that pink would really be best for her complexion, but Pansy chooses purple, because she's royalty. And if Draco-bloody-Malfoy doesn't see it, she'll make him see it, whatever it takes. If she has to break his face, she could do that, but she'd rather sit on his lap and purr.
It's his choice, and while she sits and waits like a lady, she won't wait forever. Half the Slytherin boys would die to go with her. Die.
Pansy Parkinson never cries, not then and not ever, especially not in her purple eye-shadow and charmed mascara. Draco is taking a while, but there's no way he would've forgotten. He's probably taking longer than she had, fixing his hair just right and choosing which fancy robe to wear out of his extremely generous collection. He'd probably come down looking like a peacock gone to Sunday faire, but Pansy would only snort and hold out her purple-painted hand for him to kiss. He'd better kiss it, too. She'd never laugh. Ever.
Draco Malfoy would never laugh at her.
He laughs at everyone else, anyone in the world but her, because he -is- hers, even if he doesn't know it. Everyone else that matters knows it. All the Slytherin girls know it; they wouldn't dare touch him, or even look at him the wrong way. It's in the way they -look- at her, like she's larger than life, and the way they turn their eyes away when they're together, as if they're all so jealous it hurt. She knows that, and it doesn't matter if Draco had ever noticed or cared, she knows it.
She decides to make an entrance, rather than coming to get him in his room. He might be in a delicate state, and if she really wanted him to strip, she knows she could just -ask-.
So she puts on her purple dress and her pointed purple shoes and her diamond-and-amethyst heirloom earrings that he'd given her last Christmas break, and she prepares to knock them dead. She's just walking down the stairs and sitting on the leather couch right next to Draco's usual spot; it's nothing special. She's had to spread her out dress carefully, so that now it drapes right over her knees. Draco thinks she had girly, dimply knees, and he'd never gotten tired of telling her, ever since they were children. Never a thing about her huge bosoms or her well-rounded bottom or those pouty lips, no, Draco likes her knees, so she has to hide them. He has to work for them.
She can't exactly make it -too- easy. He would lose all interest if she were to forget herself and just tear her bra off and shout, "So here it is! Here is my heart! Take it! Take it! Come on, hurry!" She'd barely survived his protracted "ewww, girls are filthy" period, and she isn't going to mess anything up this time. She's going to take it slow, just like she knows he should. He's going to want her so bad he'll feel like he's going to -burst-, and then she'll torture him some more and he'll want her some more. He'll start looking at her like he could just devour her with his eyes, from the tips of her toes to the little blonde hairs above her upper lip. Pansy may not have the best packaging, but she knows all about incentive. Love isn't enough, Pansy knows that. She knows what she has to do, and she's willing to work too.
It all comes back to the breeding.
There's a way to cross your legs that her mother taught her. You sit sort of straight but lean back a little and wiggle some, so that your thighs are layered well, and you look like you're lounging as if in invitation, but you're really not.
She really tries to go for the ultimate effect, but it doesn't work so well, having to cover up her knees. Plus, the purple lace rather itches, so she's doubly glad when Draco comes down, scowling like he'd like to kill a large rat right then and there. He should know Pansy would like that.
She smiles brightly, licking some of the purple lipstick off her teeth and purring a little, and she thinks it definitely came off like an invitation. The girls must all be drooling.
Draco Malfoy is a sex god, and it's not really looks at all, though he's pale and sharp the way a silver dagger would be. Sometimes Pansy looks at him and she forgets that she -has- him, and she can almost imagine getting papercuts if she were stupid enough to touch him. The thought makes her feel better, because she's not afraid of papercuts and she's not afraid of Draco Malfoy. Everyone else should be. Everyone else doesn't matter after all, though they're useful at times. It's just her and Draco, and they make up the real world.
It's all more to do with breeding. It's the way he walks, like he owns the place. It's the way he doesn't look around and only sees the things he -wants- to, because they are the only things that exist. Here, in their territory, everything works the way Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson say it does.
Pansy knows it, -they- know it. Probably only the Gryffindors would dispute it, but everyone knows what the Gryffindors are like. Not really worth mentioning.
She thinks she looks prim yet sexy. It's the right look.
He sneers a little, but it's more like a smirk. Draco had never really been smooth anyway, unless she was with him. She gives that to him. She makes him a prince because she's a real princess.
"You're something else, Parkinson," he says, and she takes that the way she wants it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2003-08-25 05:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-08-26 12:06 pm (UTC)and feel free to ramble, that's what i live for, heheh.
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Date: 2003-08-25 06:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-08-25 06:30 pm (UTC)that was exactly what i meant you to take away from it :D :D
it was the moral! (tm!)
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Date: 2003-08-25 08:29 pm (UTC)Rowling, it seems, is far too eager to please the younger generation, and would never dream of doing something unexpected like that. Sure, she claims to have made a "plot twist" in that last book of hers, but was it really? His lack of presence will certainly not stop "good" from claiming its victory.
::sighs again::
Damn, I've digressed.
I wish Hermione Granger would be killed off so Harry Potter wouldn't be able to rely on her anymore, and then he'd follow in her path. [You know, her path of DEATH.]
>:[
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Date: 2003-08-25 08:32 pm (UTC)her path of death!!
er. i don't really want ron to die o_0
*laughs* but you know, different strokes for different folks? -.-
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Date: 2003-08-25 10:26 pm (UTC)I want Hermione to die.
Big difference.
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Date: 2003-08-25 10:28 pm (UTC)but i'm basically harry's bitch, so i don't want any of his friends to die :))
hee.
<-- *biased!!*
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Date: 2003-08-25 10:30 pm (UTC)::angerangerangerangeranger::
Yeah, he pisses me off.
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Date: 2003-08-25 10:41 pm (UTC)but then, i love -draco-, so i obviously have a very high tolerance for annoying gits. hee. see my halo shine, etc~:)
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Date: 2003-08-25 10:50 pm (UTC)I hate them all!
::throws random objects::
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Date: 2003-08-25 08:46 pm (UTC)Yes, I kind of like Draco/Pansy. Pansy may be as strange to me as an alien in this story, but I could see why she was so popular on her planet in her purple fairy outfit. I really really liked this little story, although I occasionally wondered if just once she was going to walk in on Draco unexpectedly and find him with Harry. Sorry, you know how my brain works.
My favorite scene was the two of them on the couch together sleepy and smirky and drawling. "Can I have your titties first thing, then?" is just...yeah, he'd say that. It's true: nobody ever expected THIS Malfoy and THIS Parkinson. They're something else.
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Date: 2003-08-25 09:20 pm (UTC)that's a wonderful comment :D :D
i mean, i don't -always- write h/d, and like... this isn't even smut... so i really -really- appreciate comments, especially multi-paragraph ones >:D
hehehe. you know, i totally have the instinct to make draco gay. like, and oh, her whole little playing-card world comes crashing down because he's GAY or she finds him with harry in the dorm-room 'cause he's late 'cause he's -fucking- having gotten tired of waiting for her titties (or it could even be -blaise- rather than harry) or something, 'cause it doesn't seem as -real- to me to just have it be d/p.
but that's a whole 'nother story, y'know?
i dunno. would it be better with angst and pansy's little constructs falling down? i always feel like writing that, every time i try writing d/p (i've tried twice before). it's like, i can barely get myself to imagine it, but i -wanted- to, just -because- that's the way my brain works, you know?
and i guess the fic would be more popular if it said, H/D with a side of D/P, but. i mean, okay, in my own head he IS in love with potter (he ALWAYS IS), but this is -pansy- i was thinking about in more detail than i had before, you know?
and i could always do that to her, and i think it's kinda inevitable (in my head), but... that's a longer story and i don't really know where to go with it, and i don't know if ending it on a note of "OMG, WHAT??!" is a good enough thing, you know?
i'm wibbly 'cause i -do- want to mess with it and make it all go down in flames and have him be snogging boy X (because in my head, draco's just -gay-, there's no doubt about it), but.
thanks :D
i'm glad it works as is.
like, it -would- be fun to see her crumble, but perhaps not as new and different, for me anyway, you know? it's almost like she was -made- to crumple, it's inevitable. yes, she'd easily be bitter and vicious and vindictive, but so what, what's so interesting about that, really?
i mean, i don't -like- her and like i said, i don't -see- happy d/p, so i want to her little delusions come to an end, but.... that's just -me- talking, and that's not fair to pansy. or something -.-
i'm kind of torn about this, as you can see~:)
you know how they say that happy families are all the same, and it's the angst that makes them all different?
i dunno, does that apply to people's emotional landscapes?
i think it would be in a state of rage that pansy would be most boring & predictable. a part of me -wants- to see her enraged, because this is just -not real-, but. i guess i was more interested in her than in draco, this time around~:)
and wah, thanks again >:D
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Date: 2003-08-26 08:45 pm (UTC)I think this story proves happy families are NOT all the same! It's excellent!
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Date: 2003-08-26 08:39 am (UTC)i love the details and the creepy pansy-ness. little wench. and i like the relating that goes on between them, "You're something else, Parkinson," he says, and she takes that the way she wants it. so good.
also. side-note. i think you've told me before but, what is your favorite faerie tale/myth/legend?. if you have time, write a brief summary of it for me. i asked that question in my journal, so you could respond there if you'd like. but i'm so curious, i was thinking of you when i posted my entry on it.
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Date: 2003-08-26 03:14 pm (UTC)i keep making my girls creeeeepy in fic (well, pansy & hermione & ginny). i dunno what it is. ahahahah. i must have issues :))
and well. obviously, i don't have just one.
once you pop, you can't stop, etc ^^
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Date: 2003-08-26 09:15 pm (UTC)faerie tales. mmm.
Loved it!!
Date: 2003-08-26 10:07 am (UTC)Then I checked out the userinfo and realised that
Whoooaaa...
Sometimes I forget that the world doesn't revolve around me. Sometimes meaning all the time.
Anyhoo, onto the review! (Whoa. That rhymed.)
I think it worked really well, altogether. I love the way your write!! It takes real skillz to show Pansy's
despicabilitydespicablenessdespicalitydespicliciousnessbadness... eh, you know what I mean. (I don't get paid to write reviews, you know. In fact, I don't get paid at all! Michi is a bum ;_;) Er...what I was saying is, I admire how you protrayed her through her own eyes, but in such a way that the reader would be able to glean her real personality.Great usage of irony, right there. I think it's called structural irony and I'm pretty sure I knew the proper term once, but I've already taken the AP exam so I've forgotten it.
And in my mind, Draco does not like her, not at all, but rather is *madly* in lurve with Harry. And it certainly could be read that way.
Squee. Love it.
Great symbolism - silver spoon, life of privilege. Michi picks up on things like that.
I like Pansy's mother. Nice touch. And I like the way Pansy thinks...seems very believable.
And I love love *love* Draco. He feels very in-character to me, and I love the description:
"Draco Malfoy is a sex god, and it's not really looks at all, though he's pale and sharp the way a silver dagger would be. Sometimes Pansy looks at him and she forgets that she -has- him, and she can almost imagine getting papercuts if she were stupid enough to touch him. The thought makes her feel better, because she's not afraid of papercuts and she's not afraid of Draco Malfoy. Everyone else should be. Everyone else doesn't matter after all, though they're useful at times. It's just her and Draco, and they make up the real world."
Ha! Couch scene! Ha!! Purple fairy!! XD;;;
The little details really work for me:
"She sneers and wears her scarlet-woman lipstick to inter-Slytherin parties, and the other girls look at her like she's frightening, like she's something else."
and
"from the tips of her toes to the little blonde hairs above her upper lip."
and
"She smiles brightly, licking some of the purple lipstick off her teeth and purring a little, and she thinks it definitely came off like an invitation. The girls must all be drooling."
It's all just so *delightfully* disgusting. ^__^
And Draco likes her knees! That's so great XD;; One time, my friend got catcalls while walking down the street, although she was wearing this heavy overcoat and this big scarf and these clunky boots, so the only part of her exposed was her knees. So, we figured, that she must have sexy knees.
But what really does it for me is the end:
"He sneers a little, but it's more like a smirk. Draco had never really been smooth anyway, unless she was with him. She gives that to him. She makes him a prince because she's a real princess.
"You're something else, Parkinson," he says, and she takes that the way she wants it."
She's so self-delusional...and it's a little like this entire piece, where we can interpret things the way we want them. Except, of course, if you look beyond the surface, you can find the H/D lurking beneath! (*heh heh heh* ~_^)
I think it's wonderful!
Will you write something like this for Michi's(v2.0) birthday (created: Oct.16)? Except make it H/D, of course. Because Michi knows exactly what she wants...
Of course, presents should be freely given and not demanded, but Michi is turning 18 so too bad.
Much love!
~Michi(v2.1)
hee!
Date: 2003-08-26 03:28 pm (UTC)heheh in my mind, draco's madly in lurve with harry, too :))
in fact, in every story i write, draco's madly in love with harry, whether he knows it or not. I AM A TYRANT!! hee.
i love it. "delightfully disgusting" :D i try >:D<
i mean, it's easy to delight with fluffy h/d smut, but delighting with pansy's upper lip-hair is something else :))
heheh am so glad you liked, especially since i don't think i've ever gotten feedback from you before :)) everytime a new reviewer gives me some lurve, i have the urge to write about yet another weird-colored fairy. or, something like that :D
i dunno if you want me to write an h/d -just- like that, 'cause that'd mean it'd be all about arsehole!draco and how his relationship with harry is all ambiguous, but if you want, sure :D :D
<3!
Re: hee!
Date: 2003-08-28 05:51 am (UTC)i love it. "delightfully disgusting" :D i try >:D<
i mean, it's easy to delight with fluffy h/d smut, but delighting with pansy's upper lip-hair is something else :))
I know. I was surprised myself! I mean, that means one of two things: a.) I really am more twisted than I originally thought or b.) you are a *really* good, gen-u-ine (say it just like that), innovative writer. Or c.) both a and b.
But really, I found myself so disgusted by her and giggling with the "eeewww"ness at the same time. Like when you're little and you play in the dirt and an earthworm crawls over your hand, and you go "eeewww" at the slimy, wet feel...but you giggle. You know you love it.
I don't know how to use adjectives anymore. I only write in metaphors XP;;
And nope, haven't feedbacked before. Now I know I've been missing out!! 0_0 Must...read...more...(But I warn you, I'm a crappy reviewer =P)
Haha!! Weird-coloured faaaaiiiirrryyyyyyy. XD!!!!
(God, I don't know what I'm on, but I want some more of it.)
And write the H/D *just* like that, except Harry and Draco are *madly* in lurve and they have lots of smutty sex and they're not disgusting at all, they're perfect in every way, down to the little *mole* Draco has below his armpit. *Hee!!*
<3 <3
~Michi
Re: hee!
Date: 2003-08-28 11:47 am (UTC)Draco was pretty sure he was perfect. There really wasn't much else he would -add- if he could, except perhaps a mole above his upper lip. He looked at himself consideringly in the mirror, making faces and stretching his mouth out and pulling his cheeks in so that he looked severely malnourished as well as slightly on the retarded side.
He had a full-length mirror under his bed, which he Accio'd when the need arose. And right now he had the need to peruse his perfect, nude, gloriously pale body in the delicate Sunday morning sunlight. He felt like he needed a change. Harry was getting bored, and Draco didn't know why. He just didn't look at him the same way anymore. One casual look at the little mole below his armpit didn't make his breath catch. And Draco knew, because he was watching. Oh yes.
He turned this way and that in front of the propped-up mirror, angling his narrow boy-hips critically in the most effective manner, then turning around and peeking at his arse. It was pretty much a perfect arse, there was no doubt about that. If Harry ever told him otherwise, well, that was it for them. Draco would dump him without a second thought. He might put up with a lot of things, but he won't tolerate an insane boyfriend.
Draco pursed his lips, wiggling his hips a little. Perhaps... perhaps he could use a little... something. Besides the slight lengthening of the hair... maybe a few more silver-blue highlights... oh yes, a little dimple in his chin right... there.
But it wasn't quite enough, even though clearly he was perfect already. Draco needed something that would knock Harry out and make him Draco's little lap-dog forever. Draco thought hard, a little furrow appearing between his well-plucked brows. It had to be something classy. Something useful, but also decorative. SOmething... something no one else had.
Draco's eyes widened, and he could've kissed himself in his rush of sudden glee at his own genius. In fact, as soon as the idea occurred to him, Draco -did- kiss himself, licking the mirror passionately and purring at the back of his throat.
The matter of -how- nonwithstanding, Draco had the perfect accessory to their wild passionate love-fest all picked out.
How could he have missed it?
What Harry really wanted was a nice... small... handful of breast.
~~
<33333 ~:)
Gyah!! <3 <3 <3!!!!!111
Date: 2003-08-28 01:04 pm (UTC)awhjsdkhjdlsk!!! utiuyiouopui oyuoiuo poupoipoipou!!!
*incoherent*
I schnoogle this fic to pieces!! It fills me with wunderfull, bubbly, champagne-like love!
I KEESS YOU NOW!!!!!
Draco is perfect now;_; He is not only perfect, he is a GOD! A perfect, beautiful, androgynous boy-god with BOOBS!!
There is no way that Harry will *not* be Draco's little lap-dog (bitch!!!) forever.
Lucky Harry.
Lucky Mirror.
Happy Michi!!!! XD!!
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Date: 2003-08-26 07:15 pm (UTC)And I adore the last line, like a lot.
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Date: 2003-08-27 10:55 am (UTC)i got you to read draco/pansy and -like- it :D :D
i dunno if i would do likewise, even, 'cause brrrr! draco/pansy, man! 'tis frightening! (there's just something so wrong about it. i mean, i wrote it with a slash subplot last time, and this time there isn't one necessarily but it's still obviously very wrong just 'cause -pansy- is very wrong...)
but even so, this is now my One True Pansy. all other pansies must bow before her :D
hee.
<3! amsogladyouliked! :D
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Date: 2003-08-29 08:14 pm (UTC)It's beautiful, as always. It flows and sticks and intrigues with it's subtely and depth. It must have been hard for you. "Hard on the Knees" has always seemed like the ultimate Pansy angst fic to me, but you wrote it as Draco angst so it's nice you wrote me something with her POV since hers is the one I naturally take. I can see it all crumbling, as well. Maybe it's all the time I spend talking to slashers, but D/P seems doomed as often as it seems perfect-perfect. To compare, Pansy herself needs to crumble, usually. Here too, it would fit but I very much enjoy the fluff. Thank you ever ever so much.
-MK
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Date: 2003-08-29 11:33 pm (UTC)it wasn't too hard, actually. i enjoy writing twisted disturbed females, which bothers me actually since i haven't yet written a female-centric hp fic with a nice, semi-normal female. it's not really all that fluffy, except that nothing goes -wrong- exactly, is it? because it sure did seem to disturb several people, even more than my psychotic!hermione fic. heheheh. maybe that's just the lip-hair ><
i actually think happy d/p is possible if you make them friends.
so yeah, i can see it if they're friends, though it rings a little false because those are the sort of fics that make him friends with crabbe & goyle as well, whereas they all just seem a little too stupid for that. on the other hand, why not. i mean, i can see them as having a "thing" but then becoming friends easily, you know, even teammates. like, some sort of future-fic where pansy & draco are auror partners and then he falls in love with ron, because i didn't wanna say harry, hehehh. i'm hopeless. but you get my meaning. i don't believe in hopeless doomed lurve, i just think that d/p is boring the way most people ship it, because pansy doesn't have enough personality and neither does draco. draco gains one somewhat by being around harry-- harry sets him off, makes him angry and obsessive and makes him lose it completely and he centers all his Evil Plots around him (obviously this is harry's pov, and i have issues with draco's characterization in the books in general, insofar as i see draco entirely as a plot device character largely sometimes).
but anyway, there's nothing that says "perfect" so well as "badly characterized", ahahah.
there's no such thing as "too perfect" there's only "bad writing" :D :D
anyway. i like pansy, and draco, just not necessarily together, but then i'm a mad shipper person plus it's too easy and i dislike easy things.
i mean, in fic and in love.
in real day-to-day life i'm all about the easy things. go figure.
er. and now i've rambled on about nothing again >:D
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Date: 2003-08-30 09:26 am (UTC)Yes, happy d/p usually stems from friendship, a partnership, a lot of snark that neither of them means and I love it and find it adorable. But I think it's due to my own, er, issues and because I always focus on Pansy's POV in everything (RPing her every day) that she will always go insane in mind. Somehow my characters all do. When something bad happens I can never find a reason for her to want to live or at least not go off the deep end. It's just that I put a lot of work into my Pansy and it is hard to not react instinctively cuz of all the Pansy <333. Which is just bad RPing but thankfully most of the real melodrama is just my private stuff with Ruka. I realise the need for restraint.
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Date: 2003-08-30 12:41 pm (UTC)but yeah... my luna is a lot like me, it's unavoidable i think, though i don't think i -suck- at roleplaying. at least she's cute, anyway :D
then again, i can't see anything bad happening to my luna in my rp. but then i'm in a reallyreallyreally silly rp. *giggles*
but.... *swooooooons*
I PLAY WITH DA BEST HAWWY & DWAKO EVAH!!!! >:D<
wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee :D
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Date: 2003-08-30 01:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-08-30 01:52 pm (UTC)okay, here (http://www.livejournal.com/users/iseethestrals) :D :D
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Date: 2003-08-29 10:49 pm (UTC)And I have to say: That was great. That's exactly how I see Pansy, really. She's really well described and you make her life so detailed, and wow, I loved it.
I like how you've written Draco as well, and the ending was pure excellence. Just the simple things, like, how to cross her legs and the others girls and etc were so nicely written and :D I loved it.
Thanks for sharing!
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Date: 2003-08-29 11:24 pm (UTC)well, it depends on what you mean by "i don't know you", heh. i know you're dorothy and i've read several (probably most of your fics) and and i've seen your comments around and stuff, so i guess i sort of know you. freaky, huh ^^
i dunno if -i- would read pansy/draco for even a friend, so wow, i'm impressed. i mean, yeah i know i wrote it, but it's a lot easier writing squicky things than reading them, i dunno what it is ><
but anyway. i'm glad she seemed realistic. she just like... came to me. heh. and now i think this is like my prototype!pansy. all the other pansies must bow before her. and i'm particularly happy to get a slasher to like het, so.
thankees :D
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Date: 2003-08-31 07:27 pm (UTC)Well, Michi is a big P/D shipper and I love her muchly and everything, but H/D is just my ship and stuff ;).
I love your Pansy, she's excellent and just how I see her.
I'm going to friend you :>.