fic: to breathe smoke (hp, pansy/daphne)
Feb. 3rd, 2015 12:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lackadaisicalnereidto breathe smoke | harry potter | pansy/daphne | 1695 words | PG-13, for some imagery (?) (I don't know, tbh) | for the fem!february comment!ficathon which you should all go visit, for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
killing_kurare's beautiful prompt, it's a sad, sad world // When a girl will break a girl just because she can
Women are only good to steal men away from. She doesn't remember when she decided to learn this particular truth, to ingrain it into the fabric of her thoughts and skin and bones, but she did. She'd like to be able to blame her mother, there's some poetry to that, at least, but, to be honest, she's not sure who's to blame, and in the end, it's probably only herself she should thank or blame for things. The unknown origins of it, though --
-- well, they don't stop her from acting according to it.
So Pansy dances. It's not all she does, obviously. She talks, sleeps, eats, fucks, ad other verbs. Dance is mostly just a metaphor she's thought out for this particularly breezy sort of impression she likes to leave. That she's the wind. She could be gentle and she could kill and you're never quite sure which one'a going on until it's too late to react other than how she wanted you to all along. She likes that metaphor. She just (sometimes, when it's cold and it's a Sunday and the moon's not full yet and she's sitting in her flat, naked feet on the hardwood floor, a cigarette between her lips and everything carefully wrapped into the smoke) wishes she didn't need an audience for it.
She thinks, sometimes, that if she didn't think all this, maybe she and Daphne could be friends. Or could have been friends. Or some other form of some other verb that describes this particular type of possibility. Perhaps. She doesn't think this always, she doesn't even think this the majority of time. Daphne is too blonde in direct sunlight and not blonde enough in candle light, too obvious about her intentions and her smiles are too wide. She only paints her nails in gentle, pastel colors and she's polite even behind people's backs. There's something terribly annoying about her and she'd like her life to be rid of her
( would like to scratch the porcelain surface of her skin and wring out the loveliness straight out of her, would like to find the parts that Daphne was made of and rearrange them according to her liking, would like to put her claws into her heart and draw blood and )
(she would like to hear her scream.)
Instead, they're this. Friends but not friends. They meet at parties and similar gatherings and Daphne is always kind to her and shares smiles with Pansy, and Pansy always makes sure to leave a lips shaped red lipstick stain on her cheek whenever she kisses her goodbye or hello.
Perhaps Pansy likes her most (or least) during these parties, simply because Daphne's good at them, in that way that makes it seem like she's not aware she's good at them, that it's all just natural charm and good manners. Some days, Pansy buys that. Some days, she doesn't. It annoys Pansy to no end that she can't tell what's the truth.
Still.
Daphne's not as good as Pansy. (Yet, screams a tiny voice in Pansy's mind. She isn't as good yet.)
Because Pansy's still better at this, Pansy's thrown her fair share of parties last year and she lets Daphne beat her to hosting a party this time, or she doesn't let her and Daphne just does it, or whatever version of the arrangement of subjects and objects in this sentence makes this a more suitable turn of events. Let's say that when the flowers in the meadows start blooming and spring starts creeping up on them, Daphne is the first to send out invitations to her Spring Welcoming party. Pansy sighs and rolls her eyes, which is absurd, because she only sighs and rolls her eyes for people to see, and she's alone in her room now. She'll go to the party, of course. But she'll only RSVP the day before the party, and that's a point for her (even if it's silly to keep points in a game only she knows they're playing). It's part of the aloof appearance, not really showing interest. Appearances are the most important thing, after all. (Or the only thing.)
But --
Despite the pretense, Pansy pays attention to this. She goes shopping early enough, when there is no one to meet or see or talk to at the shops and she chooses a black backless gown to wear for the party. Everyone will choose bright colors in the spirit of spring, and she will stand out, which is always the point.
(And her nails, her nails will be painted red, red like her lips and her blood and this imaginary war.)
Pansy arrives late to the party and waits for Daphne to come to her, not the other way around. She twists the truth until she bends it into her own victory, no matter that Daphne beat her to hosting this party, because she will still be the most noticeable thing in the room and that'll have to count as a victory tonight. When Daphne comes to her, she leans in to hug her and tells Daphne she's relieved to finally only be a guest and not a host and she breathes out smoke into her face and Daphne has to blink and this is revenge, and it's nothing, really, both at once and it still feels so damn good.
Daphne has to blink once more.
(Good.)
(Gotcha.)
Pansy, she has whiskey in her glass later, lazily taking in the people, the lights, the mood. Women always drink wine or champagne, so she has to do something to set herself apart from the rest of them, because she refuses to let anyone think of her as anyone, as if she were the same as everyone, as something ordinary. Pansy Parkinson is extraordinary. She made sure so herself
(when she forged herself out of blood and magic, asgirls heroes monsters women are wont to do. Pansy made herself, out of her mother's cruel words and out of her father's silence, out of her black eye liner and out of that sound Draco makes when she takes his cock all the way into her mouth. Pansy makes herself out of these things and yet she is none of these things, and she will not be broken by easily given smiles and light touches of a hand against her elbow.)
She makes sure to be the last one at the party, and she's not sure why. Maybe to get a rare chance to see what she thinks of as Daphne's facade fall apart. Maybe to see her and maybe to destroy her and maybe to save her, or to let Daphne save her instead. She hopes she'll know which when the time arrives.
The yard is almost completely dark, save for the moon trying to find its way through the trees, like it might miss out on something if it doesn't, and then it's just the two of them.
"I didn't see you there", Daphne says. (Even her ever so regular sentences sound like they're colored in every fucking shade of the rainbow, and) Pansy (is glad she her glass is full) (so she can taste the whiskey) (and not think about the words) (or the lips and tongue that create their sounds) takes a large sip of her whiskey.
"Mind if I have one?" Daphne asks, and Pansy loses her balance for a moment but steadies herself and takes out her pack of cigarettes out of her purse. Daphne grabs one (Pansy expected her fingers to be clumsy, look clumsy, they don't) and Pansy lights it for her, and Daphne leans her back on the fence and now she's standing a breath away from Pansy and Pansy can almost feel her skin against hers.
"Why do you hate me?" Daphne asks then, turns to Pansy and now they're less than one breath away from each other (Pansy has to stop breathing in order not to inhale her) (Pansy thinks she could count Daphne's eyelashes if she wanted to and make a wish on each one) (and she thinks they would maybe come true).
(This feeling is only a momentary lapse, though and then) Pansy straightens herself out, straightens out her back and breathes out smoke again, only this time Daphne doesn't blink). Daphne smiles.
"I'm in love with you", Pansy says then. (For shock value) (because she thinks she might be) (because maybe this breaks her or at least creates a crack).
(But really, isn't this it? The desire to push her fingers and nails into her and leave a bruise in her colors on Daphne's skin, so at least the two of them would know that Pansy was there, that something happened, and it mattered and Pansy did it.)
"You might be. But you're also not quite sober. Come on, you can sleep here."
(Pansy doesn't know how to react to this, so she doesn't.) Pansy follows Daphne upstairs in silence, half a step behind and half a cigarette ahead.
They're walking up a staircase and Pansy is (definitely) (definitely not, no, she would never) checking out Daphne's ass in her baby blue dress and Pansy stops walking, waits for Daphne to notice. Daphne turns around, probably when she notices the distinct lack of the click clack of Pansy's heels (Pansy loves the heels, they make her taller than Daphne) and walks down towards her and Pansy (has to has to has to, so she) touches her (wants to feel her kiss her have her devour her ruin her), her fingernails push into Daphne's hips and Daphne still doesn't blink, Daphne smiles again and Pansy kisses her then and she thinks she's still smiling even while her beige colored fingernails dig into the skin of Pansy's neck (this will leave a mark) and Pansy makes a sound that doesn't sound at all like a growl, no, and pushes Daphne against the staircase railing. Daphne tastes (like a first time smoker) (like innocence verging on sin) (like sugar and spice and all things nice) (like coming home).
"Careful, we'll fall", Daphne's voice echoes on the staircase.
(A roll of a pair of eyes, a smile. Intent.)
"Isn't that the point?"
killing_kurare's beautiful prompt, it's a sad, sad world // When a girl will break a girl just because she canWomen are only good to steal men away from. She doesn't remember when she decided to learn this particular truth, to ingrain it into the fabric of her thoughts and skin and bones, but she did. She'd like to be able to blame her mother, there's some poetry to that, at least, but, to be honest, she's not sure who's to blame, and in the end, it's probably only herself she should thank or blame for things. The unknown origins of it, though --
-- well, they don't stop her from acting according to it.
So Pansy dances. It's not all she does, obviously. She talks, sleeps, eats, fucks, ad other verbs. Dance is mostly just a metaphor she's thought out for this particularly breezy sort of impression she likes to leave. That she's the wind. She could be gentle and she could kill and you're never quite sure which one'a going on until it's too late to react other than how she wanted you to all along. She likes that metaphor. She just (sometimes, when it's cold and it's a Sunday and the moon's not full yet and she's sitting in her flat, naked feet on the hardwood floor, a cigarette between her lips and everything carefully wrapped into the smoke) wishes she didn't need an audience for it.
She thinks, sometimes, that if she didn't think all this, maybe she and Daphne could be friends. Or could have been friends. Or some other form of some other verb that describes this particular type of possibility. Perhaps. She doesn't think this always, she doesn't even think this the majority of time. Daphne is too blonde in direct sunlight and not blonde enough in candle light, too obvious about her intentions and her smiles are too wide. She only paints her nails in gentle, pastel colors and she's polite even behind people's backs. There's something terribly annoying about her and she'd like her life to be rid of her
( would like to scratch the porcelain surface of her skin and wring out the loveliness straight out of her, would like to find the parts that Daphne was made of and rearrange them according to her liking, would like to put her claws into her heart and draw blood and )
(she would like to hear her scream.)
Instead, they're this. Friends but not friends. They meet at parties and similar gatherings and Daphne is always kind to her and shares smiles with Pansy, and Pansy always makes sure to leave a lips shaped red lipstick stain on her cheek whenever she kisses her goodbye or hello.
Perhaps Pansy likes her most (or least) during these parties, simply because Daphne's good at them, in that way that makes it seem like she's not aware she's good at them, that it's all just natural charm and good manners. Some days, Pansy buys that. Some days, she doesn't. It annoys Pansy to no end that she can't tell what's the truth.
Still.
Daphne's not as good as Pansy. (Yet, screams a tiny voice in Pansy's mind. She isn't as good yet.)
Because Pansy's still better at this, Pansy's thrown her fair share of parties last year and she lets Daphne beat her to hosting a party this time, or she doesn't let her and Daphne just does it, or whatever version of the arrangement of subjects and objects in this sentence makes this a more suitable turn of events. Let's say that when the flowers in the meadows start blooming and spring starts creeping up on them, Daphne is the first to send out invitations to her Spring Welcoming party. Pansy sighs and rolls her eyes, which is absurd, because she only sighs and rolls her eyes for people to see, and she's alone in her room now. She'll go to the party, of course. But she'll only RSVP the day before the party, and that's a point for her (even if it's silly to keep points in a game only she knows they're playing). It's part of the aloof appearance, not really showing interest. Appearances are the most important thing, after all. (Or the only thing.)
But --
Despite the pretense, Pansy pays attention to this. She goes shopping early enough, when there is no one to meet or see or talk to at the shops and she chooses a black backless gown to wear for the party. Everyone will choose bright colors in the spirit of spring, and she will stand out, which is always the point.
(And her nails, her nails will be painted red, red like her lips and her blood and this imaginary war.)
Pansy arrives late to the party and waits for Daphne to come to her, not the other way around. She twists the truth until she bends it into her own victory, no matter that Daphne beat her to hosting this party, because she will still be the most noticeable thing in the room and that'll have to count as a victory tonight. When Daphne comes to her, she leans in to hug her and tells Daphne she's relieved to finally only be a guest and not a host and she breathes out smoke into her face and Daphne has to blink and this is revenge, and it's nothing, really, both at once and it still feels so damn good.
Daphne has to blink once more.
(Good.)
(Gotcha.)
Pansy, she has whiskey in her glass later, lazily taking in the people, the lights, the mood. Women always drink wine or champagne, so she has to do something to set herself apart from the rest of them, because she refuses to let anyone think of her as anyone, as if she were the same as everyone, as something ordinary. Pansy Parkinson is extraordinary. She made sure so herself
(when she forged herself out of blood and magic, as
She makes sure to be the last one at the party, and she's not sure why. Maybe to get a rare chance to see what she thinks of as Daphne's facade fall apart. Maybe to see her and maybe to destroy her and maybe to save her, or to let Daphne save her instead. She hopes she'll know which when the time arrives.
The yard is almost completely dark, save for the moon trying to find its way through the trees, like it might miss out on something if it doesn't, and then it's just the two of them.
"I didn't see you there", Daphne says. (Even her ever so regular sentences sound like they're colored in every fucking shade of the rainbow, and) Pansy (is glad she her glass is full) (so she can taste the whiskey) (and not think about the words) (or the lips and tongue that create their sounds) takes a large sip of her whiskey.
"Mind if I have one?" Daphne asks, and Pansy loses her balance for a moment but steadies herself and takes out her pack of cigarettes out of her purse. Daphne grabs one (Pansy expected her fingers to be clumsy, look clumsy, they don't) and Pansy lights it for her, and Daphne leans her back on the fence and now she's standing a breath away from Pansy and Pansy can almost feel her skin against hers.
"Why do you hate me?" Daphne asks then, turns to Pansy and now they're less than one breath away from each other (Pansy has to stop breathing in order not to inhale her) (Pansy thinks she could count Daphne's eyelashes if she wanted to and make a wish on each one) (and she thinks they would maybe come true).
(This feeling is only a momentary lapse, though and then) Pansy straightens herself out, straightens out her back and breathes out smoke again, only this time Daphne doesn't blink). Daphne smiles.
"I'm in love with you", Pansy says then. (For shock value) (because she thinks she might be) (because maybe this breaks her or at least creates a crack).
(But really, isn't this it? The desire to push her fingers and nails into her and leave a bruise in her colors on Daphne's skin, so at least the two of them would know that Pansy was there, that something happened, and it mattered and Pansy did it.)
"You might be. But you're also not quite sober. Come on, you can sleep here."
(Pansy doesn't know how to react to this, so she doesn't.) Pansy follows Daphne upstairs in silence, half a step behind and half a cigarette ahead.
They're walking up a staircase and Pansy is (definitely) (definitely not, no, she would never) checking out Daphne's ass in her baby blue dress and Pansy stops walking, waits for Daphne to notice. Daphne turns around, probably when she notices the distinct lack of the click clack of Pansy's heels (Pansy loves the heels, they make her taller than Daphne) and walks down towards her and Pansy (has to has to has to, so she) touches her (wants to feel her kiss her have her devour her ruin her), her fingernails push into Daphne's hips and Daphne still doesn't blink, Daphne smiles again and Pansy kisses her then and she thinks she's still smiling even while her beige colored fingernails dig into the skin of Pansy's neck (this will leave a mark) and Pansy makes a sound that doesn't sound at all like a growl, no, and pushes Daphne against the staircase railing. Daphne tastes (like a first time smoker) (like innocence verging on sin) (like sugar and spice and all things nice) (like coming home).
"Careful, we'll fall", Daphne's voice echoes on the staircase.
(A roll of a pair of eyes, a smile. Intent.)
"Isn't that the point?"
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no subject
Date: 2015-02-03 02:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-02-03 03:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-02-03 04:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-02-03 04:38 pm (UTC)now off to hurriedly write my next fic so i don't miss the deadlineOh and i wanted to ask, did you sign up for femslashbigbang by any chance?
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Date: 2015-02-03 04:39 pm (UTC)I actually hate doing stuff like big bangs because I always get so stressed.
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Date: 2015-02-03 04:44 pm (UTC)then I shall just be sitting here, hoping you prompt/fill sth at the ficathon<3
I am certain the world needs more femslash. Especially Pansy Parkinson.
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Date: 2015-02-03 05:24 pm (UTC)The world will be flooded with the damn stuff by the time I'm done.
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Date: 2015-02-03 08:51 pm (UTC)Also loved this section loads!: Daphne is too blonde in direct sunlight and not blonde enough in candle light, too obvious about her intentions and her smiles are too wide. She only paints her nails in gentle, pastel colors and she's polite even behind people's backs.
no subject
Date: 2015-02-04 10:23 am (UTC)<3
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Date: 2015-02-06 04:45 pm (UTC)First of all I want to thank you of course for writing it! And after the first read I got to say: I-love-it! It’s so amazing what you did with the prompt, with the pair, with Pansy’s character in general! I adore the self-confident image of this woman who is at the same time kinda torn but even confident in her torn-ness :D
And your writing style. Oh my goodness, it’s amazing! I read you haven’t written anything in a longer time? I would’ve never known! And this is not just to flatter you, it’s my honest opinion :-*
I love what you did with the brackets (is that the right term? ._. I’m from Germany, sry, I mean these special sentences that give a deeper meaning and bring out the ambivalence in Pansy), it’s so meaningful and spices things up :D
Let’s take a closer look on the text :3
“a cigarette between her lips and everything carefully wrapped into the smoke” Love that <3
“Daphne is too blonde in direct sunlight and not blonde enough in candle light” Awesome little detail and also a great way of getting into Pansy’s thoughts (kinda :’D Hope you know what I mean)
“would like to scratch the porcelain surface of her skin” porcelain <3 Reminds me a bit of Sansa :D Also this description of Daphne being always “good” and stuff :D
“Pansy always makes sure to leave a lips shaped red lipstick stain on her cheek whenever she kisses her goodbye or hello.” xDD That is SO Pansy :D
“Appearances are the most important thing, after all.” As well as this ^^
“(And her nails, her nails will be painted red, red like her lips and her blood and this imaginary war.)” Ooooh, I love the picture of Pansy in the black dress and the red nails and lips! Such a femme fatale :D
“Women always drink wine or champagne, so she has to do something to set herself apart from the rest of them” It’s awesome how being different is the central theme in this fic and how variously you show that!
“(Pansy thinks she could count Daphne's eyelashes if she wanted to and make a wish on each one) (and she thinks they would maybe come true).” Awwwwww, beautifully written *_*
“half a step behind and half a cigarette ahead.” Brilliant. Just brilliant.
“and Pansy is (definitely) (definitely not, no, she would never) checking out Daphne's ass” Hahaha :D Great that you also got a sense of humor in this piece!
"Careful, we'll fall", Daphne's voice echoes on the staircase.
(A roll of a pair of eyes, a smile. Intent.)
"Isn't that the point?"
And a perfect ending. Such a great wordplay!
So, as you can see I loved it. Did I mention that already? No? Okay: I LOVE IT!!!!
I couldn’t be happier about a prompt-fill, you wrote Pansy the way I love it, your style is unique and fresh and entertaining and the setting perfect (love them on parties and the like) ^^
Thanks again for making me really happy :3
*goes into a corner and cries in awe*
The world needs more Pansy-fics like this one ^^
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Date: 2015-02-14 10:02 am (UTC)oh, it's ok, i didn't mean to rush you, i was just worried lj didn't notify you or something and that you'd miss the fic entirely
I adore the self-confident image of this woman who is at the same time kinda torn but even confident in her torn-ness :D
i adore this description of her, perfect, and i love that she came across as this, because i think she definitely is that, among other things she is
And your writing style. Oh my goodness, it’s amazing! I read you haven’t written anything in a longer time? I would’ve never known! And this is not just to flatter you, it’s my honest opinion :-*
you flatter well, my friend. but thank you, those are lovely words to hear.
I love what you did with the brackets (is that the right term? ._. I’m from Germany, sry, I mean these special sentences that give a deeper meaning and bring out the ambivalence in Pansy), it’s so meaningful and spices things up :D
brackets or parantheses, i think both are okay terms. i'm from croatia, so i'm not a native speaker either, and no need to apologize :) and also, thank you, i looooove playing with parantheses, so the pleasure's mine, basically. i think i overuse parantheses A LOT in general, but i forgive myself for it.
“a cigarette between her lips and everything carefully wrapped into the smoke” Love that <3
i'm a smoker, that's to blame for pansy smoking mostly, and i like the visuals of it.
“Pansy always makes sure to leave a lips shaped red lipstick stain on her cheek whenever she kisses her goodbye or hello.” xDD That is SO Pansy :D
yup. she has to leave a mark.
“(And her nails, her nails will be painted red, red like her lips and her blood and this imaginary war.)” Ooooh, I love the picture of Pansy in the black dress and the red nails and lips! Such a femme fatale :D
yup. and obviously, it's all a constructed image made specifically to look like a femme fatale, but then, aren't all femmes fatale exactly that?
“Women always drink wine or champagne, so she has to do something to set herself apart from the rest of them” It’s awesome how being different is the central theme in this fic and how variously you show that!
i think it's often that women try to differentiate themselves from other women and want to appear different and i wanted to show that as it is - just a self constructed identity made to hide oneself, not actually a fact
“(Pansy thinks she could count Daphne's eyelashes if she wanted to and make a wish on each one) (and she thinks they would maybe come true).” Awwwwww, beautifully written *_*
thank you, i was really happy with that part
“half a step behind and half a cigarette ahead.” Brilliant. Just brilliant.
with this one too :D
“and Pansy is (definitely) (definitely not, no, she would never) checking out Daphne's ass” Hahaha :D Great that you also got a sense of humor in this piece!
OH THANK YOU, i love it when things i intend to be sort of funny are funny to someone else as well, because i'm terribly nervous about writing anything humorous, tbh, so this means a lot <3
And a perfect ending. Such a great wordplay!
thank you! i'm terribly nervous about writing endings and i mostly don't know what to do with them, so i'm glad this turned out okay.
So, as you can see I loved it. Did I mention that already? No? Okay: I LOVE IT!!!!
I couldn’t be happier about a prompt-fill, you wrote Pansy the way I love it, your style is unique and fresh and entertaining and the setting perfect (love them on parties and the like) ^^
Thanks again for making me really happy :3
*goes into a corner and cries in awe*
The world needs more Pansy-fics like this one ^^
you are so lovely and kind and thank you <33333 it was a pleasure :)
no subject
Date: 2015-02-08 08:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-02-12 07:56 pm (UTC)