They made a statue of us, Our noses have begun to rust
I've had this drabble sitting on my computer for a few months, so I touched it up and figured I'd share it with you guys. It's Ron/Pansy and very, very short. I was planning on including a sketch to go with the story, but my scanner is being a bitch and somehow my computer deleted the application to run it? By itself? Whatevs.
Un-beta'd and unchecked for britglish, etc. PG, maybe PG-13. Also, I suck at titles.
It's hot. He's buzzed. The shirt Hermione'd buttoned for him two hours earlier is strangling him.
"Ow, ow, take it OFF, Weasel!"
"Shudup," Ron slurs, and pulls Pansy closer in the heat of the club, winding his now bare arms around her petite waist. He closes his eyes and falls into the scent of her hair, spicy and not at all like Hermione's.
"Weasley," Pansy says, and this time she's very serious.
"Mm?"
"What happened to your arms?"
"What?" Pansy gingerly removes his arms from her waist and turns them over in her hands, tracing the long scars that worm their way out from under the pushed-up cuffs of his shirt all the way down to choke his wrists.
"What the fuck have you done to yourself, Ron?"
"Shit! No, that's not what you think!" He yanks his arms back and hastily pushes his sleeves down again, buttoning them safely back up. Fucking four beers, how had he forgotten so easily?
"Not what I think? Do you know what I think?" Pansy's eyes narrow, her face shuttered closed. She looks the same way she always had, back when she hissed obscenities at Hermione in the corridors at school and followed Malfoy around like a dog. He doesn't like it. "I think you're weak and a coward to do such things, Weasley, honestly, it's the most-"
"Pansy." He grabs her solidly, holds her straight as she falls silent. "It's not what you think. I got injured helping- helping Harry fight the... the death eaters. Back in fifth year." She looks confused and the suspicion in her eyes hurts him like it shouldn't. He doesn't know why. He doesn't know her, she's just another Slytherin brat. "Come on, Parkinson, you remember." His voice is gruff to hide the pleading. "It was all over the Daily Prophet."
Her face clears reluctantly and he feels like heaving a sigh of relief. Only he doesn't, because this is Pansy Parkinson and he doesn't care.
"So what happened?"
"We were in the Department of Mysteries-"
"Really?! Wow, there must have been some amazing things in there! Gosh, I'm suprised they didn't obliviate you, that's top secret stuff, that is-"
"Pansy," Ron says, smiling. He pulls her closer, loves how her body falls easily against his, the way Hermione's never does. "Shut up."
"You're pissed." Pansy giggles into his shoulder. He can feel her smile through the fabric.
"So're you." He rests his chin lightly on her black head as they sway to the music. It's the wrong tempo for slow dancing, but he doesn't care. Pansy is warm in his arms, everything's out of focus, all soft edges, and this is his escape.
end
Christmas is nearly here and it's making me really sad because I'm not even excited. It doesn't even feel like Christmas. And it's not for lack of trying. There's about three feet of snow outside right now. I just... I used to get so excited for holidays. And now it's like they barely register. =/
I have about 15-20 Supernatural icons that I'm contemplating posting. They're probably the best icons I've ever made, but that's not saying much... anyway, maybe tomorrow. Or later tonight, if I'm bored. Not that anyone's around, you people and your Christmassy lives. XP
I've been listening to Regina Spektor for about a year, but only her newest album. I just yesterday remembered to download Soviet Kitsch, and omg, awesome. I had trouble narrowing it down, but here's my favorite song:
Check out the rest of the album if you liked that, it's so amazing. Aight, peoples, that's all I got. Might be back later with iconage, we'll see. Happy holidays!
Un-beta'd and unchecked for britglish, etc. PG, maybe PG-13. Also, I suck at titles.
It's hot. He's buzzed. The shirt Hermione'd buttoned for him two hours earlier is strangling him.
"Ow, ow, take it OFF, Weasel!"
"Shudup," Ron slurs, and pulls Pansy closer in the heat of the club, winding his now bare arms around her petite waist. He closes his eyes and falls into the scent of her hair, spicy and not at all like Hermione's.
"Weasley," Pansy says, and this time she's very serious.
"Mm?"
"What happened to your arms?"
"What?" Pansy gingerly removes his arms from her waist and turns them over in her hands, tracing the long scars that worm their way out from under the pushed-up cuffs of his shirt all the way down to choke his wrists.
"What the fuck have you done to yourself, Ron?"
"Shit! No, that's not what you think!" He yanks his arms back and hastily pushes his sleeves down again, buttoning them safely back up. Fucking four beers, how had he forgotten so easily?
"Not what I think? Do you know what I think?" Pansy's eyes narrow, her face shuttered closed. She looks the same way she always had, back when she hissed obscenities at Hermione in the corridors at school and followed Malfoy around like a dog. He doesn't like it. "I think you're weak and a coward to do such things, Weasley, honestly, it's the most-"
"Pansy." He grabs her solidly, holds her straight as she falls silent. "It's not what you think. I got injured helping- helping Harry fight the... the death eaters. Back in fifth year." She looks confused and the suspicion in her eyes hurts him like it shouldn't. He doesn't know why. He doesn't know her, she's just another Slytherin brat. "Come on, Parkinson, you remember." His voice is gruff to hide the pleading. "It was all over the Daily Prophet."
Her face clears reluctantly and he feels like heaving a sigh of relief. Only he doesn't, because this is Pansy Parkinson and he doesn't care.
"So what happened?"
"We were in the Department of Mysteries-"
"Really?! Wow, there must have been some amazing things in there! Gosh, I'm suprised they didn't obliviate you, that's top secret stuff, that is-"
"Pansy," Ron says, smiling. He pulls her closer, loves how her body falls easily against his, the way Hermione's never does. "Shut up."
"You're pissed." Pansy giggles into his shoulder. He can feel her smile through the fabric.
"So're you." He rests his chin lightly on her black head as they sway to the music. It's the wrong tempo for slow dancing, but he doesn't care. Pansy is warm in his arms, everything's out of focus, all soft edges, and this is his escape.
end
Christmas is nearly here and it's making me really sad because I'm not even excited. It doesn't even feel like Christmas. And it's not for lack of trying. There's about three feet of snow outside right now. I just... I used to get so excited for holidays. And now it's like they barely register. =/
I have about 15-20 Supernatural icons that I'm contemplating posting. They're probably the best icons I've ever made, but that's not saying much... anyway, maybe tomorrow. Or later tonight, if I'm bored. Not that anyone's around, you people and your Christmassy lives. XP
I've been listening to Regina Spektor for about a year, but only her newest album. I just yesterday remembered to download Soviet Kitsch, and omg, awesome. I had trouble narrowing it down, but here's my favorite song:
Check out the rest of the album if you liked that, it's so amazing. Aight, peoples, that's all I got. Might be back later with iconage, we'll see. Happy holidays!