[skins] 3 people katie never wanted to be
Title: Three People Katie Fitch Never Wanted To Be
Characters/Pairings: mild Katie/Effy, Katie/Naomi, and the slightest hint of unrequited Katie/Emily
Rating: if you can watch Skins, you can read this, so, what, a hard M with language?
Warnings: the slightest hint of unrequited Katie/Emily
Spoilers: none, really
Author's note: for the lovely pictureplaces, who made me a fantabulous header. Thank you, bb.
Effy Stonem:
She’s beautiful, Effy is. Even Katie can see that, though her narcissism only parts its curtains rarely. Effy has eyes like bruises in the shape of a handprint, and a mouth that’s red and fuckable, all sex and smoke. Katie gets that. She gets why Effy dresses like a whore, all short dresses and torn netted stockings, just a step away from being a typical teenaged slut, saved only by the melancholy in the movement of her fingers.
Poor little Effy Stonem, all broken up inside and poured into the mould of her brother feminised.
The thing is, Katie sees Effy for who she really is. When Freddie and Cook look at her and see beautiful, ephemeral Effy, floating in a different dimension to their own, Katie’s lips curve in a sneer, her own type of beauty. Because those boys are blinded with lust, maybe love, but blinded nonetheless. Because Effy, yeah, she’s gorgeous. She’s sexy and flirty and everything that boys want. But the real her, the Effy that only Katie can see, is pathetic and small and fragile, a slipshod mind that could be brilliant but is instead splintered into a thousand different pieces of sanity. Effy is nothing but a piece of shit little girl crying for her mummy, and only Katie can see through her eyelinered exterior.
But that’s its own beauty, yeah? That Effy is so fucking vulnerable? People look at her, and they want to fuck her, and they want to protect her. Poor Effy, they want to wrap her in cotton wool like pretty jewellery, and unravel her only to stare and stroke their dicks. Effy is present only physically, her mind already drifting in the wind, and. And. Katie doesn’t want to be that. She wants to be present, she wants to be heard, she wants to be someone.
[She whispered this into Effy’s ears, once. Pressed insults and compliments and secrets into the soft skin of Effy’s concave belly, the fragile dip between her collarbones. She painted recriminations with her tongue, and slid her fingers up up up into Effy and smiled as the girl crashed apart underneath her, dark hair over the pillow and three different, broken names on her lips.]
Emily Fitch:
Emily, Katie thinks, it’s nothing but a paler reflection of Katie. The same white-washed skin and the same lolita lips, but Katie’s curve with sex and cunning and slick cynicality, and the corners of Emily’s mouth lift with beguile and happy naiveté.
Katie loves Emily. She does, she adores her sister with everything she has, everything she is, but she doesn’t understand her. She doesn’t see how Emily can possibly trip through life with that same pathetic passivity that bends the spines of her idiot sycophants. Because Emily is so beautiful, so unbelievably fucking gorgeous that when Katie looks at her out of the corner of her eye, sometimes her breath catches. And Katie uses that same, identical (mirror opposite) beauty to her advantage. She lets her skirt slide up pale legs and her top settle low on her breasts. She looks at boys through her eyelashes and pouts her glossed lips.
Emily, though. She looks down and shoots sideway smiles at other girls. She looks at Naomi with soft eyes and curves her entire body into the other girl, every part of her warm and open.
Katie doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want love, doesn’t want that aching weakness that makes Emily cry at night. She won’t, can’t, ever be that person who loves so much that it implodes in her heart.
It sickens Katie, to watch Emily look at Naomi like that. She wonders why no one looks at her like that, and then she turns around and winks at Freddie, licks her lips at Cook, and fucks her way to an A in History and she remembers that love, that’s just an inconvenience, and she doesn’t ever need that fragility anyway.
[Sometimes, at night, when Katie slips her hand down between her thighs, red hair flashes into her mind and she doesn’t think about whether its her own, or Emily's.
When she and Emily were little girls, they’d shared everything. They’d wept out their frustrations on each other’s shoulders, and they’d lingered in their embraces, but now it’s different, now something’s broken between them.
Katie can’t fix it, so she just breaks it further.]
Naomi Campbell:
Naomi is one of those fucking idealistic cunts who wear their hearts and their opinions on their sleeves. She’s one of those lezza bitches who think they’re better than everyone else, so fucking superior, and she isn’t.
She isn’t.
Every time Katie looks at her, she sees Naomi looking back with a sneer twisting that small mouth. She sees Emily looking at her, too, with eyes the size of Katie’s bracelets, and she remembers the day when she saw Emily’s vibrator sticking out of Naomi’s handbag.
Naomi thinks that just because she’s political, because she fucking cares about the environment or some shit, she’s smarter than everyone else. She thinks that it’s her against the world and that she’s a goddamn martyr for suffering the idiocy of other people, of people like Katie and her friends, when they understand everything better than Naomi ever will.
Naomi Campbell, not nearly as pretty as her namesake, just a vicious, pathetic bitch who fucks with Katie’s life and with her sister and screws them both over. She doesn’t even know how to use her body, or her words, to get what she wants. She just blunders through carefully laid plans and traps with pure dumb brutality and somehow, somehow, gets what she wants.
Katie doesn’t want to be that person that people stare at with disgust in their eyes. She doesn’t want to be stubbornly different, she doesn’t want to stand away from the crowd just because she’s so bloody convinced that she’s alone.
Katie wants to be above the crowd, yeah. Fuck yes. But she wants to get there because she’s better and smarter and more beautiful, not because of some witty fucking badges or a girl on her arm.
[One day at school, Naomi’d come into the girls’ bathroom while Katie was still rinsing off her hands and fixing her make up. Naomi had flushed, a pretty peach pink over her lips, and had walked straight up behind her, wrapped her arms around her, and kissed her, lush and wet and fucking gorgeous.
Katie’d shuddered, once, in pleasure before pushing her off and swearing, wiping her hand over her lips and smearing her lipgloss, and Naomi’s eyes had widened and she’d backed away. “Sorry, wrong twin,” and.
And Katie forgot all about it.]
Characters/Pairings: mild Katie/Effy, Katie/Naomi, and the slightest hint of unrequited Katie/Emily
Rating: if you can watch Skins, you can read this, so, what, a hard M with language?
Warnings: the slightest hint of unrequited Katie/Emily
Spoilers: none, really
Author's note: for the lovely pictureplaces, who made me a fantabulous header. Thank you, bb.
Effy Stonem:
She’s beautiful, Effy is. Even Katie can see that, though her narcissism only parts its curtains rarely. Effy has eyes like bruises in the shape of a handprint, and a mouth that’s red and fuckable, all sex and smoke. Katie gets that. She gets why Effy dresses like a whore, all short dresses and torn netted stockings, just a step away from being a typical teenaged slut, saved only by the melancholy in the movement of her fingers.
Poor little Effy Stonem, all broken up inside and poured into the mould of her brother feminised.
The thing is, Katie sees Effy for who she really is. When Freddie and Cook look at her and see beautiful, ephemeral Effy, floating in a different dimension to their own, Katie’s lips curve in a sneer, her own type of beauty. Because those boys are blinded with lust, maybe love, but blinded nonetheless. Because Effy, yeah, she’s gorgeous. She’s sexy and flirty and everything that boys want. But the real her, the Effy that only Katie can see, is pathetic and small and fragile, a slipshod mind that could be brilliant but is instead splintered into a thousand different pieces of sanity. Effy is nothing but a piece of shit little girl crying for her mummy, and only Katie can see through her eyelinered exterior.
But that’s its own beauty, yeah? That Effy is so fucking vulnerable? People look at her, and they want to fuck her, and they want to protect her. Poor Effy, they want to wrap her in cotton wool like pretty jewellery, and unravel her only to stare and stroke their dicks. Effy is present only physically, her mind already drifting in the wind, and. And. Katie doesn’t want to be that. She wants to be present, she wants to be heard, she wants to be someone.
[She whispered this into Effy’s ears, once. Pressed insults and compliments and secrets into the soft skin of Effy’s concave belly, the fragile dip between her collarbones. She painted recriminations with her tongue, and slid her fingers up up up into Effy and smiled as the girl crashed apart underneath her, dark hair over the pillow and three different, broken names on her lips.]
Emily Fitch:
Emily, Katie thinks, it’s nothing but a paler reflection of Katie. The same white-washed skin and the same lolita lips, but Katie’s curve with sex and cunning and slick cynicality, and the corners of Emily’s mouth lift with beguile and happy naiveté.
Katie loves Emily. She does, she adores her sister with everything she has, everything she is, but she doesn’t understand her. She doesn’t see how Emily can possibly trip through life with that same pathetic passivity that bends the spines of her idiot sycophants. Because Emily is so beautiful, so unbelievably fucking gorgeous that when Katie looks at her out of the corner of her eye, sometimes her breath catches. And Katie uses that same, identical (mirror opposite) beauty to her advantage. She lets her skirt slide up pale legs and her top settle low on her breasts. She looks at boys through her eyelashes and pouts her glossed lips.
Emily, though. She looks down and shoots sideway smiles at other girls. She looks at Naomi with soft eyes and curves her entire body into the other girl, every part of her warm and open.
Katie doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want love, doesn’t want that aching weakness that makes Emily cry at night. She won’t, can’t, ever be that person who loves so much that it implodes in her heart.
It sickens Katie, to watch Emily look at Naomi like that. She wonders why no one looks at her like that, and then she turns around and winks at Freddie, licks her lips at Cook, and fucks her way to an A in History and she remembers that love, that’s just an inconvenience, and she doesn’t ever need that fragility anyway.
[Sometimes, at night, when Katie slips her hand down between her thighs, red hair flashes into her mind and she doesn’t think about whether its her own, or Emily's.
When she and Emily were little girls, they’d shared everything. They’d wept out their frustrations on each other’s shoulders, and they’d lingered in their embraces, but now it’s different, now something’s broken between them.
Katie can’t fix it, so she just breaks it further.]
Naomi Campbell:
Naomi is one of those fucking idealistic cunts who wear their hearts and their opinions on their sleeves. She’s one of those lezza bitches who think they’re better than everyone else, so fucking superior, and she isn’t.
She isn’t.
Every time Katie looks at her, she sees Naomi looking back with a sneer twisting that small mouth. She sees Emily looking at her, too, with eyes the size of Katie’s bracelets, and she remembers the day when she saw Emily’s vibrator sticking out of Naomi’s handbag.
Naomi thinks that just because she’s political, because she fucking cares about the environment or some shit, she’s smarter than everyone else. She thinks that it’s her against the world and that she’s a goddamn martyr for suffering the idiocy of other people, of people like Katie and her friends, when they understand everything better than Naomi ever will.
Naomi Campbell, not nearly as pretty as her namesake, just a vicious, pathetic bitch who fucks with Katie’s life and with her sister and screws them both over. She doesn’t even know how to use her body, or her words, to get what she wants. She just blunders through carefully laid plans and traps with pure dumb brutality and somehow, somehow, gets what she wants.
Katie doesn’t want to be that person that people stare at with disgust in their eyes. She doesn’t want to be stubbornly different, she doesn’t want to stand away from the crowd just because she’s so bloody convinced that she’s alone.
Katie wants to be above the crowd, yeah. Fuck yes. But she wants to get there because she’s better and smarter and more beautiful, not because of some witty fucking badges or a girl on her arm.
[One day at school, Naomi’d come into the girls’ bathroom while Katie was still rinsing off her hands and fixing her make up. Naomi had flushed, a pretty peach pink over her lips, and had walked straight up behind her, wrapped her arms around her, and kissed her, lush and wet and fucking gorgeous.
Katie’d shuddered, once, in pleasure before pushing her off and swearing, wiping her hand over her lips and smearing her lipgloss, and Naomi’s eyes had widened and she’d backed away. “Sorry, wrong twin,” and.
And Katie forgot all about it.]