Ilthit (
ilthit) wrote in
femslashficlets2020-04-25 06:44 pm
Entry tags:
[Tarot] The Problem (Original)
Title: The Problem
Fandom: Original
Pairing: Ginny/Penny
Rating: PG
Prompt: Empress
Word Count: 250
Summary: Unrequited longing in a manor house.
Penny's mother was the problem.
The thought came to Ginny while lying quietly in Penny's bed. Moonlight escaped through the half-drawn heavy velvet curtains that had probably been passed through at least two generations before ending up in this room, with its mess of ancient furniture with expensive clothes thrown over them, and Penny's magazines and books littering the flat surfaces. The house creaked its disapproval around them. Penny's chest rose and fell softly in time with her breath. Ginny gazed at it longingly, imagining slipping her hand under the silk chemise and tracing the tight swell of that breast.
She was almost sure Penny felt the same way. Almost. But she fell asleep against Ginny's side without so much as a peck, without once crossing the line. All those gifts, that tenderness, and then suddenly turning the talk of men. As if Ginny had ever looked at a man twice.
So what was the problem? That Ginny was poor? That she might tattle? Never on this. Never on Penny.
So, Penny's mother was the problem. That gently-spoken, stiff-backed, Victorian monstrosity of a mother, who made every little thing about propriety, who drove Penny to those wild parties in London, to drink and the picture shows and on the arms of sordid men... she'd failed to teach Penny how to love.
"I would love to teach you," Ginny whispered in the dark, then fell in a pile of frustrated emotion into the soft covers. Just another mess in Penny's bedroom.
Fandom: Original
Pairing: Ginny/Penny
Rating: PG
Prompt: Empress
Word Count: 250
Summary: Unrequited longing in a manor house.
Penny's mother was the problem.
The thought came to Ginny while lying quietly in Penny's bed. Moonlight escaped through the half-drawn heavy velvet curtains that had probably been passed through at least two generations before ending up in this room, with its mess of ancient furniture with expensive clothes thrown over them, and Penny's magazines and books littering the flat surfaces. The house creaked its disapproval around them. Penny's chest rose and fell softly in time with her breath. Ginny gazed at it longingly, imagining slipping her hand under the silk chemise and tracing the tight swell of that breast.
She was almost sure Penny felt the same way. Almost. But she fell asleep against Ginny's side without so much as a peck, without once crossing the line. All those gifts, that tenderness, and then suddenly turning the talk of men. As if Ginny had ever looked at a man twice.
So what was the problem? That Ginny was poor? That she might tattle? Never on this. Never on Penny.
So, Penny's mother was the problem. That gently-spoken, stiff-backed, Victorian monstrosity of a mother, who made every little thing about propriety, who drove Penny to those wild parties in London, to drink and the picture shows and on the arms of sordid men... she'd failed to teach Penny how to love.
"I would love to teach you," Ginny whispered in the dark, then fell in a pile of frustrated emotion into the soft covers. Just another mess in Penny's bedroom.
