angelgazing (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
angelgazing) wrote2005-01-11 06:25 pm
angelgazing) wrote2005-01-11 06:25 pm
Entry tags:
to Alice on her first birthday
Here is the first installment of what I like to call my Alphaficlets. Or, my Ficlet Project of Doom. You should be able ot figure out why. You should also know that the term ficlet should in no way be taken to mean a certain thing, because I cannot limit myself to 1000 words most of the time. Well, actually I only really cheated on one...
Abomination - PG - HP - Remus/Sirius
The first vampire crawled out of the mouth of hell, looked around and said, "huh." (Not actually 'huh' in the sense that we know it now, but 'huh' in the since of a great stupid demon with no concept of speech that wasn't 'grr' or 'arg' who wanted very much to crawl back into the hole he'd emerged from because he'd just discovered the unpleasantness of the sun.)
It was his ashes as they scattered in a sudden light breeze when the sun was right on top of the sky that slipped into the blood an old hag was using in a love spell. The hag was burned the next night for witchery by a group of people she'd lived with for years and had never caused any harm. (She escaped, of course, only to be hanged in the next town over for supposedly stealing the hair from a local's horse, which was in actuality a unicorn whose horn had been harvested months prior.) The God fearing townspeople raided her cottage to burn all objects even remotely connected to witchcraft in any folklore ever spread by word of mouth or hieroglyphics. They burned candles and oils and a great patch of rosemary, but one of their number (it is believed to be the leader of their number, the newest parish of the local church) pocketed the love potion completely by accident.
The newest parish was young and impressionable and mildly infatuated with the girl who had grown up on the next farm over. But he was also true to what he believed to be the word of the lord and as such, is not the one who drank or gave the love potion. Instead he hid it in a drawer of his room, unable to contemplate what would happen if someone found out that it had spent the bigger part of a day inside the pocket of his holy robes. The girl who volunteered to clean the church and all adjacent rooms the next Saturday found it and, thinking it to be a little extra holy wine, slipped it into her pocket and then prayed for the Lord to forgive her of her sins.
The girl (Rebekah, like it is in the bible that she read a little of every night) was typical of most girls even today and though she was good and was raised to be such, fell very hard for a very bad boy. (The theory is that she dreamed of turning him good, so they could settle down and have lots of babies and go to church every week until they died within moments of each other and could then be buried beside each other for all of eternity.) Said bad boy had a great fondness for the holy wine, and was suitably impressed with Little Miss Goody Two Shoes for managing to steal it. He drank it in one gulp and promptly died.
Then he promptly decided that while the wine was good, he was a bit peckish. The sobbing Rebekah also died rather promptly, much to her surprise.
And that, as they say, was only the beginning.
It was also one of the favorite stories round the Marauders metaphorical campfire. (It was actually nothing more glamorous than a bottle of conjured blue fire they sat round in the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest when the moon was close but not and they were all a little bit cold and restless.) They make Remus tell it so he wouldn't decide to read them Poe.
Sirius at the end loudly proclaims his unwavering desire to cause such destruction with so little effort. (And also to turn Snape to dust. Which in and of itself is what leads to the general cringing as they all ponder what a person would turn into if they drank a love potion with Snape's ashes inside of it. The general consensus is food poisoning with legs.)
The story of the first werewolf isn't known, except to other werewolves.
They dream of it when the moon is heavy in the sky and pulling on their bones. Werewolves dream of it when the moon is new, too, and when they're watching in horror and screaming in pain as their hands turn to claws and they don't know to not want to destroy the ones they love.
It was a simpler story. One day a boy looked up to the sky at night and a demon touched his shoulder. The wolves that raised him turned their backs, the leader—his mother—bit his hand. The next day the boy woke up and he was alone, he walked along the edge of the woods covered in blood he couldn't see. Miles from home he woke up the next day and he was still alone.
He shivered with lack of fur to keep him warm at night. His stomach growled with lack of meat. He woke up alone until he woke up with others bleeding out their warmth. He didn't know to know better.
Remus wakes up in the middle of the night in winter to Sirius crawling into his bed to wrap round him. "Shush," Sirius says, "s'alright now."
Remus wakes up the morning after the full moon nights surrounded by his best mates, Padfoot's head on his hip and his hip on fire. He's got a scream caught in his throat and the floor of the Shack is dusty and hard under his torn palms as he struggles to sit up. They all shift then, just a little, and then shift again until there're arms stretching and backs popping and Peter kicking him with his too big foot and then backing away as though burned.
"Morning," Sirius says as he yawns, and Remus knows enough to know better.
They gather round a jar glowing blue with conjured fire and Remus grins as he tells the story of how vampires came to be.
Back in their room Sirius crawls into bed with him and kisses him, says, "Why should you get to have all the fun, huh? Why should you get to be the only horror?"
"Huh?" Remus says, rather inelegantly.
Brotherhood - PG - HP - Ron, Harry/Ron if you squint
Ron had more brothers than anyone else he'd ever known. He'd never known what it was to be an only child, but it had always fascinated him. Clothes that fit right and weren't on the verge of needing mending cause they were always only his. No expectations to meet because there weren't five before him paving the way and being great at one thing or another. Having something, for once, that was just his own.
Harry was an only child. He owned whatever room he walked into, however reluctantly, because he was Harry Potter. Ron shared him with the world. He'd never stopped to think that he'd have to share all of him, though.
But Harry didn't know how to be an only child either, he wore hand-me-downs far too big and sometimes cringed when Ron closed the curtains of his bed around them. They told each other secrets in the dark and Harry wore his Weasley jumper under his robes in the winter even though it itched at his neck.
He frowned, just a little, when Ron complained about his family. Like, don't you know I'd kill to have that? Don't you see what I'd give to have the brothers and a sister and both parents even if only so they could send me howlers?
Everyone talks about a best friend being like a brother, but he'd always liked Harry more than his brothers. That didn't mean he wasn't in Harry's shadow too, just that Harry wasn't the one to put him there.
Except, sometimes Harry was. Out on the Quidditch field Harry wore a blush and couldn't meet his eyes, and Ron did badly because he knew that Harry knew he was doing badly. Harry gave him instructions and Ron overheard their captain telling Harry to get him into shape before the game. Ron saw Harry nod and agree.
All of his brothers save Percy had been on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and all of them had been the best, had never been called out to their friends who just agreed.
Brothers though, unless they were Percy, brothers didn't betray you.
Unless they were Percy, or Harry, or George.
George, who had Harry pressed up again the wall of the empty locker room, snogging him.
They didn’t hear him come in and they didn't hear him leave, and he thought…
Well, he thought that he was right about brothers all along.
Choice - R - HP - Remus/Lily
He thinks… He thinks that he knows that this is the worst (best) part. Her fingernails dragging down his arm, tracing the lines and roads and crossroads of scars that he keeps hidden with a glamour. Her fingernails just long enough to scrape and scratch as she runs them over flesh, just enough to make him shiver a little bit closer.
Lily is curvy and moonlight pale white skin, and she laughs like bells and shifts closer too. Whispers naughty things into his ear that would impresses even Sirius with a perfect cherry red mouth that's all perfectly curvy and she smiles against his jaw and he can feel it through to his toes.
And he shivers and shakes like the world is falling down in snowflakes on top of them, flecks of white that freeze his spine and overheated skin. He says her name like a prayer, and she giggles and nips at his jaw. He says her name again, "Lily," he whispers, chokes, fingers tangled in red hair as he pulls her to him.
"You know," she says when they break apart.
Remus falls back, let's his head hit the pillow and he wants to groan but he doesn't. He just stares past her shoulder (cream white and freckled, she's freckled all over, and James would kill to know it) and to the hangings above his bed. "Well," he answers, sort of, shrugs as best a bloke can while flat on his back.
"You know," Lily repeats. The air inside the closed hangings is thick, heavy and it's hard to breathe. She keeps smiling--her mouth shining, kiss-bruised and her tongue darts out all pretty and pink, to wet her lips. She won't stop saying things that he doesn't think (he knows) he shouldn't hear.
He thinks, well, he knows, honestly. He can't breathe here, the air is choking him with what they've done. With what they do. "You could," Remus chokes out, finally. "I mean," he says, then breaks off to try and shrug again. There's a wrinkle in the white sheet that's digging into his shoulder. "Well, I won't stop you."
Lily drums her nails on his chest. They're pale pink with varnish. She still paints them like the Muggles do, like his mother still does. "No," she says, a little sadly. Her bottom lip is wet from her tongue and from his, shining red like a beacon that brings wayward sailor's home. "You wouldn't, would you? You have to--" She stops to breathe in, to kiss the sweat off of his temple. "Choose. You have to."
"Lily," he says, wrapping fingers round her wrist when she goes to find her robe, bunched up somewhere at the foot of the bed. "I… It wouldn't be right, you see."
She cocks an eyebrow and smiles like she knows better (of course she does, she's a smart girl and he's no slouch either). "It isn't now, Remus," she says, then gets dressed and leaves him alone.
Dream - PG-13 - JoA - Joan, sorta Joan/God
She walks alone, stumbling over things she can't see in the dark. There's a light at the end of the stairs she's trying to climb, but it never gets closer.
It's all dark, all black here, and she thinks she could drown in it. Like she could spread her arms and just fall back, the way she used to do at the pool when she was learning to swim and Kevin swore he'd catch her, she could fall back and sink. And it'd be good, wouldn't it? Drowning in the darkness that ripples like water around her ankles wouldn't be as choking as water in her lungs.
The carpet is soft under bare feet, and she knows where she is even if she doesn't. She knows it the way you know the layout of old homes over new in the middle of the night.
"Joan."
She shivers, turns at the sound of her name and trips over the next step.
He laughs as she lands at his feet, but then he's gone again.
"God," she groans, "can't I even have my dreams?"
The darkness shifts again, ripples less like water now and more like things coming out of the shadows to devour you in your nightmares. She looks around as she fights her way back to her feet (it shouldn't have been such a fight, but the darkness is after her, it's holding her down) the shadows melt into black-feathered wings.
Angels open their eyes that glow red, and they're all around her.
"What's going on?" she cries.
They all step closer; they're all around her. The monsters (angels, she knows, but she can't think because it hurts) have claws, sharp and red—more like the color of blood than their eyes—that dig in and hold as they grab her arms.
They pull her closer to him. No, she reminds herself, to Him.
"Joan," He says, smiling softly. "You're stronger than you've had the chance to know."
He kissed her forehead and she wakes up gasping, thinking, this isn't going to end well.
Ego - NC-17 - HP - Sirius/Remus*
"I am the king!"
Remus looked up from his book slowly, raises an eyebrow in Sirius' direction. "Are you now?"
"I am, Moony, I am."
"You're the king."
Sirius flopped onto his bed, bumped Remus' knee with his shoulder and stole his book. "I am the king, Remus."
"Alright."
"Aren't you going to ask why?"
Remus sighed, bit down on the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile. "If you feel I must."
Before the question could be asked or answered, Sirius was kissing him, and it lost a great deal of the importance Sirius had thought it held.
"You know," Remus says about a week later, shoved into the alcove under a staircase on the third floor somewhere, with Sirius' mouth on his jaw. "This seems to keep happening."
Sirius grunts a reply, and rolls his hips. Then stops to look confused and ask, "Yes, and?"
"I have dust in my hair and up my nose. It's fairly unpleasant, this snogging under the stairs in mostly unused corridors."
Sirius grunts again, this time in disbelief and disagreement, possibly, as he fumbles with Remus' belt. "Well," he says, wrapping his fist around Remus' cock, "we could stop."
Remus lets out what could only be defined as a very embarrassing high-pitched whine.
"Or," Sirius continues, grinning against Remus' neck and stroking, "we could not."
"I hate you," Remus tells him, pushing into his hand and then shutting him up with his tongue.
Afterwards, Sirius is still grinning against his neck as he mutters, "I am the king."
"Really, really hate you," Remus says again, but it still lacks the punch it should have.
::runs away::
*![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
musesfool is to blame for this. I said I couldn't do it and oh, but I was right.
Abomination - PG - HP - Remus/Sirius
The first vampire crawled out of the mouth of hell, looked around and said, "huh." (Not actually 'huh' in the sense that we know it now, but 'huh' in the since of a great stupid demon with no concept of speech that wasn't 'grr' or 'arg' who wanted very much to crawl back into the hole he'd emerged from because he'd just discovered the unpleasantness of the sun.)
It was his ashes as they scattered in a sudden light breeze when the sun was right on top of the sky that slipped into the blood an old hag was using in a love spell. The hag was burned the next night for witchery by a group of people she'd lived with for years and had never caused any harm. (She escaped, of course, only to be hanged in the next town over for supposedly stealing the hair from a local's horse, which was in actuality a unicorn whose horn had been harvested months prior.) The God fearing townspeople raided her cottage to burn all objects even remotely connected to witchcraft in any folklore ever spread by word of mouth or hieroglyphics. They burned candles and oils and a great patch of rosemary, but one of their number (it is believed to be the leader of their number, the newest parish of the local church) pocketed the love potion completely by accident.
The newest parish was young and impressionable and mildly infatuated with the girl who had grown up on the next farm over. But he was also true to what he believed to be the word of the lord and as such, is not the one who drank or gave the love potion. Instead he hid it in a drawer of his room, unable to contemplate what would happen if someone found out that it had spent the bigger part of a day inside the pocket of his holy robes. The girl who volunteered to clean the church and all adjacent rooms the next Saturday found it and, thinking it to be a little extra holy wine, slipped it into her pocket and then prayed for the Lord to forgive her of her sins.
The girl (Rebekah, like it is in the bible that she read a little of every night) was typical of most girls even today and though she was good and was raised to be such, fell very hard for a very bad boy. (The theory is that she dreamed of turning him good, so they could settle down and have lots of babies and go to church every week until they died within moments of each other and could then be buried beside each other for all of eternity.) Said bad boy had a great fondness for the holy wine, and was suitably impressed with Little Miss Goody Two Shoes for managing to steal it. He drank it in one gulp and promptly died.
Then he promptly decided that while the wine was good, he was a bit peckish. The sobbing Rebekah also died rather promptly, much to her surprise.
And that, as they say, was only the beginning.
It was also one of the favorite stories round the Marauders metaphorical campfire. (It was actually nothing more glamorous than a bottle of conjured blue fire they sat round in the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest when the moon was close but not and they were all a little bit cold and restless.) They make Remus tell it so he wouldn't decide to read them Poe.
Sirius at the end loudly proclaims his unwavering desire to cause such destruction with so little effort. (And also to turn Snape to dust. Which in and of itself is what leads to the general cringing as they all ponder what a person would turn into if they drank a love potion with Snape's ashes inside of it. The general consensus is food poisoning with legs.)
The story of the first werewolf isn't known, except to other werewolves.
They dream of it when the moon is heavy in the sky and pulling on their bones. Werewolves dream of it when the moon is new, too, and when they're watching in horror and screaming in pain as their hands turn to claws and they don't know to not want to destroy the ones they love.
It was a simpler story. One day a boy looked up to the sky at night and a demon touched his shoulder. The wolves that raised him turned their backs, the leader—his mother—bit his hand. The next day the boy woke up and he was alone, he walked along the edge of the woods covered in blood he couldn't see. Miles from home he woke up the next day and he was still alone.
He shivered with lack of fur to keep him warm at night. His stomach growled with lack of meat. He woke up alone until he woke up with others bleeding out their warmth. He didn't know to know better.
Remus wakes up in the middle of the night in winter to Sirius crawling into his bed to wrap round him. "Shush," Sirius says, "s'alright now."
Remus wakes up the morning after the full moon nights surrounded by his best mates, Padfoot's head on his hip and his hip on fire. He's got a scream caught in his throat and the floor of the Shack is dusty and hard under his torn palms as he struggles to sit up. They all shift then, just a little, and then shift again until there're arms stretching and backs popping and Peter kicking him with his too big foot and then backing away as though burned.
"Morning," Sirius says as he yawns, and Remus knows enough to know better.
They gather round a jar glowing blue with conjured fire and Remus grins as he tells the story of how vampires came to be.
Back in their room Sirius crawls into bed with him and kisses him, says, "Why should you get to have all the fun, huh? Why should you get to be the only horror?"
"Huh?" Remus says, rather inelegantly.
Brotherhood - PG - HP - Ron, Harry/Ron if you squint
Ron had more brothers than anyone else he'd ever known. He'd never known what it was to be an only child, but it had always fascinated him. Clothes that fit right and weren't on the verge of needing mending cause they were always only his. No expectations to meet because there weren't five before him paving the way and being great at one thing or another. Having something, for once, that was just his own.
Harry was an only child. He owned whatever room he walked into, however reluctantly, because he was Harry Potter. Ron shared him with the world. He'd never stopped to think that he'd have to share all of him, though.
But Harry didn't know how to be an only child either, he wore hand-me-downs far too big and sometimes cringed when Ron closed the curtains of his bed around them. They told each other secrets in the dark and Harry wore his Weasley jumper under his robes in the winter even though it itched at his neck.
He frowned, just a little, when Ron complained about his family. Like, don't you know I'd kill to have that? Don't you see what I'd give to have the brothers and a sister and both parents even if only so they could send me howlers?
Everyone talks about a best friend being like a brother, but he'd always liked Harry more than his brothers. That didn't mean he wasn't in Harry's shadow too, just that Harry wasn't the one to put him there.
Except, sometimes Harry was. Out on the Quidditch field Harry wore a blush and couldn't meet his eyes, and Ron did badly because he knew that Harry knew he was doing badly. Harry gave him instructions and Ron overheard their captain telling Harry to get him into shape before the game. Ron saw Harry nod and agree.
All of his brothers save Percy had been on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and all of them had been the best, had never been called out to their friends who just agreed.
Brothers though, unless they were Percy, brothers didn't betray you.
Unless they were Percy, or Harry, or George.
George, who had Harry pressed up again the wall of the empty locker room, snogging him.
They didn’t hear him come in and they didn't hear him leave, and he thought…
Well, he thought that he was right about brothers all along.
Choice - R - HP - Remus/Lily
He thinks… He thinks that he knows that this is the worst (best) part. Her fingernails dragging down his arm, tracing the lines and roads and crossroads of scars that he keeps hidden with a glamour. Her fingernails just long enough to scrape and scratch as she runs them over flesh, just enough to make him shiver a little bit closer.
Lily is curvy and moonlight pale white skin, and she laughs like bells and shifts closer too. Whispers naughty things into his ear that would impresses even Sirius with a perfect cherry red mouth that's all perfectly curvy and she smiles against his jaw and he can feel it through to his toes.
And he shivers and shakes like the world is falling down in snowflakes on top of them, flecks of white that freeze his spine and overheated skin. He says her name like a prayer, and she giggles and nips at his jaw. He says her name again, "Lily," he whispers, chokes, fingers tangled in red hair as he pulls her to him.
"You know," she says when they break apart.
Remus falls back, let's his head hit the pillow and he wants to groan but he doesn't. He just stares past her shoulder (cream white and freckled, she's freckled all over, and James would kill to know it) and to the hangings above his bed. "Well," he answers, sort of, shrugs as best a bloke can while flat on his back.
"You know," Lily repeats. The air inside the closed hangings is thick, heavy and it's hard to breathe. She keeps smiling--her mouth shining, kiss-bruised and her tongue darts out all pretty and pink, to wet her lips. She won't stop saying things that he doesn't think (he knows) he shouldn't hear.
He thinks, well, he knows, honestly. He can't breathe here, the air is choking him with what they've done. With what they do. "You could," Remus chokes out, finally. "I mean," he says, then breaks off to try and shrug again. There's a wrinkle in the white sheet that's digging into his shoulder. "Well, I won't stop you."
Lily drums her nails on his chest. They're pale pink with varnish. She still paints them like the Muggles do, like his mother still does. "No," she says, a little sadly. Her bottom lip is wet from her tongue and from his, shining red like a beacon that brings wayward sailor's home. "You wouldn't, would you? You have to--" She stops to breathe in, to kiss the sweat off of his temple. "Choose. You have to."
"Lily," he says, wrapping fingers round her wrist when she goes to find her robe, bunched up somewhere at the foot of the bed. "I… It wouldn't be right, you see."
She cocks an eyebrow and smiles like she knows better (of course she does, she's a smart girl and he's no slouch either). "It isn't now, Remus," she says, then gets dressed and leaves him alone.
Dream - PG-13 - JoA - Joan, sorta Joan/God
She walks alone, stumbling over things she can't see in the dark. There's a light at the end of the stairs she's trying to climb, but it never gets closer.
It's all dark, all black here, and she thinks she could drown in it. Like she could spread her arms and just fall back, the way she used to do at the pool when she was learning to swim and Kevin swore he'd catch her, she could fall back and sink. And it'd be good, wouldn't it? Drowning in the darkness that ripples like water around her ankles wouldn't be as choking as water in her lungs.
The carpet is soft under bare feet, and she knows where she is even if she doesn't. She knows it the way you know the layout of old homes over new in the middle of the night.
"Joan."
She shivers, turns at the sound of her name and trips over the next step.
He laughs as she lands at his feet, but then he's gone again.
"God," she groans, "can't I even have my dreams?"
The darkness shifts again, ripples less like water now and more like things coming out of the shadows to devour you in your nightmares. She looks around as she fights her way back to her feet (it shouldn't have been such a fight, but the darkness is after her, it's holding her down) the shadows melt into black-feathered wings.
Angels open their eyes that glow red, and they're all around her.
"What's going on?" she cries.
They all step closer; they're all around her. The monsters (angels, she knows, but she can't think because it hurts) have claws, sharp and red—more like the color of blood than their eyes—that dig in and hold as they grab her arms.
They pull her closer to him. No, she reminds herself, to Him.
"Joan," He says, smiling softly. "You're stronger than you've had the chance to know."
He kissed her forehead and she wakes up gasping, thinking, this isn't going to end well.
Ego - NC-17 - HP - Sirius/Remus*
"I am the king!"
Remus looked up from his book slowly, raises an eyebrow in Sirius' direction. "Are you now?"
"I am, Moony, I am."
"You're the king."
Sirius flopped onto his bed, bumped Remus' knee with his shoulder and stole his book. "I am the king, Remus."
"Alright."
"Aren't you going to ask why?"
Remus sighed, bit down on the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile. "If you feel I must."
Before the question could be asked or answered, Sirius was kissing him, and it lost a great deal of the importance Sirius had thought it held.
"You know," Remus says about a week later, shoved into the alcove under a staircase on the third floor somewhere, with Sirius' mouth on his jaw. "This seems to keep happening."
Sirius grunts a reply, and rolls his hips. Then stops to look confused and ask, "Yes, and?"
"I have dust in my hair and up my nose. It's fairly unpleasant, this snogging under the stairs in mostly unused corridors."
Sirius grunts again, this time in disbelief and disagreement, possibly, as he fumbles with Remus' belt. "Well," he says, wrapping his fist around Remus' cock, "we could stop."
Remus lets out what could only be defined as a very embarrassing high-pitched whine.
"Or," Sirius continues, grinning against Remus' neck and stroking, "we could not."
"I hate you," Remus tells him, pushing into his hand and then shutting him up with his tongue.
Afterwards, Sirius is still grinning against his neck as he mutters, "I am the king."
"Really, really hate you," Remus says again, but it still lacks the punch it should have.
::runs away::
*
musesfool is to blame for this. I said I couldn't do it and oh, but I was right.
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Can't..
What..
*frustrated sob*
Where's the H/D? *tear*
haha.
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I tried, I really did!
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The Ron one is so harsh and sad. Poor Ron.
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Poor Ron, indeed. He's fun to hurt.
Thanks!
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I put the Harry/George and deleted it in the title thingy at least twice. lol It just seemed too much like giving something away to warn about it!
Still, like I said before, Ron is fun to hurt. ::grins:: ::hands you a tissue::
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I really enjoyed these. :)
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Anyway: Remus/Lily- loved it. made me sniffy.
Abomination- also loved.
Ron/Harrish one- *FWEEEE*
and those my friends are the ones I read. And those were my reactions.
*grin!!*
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Don't worry about not catching it, most people wouldn't. lol It was just an ittle shout out that I couldn't resist.
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cdk
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Especially the Ron one. Poor Ron. And the Marauders one. I loved the stories you included.
mmmharry/george.
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hee I'm glad you liked them. :)