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delphipsmithWell, now that the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hp_uk_meetup is over, I'm allowed to post the flash fic -- aka drabbles -- and also the slightly longer pieces (resulting from my inability to control my wayward Muse) that I contributed for their edification, jollification, and delectation. Herewith, my G and PG offerings; I have a couple of R-rated ones but will save those for tomorrow. And can I just say, I had huge amounts of fun with this? Thanks ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nursedarry for inviting me to play!!
Irresistible (RL gen, G) forlazy_neutrino
Remus Lupin was trying to resist. He could hear their siren call, close his eyes and recreate their every curve, every line. When the wind was right he swore -- even in his human form -- he could smell their seductive scent. He needed to stay away from them, he knew that, but the torment was almost past bearing.
He twitched the curtains open. A slim crescent moon sparkled innocently above the Whomping Willow, reminding him it would be three more weeks before he could run free as a wolf once more. If he were a wolf, of course, he wouldn't agonize this way -- he would simply take what he so badly desired. Being a werewolf had its rewards, he thought ruefully: simplicity, single-mindedness. Unrepentance.
A low growl came from deep in his chest, transformed strangely by his human lungs and throat. He was losing the battle. They were so close, so tantalizing, so...accessible. He could already feel the nausea that would seize him if he gave in. But he couldn't stop himself.
He lunged towards the cupboard, opened it, and seized the half-empty bag of Snausages.
Editor's note: snausages.
Social Grooming (RL/SB, PG), forpingrid
"Ow! Remus, that hurts!"
"Don't be such a baby, Sirius."
"Well it does."
"Sit. Be a good dog."
"Shut up, asshole."
"Look, it's not my fault you went wandering into the woods during tick season last time you animagusized yourself."
"I couldn't help it. There was this rabbit..."
"Sit still, damn it! Do you want Lyme disease?"
"Nobody names a disease after a fruit. You made that up."
"No I didn't. It's painful and incurable. Much like your sense of humor."
"Ha very ha."
"Merlin, you've got a lot of hair -- why couldn't your animagus form be a chihuahua? This would be so much easier if you could turn into something that was bald and weighed six ounces."
"But I'd have such a tiny little --"
"Oh stop. Ok, your back's done. Roll over."
"I love it when you say that."
"Yes, well, time enough for that when we've gotten these little suckers off you."
"I know what I'd like to have sucking on me..."
"Sirius -- wait --"
"I can't. I can't wait any longer."
"Mmmmm…"
"Mmmmmmmm…"
Whiter shade of pale (HG/LM, PG), forchthonya
She thinks about it all the time. She tries her best not to, but the most unexpected things remind her: milk pouring from a pitcher; clean sheets spread over a bed, their whiteness gleaming in the sun; the fur of an Arctic fox at the London Zoo. Spiderwebs. Shafts of silvery moonlight arrowing nightly across the darkness of her bed in Gryffindor Tower.
Brushing her coarse, bushy locks in the Gryffindor common room in the mornings, her fingertips tingle at the imagined sensation of long, silky strands sliding through them. She overhears a voice: "Oh yeah, he’s here to see Draco." A laugh. "Making sure his arrogance is up to the Malfoy standard, I expect." A shiver sweeps through her; she closes her eyes and grips the edge of the porcelain sink, but the sensation of cool smooth whiteness so exactly corresponds to the image haunting her mind that she opens her eyes with a gasp.
Picking up her bookbag she slips out of the room, determined to take the less-used corridors to remove any chance of encountering him – surely he won’t stay long – and hide out in one of the small sitting rooms until he leaves. She opens the door to the first one she finds; a cursory glance around the small room confirms its emptiness, so she enters, closes the door behind her. A fire burns on the hearth; a tall chair facing it sits beside a small table, an oval of lace draped over the back, and –
She stops. No. Not lace. A pale hand rests on the arm of the chair and now she hears it, the slow, even breathing of sleep. She drifts closer, more silent than one of the Hogwarts ghosts. Without consciously willing it, her hand stretches out towards the long hair flowing like molten white gold over the velvet upholstery, the tingling in her fingertips now an ache that throbs in time with her heartbeat. She runs her palm over it lightly, then carefully, gently, gathers it into a rope in both hands; it’s more sensual than she could possibly have imagined, fine and thick, and it runs across her fingers like quicksilver. She closes her eyes, inhales its cool spicy scent, imagines it shimmering across naked skin...
The sleeper shifts in the chair. She leaps swiftly back, putting her hands behind her, and the hair falls back into place, more like a liquid than a solid. His head turns, revealing closed eyes, the crescent of silvery eyelashes brushing the aristocratic cheekbones, the sharp planes of his pale, proud face. She stands frozen as he awakens, opens his eyes, looks at her coldly.
"Miss Granger," he says with unmistakable contempt. "What an unexpected...pleasure."
"Mr. Malfoy," she manages to stammer out. "I was...looking for...just leaving." She darts from the room, and as she half-walks, half-runs down the hall, her mind fills with snow and white silk and moonlight, and she knows that nothing will be enough for her, ever again.
Lunacy (LL gen, G), forpot_of_coffee
Luna drifted down the stairs, humming a song about goblins. It was quite a nice little song, and the tune was catchy, so she wasn't surprised that the Wrackspurts had left it for her when they passed through her head earlier that morning.
She hopped on one leg down the first three steps, then on the other leg down the next three, then went backwards down the last seven. You had to do that on days that fell on a full moon and were a multiple of 8, otherwise the Sloons would eat the toes off all your socks leaving you useless tubes of wool. Of course, then you could turn the tubes into sweaters for Eccles Worms (the ones whose tongues poke the holes in Eccles cakes). But that was a chancy business, as the worms didn't really care for any color but purple, and Luna had very few purple socks.
Still humming, thinking about pudding for lunch, she skipped down the hall and around the corner, running BANG into Harry and knocking them both to the ground.
Harry lay there blinking for a moment. "Ow."
"Are you all right?" Luna asked.
"Yeah, sure." Harry rose and brushed off the seat of his trousers. "Are you OK?"
"I didn’t knock your shadow off, did I?" she asked anxiously.
Harry raised both eyebrows. Accustomed as he had become to Luna’s strange statements, this was a bit much. "My...sorry, what was that again?"
"They keep coming loose, I know," Luna said sympathetically. "I have the same problem. My father had a friend who completely lost his once – it got knocked loose during a Quidditch match and he didn’t stop to pick it up, so it got away. He had a terrible time with crows for the rest of his life."
Entirely at sea, Harry stared at her. "Crows? Why crows?"
"Because your shadow’s where you store all your memories of black things, of course. So when a crow flew by, he didn’t know what it was. He used to get very frustrated with himself. We told him over and over, but with nowhere to store the memory he couldn’t keep it in his head. He had the same trouble with watermelon seeds, but since he didn’t like watermelon he didn’t run into them as often."
"Ah, right. I should have known. Obvious, really." Harry paused. "So, just out of curiosity, what does one do when one’s shadow gets knocked off?"
Luna gazed at him in mild surprise. "Sew it back on, of course. Just there, on the soles of the feet. I learned how from my great-grandmother, Granny Wendy. She had had quite a bit of practice with a boy she knew when she was a little girl."
Harry grinned at her. He couldn’t help it. She was completely mental, of course, but great fun. "You’re wonderful, Luna, you know that?"
She turned slightly pink. "Thank you, Harry."
hp_uk_meetup is over, I'm allowed to post the flash fic -- aka drabbles -- and also the slightly longer pieces (resulting from my inability to control my wayward Muse) that I contributed for their edification, jollification, and delectation. Herewith, my G and PG offerings; I have a couple of R-rated ones but will save those for tomorrow. And can I just say, I had huge amounts of fun with this? Thanks nursedarry for inviting me to play!!Irresistible (RL gen, G) for
lazy_neutrinoRemus Lupin was trying to resist. He could hear their siren call, close his eyes and recreate their every curve, every line. When the wind was right he swore -- even in his human form -- he could smell their seductive scent. He needed to stay away from them, he knew that, but the torment was almost past bearing.
He twitched the curtains open. A slim crescent moon sparkled innocently above the Whomping Willow, reminding him it would be three more weeks before he could run free as a wolf once more. If he were a wolf, of course, he wouldn't agonize this way -- he would simply take what he so badly desired. Being a werewolf had its rewards, he thought ruefully: simplicity, single-mindedness. Unrepentance.
A low growl came from deep in his chest, transformed strangely by his human lungs and throat. He was losing the battle. They were so close, so tantalizing, so...accessible. He could already feel the nausea that would seize him if he gave in. But he couldn't stop himself.
He lunged towards the cupboard, opened it, and seized the half-empty bag of Snausages.
Editor's note: snausages.
Social Grooming (RL/SB, PG), for
pingrid"Ow! Remus, that hurts!"
"Don't be such a baby, Sirius."
"Well it does."
"Sit. Be a good dog."
"Shut up, asshole."
"Look, it's not my fault you went wandering into the woods during tick season last time you animagusized yourself."
"I couldn't help it. There was this rabbit..."
"Sit still, damn it! Do you want Lyme disease?"
"Nobody names a disease after a fruit. You made that up."
"No I didn't. It's painful and incurable. Much like your sense of humor."
"Ha very ha."
"Merlin, you've got a lot of hair -- why couldn't your animagus form be a chihuahua? This would be so much easier if you could turn into something that was bald and weighed six ounces."
"But I'd have such a tiny little --"
"Oh stop. Ok, your back's done. Roll over."
"I love it when you say that."
"Yes, well, time enough for that when we've gotten these little suckers off you."
"I know what I'd like to have sucking on me..."
"Sirius -- wait --"
"I can't. I can't wait any longer."
"Mmmmm…"
"Mmmmmmmm…"
Whiter shade of pale (HG/LM, PG), for
chthonyaShe thinks about it all the time. She tries her best not to, but the most unexpected things remind her: milk pouring from a pitcher; clean sheets spread over a bed, their whiteness gleaming in the sun; the fur of an Arctic fox at the London Zoo. Spiderwebs. Shafts of silvery moonlight arrowing nightly across the darkness of her bed in Gryffindor Tower.
Brushing her coarse, bushy locks in the Gryffindor common room in the mornings, her fingertips tingle at the imagined sensation of long, silky strands sliding through them. She overhears a voice: "Oh yeah, he’s here to see Draco." A laugh. "Making sure his arrogance is up to the Malfoy standard, I expect." A shiver sweeps through her; she closes her eyes and grips the edge of the porcelain sink, but the sensation of cool smooth whiteness so exactly corresponds to the image haunting her mind that she opens her eyes with a gasp.
Picking up her bookbag she slips out of the room, determined to take the less-used corridors to remove any chance of encountering him – surely he won’t stay long – and hide out in one of the small sitting rooms until he leaves. She opens the door to the first one she finds; a cursory glance around the small room confirms its emptiness, so she enters, closes the door behind her. A fire burns on the hearth; a tall chair facing it sits beside a small table, an oval of lace draped over the back, and –
She stops. No. Not lace. A pale hand rests on the arm of the chair and now she hears it, the slow, even breathing of sleep. She drifts closer, more silent than one of the Hogwarts ghosts. Without consciously willing it, her hand stretches out towards the long hair flowing like molten white gold over the velvet upholstery, the tingling in her fingertips now an ache that throbs in time with her heartbeat. She runs her palm over it lightly, then carefully, gently, gathers it into a rope in both hands; it’s more sensual than she could possibly have imagined, fine and thick, and it runs across her fingers like quicksilver. She closes her eyes, inhales its cool spicy scent, imagines it shimmering across naked skin...
The sleeper shifts in the chair. She leaps swiftly back, putting her hands behind her, and the hair falls back into place, more like a liquid than a solid. His head turns, revealing closed eyes, the crescent of silvery eyelashes brushing the aristocratic cheekbones, the sharp planes of his pale, proud face. She stands frozen as he awakens, opens his eyes, looks at her coldly.
"Miss Granger," he says with unmistakable contempt. "What an unexpected...pleasure."
"Mr. Malfoy," she manages to stammer out. "I was...looking for...just leaving." She darts from the room, and as she half-walks, half-runs down the hall, her mind fills with snow and white silk and moonlight, and she knows that nothing will be enough for her, ever again.
Lunacy (LL gen, G), for
pot_of_coffeeLuna drifted down the stairs, humming a song about goblins. It was quite a nice little song, and the tune was catchy, so she wasn't surprised that the Wrackspurts had left it for her when they passed through her head earlier that morning.
She hopped on one leg down the first three steps, then on the other leg down the next three, then went backwards down the last seven. You had to do that on days that fell on a full moon and were a multiple of 8, otherwise the Sloons would eat the toes off all your socks leaving you useless tubes of wool. Of course, then you could turn the tubes into sweaters for Eccles Worms (the ones whose tongues poke the holes in Eccles cakes). But that was a chancy business, as the worms didn't really care for any color but purple, and Luna had very few purple socks.
Still humming, thinking about pudding for lunch, she skipped down the hall and around the corner, running BANG into Harry and knocking them both to the ground.
Harry lay there blinking for a moment. "Ow."
"Are you all right?" Luna asked.
"Yeah, sure." Harry rose and brushed off the seat of his trousers. "Are you OK?"
"I didn’t knock your shadow off, did I?" she asked anxiously.
Harry raised both eyebrows. Accustomed as he had become to Luna’s strange statements, this was a bit much. "My...sorry, what was that again?"
"They keep coming loose, I know," Luna said sympathetically. "I have the same problem. My father had a friend who completely lost his once – it got knocked loose during a Quidditch match and he didn’t stop to pick it up, so it got away. He had a terrible time with crows for the rest of his life."
Entirely at sea, Harry stared at her. "Crows? Why crows?"
"Because your shadow’s where you store all your memories of black things, of course. So when a crow flew by, he didn’t know what it was. He used to get very frustrated with himself. We told him over and over, but with nowhere to store the memory he couldn’t keep it in his head. He had the same trouble with watermelon seeds, but since he didn’t like watermelon he didn’t run into them as often."
"Ah, right. I should have known. Obvious, really." Harry paused. "So, just out of curiosity, what does one do when one’s shadow gets knocked off?"
Luna gazed at him in mild surprise. "Sew it back on, of course. Just there, on the soles of the feet. I learned how from my great-grandmother, Granny Wendy. She had had quite a bit of practice with a boy she knew when she was a little girl."
Harry grinned at her. He couldn’t help it. She was completely mental, of course, but great fun. "You’re wonderful, Luna, you know that?"
She turned slightly pink. "Thank you, Harry."
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no subject
Date: 2009-10-07 04:28 am (UTC)The last one broke me a little. It was lovely. So incredibly Luna from the inside. I just adored it and I love Peter Pan sooooo much. *sniffles* I thought of Frances the Badger, too, as she was singing her little song. <3
no subject
Date: 2009-10-08 01:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-08 01:27 am (UTC)Also, um, would you mind if I used the Luna/Harry Wendy/Peter for inspiration. I'm obsessed with it.
no subject
Date: 2009-10-08 01:45 am (UTC)Believe it or not, our local rag actually regularly publishes poetry by Ted Kooser, former poet laureate of the US; this one, back in June, I cut out and saved because I loved the imagery, and it ended up being the genesis for this piece.
no subject
Date: 2009-10-08 01:56 am (UTC)Perfect!
no subject
Date: 2009-10-07 11:55 am (UTC)Right, Irresistable went to
These were all amazing; all of your recipients were very impressed with your drabbles.
BTW, my
no subject
Date: 2009-10-08 01:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-11 05:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-15 08:51 pm (UTC)Can I also say that I think it's super brave to send off your first fics to a group of people you've never met and who can't give you immediate feedback. So yeah, thank you! :)
no subject
Date: 2009-10-16 12:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-22 07:06 am (UTC)Thank you so much. If I get anything as good in the Christmas exchanges I'm going to be a very lucky neutrino!
no subject
Date: 2009-10-22 07:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-22 12:19 pm (UTC)I'm glad "dog treats" got the idea across, but there's something so damn funny about the word "snausages" so I'm sorry it couldn't be used directly. There's a link to the snausages home page in the "Editor's note" to the drabble, if you really want to know. Suffice to say that they likely have no real ingredients whatsoever, so I imagine them being both addictive and nauseating LOL!
no subject
Date: 2009-10-22 04:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-20 06:55 pm (UTC)These were all brilliant. I thought Remus and Sirius was well written they just don't happen to be my favorite characters. Lovely job on all of these. And what really shows the most talent is the wide diversity of styles and subject matter.
Clare
!
no subject
Date: 2010-07-21 12:00 am (UTC)