a few offerings
Two short, fairly sparse, lighthearted flash fics.
Untitled #1
response to dogdaysofsummer's challenge for day 11.
The sun rose higher. Blue waves, green waves swept a quick fan over the beach, circling the spike of sea-holly and leaving shallow pools of light here and there on the sand.
"I wish we were there." Sirius slumped on the dusty coverlet. Jet hair slashed his pallid skin as if the world were rent and darkness shown like a dermal layer, occasionally disrupted by a furious toss of the head, so that it slithered over the old pillowcase.
"I'm afraid I can't go on vacation, either," Remus replied mildly. He was sitting in his slippers, patched jacket slung over the back of the hard leather chair. His gaze followed Sirius' to the painting upon the wall.
"Do you know what we could do?"
"I haven't the faintest."
"We could pretend."
Remus looked up in time to see Sirius sitting up on the bed. His bony feet had their long toes pressed back upon the floor as if ready to pounce. His grey eyes held a phosphorous lambency beneath the tangle of his hair.
"Pretend what?" Remus was about to begin his first guess when Sirius tackled him. Chair and all went over with a terrific thud, stirring up clouds of too-dark dust and ticklish floating veils of cobweb. Remus' laughter was deep and rich, startled out of its usual hesitancy. He reached up and slid his hands into Sirius' hair, to either side of his face. They stared at each other, their breathing matched and quickened.
Sirius lowered his head slowly toward Remus' face. "I can feel the sunlight burning against my back," he murmured. His lips brushed Remus' lips with each word.
"Oh! And--" Remus kicked the chair back from him, losing his shoes with it, and curled his toes sensually, arching his spine. Sirius' weight was nothing to him. "I can feel the warm sand between my toes. I can smell the surf… it's coming up on us … right…"
Sirius ripped Remus' shirt open just as Remus kicked his knees up to knock Sirius forward, to land upon the hard muscularity of Remus' torso. They both let out happy gasps at once, and, laughing, began to make love, passionately, upon what might have been the dirty floor of a room in Grimmauld Place, and might have been the combed sands of the ocean.
Victor's Self-Insert
A parody, based upon a comment by jagged_waltz regarding self-inserts, and not believing anyone really looks at another person and goes, "Preeeeetty! I want to spend the rest of my life with preeeeeetty."
Pairing: Baby!Vic/Lucius Malfoy's hair
Rating: G
A/N: I was born in 1981, so this is actually how my self-insert would work. I also enjoyed terrorizing the nonexistent Sue!sister. Also, using malefics' Mary Sue Name Generator and changing the name genders, my name is Victorious Apollo Darkhorse Mariao Thorn Prince Greyback.
Sunlight streams through gauzy curtains, burning its prism echoes into four rocking cradles. It pirouettes across the black wood floor, which shines like painted glass. It leaves golden kisses upon Narcissa Malfoy's upswept hair.
Three or four young women: representing the girls of good birth and sense in the area who have children near to Narcissa's son's age, are scattered about upon various chairs. None of them are as pretty as Narcissa. Two are plain, pleasant-looking; one thin and mousy, the other plump with round eyes. The third is moderately attractive, but seems tired and sad.
"It was so kind of you to invite us, Mrs. Malfoy," this woman begins, but winces as a baby's demon screech rips the air. It is a truly unpleasant noise and sets the other three off into screams or fitful weeping in an attempt to follow its doleful lead.
"Oh, there he goes again. My brother just cannot seem to be happy now that our mother's left."
All the women dart toward their respective cradles and withdraw red-faced bundles to pet and jiggle and coo at. Narcissa quiets her son down first, and the others would manage something akin, if the first baby was the slightest bit biddable. This one seem unassailable by any normal baby-flattering, and with an exhausted and apologetic look, his sister darts into the hall, rocking him frantically. She wants the social help Narcissa is offering, and is furious that Victor is getting in her way.
But as she is wishing, not for the first time in ages, that the House Elves would come and take him away, a door closes farther along the hall. She jumps and whirls, patting the baby's back, confronted with the purposeful stride of Lucius Malfoy.
He nods to her curtly as he passes. His long hair catches the light like sheer crystals spun out into thread, soft and glorious. Victor's cries cease; he reaches out with a dimpled hand for the silky offering. "Preeeeetty," he pronounces.
"Hush, Vic," his sister whispers, casting a nervous and furtive glance towards Lucius. "You don't call men pretty."
But Lucius Malfoy's smile is dazzling. He turns to inspect the baby with more interest. "Forgive me, miss, I neither got your name nor that of your charming s-"
"Brother," she forestalls, attempting a smile of her own but simply exposing horse-ish teeth. "I'm Torrent... er," she mumbles the surname, "and this is my dear brother Victor."
Before Lucius can be pleasantly vague in answer, however, baby Victor fixes him with soulless brown eyes. "Wanna go to preeeeeetty," he commands.
"I'm so sorry about this, he's been crying day and night since mother left, and now this-" Torrent seems at her wit's end, but Lucius, having a son of his own, simply extends his arms (after quickly making his clothing and skin impervious to baby-grime). He seems impatient but not in an unfriendly mood.
Victor makes happy noises as he settles against Lucius' velvet. He curls a stubby fist around one lock of long blond hair and rubs it against his cheek blissfully. "Love 'ou…" He announces sleepily, and Lucius' lips twitch, a sunshine flash of something or nothing.
All hell breaks loose, and they need the Wizarding equivalent of the Jaws of Life, when Torrent attempts to pull the baby away.
Untitled #1
response to dogdaysofsummer's challenge for day 11.
The sun rose higher. Blue waves, green waves swept a quick fan over the beach, circling the spike of sea-holly and leaving shallow pools of light here and there on the sand.
"I wish we were there." Sirius slumped on the dusty coverlet. Jet hair slashed his pallid skin as if the world were rent and darkness shown like a dermal layer, occasionally disrupted by a furious toss of the head, so that it slithered over the old pillowcase.
"I'm afraid I can't go on vacation, either," Remus replied mildly. He was sitting in his slippers, patched jacket slung over the back of the hard leather chair. His gaze followed Sirius' to the painting upon the wall.
"Do you know what we could do?"
"I haven't the faintest."
"We could pretend."
Remus looked up in time to see Sirius sitting up on the bed. His bony feet had their long toes pressed back upon the floor as if ready to pounce. His grey eyes held a phosphorous lambency beneath the tangle of his hair.
"Pretend what?" Remus was about to begin his first guess when Sirius tackled him. Chair and all went over with a terrific thud, stirring up clouds of too-dark dust and ticklish floating veils of cobweb. Remus' laughter was deep and rich, startled out of its usual hesitancy. He reached up and slid his hands into Sirius' hair, to either side of his face. They stared at each other, their breathing matched and quickened.
Sirius lowered his head slowly toward Remus' face. "I can feel the sunlight burning against my back," he murmured. His lips brushed Remus' lips with each word.
"Oh! And--" Remus kicked the chair back from him, losing his shoes with it, and curled his toes sensually, arching his spine. Sirius' weight was nothing to him. "I can feel the warm sand between my toes. I can smell the surf… it's coming up on us … right…"
Sirius ripped Remus' shirt open just as Remus kicked his knees up to knock Sirius forward, to land upon the hard muscularity of Remus' torso. They both let out happy gasps at once, and, laughing, began to make love, passionately, upon what might have been the dirty floor of a room in Grimmauld Place, and might have been the combed sands of the ocean.
Victor's Self-Insert
A parody, based upon a comment by jagged_waltz regarding self-inserts, and not believing anyone really looks at another person and goes, "Preeeeetty! I want to spend the rest of my life with preeeeeetty."
Pairing: Baby!Vic/Lucius Malfoy's hair
Rating: G
A/N: I was born in 1981, so this is actually how my self-insert would work. I also enjoyed terrorizing the nonexistent Sue!sister. Also, using malefics' Mary Sue Name Generator and changing the name genders, my name is Victorious Apollo Darkhorse Mariao Thorn Prince Greyback.
Sunlight streams through gauzy curtains, burning its prism echoes into four rocking cradles. It pirouettes across the black wood floor, which shines like painted glass. It leaves golden kisses upon Narcissa Malfoy's upswept hair.
Three or four young women: representing the girls of good birth and sense in the area who have children near to Narcissa's son's age, are scattered about upon various chairs. None of them are as pretty as Narcissa. Two are plain, pleasant-looking; one thin and mousy, the other plump with round eyes. The third is moderately attractive, but seems tired and sad.
"It was so kind of you to invite us, Mrs. Malfoy," this woman begins, but winces as a baby's demon screech rips the air. It is a truly unpleasant noise and sets the other three off into screams or fitful weeping in an attempt to follow its doleful lead.
"Oh, there he goes again. My brother just cannot seem to be happy now that our mother's left."
All the women dart toward their respective cradles and withdraw red-faced bundles to pet and jiggle and coo at. Narcissa quiets her son down first, and the others would manage something akin, if the first baby was the slightest bit biddable. This one seem unassailable by any normal baby-flattering, and with an exhausted and apologetic look, his sister darts into the hall, rocking him frantically. She wants the social help Narcissa is offering, and is furious that Victor is getting in her way.
But as she is wishing, not for the first time in ages, that the House Elves would come and take him away, a door closes farther along the hall. She jumps and whirls, patting the baby's back, confronted with the purposeful stride of Lucius Malfoy.
He nods to her curtly as he passes. His long hair catches the light like sheer crystals spun out into thread, soft and glorious. Victor's cries cease; he reaches out with a dimpled hand for the silky offering. "Preeeeetty," he pronounces.
"Hush, Vic," his sister whispers, casting a nervous and furtive glance towards Lucius. "You don't call men pretty."
But Lucius Malfoy's smile is dazzling. He turns to inspect the baby with more interest. "Forgive me, miss, I neither got your name nor that of your charming s-"
"Brother," she forestalls, attempting a smile of her own but simply exposing horse-ish teeth. "I'm Torrent... er," she mumbles the surname, "and this is my dear brother Victor."
Before Lucius can be pleasantly vague in answer, however, baby Victor fixes him with soulless brown eyes. "Wanna go to preeeeeetty," he commands.
"I'm so sorry about this, he's been crying day and night since mother left, and now this-" Torrent seems at her wit's end, but Lucius, having a son of his own, simply extends his arms (after quickly making his clothing and skin impervious to baby-grime). He seems impatient but not in an unfriendly mood.
Victor makes happy noises as he settles against Lucius' velvet. He curls a stubby fist around one lock of long blond hair and rubs it against his cheek blissfully. "Love 'ou…" He announces sleepily, and Lucius' lips twitch, a sunshine flash of something or nothing.
All hell breaks loose, and they need the Wizarding equivalent of the Jaws of Life, when Torrent attempts to pull the baby away.