Fic - R/S - Real Isn’t How You Are Made, It’s A Thing That Happens To You - PG - For M/P LDWS
Title: Real Isn’t How You Are Made, It’s A Thing That Happens To You
Prompt: Genre/cliché: Lie Low at Lupin's. Word prompt: Furry. Team: Moony.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Summary: 'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.' -- The Velveteen Rabbit
Rating: PG
Word Count: 300
Notes: Written for the third week of mp_ldws, second round.
Remus was sat on the doorstep of his tiny terraced house in Liverpool, bare feet on the pavement, a fag between his lips. Dumbledore had sent him a message via patronus that evening, telling him that he was to expect Sirius. He’d been waiting on the front step for hours, smoking under the light from the streetlamp, the warm night air carrying his smoke far and away over the rooftops. He closed his eyes, leant his head against the doorframe, listened to the noise of the television next door and the argument a few doors down. When he dragged his eyes open again, a great black dog was watching him from the other side of the road, sat under the streetlamp. His heart seized. The furry mass walked slowly across the road and into the house and Remus felt a breeze on his back as Padfoot transformed into Sirius.
‘It’s been a long time since I saw you smoking on that step,’ Sirius croaked. Remus nodded, overcome, not trusting himself to turn round just yet, not letting himself believe that it was real.
‘Fourteen years,’ Remus murmured, picking up the cup of tea that was next to him, his hand trembling. Sirius squeezed his shoulder and he stiffened, closing his eyes, tea sloshing over the sides of the mug and onto the cuff of his shabby jumper.
‘Look at me, Remus,’ Sirius said quietly.
‘I want you to be real so badly,’ Remus whispered desperately, dropping the mug to the ground, burying his face in his hands. Sirius pushed Remus’s jumper up and rested a cold hand on his skin, rubbing in slow circles. Remus released a sob at the gentle brush of lips to the back of his neck.
‘I’m here,’ Sirius said. ‘I’m real. And so are you.’
Prompt: Genre/cliché: Lie Low at Lupin's. Word prompt: Furry. Team: Moony.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Summary: 'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.' -- The Velveteen Rabbit
Rating: PG
Word Count: 300
Notes: Written for the third week of mp_ldws, second round.
Remus was sat on the doorstep of his tiny terraced house in Liverpool, bare feet on the pavement, a fag between his lips. Dumbledore had sent him a message via patronus that evening, telling him that he was to expect Sirius. He’d been waiting on the front step for hours, smoking under the light from the streetlamp, the warm night air carrying his smoke far and away over the rooftops. He closed his eyes, leant his head against the doorframe, listened to the noise of the television next door and the argument a few doors down. When he dragged his eyes open again, a great black dog was watching him from the other side of the road, sat under the streetlamp. His heart seized. The furry mass walked slowly across the road and into the house and Remus felt a breeze on his back as Padfoot transformed into Sirius.
‘It’s been a long time since I saw you smoking on that step,’ Sirius croaked. Remus nodded, overcome, not trusting himself to turn round just yet, not letting himself believe that it was real.
‘Fourteen years,’ Remus murmured, picking up the cup of tea that was next to him, his hand trembling. Sirius squeezed his shoulder and he stiffened, closing his eyes, tea sloshing over the sides of the mug and onto the cuff of his shabby jumper.
‘Look at me, Remus,’ Sirius said quietly.
‘I want you to be real so badly,’ Remus whispered desperately, dropping the mug to the ground, burying his face in his hands. Sirius pushed Remus’s jumper up and rested a cold hand on his skin, rubbing in slow circles. Remus released a sob at the gentle brush of lips to the back of his neck.
‘I’m here,’ Sirius said. ‘I’m real. And so are you.’