Firewhiskey Fic: Some Alone Time
(I've forgotten to copy my Dreamwidth posts here. Here's the latest one.)
Reveals are up at Firewhiskey Fic.
Check out all the fabulously drunken masterpieces! I can't help feeling proud and not just glad to say that several of them feature my eternal OTC Remus - after back when when I first participated in these shenanigans in early 2020, I was the only one writing about him. Remus is certainly happier in some of those other fics than in mine. I have once again shared an odd little G-rated piece, which is probably gen, altough it's possible to interpret some Crookshanks/Sirius and Aberforth/Remus as well as Remus/Sirius in it.
Title: Some Alone Time
Author: paulamcg
Characters: Crookshanks, Sirius, Aberforth, Remus
Prompts used: Aberforth Dumbledore, Hog's Head, Marathon, Insomnia, Forced Proximity, One Too Many (Not used: Madam Rosmerta)
Summary: Crookshanks slinks into the night and feels he must stay in Hogsmeade so as to observe at least one of the publicans.
Rating: G
Word count: Around 500
Author's Notes (if any): An anomalous animal's pov
This was written for the It's 5 o'clock Somewhere edition of Firewhiskey Fic on Dreamwidth. The original version can be read here in the DW community - together with the kind comments from fellow participants. (Firewhiskey really is the best chance for me to get feeback on my fic, and I'll enjoy writing my thank-you notes. And posting more comments finally.) This time there were barely any hilarious typos (in my humble contribution, I mean) to be fixed, and I haven't tried to fix the (perhaps not merely) drunken feature of my storytelling that it suddenly just - stops.
The final version is here on AO3
as well as right here:
Some Alone Time
A tom like me needs some alone time.
Trying my best to relax on this drafty, ravaged room's single bed, as I'm spooned from behind by the mutt - Padfoot, I should remember to call him now that the mess his mind has been is settling with that as his name... or Pads? Whatever. When I manage a somnolent purr, he'll soon drift off. Not literally, unfortunately. But I will: slip from under his slackening paws.
What a relief that the frosts have finally begun to abate! The two of us have spent too many nights in forced proximity. Now my body warmth is no longer necessary for this wretched wizard's comfort if he stays in his hairier form.
I'm not heading to the tunnel this time. Definitely not to the castle, to the pushy bushy-haired witch. What is it with humans that stops them from becoming handsome no matter how much hair they grow, unless they become Animagi.
Now focus. This may be my night off, but I can still hunt, as that's what I enjoy.
And the hunting ground tonight will be Hogsmeade, because... something's telling me I must see at least one publican.
All right, I'm jumping out through the downstairs window where Pads tore off a plank back when he arrived in September.
Let's say a cat doesn't word all his thoughts or all the perceptions of a mild winter night.
Some snowflakes tickle my nose, but I concentrate on listening for any rodents' light, quick footfalls.
There's one. A mere mouse. I hope to feast on a rat a bit later, but we don't need that in the story. Because it will be a mundane rat. Not the bloody Animagus who's faked his death again and stayed hidden since then.
I'm hurrying towards the Hogs Head as the clouds part and reveal a waxing gibbous moon. I'm not surprised when I smell the werewolf Professor approach. Of course, he's the one to suffer from insomnia.
Having sneaked to the back yard, I greet the goats. Better stay on good terms with them. They've agreed to save some of the food Aberforth puts out for them, and I collect it. Now that they've told me that the werewolf has asked about strays, Pads is shy to come around.
Reconnaissance, too, is up to me. I leap up to a windowsill and perk my ears.
“No way, not another drinking marathon for you, lad! You've had one too many too many times since before Christmas.”
“I love...”
“You love to talk, you love dogs, I've heard all about that. And I've told you there was one coming for scraps, one that looked...”
“Like the Grim?”
“And like it might have listened to me...”
“Like the goats - understood your words?”
“Perhaps communicated with my goats too. And stopped coming. You don't have to. Stop coming I mean. Just stop drinking too much!”
Reveals are up at Firewhiskey Fic.
Check out all the fabulously drunken masterpieces! I can't help feeling proud and not just glad to say that several of them feature my eternal OTC Remus - after back when when I first participated in these shenanigans in early 2020, I was the only one writing about him. Remus is certainly happier in some of those other fics than in mine. I have once again shared an odd little G-rated piece, which is probably gen, altough it's possible to interpret some Crookshanks/Sirius and Aberforth/Remus as well as Remus/Sirius in it.
Title: Some Alone Time
Author: paulamcg
Characters: Crookshanks, Sirius, Aberforth, Remus
Prompts used: Aberforth Dumbledore, Hog's Head, Marathon, Insomnia, Forced Proximity, One Too Many (Not used: Madam Rosmerta)
Summary: Crookshanks slinks into the night and feels he must stay in Hogsmeade so as to observe at least one of the publicans.
Rating: G
Word count: Around 500
Author's Notes (if any): An anomalous animal's pov
This was written for the It's 5 o'clock Somewhere edition of Firewhiskey Fic on Dreamwidth. The original version can be read here in the DW community - together with the kind comments from fellow participants. (Firewhiskey really is the best chance for me to get feeback on my fic, and I'll enjoy writing my thank-you notes. And posting more comments finally.) This time there were barely any hilarious typos (in my humble contribution, I mean) to be fixed, and I haven't tried to fix the (perhaps not merely) drunken feature of my storytelling that it suddenly just - stops.
The final version is here on AO3
as well as right here:
Some Alone Time
A tom like me needs some alone time.
Trying my best to relax on this drafty, ravaged room's single bed, as I'm spooned from behind by the mutt - Padfoot, I should remember to call him now that the mess his mind has been is settling with that as his name... or Pads? Whatever. When I manage a somnolent purr, he'll soon drift off. Not literally, unfortunately. But I will: slip from under his slackening paws.
What a relief that the frosts have finally begun to abate! The two of us have spent too many nights in forced proximity. Now my body warmth is no longer necessary for this wretched wizard's comfort if he stays in his hairier form.
I'm not heading to the tunnel this time. Definitely not to the castle, to the pushy bushy-haired witch. What is it with humans that stops them from becoming handsome no matter how much hair they grow, unless they become Animagi.
Now focus. This may be my night off, but I can still hunt, as that's what I enjoy.
And the hunting ground tonight will be Hogsmeade, because... something's telling me I must see at least one publican.
All right, I'm jumping out through the downstairs window where Pads tore off a plank back when he arrived in September.
Let's say a cat doesn't word all his thoughts or all the perceptions of a mild winter night.
Some snowflakes tickle my nose, but I concentrate on listening for any rodents' light, quick footfalls.
There's one. A mere mouse. I hope to feast on a rat a bit later, but we don't need that in the story. Because it will be a mundane rat. Not the bloody Animagus who's faked his death again and stayed hidden since then.
I'm hurrying towards the Hogs Head as the clouds part and reveal a waxing gibbous moon. I'm not surprised when I smell the werewolf Professor approach. Of course, he's the one to suffer from insomnia.
Having sneaked to the back yard, I greet the goats. Better stay on good terms with them. They've agreed to save some of the food Aberforth puts out for them, and I collect it. Now that they've told me that the werewolf has asked about strays, Pads is shy to come around.
Reconnaissance, too, is up to me. I leap up to a windowsill and perk my ears.
“No way, not another drinking marathon for you, lad! You've had one too many too many times since before Christmas.”
“I love...”
“You love to talk, you love dogs, I've heard all about that. And I've told you there was one coming for scraps, one that looked...”
“Like the Grim?”
“And like it might have listened to me...”
“Like the goats - understood your words?”
“Perhaps communicated with my goats too. And stopped coming. You don't have to. Stop coming I mean. Just stop drinking too much!”