Writer's Block at Sugarquill Challenge #04: Out of the Comfort Zone - VOTING!
Challenge: Out of the Comfort Zone - Voting!
Points: 1st/2nd/3rd/Participation Only: 50/40/30/10 points & 20/15/10/5 knuts, respectively. 2pts for voting
Deadline: Thursday, October 31 @ 23:59 UTC for voting (timezone converter).
Details: You can write about characters out of their comfort zone. OR you can write a fic out of your own personal comfort zone (a ship you normally don't write, a character you've never written before, angst if you usually prefer fluff, etc.)
Thank you to everyone who entered! We have 9 awesomesauce fics for you all to read, enjoy and vote on! :)
Textbox for your convenience
1st:
2nd:
3rd:
Name || House (or sigtag)
Mod note: Nothing at all graphic, but depending on how you read drabble 1, it could be seen as an implication of future non-con. Just to let you all know ahead of time.
#01
Facing your fears
He grabbed her roughly to him. “You are mine now.”
Hermione’s eyes widened in fear. She looked for a possible escape. Her wand had been snapped before she was thrown into the room with the werewolf. She frantically hoped that at any moment Harry or Ron would burst through the door. She prayed it wouldn’t be too late.
He leaned down and bit her neck as she let out an ear piercing scream. He chuckled at the scream. “Louder, they will think you are not enjoying yourself enough.” He took and tore her clothes off of her body.
Shivering under the scrutiny of his gaze, she felt true fear. She could feel where he had bitten her. She knew it was too late for her to be completely saved. The next question would be, would she survive to see a full moon?
#02
Something New
Percy scowls as he pauses outside the doorway to the club. At first he assumes he has the wrong place, but he double-checks the address and this is where Oliver said to meet.
“You do remember what doors are for, don’t you Perce?” he hears from behind him, and he turns his scowl onto his friend.
“You know I don’t like places like this, Oliver,” he huffs.
Oliver smirks. “Actually I don’t know that. And neither do you, since you’ve never been to one.”
“Because I don’t like them,” Percy practically whines.
“If you don’t like it after half an hour, we can leave,” Oliver promises.
“Fine,” Percy huffs, walking inside. He takes a look around and notices something about the clientele. “Oliver, there’s only blokes here.”
“So you’re not blind then,” Oliver says wryly.
Percy glares at him. “You’ve known me for seven years and now you start making fun of my vision?”
Oliver rolls his eyes. “Not what I meant Perce. It’s just you get so focused on your goals, you don’t notice what’s right in front of you.”
“So you brought me to a club - a gay club - even though I don’t like them?” Percy asks, totally missing what Oliver is getting at.
Oliver growls in frustration and pulls Percy to him and kisses him. “That clarify things?”
“But… since when?”
“Since puberty. I got tired of waiting for you to notice.”
“Why?”
Oliver fights the urge to find the nearest wall and bang his head against it. “Stop asking questions, Perce.”
“Only if you buy me a drink. If you expect me to actually last half an hour, you’re going to have to get me drunk.”
Oliver grins. “Deal.”
#03
Like a Muggle
Draco had no idea what had possessed him to do this: he didn't even have the excuse of being on a dare! But he had already crossed over from the King's Cross platform to the Muggle Underground area, so at this point he had to go through with it. And maybe this would help him understand how sexy... err... filthy little Mudbloods thought so that he could more properly impress them even though the saner side of him said 'anyone who actually WOULD be impressed by proficiency with filthy Muggle things is not worth your time; you're a MALFOY after all!' In any event, he stared intently at the map and realized that he was supposed to take a black train, called the 'Northern Line', even though he was actually going south, to London Bridge. As he packed into the train full of people, he realized he was extremely out of his comfort zone, but he would have interesting stories to tell when this adventure ended!
#04
Just Another Day
Harry was dusting the living room, and had, thankfully, been left alone at the task. Pausing after clearing off the end table in the living room, he stared at the piano with longing. The music, even Dudley’s poor and unsuccessful attempts at it, spoke to him.
It felt like a craving underneath his skin, like his heart was reaching for it vainly.
Oh so vain.
“Boy! Stop staring and finish! Duddiekins has guests coming in 10 minutes and I want you done and back in the cupboard!”
Harry was jolted out of his reverie by his Aunt’s words and sadly, ignored the piano while he hurried to finish cleaning.
#05
Voldemort and the Discovery of Twoo Wuv
Voldemort peered cautiously around the corner, and then swung back again immediately, pressing himself against the wall. It was him. Voldemort leaned quite weakly against the wall, breathing heavily as his heart beat double time. (Or it would have, if he'd still had one. In the meantime, though, his metaphorical heart worked just as well for such occasions.)
Because there he was! Just around the corner, with locks of gleaming gold, and a dazzling smile that could turn knees to water! Voldemort's metaphorical heart gave a hard thump as he dared to sneak another glance at his secret crush, admiring the way the wind appeared to lift the strands of golden hair effortlessly into a windswept, model-esque look, framing his face perfectly.
"Master -- " a reedy voice issued behind him, making him jump in fright. Voldemort whipped around to see the confused, slightly startled face of Wormtail. He scowled deeply at the interruption.
"What is it?" Voldemort snapped, eyes darting impatiently back to the absolute vision. This was wasting precious time. What if the light of his eyes chose that very moment to walk away?
"Sorry to interrupt," and Wormtail quailed as Voldemort stared daggers into him, daring him to suggest what he might possibly have interrupted. "The others are all waiting for your cue to storm St Mungo's. As we previously planned." His voice shrank with his posture, until last part was issued in a whisper.
Voldemort was appalled. "Who came up with such a ridiculous idea?" he demanded, aghast. "I have no intention of doing that tonight!" To demonstrate his resolve, he sneaked another peek. His expression melted into something that on a lesser person would have been called besotted, but because it was on Voldemort, it merely looked slightly constipated.
"My lord," Wormtail began, with some hesitation, "the public restrooms are this way."
Voldemort managed with great difficulty not to curse him outright.
"So the raid..." Rabastan prompted helpfully.
"Another day," Voldemort said decisively, and took a coy step in the direction of his glistening angel. "Hello," he greeted, eyes lowered bashfully.
The blond vision turned around, and his eyes widened at the sight of Voldemort. Slowly, he examined him from top to toe, and Voldemort tried not to blush at his gaze. Then a seductive smile stole across his face. "Why hello there," Gilderoy Lockhart purred, placing a hand on Voldemort's arm. "Pleasure's all mine."
#06
Kissing His Friend Over Lunch
It’s another normal day in the life of Harry Potter - waking up, kissing Ginny and Lily good-bye, and going to the Ministry.
Except that Ron’s out at the moment, which means his normal lunch party of three is now only two, but that shouldn’t really matter.
Except it does matter, because his lunch partner happens to be Draco Malfoy, his ex-enemy, new friend, and maybe-kinda-crush.
Right.
Lunch is mostly quiet, after both of them finish talking about work and office gossip. harry is contentedly sipping some coffee while Draco is hurriedly finishing some papers, looking much like how Harry used to when he was trying to finish homework before class.
Occasionally, Harry would glance up from his drink to see the man across from him, in all his stressed glory, sighing irritatedly through his teeth and running his hand through his lustrous blonde hair.
And then he turns away because the beauty is almost too much to bear. How can one person - not to mention, a man who happens to be a Malfoy - cause so much disturbance in his life?
The savior of the Wizarding world should not be falling for the one that almost killed the wizarding world.
Plus, he’s married.
Draco doesn’t make me feel anything at all, he thinks, until his brain is so tired of thinking that he decides to stare at the man instead.
“Harry?”
“Yes?” he says, snapping out of his daze.
Draco narrows his eyebrows cutely. “Why were you staring at me?”
There is a pregnant pause. He has been caught. Shit.
“Um,” Harry brilliantly says. “There’s something on your face. Here let me get it for you.”
Draco tinges pink, and he’s opening his mouth, probably to say something like he’ll do it himself, but Harry is not planning to listen to him and is already leaning over the table with a napkin, ready to dab at an imaginary spot of coffee.
Draco’s eyes widen at the proximity. “Harry-”
“What-” Draco moves his head at exactly the wrong moment.
There is a soft sensation. Harry feels his cheeks burn up, and watches as Draco turns just as red, because their lips are brushing.
But Draco’s lips begin to move, and he moans lightly, his eyes fluttering shut.
Harry sighs and runs his fingers through Draco’s hair. Bliss. Complete, utter bliss.
Eventually they have to break away for the stupid thing known as oxygen, but when they do, Draco is rosily flushed.
“How was that sweetie?” he sarcastically drawls, but he’s grinning.
“But we’re married!” Harry says, trying to be righteous and failing because damn, Draco’s a good kisser.
“Oh, just shut up and come here, you big oaf,” Draco whispers, crashing his lips onto Harry’s again.
“Screw the wives.”
#07
The First Class
Neville swallows with a loud gulp as he stands in front of the second years that are all staring up at him. The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs are all supposed to be well-behaved (Neville thinks that's laughable) and Headmistress McGonagall has promised that she's only half a castle away if he needs her. He's determined not to need her.
"Al-Alright class," he says, his voice shaking with nerves even as he's excited because he has a great lesson planned. He'd talked to nearly everybody he knew when he started working on his lesson plans for the year, not wanting to do anything too boring or too hard. All but one of his lessons had gotten the immediate okay for McGonagall and it helps calm his nerves. "For our first lesson, we're going to be going through your rules which you should know and then we're going to study Leaping Toadstools."
It's hard, to stand in front of a bunch of students like this, to not panic and to not shake. Even though he's considered highly for his role in the war, he doesn't like crowds or attention. Being a teacher is going to be worth it though.
By the time that class is over, Neville is surprised by how easy that it was. The students all pay quite a bit of attention and seem to be interested in everything that he has to say (even if he had to tell off a Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff for passing notes during the rules). He breathes a sigh of relief as the class files out and sits down behind his desk. Maybe it won't be such a bad year after all, he thinks.
Then he sees that he has sixth years coming in for their class. Oh no.
#08
Where the magic happens
Percy froze yet again and felt his skin burn and his stomach churn. Indecision weighed him down making his feet impossible to lift and move, making him question his plan again and again. Today didn’t seem the right day to do it, a voice in him told him, but it never seemed right and he was running out of time. He sighed profusely and looked ahead at the path before him, at his destination that seemed so short and yet endless. Penelope’s voice sounded in the back of his mind, all sweet and melodically, reminding him of their promise. He almost cursed the Ravenclaw but he loved her greatly and, as much as it pained him, she was right about this.
He started moving them, trying to ignore how unlike him this all was, how out of his elements he felt. The library, the common room, classes, those were the things he knew and could control. But the fresh air hitting his face was not something he was used to. Nature was beautiful, yes, but too immense, too wild, too unpredictable for him. As his feet move, he felt himself panicking again at the thought of sports and sweat, of ordinary jokes and loud snickers. He felt the urge of turning back, returning to his books, to his notes, too all the things he could observe, predict and watch without them changing his life.
“Oi, Perce, what are you doing here? Fred and George have already gone.”
Oliver Wood stood before him in the Quidditch Pitch, sweaty from a nostalgic and needless practice match he had held hours ago. They had won the Quidditch Cup, finally, and there were no more matches for the Captain to play at Hogwarts. Percy bit his lips and thought of the small farewell celebration being held at that moment in the common room. He felt selfish; he wanted Oliver here, not with them, but with him and him only.
“You okay?” The captain asked, frowning at the other’s boy silence. But Percy had no words for him; all the articulacy he could put in his papers and exams fell apart when Oliver looked at him.
Saying that it was nothing or lamely stating that they were waiting for Oliver at the common room seemed plausible courses of action. Turning around and fleeting without a word sounded easier. In the end did none of them.
The Quidditch player blinked slowly as Percy Weasley shortened the distance between them with a kiss.
#09
We all cope (how we do it is what matters)
It happens three days after the Second War ends. You are standing near the northeast corner of the castle, as far away from everyone else as you can get. You don’t want to be seen and you don’t want to talk. You just want to focus.
Which is what you are doing right now. Piece by piece, bit by bit, you watch as your wand fits tiny portions of stone back together, slowly and delicately replacing a wall that has fallen during battle.
You feel a sort of symbiosis with the wall. As you watch it being rebuilt, you feel as if you, too, are being rebuilt - piece by little piece of your soul fitting itself back together, trying to stand again in a world that has been shattered by so much grief, so much pain, so much fear, and so much doubt.
You feel like a shell of yourself, even if you think you should be happy. Others are happy. You see their smiles through their grief-stricken tears. You see the calm on their faces from the knowledge that this is long over.
But ever since your wand met Voldemort’s in one final clash, all you have felt is despair and sadness - and empty. You think you might be broken.
So you concentrate on fixing the broken wall and hope that it helps.
That is when you hear his voice. You don’t even know why he’s here, but you recognize the sound of his voice in a flash and your stomach coils in anger. And then he is behind you. No one else is even close to you, but he is behind you, calming calling your name.
“Potter,” he says snidely. “Fancy seeing you here.”
And you can’t help yourself. You let loose. All your rage, all your hatred, all your frustrations - they are suddenly directed at him. You know somewhere deep down this isn’t his fault, but at the moment, you don’t care. He helped kill Dumbledore, he helped Voldemort torture Hermione and hold Luna prisoner, he was on the side of the people who destroyed your life.
So you let it out. Screaming and cursing - words you didn’t even think you knew flying out of your mouth - and then you are reaching for him, wanting nothing more than to slam his golden blond head through the wall you just rebuilt.
But something strange happens.
You reach for him, but instead of grabbing his head, you find yourself holding firm, broad shoulders. And looking into steely eyes.
And the next thing you know, you are melded together, lips locked, battling each other - for what, you aren’t sure. Control? A way out? Salvation?
It all tastes the same.
You pull back a few seconds later, fury and disgust burning your mouth.
You have never hated someone more. You want to beat him senseless, you want to pound on his flesh, but instead all you can do is meet his lips once more.
Over and over and over.
WB Challenge 5 will be up later this week, so keep an eye out! :)