musesfool: she sees the truth behind the lies

musesfool, 2004-10-06 08:48 am UTC (Expand)

musesfool, 2004-10-06 08:39 am UTC (Expand)

vixenette
2004-10-06 07:58 am UTC (link)

I see this, I promise I'll do one -- have to go to a study meeting and then class now, but I'll be back later to write one. Promise! Until then . . .

* * * * *

Remus Lupin is thirty-five years old.

"That's really old," Ginny says.

"You're distinguished," Harry says.

"Enjoy your youth, dear," Molly says.

"You're old enough to be the test subject for our new invention, the Crappy Nappies," Fred said.

"First sign of old age is using a cane," George says.

"Whoa, that's ancient," Ron says.

"Look at it this way; at least you didn't start greying until you got really old," Tonks says.

"You've always been old; you have wrinkles," Kingsley says.

"Good looks leave with old age, which explains it," Snape says.

Sirius takes Remus' head into his hands, cradling the thin face gently. "You're exactly the same as you were fifteen years ago," he breathes, right before he kisses him. "You're beautiful."

* * * * *

See? Major suckage. Shall write a better one later. *dashes off to class*

	musesfool 2004-10-06 08:45 am UTC (link)
	Aw, so sweet. Thank you! I especially love Fred's comment. G (Reply to this) (Parent)

phaballa
2004-10-06 08:08 am UTC (link)

Thought I'd contribute...

****

"I have a bad feeling about this."

"For Merline's sake, Sirius! Would you kindly stop quoting from that infernal film?"

"What?" Sirius muttered defensively. "It's a good film. It's an allegory for our times, Moony. Good versus evil, scary old men with magic, the world moving on..."

Remus snorted. "Oh please. And I suppose you fancy yourself Han Solo in all of this?"

Sirius grinned. "'Course. And you're my Chewie."

	musesfool 2004-10-06 08:41 am UTC (link)
	Hee! Brilliant! (Reply to this) (Parent)

castaliae, 2004-10-06 10:17 am UTC (Expand)

phaballa, 2004-10-06 10:55 am UTC (Expand)

100 words.

darthfox
2004-10-06 08:14 am UTC (link)

He makes a promise to a widow.

One of her surviving children is maimed, and one is blind; all are bitter. Her friends, and theirs -- and his -- are gone: dead, or fled, or in prison. Her house is ruined, the bits of it still standing now haunted by far less pleasant things than ghosts.

Her husband was to lead them, but the bleakest irony is that his loss may be the stem that turns the tide. The people's outrage at the death of that gentle man may be the key to victory.

I swear, in his memory, that we'll win.

hmm. grimmer than i intended. maybe i'll take a whack at another one later this evening.

	Re: 100 words. musesfool 2004-10-06 10:14 am UTC (link)
	Oh, my poor Weasleys. That's lovely. (Reply to this) (Parent)

In the silence of the dormitory, every sound is magnified.

siryn99
2004-10-06 08:34 am UTC (link)

A drabble and 3/4ths, because the muses like Remus. ;)
*****

In the silence of the dormitory, every sound is magnified. Every one of Peter's snores and James' snuffles sounds as if they are sleeping right next to him. Oddly only Sirius, who can never be quiet or still when he's awake, is silent. He sleeps deep and hard, without the nightmares that plague Remus, drenching him in a cold sweat and gasping for air behind the red velvet hangings.

It's nights like that Remus misses now, misses the way he could crawl into bed with Sirius after a bad dream and wrap himself around his body, warm and solid under his hands. Remus would lie there, letting the steady rise and fall of Sirius' breathing lull him back to sleep, the monsters kept at bay for one more night.

But since the spring, he can't do that. Now Sirius is part of the nightmares, and when he wakes up, the coppery taste of blood in his mouth, he buries himself in the quilt and waits for the thin morning light to chase away the nightmares instead.

Re: In the silence of the dormitory, every sound is magnified. -

	Re: In the silence of the dormitory, every sound is magnified. musesfool 2004-10-06 10:05 am UTC (link)
	whimper Poor Remus. Poor Sirius. That's lovely. /pets the puppies. (Reply to this) (Parent)(Thread)(Expand)

siryn99, 2004-10-06 11:40 am UTC (Expand)

penknife
2004-10-06 09:01 am UTC (link)

Double drabble, Rogue:

You've always known you were different.

Your aunts gathered around the broad-leafed table, balancing plates and glasses of sweet tea, and talked about sick relatives and taxes and the children who ran around the living room shouting and watching TV. You stared out the window at the street and wondered how far it goes. How far you'd get if you just started driving and didn't stop until you were far away.

Your mother played the piano, not well but cheerfully, pounding out Christmas carols in front of the sparkly tree. She always had to make you practice, thudding through beginner lessons, one foot kicking idly, scuffing the old hardwood floor. You loved the radio instead, tuning in stations from as far away as you could reach. Wondering what the music was like in California, Alaska, Mexico.

So when you kiss a boy and he falls thrashing to the bed, leaving you sobbing with your back pressed to the wall, there's some part of you that's not surprised. It whispers to you as you throw clothes into a bag a week later because your parents are once again shouting about you downstairs: you've always known what you get for wanting more.

	musesfool 2004-10-06 10:09 am UTC (link)
	Omigod. That's fucking FABulous. That last line is just chilling. Thank you. (Reply to this) (Parent)

zeelee_penguin, 2004-10-06 01:48 pm UTC (Expand)

profshallowness, 2004-10-07 02:04 am UTC (Expand)

ari_o
2004-10-06 09:03 am UTC (link)

"When Remus goes to bed to sleep, he goes alone." But when he gets there and slides into sleep he is never alone. James finds him first and they do not speak because they are wolf and stag and do not share a common language. Remus is never the were creature who feeds on human flesh, in his dreams he is a great silver wolf with a black snout.

Stag and wolf run over snow with sure fleet feet until they find a large black dog sitting on the crest of a hill. The sniff each other. They run. They rest. They are happy.

	musesfool 2004-10-06 10:06 am UTC (link)
	Oh, that's beautiful. I love the idea that he dreams he's a true wolf, and that it's James he runs with. (Reply to this) (Parent)(Thread)(Expand)

ari_o, 2004-10-06 10:27 am UTC (Expand)

musesfool, 2004-10-06 10:45 am UTC (Expand)

ari_o, 2004-10-06 10:50 am UTC (Expand)

musesfool, 2004-10-06 11:08 am UTC (Expand)

froda_baggins
2004-10-06 09:14 am UTC (link)

"I have a bad feeling about this."

Sirius rolls his eyes. "You always have bad feelings, Moony. When are they ever right?"

"I can think of a few times..."

"Oh shut up." He pulls Remus farther into the stacks, glancing around to make sure there are no stray students browsing this obscure part of the Hogwarts library, and then he grins almost ferally, pushing Remus up against a bookshelf.

And suddenly there is nothing but lips, teeth, tongue, hands, and it's all Remus can do to keep from moaning aloud and attracting the sharp gaze of Madam Pince.

But the bad feeling is definitely gone.

	musesfool 2004-10-06 10:06 am UTC (link)
	Mmm...nummy stacks smut... (Reply to this) (Parent)

ranalore
2004-10-06 09:20 am UTC (link)

I forget if this is a fandom you like, but the line grabbed me.

***
Treasure Not Gold

When they return to the ship, he can't stop touching her. She returns the favor, musket fire and sword clash still echoing in her head. It's what she likes least about this life, the danger to her treasure.

He's told her he thinks her the same, and she wonders if he's considered tying her to the bed and bolting the cabin door. She has. There's always the chance the ship will be boarded, though, so she takes the risk of keeping him close, and runs threats through without a qualm.

She's a pirate, after all, and she guards what's hers.

END

	musesfool 2004-10-06 10:16 am UTC (link)
	Ooh, Pirates! I am very fond of PotC. Thank you! (Reply to this) (Parent)(Thread)(Expand)

ranalore, 2004-10-10 02:43 pm UTC (Expand)

callmesandy
2004-10-06 09:41 am UTC (link)

I'm not even trying for 100 words. We're calling this a ficlet. For your sometimes default. And I tried, I swear. :)

In the silence of the dormitory, every sound is magnified. It's kind of weird, middle of the day, big college and this one hall and its seven rooms, no sound at all. Somewhere above, someone's playing that generic crappy reggae all the stoners get into freshman year. Or they're supposed to, that's what Xander was led to believe.

He doesn't know anyone who graduated from college, he realizes. Cordelia threw away all those letters in front of him and went off to LA, died. Maybe she stopped caring. He never even considered college, hasn't hurt him so far. He's pretty sure of that. Jonathon, Larry and that whole long list of people he sort of knew all his life dead and gone, no alumni association will ever hunt them down for $25 for a new library. Buffy and Willow never finished. Wherever Oz is, Xander doubts he's sitting in some classroom, taking notes or not paying attention. Dawn is still putting off choosing a college, enjoying her own self study of all the spooky languages Giles throws at her. And Anya --

Xander stops there. He's only been a visitor in dorms and on campus. And in the middle of the day, in all this quiet, he's suddenly all deep-thinky about college. He finds the door he's here to knock on and stands in front, ready to tell some girl whatever he thinks to say. It's so quiet he thinks he can hear her fingers typing, click clack click clack here I am at college thinking and studying. He knocks on the door.

	musesfool 2004-10-06 10:16 am UTC (link)
	Oh, my Xander, doing what he has to do. Lovely. Thank you. (Reply to this) (Parent)(Thread)(Expand)

callmesandy, 2004-10-06 10:27 am UTC (Expand)

musesfool, 2004-10-06 10:43 am UTC (Expand)

callmesandy, 2004-10-06 10:56 am UTC (Expand)

musesfool, 2004-10-06 11:07 am UTC (Expand)

callmesandy, 2004-10-06 11:22 am UTC (Expand)

unanon, 2004-10-06 11:09 am UTC (Expand)

callmesandy, 2004-10-06 11:23 am UTC (Expand)

jengrrrl
2004-10-06 10:00 am UTC (link)

Paris liked Lou Reed.

Rory raised an eyebrow. "Lou Reed?"

"The Velvet Underground?" she replied exasperated.

"I know who Lou Reed is, Paris." Rory scrunched up her face. "I'm just...surprised."

"Why?" Paris turned defensive; Rory hated when Paris was defensive.

“You seem like you'd like, um, like Celine Dion...or something.”

“That's cruel, Rory. I don't say mean things about you.”

Rory sat back, shocked.

“Not all the time, anyhow.”

“Paris, I put up with a lot.”

Paris smiled smug. She leaned in close and kissed Rory soundly on the mouth. She tasted of peppermint. “How's that?”

“A start.”

	musesfool 2004-10-06 10:07 am UTC (link)
	Woo! Paris/Rory! I love them together. Thank you so much! “You seem like you'd like, um, like Celine Dion...or something.” “That's cruel, Rory. I don't say mean things about you.” Bwahahahaha! That's brilliant. (Reply to this) (Parent)

sideofzen, 2004-10-06 03:33 pm UTC (Expand)

When Remus goes to bed to sleep, he goes alone

shywild
2004-10-06 10:07 am UTC (link)

When Remus goes to bed to sleep, he goes alone. Sirius stands by his bed a long time, looking at the closed curtains, knowing Remus is no more asleep than he. It’s been weeks of uncharacteristic quiet from Sirius, shakey timidity from Remus, and neither James nor Peter can work out why their friendship has, without warning, fallen apart.

Sirius takes a deep breath, steps forward and pulls open Remus’ curtain.

‘It’s my turn to give an earth-shattering totally inappropriate kiss, you fucking idiot friendship-wrecking fag.’

The next morning, Sirius is exhausted, but at least Remus has lost his shakes.

Re: When Remus goes to bed to sleep, he goes alone -

	Re: When Remus goes to bed to sleep, he goes alone musesfool 2004-10-06 10:19 am UTC (link)
	Hee! Brilliant! Thank you. (Reply to this) (Parent)(Thread)(Expand)

shywild, 2004-10-06 10:24 am UTC (Expand)

bluerosefairy
2004-10-06 10:11 am UTC (link)

Don't know if you like Queer as Folk, but this line inspired a scenario that I can totally see happening.

**********

"I have a bad feeling about this.", Brian says, after ten minutes of thinking.

Michael doesn't miss a beat. "Han Solo, in A New Hope. Come on, Brian, give me a hard one!"

"Not all of us have the entire trilogy memorized, Mikey. It's your turn."

Michael grins as he finds a quote that will stump Brian. There's no way he'd know this one. "I am not a committee!"

"Leia, in Empire."

"What the - you've never seen Empire!"

"Yes I have."

"When?"

"You got the entire trilogy on video for your sixteenth birthday, remember? We spent all night watching it."

"You fell asleep halfway through the first movie, Brian! You kicked over the soda in your sleep and Ma threw a fit when she found out we got coke all over her rugs."

Brian leans in to whisper in his ear. "I woke up when you were cheering about the Death Star. You sat back down in my lap. I was so turned on, I didn’t get back to sleep until Jedi was over.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“You’re adorable when you’re excited. Besides, that wasn’t the sofa digging into your back.”

“Brian!”, Michael whines, and leans in to kiss his best friend.

END.

	bluerosefairy 2004-10-06 10:12 am UTC (link)
	Sorry, I forgot to mention it's a double drabble. As if it's not completely apparent by the length. (Reply to this) (Parent)

musesfool, 2004-10-06 10:15 am UTC (Expand)

bluerosefairy, 2004-10-06 03:16 pm UTC (Expand)

getaway_machine
2004-10-06 10:15 am UTC (link)

Okay, so you don't know me, so it's weird that I did this, I guess. But I friended you for your fic, because I love it, and I couldn't resist. And it's exactly 100 words! Woo.

--

Sirius tastes of cigarettes and firewhisky when Remus kisses him. He knows that Sirius is drunk; he doesn’t care. It all feels so right; he knows he’ll never forget the exquisite flavor of this moment. Firewhisky doesn’t seem so awful anymore.

The smells, too -- those are good. Cigarette smoke has never smelled quite so attractive before. It’s burned into Sirius’ clothing, etched into his skin, and Remus knows that he won’t forget that, either.

And then Sirius moans: "Remus." His other memories scatter; they fade into the background, easily forgotten -- that moan is all that matters. It is enough.

	musesfool 2004-10-06 10:22 am UTC (link)
	Guh. Comment more often if you're going to do things like this. g melts Thank you. (Reply to this) (Parent)

thepiratequeen
2004-10-06 10:17 am UTC (link)

Paris liked Lou Reed. She had spent the last two hours playing Satellite of Love on a loop to drown out the sounds coming from Rory's room but every gasp and moan her roommate made seemed to seep into the music and eventually overpower it. Dean had been over for more then three hours and while they had tried their best at first to be quiet and discreet as time went on a lustful symphony of increasing noise began to pour forth from her room.

She thought of Asher and how everything with them had been quiet and discreet. He had never made any sounds when they made love and she had always remained as silent as possible. At the time she thought it made them more dignified as if they had found some way to make sex refined. Now as she listened to Rory make sounds she had never heard and never imagined possible for a human to make she wondered if she had once again gotten it all wrong.

Paris had all but admitted defeat to Rory in the game of love when she heard the door to the suite close and tiptoeing into the living room found Rory curled up on the couch. She didn't have to look at the pain or confusion on Rory's face for long to realize that for once they had both lost. She curled up on the couch and awkwardly took Rory's hand in her one as the faint sounds of Lou Reed drifted out from her room.

musesfool
2004-10-06 10:23 am UTC (link)

Aw, my poor girls. Doesn't Rory know she belongs with Paris?

At the time she thought it made them more dignified as if they had found some way to make sex refined. Now as she listened to Rory make sounds she had never heard and never imagined possible for a human to make she wondered if she had once again gotten it all wrong.

I love this - it's so very Paris.

Thank you!

(Reply to this) (Parent)(Thread)(Expand)

thepiratequeen, 2004-10-06 09:43 pm UTC (Expand)

lattara
2004-10-06 10:57 am UTC (link)

(previous comment erased, because I can't spell, apparently.)

You've always known you were different. Not because you were the only girl; that's too apparent to be true. Maybe because you sometimes feel something in your blood when your mother screams at your brothers in the heat of a fight and when you point your wand and cry Alohomora. Maybe because you are weakstrong and angry and defiant. Maybe it's because there’s never been a prophecy about you. This fact frees you from the rest of them.

The sky is secretive, and you try to learn its secrets while you touch your fingertips to Seamus'. Difference doesn't mean indifference.

	musesfool 2004-10-06 07:29 pm UTC (link)
	Oh, Ginny. Shivery good. Thank you. (Reply to this) (Parent)

Reflections

valarltd
2004-10-06 11:10 am UTC (link)

He has many names, none of them his. Only one calls him by his own name, sees his real face.

When he looks in the mirror, he sees young, old, male, female, black, and white. He has learned to respond quickly to whatever name he is called: Max, Tom, Frankie, Jesse, Darlene, Samantha. He walks in shoes that are not his, loves women he will never meet, and wears clothing in styles he never knew.

It is a sign of Sam's unstable lifestyle that he associates the sound of his own name with rescue. With Al. With timeless love.

	Re: Reflections musesfool 2004-10-06 07:29 pm UTC (link)
	Hee! Quantum Leap! I didn't expect that. Cool! Thank you. (Reply to this) (Parent)

drabble and a quarter

krabapple
2004-10-06 11:30 am UTC (link)

Paris liked Lou Reed. Rory had first learned this down in Washington, the first summer they spent together, when Paris met Jamie.

The second summer, Rory went to Europe with her mother, and Paris had a life coach.

The third summer, Rory went to Europe again because she slept with a boy she wasn't supposed to. Paris went to Europe, too, though mostly England, because she slept with a man she wasn't supposed to.

The fourth summer, Paris played Lou Reed again, constantly, all the time, lyrics like smoke, melody like rain misting through the small flat in the city she was named for. That summer, Paris and Rory went to Europe together, because they slept with each other, even when they weren't supposed to.

*******

Friended you through HP fic; thanks for letting me play! Couldn't resist a shot at the Paris/Rory. :)

	Re: drabble and a quarter musesfool 2004-10-06 07:31 pm UTC (link)
	Whee! There really needs to be more Paris/Rory. I like this a lot. Thank you! (Reply to this) (Parent)

unanon
2004-10-06 11:53 am UTC (link)

When they return to the ship, he can't stop touching her. He brushes his fingers down the length of her arm as they pass in corridors; his knee bumps into hers at dinner. Even his looks are touches, wondering, thankful caresses and she feels the weight of them against her skin from across the cargo hold as she taunts Jayne or confuses Book. His eyes press kisses against her skin far deeper than the chaste ones she receives all too rarely from his lips.

He vocalizes worry, twitching anxious fingers across her skin with the pretext of medicine, but River knows the truth buried beneath the heat of Simon's touch.

	musesfool 2004-10-06 07:32 pm UTC (link)
	Wow. Just... wow. His eyes press kisses against her skin far deeper than the chaste ones she receives all too rarely from his lips. So perfectly River/Simon. Thank you! (Reply to this) (Parent)(Thread)(Expand)

unanon, 2004-10-07 08:25 am UTC (Expand)

vixenette
2004-10-06 11:58 am UTC (link)

Okay, my second one. Only . . . er, 688 words. :P

* * * * *

In the silence of the dormitory, every sound is magnified. There's a leaky shower faucet in the adjoining bathroom, the splash of each drop hitting the tiled floor, echoing. House elves are rustling around in the common room downstairs, feeding the fire and cleaning. The wind is howling outside of the window, whipping through the trees with every gust of the traveling night air.

Peter makes these snuffling noises in his sleep, as if his hand is curled up right in front of his nose. James gets a stuffy head at night, which usually results in a faint wheeze through his nostrils.

Sirius listens raptly, a nagging feeling in his head telling him that there's something wrong. Something missing. He turns his head and pulls at the edge of his curtain, leaning on his elbow slowly and peering out into the dim room.

Remus' bed is next to his, and Sirius realizes what it is that he can't hear.

He crawls softly out of bed, his bare feet curling at the kiss of the cold stone floor. He shivers slightly. It is November, and six years of sleeping in a stone castle reminds him that nothing, not even magic, can keep the dormitory air warm enough. The blankets on the beds are enough.

Which is why Sirius questions himself as he tiptoes to Remus' bed, curious as to the absence of sound. He wonders if Remus is using a silencing charm. Maybe he has nightmares and he is embarrassed about what his friends would say if he shouted them awake at night. Maybe he is wanking.

Sirius feels himself flush at the thought of Remus wanking. It isn't a common thought; it is one that he tries to suppress when necessary. Like when he isn't conveniently secured in his own bed, blanketed by a silencing charm. Or when he is in the showers by himself.

Chiding himself for the thoughts running through his head, Sirius knows that it would be a bad idea to pull Remus' curtain back. It is a very bad idea, indeed. But he isn't thinking with his head at the moment, and it is all he could do to restrain himself from tearing the curtain back and plastering his own hard body against Remus'.

Wanking, he's wanking and there's a silencing charm and if I catch him at it, maybe he'll ask me to stay and then I could have him . . .

But Remus is not wanking. He is sleeping. His pyjama shirt is riding up, exposing the soft skin of his stomach. The blankets are tangled under one of his arms. His chest is rising and falling in deep, even breaths. Sirius stares, studying every detail, holding it secure in his memory before he cuts himself off and starts to let the curtain fall.

Remus makes a noise. A small, faint noise, a slight whimper or sigh or something that makes Sirius' heart leap into his throat as he watches Remus' eyes flutter halfway open.

"Sirius?" Remus' voice is soft and quiet and full of sleep and curiosity. "What are you doing?"

Sirius kneels down so that his head is near Remus'. The scent of a sleep-warm body is soft and soothing in the space behind the curtain. It makes Sirius dizzy. "I couldn't sleep, and I was listening to the sounds and I realized that I couldn't hear anything from you. I came to see if you were safe."

"Safe? From sleep?" Remus smiles slightly, his untangled arm rising off the mattress. He touches Sirius' cheek. "I'm safe. Don't worry."

Sirius swallows nervously. Remus is staring at him with hooded eyes. "That's . . . I'm glad. That's what I was doing." He shivers again as a draft of cool air hits the skin of his exposed back. "I suppose I'll go back to bed now."

Remus' hand trails down to Sirius' shoulder, squeezing. "Sirius?"

"Mmm?" Another shiver. Sirius feels a tug.

"Keep me safe," Remus murmurs softly, tugging again, the corners of his mouth curled up slightly.

Sirius nods, crawling up into the warm space to keep Remus safe.

	musesfool 2004-10-06 07:33 pm UTC (link)
	Oh that's utterly lovely, Vixy. I held my breath through most of it, trying to be as silent as Sirius. Beautiful. Thank you. (Reply to this) (Parent)

reapingfolk
2004-10-06 12:28 pm UTC (link)

He makes a promise to a widow. He lies to a dying boy. He kisses the forehead of a little girl and sends her out of the warehouse with her family, telling her that if she's a good girl, her family will make it out of the city alive, and telling himself that he wasn't doing it because she had red curls.

Xander does a lot of things - including lying - and he regrets nothing. Regrets are something he used to carry around when sentimentality was something people could afford to have. In fact, he distinctly remembers carrying it in the brown leather wallet Anya gave him one Christmas - next to the picture of Willow and Buffy sitting on a bench outside the old high school. The camera had been old and it caught the sunlight in such a way that both of Xander's girls looked more distinct than everything else in the picture. It was as though, even then, naiive and optimistic, they were sharper - edgier - than the rest of the world combined.

Xander had lost the photograph, along with the wallet, when Marocco became another Lost City. He doesn't miss it much. It is just that, sometimes, when he's lonely and choking to cry, but can't, because, dammit, he hasn't seen clean water for so long, Xander's hand, traitorous and of its own volition, wanders to his back pocket to pull out the wallet - only to stop because there is nothing there. There is nothing left of his girls. There is nothing left of anything anymore - nothing but evil and widows and dying boys and new slayers and little girls with big fish eyes and red curls.

Buffy was the fighter, but she's gone now. Giles was the thinker, but he's gone too. Gone with Anya and Dawn and Spike and all of them. The lines of defense was slowly erased until only one remained. The last defense - a boy who does not know how to do anything but help.

So Xander makes a promise to a widow. He lies to a dying boy. He kisses the forehead of a little girl and tells her the secret only he knows.

That the She - the evil one with black eyes and black hair who destroys cities by the hundreds - used to cry when she broke crayons.

	unanon 2004-10-06 12:32 pm UTC (link)
	Oh...oh...oh! This made me cry! Just lovely. (Reply to this) (Parent)(Thread)(Expand)

reapingfolk, 2004-10-07 06:39 pm UTC (Expand)

jedi_penguin, 2004-10-06 02:23 pm UTC (Expand)

reapingfolk, 2004-10-07 06:40 pm UTC (Expand)

arianamama, 2004-10-06 03:02 pm UTC (Expand)

reapingfolk, 2004-10-07 06:41 pm UTC (Expand)

roguewords, 2004-10-06 05:26 pm UTC (Expand)

reapingfolk, 2004-10-07 06:42 pm UTC (Expand)

musesfool, 2004-10-06 07:34 pm UTC (Expand)

reapingfolk, 2004-10-07 06:46 pm UTC (Expand)

With apologies to Wordsworth...

shetiger
2004-10-06 12:29 pm UTC (link)

A dribble, cause it dribbled over.

The daffodils are late this year.

Remus lies on his couch, pondering the cold that seems to emanate from his soul and cover the world around him like Demeter’s grief. Even the littlest harbingers of joy are verboten, and so the daffodils hide their yellow heads while the stars shroud their dance under a cloud-filled sky.

Even the wolf is a whimpering, hurting thing inside. Normally it howls for release, testing his will in little ways. A spilt cup, a snappish remark, an overly lustful thought. But now the wolf licks his wounds, and Remus ponders loss.

The daffodils are late this year.

	Re: With apologies to Wordsworth... musesfool 2004-10-06 07:35 pm UTC (link)
	sniffle Poor Remus. Thank you. (Reply to this) (Parent)

nifra_idril
2004-10-06 12:36 pm UTC (link)

The war was going badly. This was not a secret. It was also not a surprise, and most of the time, James cared. In fact, it tore him apart -- watching people go out to fight Death Eaters, and not come back, worrying where Lily was, if she was safe, if she was careful, and wondering what would happen if he ever left without coming back.

But on June 16, 1984, James woke up angry at the war. He woke up furious at it for making Lily so nervous that she was already awake and at her desk bent over a pile of scrolls, though it was still dark out. He woke up utterly enraged that his arm still hurt from his last assignment, and even angrier that Sirius was still at St. Mungo's. He was livid that Remus hadn't been with them -- that the already insane Ministry had been driven batty enough by the war to make it impossible for the most talented wizard James knew to be an Auror.

James was tired. He was tired and he was sick of being afraid and quiet and responsible for protecting so many people he'd never met, when the people he wanted most to protect threw themselves into the line of fire. He was a young man, with a beautiful wife who he loved and friends who were total rotters but, in the end, the best friends a fellow could possible have.

He could just see Lily from the bed, the line of her body as she bent over the desk, the side of her face. She kept biting her lower lip, and murmuring to herself as she made notes. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her hair frizzed around her head.

The war, James decided, throwing off his covers and standing, could sod off for the day. He stomped across the bedroom, into the living room. Lily didn't look up, but waved distractedly.

"There's coffee in the kitchen," she told him, bending closer to her scrolls. "And when you've got a minute, could you --"

James reached down onto the desk, picked up all of the scrolls and tossed them into the corner. Lily blinked at him, mouth hanging open. She was too shocked to resist even as he came around the desk, and pulled her to her feet.

"Have you gone *mad*?" she asked, as he put his arms around her. "Utterly, irretrievably insane?"

"No," James said, propping his chin on the top of her head. "I've gone on holiday from the war."

Lily snorted, but relaxed against him. "So that's a yes, then."

	musesfool 2004-10-06 07:38 pm UTC (link)
	Aw, James, trying to take a vacation from reality. floves Thanks, Nifra. (Reply to this) (Parent)

jo_ellen
2004-10-06 12:44 pm UTC (link)

He makes a promise to a widow. Don’t mean nothin’. He’s just hopin’ she’ll stop yammerin’ on and get to the part where… well, you know. Funny how he can picture it and doesn’t wanna think the words.

Year later, some gou shi moon, Mal bein’ all noble, he remembers the promise. When he remembers, he wants to follow through, even though the widow’s far across the black and would never know. He wonders what the hell happened to him.

Count the ways that I am not Anne Rice. -

	musesfool 2004-10-06 07:40 pm UTC (link)
	Oh, Mal. loves on Mal He's so damn good even though he doesn't want to be. Thank you! (Reply to this) (Parent)(Thread)(Expand)

sigh. -

jo_ellen, 2004-10-06 07:43 pm UTC (Expand)

Re: sigh. -

musesfool, 2004-10-06 08:20 pm UTC (Expand)

jo_ellen, 2004-10-07 06:55 am UTC (Expand)

Re: Count the ways that I am not Anne Rice. -

musesfool, 2004-10-07 09:09 am UTC (Expand)

violet_quill
2004-10-06 01:13 pm UTC (link)

Remus Lupin is thirty-five years old. He is too old, he tells her, to be involved with pretty young women, even if they are hypercolor Aurors. His hair is too gray, he says, and she squeezes her eyes shut and turns hers a similar color, donning amber eyes to match. He is too poor, he pleads, to take care of anyone but himself, and she acts insulted and tells him that she doesn't need another father, thank you. He is a werewolf, he adds, looking triumphant, and she sprouts fangs and a bushy tail just to spite him. He is thirty-five years old, he repeats, looking weary, too old and too dull to possibly be of interest to her, and she wraps her arms around his waists and asks if he could please snog her now because she's getting quite bored of talking.