(no subject)
Feb. 7th, 2004 01:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phineasjonesi spent pretty much the entirety of yesterday knitting and watching angel (seasons 1 and 2). really. i didn't do anything productive... didn't even check lj or my e-mail. and for once, i let myself enjoy the snowy day, home from work, rach home from cancelled classes. i didn't constantly guilt trip myself like the neurotic freakazoid that i am. it was a really nice day.
but of course, today i must pay. i need to put in those lost work hours and such. i'm mostly caught up on my lj now. mostly. some things to read. it's always the days when i'm distracted that everyone and her cat posts fic.
and ok, so i'm late to the wip amnesty party. but i actually have some... it was appalling to look through my folder and find the really old stuff. whoa. that will never ever see the light of day. ::shudders:: but there's a few i don't mind sharing, though they're just bits that start nowhere and go nowhere.
this is sirius/remus, fluffy smut... breaks off suddenly when i gave up. starts with sort of a summary of what i was thinking... i hope i wasn't planning to leave it that way.
.:.
His body is traitorous. Since the terrifying night when teeth and claws tore at him and he cried for the easiest pain he would ever know. Since that night, his body has not been his own. It belongs to another creature, another life. Remus doesn’t trust it, doesn’t love it, doesn’t want to see it or let it be seen.
When Sirius’ fingers reach for the collar of his shirt, Remus stops them. He distracts Sirius with another kiss, pulling him down onto the bed with him, pressing them together so he can feel Sirius’ heat through their layers of clothes. It only works for a moment and then Sirius’ fingers are back, “Moony, please?”
With all the strength that lives in his body, still Remus cannot make his lips form a “no” when Sirius is pleading and needy. For all that he would deny himself, he can’t deny anything to this one boy who is over him, face flushed and breath warm and fast.
Remus turns his face away as Sirius slowly unbuttons his shirt. He stares at the curtains around the bed, trying not to feel the cool air on his bare chest, the feather light brush of Sirius’ fingers as he pushes the shirt away.
“Moony,” Sirius whispers again, touching his face, redirecting his gaze. Sirius pushes back, sits up with his knees outside Remus’ hips and pulls off his own shirt in a swift motion that makes Remus think of locker rooms and showers and shame.
But there is no doubt here, now, that Sirius wants to be seen. Wants Remus to study the tanned muscled plains of his chest. He leans closer and Remus touches him, trailing his fingers from his collarbone to his chest to abdomen. And back, experimentally brushing his palm over Sirius’ right nipple and listening as Sirius inhales sharply.
Sirius leans further, his face now hovering over Remus’. He kisses him slowly, from an inch away, extending his lips and then his tongue, bringing Remus upward and into him. Remus feels like he’s under water, stretching, extending to reach air and not be lost. Sirius’ skin is hot against his own and Remus closes his arms around Sirius’ back, holding himself up, keeping himself afloat.
Sirius shifts then, presses down suddenly and Remus feels the pressure on his lips, his chest, his belly and now his hips as Sirius stretches and moves one thigh between Remus’. Remus moves his hands over the cooling skin on Sirius’s back. He feels the bones of his spine and the muscles that run from them, feels how they shift as Sirius moves and how they tremble slightly, suddenly, as Remus presses up into him.
It thrills Remus, that tremble, and so he presses again. He feels the tremble everywhere this time and Sirius kisses along his jaw to his ear and whispers, “Oh god, Remus.”
Sirius’ voice, lower and rougher than Remus has heard it before, and his breath over Remus’ ear sends a ripple like electricity through him, from his ear to his knees. He moans softly before he can stop himself and feels his body changing, growing harder in places and melting away in others.
Sirius pushes down against him and Remus can feel him now, hard against the flesh of his hip, his thigh. Sirius’ breathing is ragged and it’s a beautiful, uncontrolled sound. Remus moves his body again, a rolling press and a slight thrust and Sirius suddenly pushes up, off of him.
Remus closes his eyes and sighs quietly in resignation. He knew how precarious this balance is. He knew it to be a matter of time. His body is a traitor and traitor’s betray. The nature of the beast.
He can’t open his eyes. He doesn’t want to see Sirius looking at him, or, perhaps worse, not.
But Sirius entreats quietly, “Remus, open your eyes,” and he does and Sirius holds them, stares into him, locks their gazes. So that Remus can’t look away as Sirius bring his face to his belly, kisses him there. It’s soft, it tingles, it tickles where Sirius hair falls forward and brushes against him. Sirius checks that Remus is still watching and moves up, kissing him again where the muscles of his stomach meet his ribcage.
He knows what Sirius will do before he does it. He tenses when he sees Sirius’ eyes flicker toward the mottled skin on the inside of his right shoulder. He feels heat behind his eyes like he’s going to cry and if he would let himself speak he would beg no, don’t look at it, don’t touch it, please, please look away. He thinks Sirius knows this somehow. There is a softness about his face as he lifts his hand to touch the smooth pink lines of flesh broken and resealed. His eyes are wide and questioning when he looks in Remus’ face. Remus has no answer and Sirius turns instead to the scar and places his dry lips on it and moves them in slow strokes. He traces the ridges and lines with his tongue. He kisses the skin, smoothes his cheek against it.
Remus is trying to keep still. Trying not to breathe so hard. It doesn’t feel like a scar where Sirius is touching him. It feels like skin, his own bare skin against Sirius’ lips and his tongue and his face.
Sirius whispers in short, hot bursts of air, “you. god, you’re... you’re so... oh.”
Remus pulls Sirius to him. He kisses him, hard, keeping their mouths together as his turns them over, moving Sirius onto his back. He pulls blindly at the fastenings of Sirius’ trousers until they come loose and he sits up and pulls them away and Sirius is
.:.
hahha! what is sirius? we'll never know...
and here was a start of a harry/ron that i think was going to be part of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
starbuckle and my series before we changed our minds about what parts to write on.
.:.
Wheezy. His Wheezy. Harry feels like a fool. He’s been thinking he has a secret – a dark, consuming, lustful secret. One he would take with him – if not to the grave, at least out of Hogwarts.
But now he’s been to the bottom of the lake and back. Dumbledore, Dobby, Krum, Cedric, Hermione… the whole school, not to mention Ron himself, knows. They know what – who – he would sorely miss.
He’s already tried to make himself feel better by pointing out the obvious – Fleur’s sister was down there. Her sister, not some boy she’s mad over. But for Krum, it was Hermione. For Cedric, Cho. It takes no great leap of the imagination to see what Ron is to Harry.
Not that anyone seems to care. Hermione is embarrassed enough about being rescued by Krum. Ron is the center of attention for a change and seems to be enjoying it there. Funny, that his deepest, most closely guarded secret could be exposed to the whole school and no one seems to notice or care.
What would he have expected anyway? That Ron would turn to him once above the water, dripping and shivering, and exclaim, “My hero!” – embracing Harry for all to see? That he would come quietly to Harry in the dark hours of the night and whisper that Harry is also who Ron would miss most?
No, he doesn’t expect anything like that. He knows not to. He just thinks maybe something should be different now. Someone should look at him with an expression of new understanding. Maybe that’s it. If someone knew, really knew, then maybe Harry could stop driving himself crazy. He could say these words out loud for once. Even if the response were scorn or laughter, it would be a response.
If anyone understands, Harry can’t tell by searching their faces as he walks the halls. He thinks it’s unfair that he has to search so hard to dig out what people are thinking when his own thoughts seem to be written on his forehead for all to see. Just like his scar.
.:.
harry/ron-ish. just harry actually. i thought about using this as part of something... but i don't think i did. can't actually remember.
.:.
Harry comes silently with his mouth open and his eyes closed. When his breathing slows, he realizes he has nothing there to clean up with. That was intentional. Because he promised himself he wouldn’t do this again. It’s too risky. He thinks the others are asleep but he isn’t sure. And the more he lets himself do this, the more he allows his mind to wander where it will, the harder it is to get up in the morning and look Ron in the face without blushing or stammering or just feeling horribly guilty for thinking about him this way.
.:.
this was going to be a birthday ficlet forcamillafarfalla. it was going to be short, cute and to the point. but i just couldn't make anything out of it. sorry, love. it wasn't for lack of trying.
.:.
Draco Malfoy doesn’t believe in happy endings. All his experiences so far indicate that they don’t exist.
He believed once. When he was young and naïve. Then he’d watched the colors of the great hall change from green to read with the wave of a wand. No matter how hard he tries, it always comes out the same. Draco gets detention, Potter catches the snitch. His side loses. Draco loses. The end.
___________
Harry Potter doesn’t believe in endings at all. Voldemort has gone down in flames more times than he can count on one hand. But it’s never over.
It’s beginnings Harry believes in. A letter that changes his life. A story that starts on the day his parents died. Every year he’s been in school, some new thing has popped up. And every year he was left thinking maybe it’s over. It never was. And he understands now that it will never be the end.
He looks for it as his seventh year at Hogwarts opens. He looks for the latest chapter in his overly exciting life. What will it be this time? Who will Voldemort kill this time? What will Harry have to do, what will he have to lose?
.:.
and then these.... snippets of grieving remus. i posted these when i wrote them. and then i though about working them into the remus/bran. which i don't think i'll ever get to writing. not while my brain is so lotr-focused anyway. but the project still intrigues me - and owes much to c.s. lewis.
.:.
Molly can’t look at him. She bustles around the table, sends warm smiles to his side of the room. But her eyes never stop directly on him. She takes refuge in her many distractions. Most likely, Remus is the only one who notices that she has not looked him in the face since that night.
And he knows why. He saw her boggart, he comforted her. He knows her worst fear. He knows that now he is her worst fear. If she were to look at him, she would think, ‘One of us will someday be as he is now.’
___________________
By their bed is a small, battered, wooden frame. Remus brought it, with the few other of Sirius' possessions he kept all these years, when they came to Grimmauld Place. Inside the frame is a scrap of parchment bearing an early version of Remus' tidy print, the coward dies a thousand deaths.
Remus had come across the proverb seventh year and thought immediately of brash, brave Sirius. He knew he would love it and scribbled it down on a spare bit of parchment for him. And he was right. Sirius saved the parchment, framed it and took to reciting the words to egg on his peers when he and James were scheming.
Now Remus holds the frame and thinks how true it is, not only for the coward, but also for a loved one.
He can't count the times in the weeks since Sirius' death when he has said to himself, 'Now. Now I know how much this will hurt. Finally, in this moment, I understand.' Returning to their room the first time, feeding Buckbeak, reading a letter from Harry, waking up alone every morning, see Sirius's jacket left hanging over the chair in the drawing room... Each time has been like opening the same wound over and over. But each time he feels it like the first breaking of the skin. Each time he gasps with shock at the force of the pain. It does not become familiar. It does not grow weaker.
__________________
Remus can't help but wonder how to compare this new pain with the one he knew for those thirteen years. Is it worse to have lost Sirius completely... to have seen him die nobly, knowing the goodness of him, knowing he is loved by him... Could that be any worse than the years upon years he lived believing his love and his life was a lie? Living with the hope and the dread that he might see Sirius again and that it would likely be the end of one of them?
But he can't compare now to then. Those years are now overwritten in his mind by all that has happened since. He can't reach back and feel that dull ache again. He can't get past the sharpness of this present pain.
He thought he knew despair then. But despair is for those who know the end for certain. Now he knows. Remus has seen then end. He was witness to the end of Sirius, which was the end of himself. The end of them together. Now Remus knows despair.
.:.
eesh. a little heavy. no wonder i stopped writing it. yes, ok. that's all i have to offer. i write so little, i'm surprised there was that much. i'm going to hold off on apologizing for badness and just seize the word 'amnesty.' right. amnesty. ok, good.
but of course, today i must pay. i need to put in those lost work hours and such. i'm mostly caught up on my lj now. mostly. some things to read. it's always the days when i'm distracted that everyone and her cat posts fic.
and ok, so i'm late to the wip amnesty party. but i actually have some... it was appalling to look through my folder and find the really old stuff. whoa. that will never ever see the light of day. ::shudders:: but there's a few i don't mind sharing, though they're just bits that start nowhere and go nowhere.
this is sirius/remus, fluffy smut... breaks off suddenly when i gave up. starts with sort of a summary of what i was thinking... i hope i wasn't planning to leave it that way.
.:.
His body is traitorous. Since the terrifying night when teeth and claws tore at him and he cried for the easiest pain he would ever know. Since that night, his body has not been his own. It belongs to another creature, another life. Remus doesn’t trust it, doesn’t love it, doesn’t want to see it or let it be seen.
When Sirius’ fingers reach for the collar of his shirt, Remus stops them. He distracts Sirius with another kiss, pulling him down onto the bed with him, pressing them together so he can feel Sirius’ heat through their layers of clothes. It only works for a moment and then Sirius’ fingers are back, “Moony, please?”
With all the strength that lives in his body, still Remus cannot make his lips form a “no” when Sirius is pleading and needy. For all that he would deny himself, he can’t deny anything to this one boy who is over him, face flushed and breath warm and fast.
Remus turns his face away as Sirius slowly unbuttons his shirt. He stares at the curtains around the bed, trying not to feel the cool air on his bare chest, the feather light brush of Sirius’ fingers as he pushes the shirt away.
“Moony,” Sirius whispers again, touching his face, redirecting his gaze. Sirius pushes back, sits up with his knees outside Remus’ hips and pulls off his own shirt in a swift motion that makes Remus think of locker rooms and showers and shame.
But there is no doubt here, now, that Sirius wants to be seen. Wants Remus to study the tanned muscled plains of his chest. He leans closer and Remus touches him, trailing his fingers from his collarbone to his chest to abdomen. And back, experimentally brushing his palm over Sirius’ right nipple and listening as Sirius inhales sharply.
Sirius leans further, his face now hovering over Remus’. He kisses him slowly, from an inch away, extending his lips and then his tongue, bringing Remus upward and into him. Remus feels like he’s under water, stretching, extending to reach air and not be lost. Sirius’ skin is hot against his own and Remus closes his arms around Sirius’ back, holding himself up, keeping himself afloat.
Sirius shifts then, presses down suddenly and Remus feels the pressure on his lips, his chest, his belly and now his hips as Sirius stretches and moves one thigh between Remus’. Remus moves his hands over the cooling skin on Sirius’s back. He feels the bones of his spine and the muscles that run from them, feels how they shift as Sirius moves and how they tremble slightly, suddenly, as Remus presses up into him.
It thrills Remus, that tremble, and so he presses again. He feels the tremble everywhere this time and Sirius kisses along his jaw to his ear and whispers, “Oh god, Remus.”
Sirius’ voice, lower and rougher than Remus has heard it before, and his breath over Remus’ ear sends a ripple like electricity through him, from his ear to his knees. He moans softly before he can stop himself and feels his body changing, growing harder in places and melting away in others.
Sirius pushes down against him and Remus can feel him now, hard against the flesh of his hip, his thigh. Sirius’ breathing is ragged and it’s a beautiful, uncontrolled sound. Remus moves his body again, a rolling press and a slight thrust and Sirius suddenly pushes up, off of him.
Remus closes his eyes and sighs quietly in resignation. He knew how precarious this balance is. He knew it to be a matter of time. His body is a traitor and traitor’s betray. The nature of the beast.
He can’t open his eyes. He doesn’t want to see Sirius looking at him, or, perhaps worse, not.
But Sirius entreats quietly, “Remus, open your eyes,” and he does and Sirius holds them, stares into him, locks their gazes. So that Remus can’t look away as Sirius bring his face to his belly, kisses him there. It’s soft, it tingles, it tickles where Sirius hair falls forward and brushes against him. Sirius checks that Remus is still watching and moves up, kissing him again where the muscles of his stomach meet his ribcage.
He knows what Sirius will do before he does it. He tenses when he sees Sirius’ eyes flicker toward the mottled skin on the inside of his right shoulder. He feels heat behind his eyes like he’s going to cry and if he would let himself speak he would beg no, don’t look at it, don’t touch it, please, please look away. He thinks Sirius knows this somehow. There is a softness about his face as he lifts his hand to touch the smooth pink lines of flesh broken and resealed. His eyes are wide and questioning when he looks in Remus’ face. Remus has no answer and Sirius turns instead to the scar and places his dry lips on it and moves them in slow strokes. He traces the ridges and lines with his tongue. He kisses the skin, smoothes his cheek against it.
Remus is trying to keep still. Trying not to breathe so hard. It doesn’t feel like a scar where Sirius is touching him. It feels like skin, his own bare skin against Sirius’ lips and his tongue and his face.
Sirius whispers in short, hot bursts of air, “you. god, you’re... you’re so... oh.”
Remus pulls Sirius to him. He kisses him, hard, keeping their mouths together as his turns them over, moving Sirius onto his back. He pulls blindly at the fastenings of Sirius’ trousers until they come loose and he sits up and pulls them away and Sirius is
.:.
hahha! what is sirius? we'll never know...
and here was a start of a harry/ron that i think was going to be part of
starbuckle and my series before we changed our minds about what parts to write on. .:.
Wheezy. His Wheezy. Harry feels like a fool. He’s been thinking he has a secret – a dark, consuming, lustful secret. One he would take with him – if not to the grave, at least out of Hogwarts.
But now he’s been to the bottom of the lake and back. Dumbledore, Dobby, Krum, Cedric, Hermione… the whole school, not to mention Ron himself, knows. They know what – who – he would sorely miss.
He’s already tried to make himself feel better by pointing out the obvious – Fleur’s sister was down there. Her sister, not some boy she’s mad over. But for Krum, it was Hermione. For Cedric, Cho. It takes no great leap of the imagination to see what Ron is to Harry.
Not that anyone seems to care. Hermione is embarrassed enough about being rescued by Krum. Ron is the center of attention for a change and seems to be enjoying it there. Funny, that his deepest, most closely guarded secret could be exposed to the whole school and no one seems to notice or care.
What would he have expected anyway? That Ron would turn to him once above the water, dripping and shivering, and exclaim, “My hero!” – embracing Harry for all to see? That he would come quietly to Harry in the dark hours of the night and whisper that Harry is also who Ron would miss most?
No, he doesn’t expect anything like that. He knows not to. He just thinks maybe something should be different now. Someone should look at him with an expression of new understanding. Maybe that’s it. If someone knew, really knew, then maybe Harry could stop driving himself crazy. He could say these words out loud for once. Even if the response were scorn or laughter, it would be a response.
If anyone understands, Harry can’t tell by searching their faces as he walks the halls. He thinks it’s unfair that he has to search so hard to dig out what people are thinking when his own thoughts seem to be written on his forehead for all to see. Just like his scar.
.:.
harry/ron-ish. just harry actually. i thought about using this as part of something... but i don't think i did. can't actually remember.
.:.
Harry comes silently with his mouth open and his eyes closed. When his breathing slows, he realizes he has nothing there to clean up with. That was intentional. Because he promised himself he wouldn’t do this again. It’s too risky. He thinks the others are asleep but he isn’t sure. And the more he lets himself do this, the more he allows his mind to wander where it will, the harder it is to get up in the morning and look Ron in the face without blushing or stammering or just feeling horribly guilty for thinking about him this way.
.:.
this was going to be a birthday ficlet for
camillafarfalla. it was going to be short, cute and to the point. but i just couldn't make anything out of it. sorry, love. it wasn't for lack of trying. .:.
Draco Malfoy doesn’t believe in happy endings. All his experiences so far indicate that they don’t exist.
He believed once. When he was young and naïve. Then he’d watched the colors of the great hall change from green to read with the wave of a wand. No matter how hard he tries, it always comes out the same. Draco gets detention, Potter catches the snitch. His side loses. Draco loses. The end.
___________
Harry Potter doesn’t believe in endings at all. Voldemort has gone down in flames more times than he can count on one hand. But it’s never over.
It’s beginnings Harry believes in. A letter that changes his life. A story that starts on the day his parents died. Every year he’s been in school, some new thing has popped up. And every year he was left thinking maybe it’s over. It never was. And he understands now that it will never be the end.
He looks for it as his seventh year at Hogwarts opens. He looks for the latest chapter in his overly exciting life. What will it be this time? Who will Voldemort kill this time? What will Harry have to do, what will he have to lose?
.:.
and then these.... snippets of grieving remus. i posted these when i wrote them. and then i though about working them into the remus/bran. which i don't think i'll ever get to writing. not while my brain is so lotr-focused anyway. but the project still intrigues me - and owes much to c.s. lewis.
.:.
Molly can’t look at him. She bustles around the table, sends warm smiles to his side of the room. But her eyes never stop directly on him. She takes refuge in her many distractions. Most likely, Remus is the only one who notices that she has not looked him in the face since that night.
And he knows why. He saw her boggart, he comforted her. He knows her worst fear. He knows that now he is her worst fear. If she were to look at him, she would think, ‘One of us will someday be as he is now.’
___________________
By their bed is a small, battered, wooden frame. Remus brought it, with the few other of Sirius' possessions he kept all these years, when they came to Grimmauld Place. Inside the frame is a scrap of parchment bearing an early version of Remus' tidy print, the coward dies a thousand deaths.
Remus had come across the proverb seventh year and thought immediately of brash, brave Sirius. He knew he would love it and scribbled it down on a spare bit of parchment for him. And he was right. Sirius saved the parchment, framed it and took to reciting the words to egg on his peers when he and James were scheming.
Now Remus holds the frame and thinks how true it is, not only for the coward, but also for a loved one.
He can't count the times in the weeks since Sirius' death when he has said to himself, 'Now. Now I know how much this will hurt. Finally, in this moment, I understand.' Returning to their room the first time, feeding Buckbeak, reading a letter from Harry, waking up alone every morning, see Sirius's jacket left hanging over the chair in the drawing room... Each time has been like opening the same wound over and over. But each time he feels it like the first breaking of the skin. Each time he gasps with shock at the force of the pain. It does not become familiar. It does not grow weaker.
__________________
Remus can't help but wonder how to compare this new pain with the one he knew for those thirteen years. Is it worse to have lost Sirius completely... to have seen him die nobly, knowing the goodness of him, knowing he is loved by him... Could that be any worse than the years upon years he lived believing his love and his life was a lie? Living with the hope and the dread that he might see Sirius again and that it would likely be the end of one of them?
But he can't compare now to then. Those years are now overwritten in his mind by all that has happened since. He can't reach back and feel that dull ache again. He can't get past the sharpness of this present pain.
He thought he knew despair then. But despair is for those who know the end for certain. Now he knows. Remus has seen then end. He was witness to the end of Sirius, which was the end of himself. The end of them together. Now Remus knows despair.
.:.
eesh. a little heavy. no wonder i stopped writing it. yes, ok. that's all i have to offer. i write so little, i'm surprised there was that much. i'm going to hold off on apologizing for badness and just seize the word 'amnesty.' right. amnesty. ok, good.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-02-07 07:22 pm (UTC)And, omg CALL ME!!!11
Re:
Date: 2004-02-21 09:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-02-07 11:30 pm (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-02-21 09:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-02-07 11:55 pm (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-02-21 10:00 pm (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-02-22 01:02 pm (UTC)yyyyaaaayy!
(no subject)
Date: 2004-02-08 01:48 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-02-21 10:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-02-08 07:32 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-02-10 01:37 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-02-09 07:31 pm (UTC)And the Remus/Sirius is so beautiful. I particularly like this:
It doesn’t feel like a scar where Sirius is touching him. It feels like skin, his own bare skin against Sirius’ lips and his tongue and his face.
Thanks for sharing these!
(no subject)
Date: 2004-02-10 01:21 pm (UTC)i'm glad you liked these. especially the s/r which is probably the one i'm most likely to attempt to finish one day. it's so close to being something. yeah, i'm glad you liked it.
Re:
Date: 2004-02-10 03:39 pm (UTC)