fanfic(s): Quite Legal, Unreasonable
Jan. 2nd, 2011 07:29 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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terrapinshellOkay, so I'm going to post a couple of things that I never posted to LJ before. They're two fics: one is a drabble/mini-ficlet that's pure fluff, and the other is a short, dark-ish oneshot.
They are utterly different from one another, so having them together in one post is
A. Slightly demented, and
B. Only for archival purposes.
Title: Quite Legal
Fandom: Ella Enchanted (movieverse)
Characters/Pairings: Slannen/Ella
Rating: A very fluffly G
Warnings: None.
Summary: We are officially married, thank you very much.
A/N: I had an vague backstory in mind for this, something along the lines of: AU; Ella and Slannen fall in love (while Ella still saves the day, somehow); they get married. So just run with it.
Slannen was busy announcing their news to every passerby.
"We're married — it's legal!" He brandished a copy of the marriage certificate (the original locked safe away) and shook it emphatically at the last word. "An official of the state was present and signed on the dotted line" — here Slannen pointed at it; stopping to take breath, a short, awed pause —
"...and... we're married." The ending of this pronouncement was spoken far more quietly, a note of wonder in his voice.
Ella looked on and smiled. That's my man, she thought. I mean — elf. Even now, the choice of words still had Ella stumped at times. She played with different words for a moment before resting on one — My husband.
She muttered the word under her breath to see how it sounded.
It felt right to think and to say. Ella's smile widened and she placed a hand on Slannen's shoulder.
"I think it's time to go home," she whispered in his ear, leaning a little from where she stood, behind his right shoulder.
He turned and started a bit, then became a bit red — whether from sudden realization of the loudness his voice had carried, or from other things — and said, "Oh... right," grinning out of the corner of his eye, into hers.
Slannen was suddenly quite glad they had settled on the carriage with the curtains.
Title: Unreasonable
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Luna, Ollivander, Griphook, with a side of Ollivander/Luna. YOU READ THAT RIGHT.
Rating: R
Warnings: The pairing might freak you out. Read with caution. ;D
Summary: In the cellar of Malfoy Manor, Dean's faith in the dignity of others sinks lower.
A/N: I've checked and checked, but as far as I can find, I am the only person to have written a fanfiction for Luna and Ollivander as a pairing, and not just as friends. (Perhaps someone else has written it, but never posted it? I can hope.) This is a big deal for me, especially in a fandom where every pairing imaginable has been written before. So, yeah. I feel proud. :)
Time and space and logic are gone, and in the darkness of the cellar, all that Luna knows is Ollivander's mouth against her clit.
Unreasonable, she thinks disjointedly. Her body shudders. Why have we done this?
And then all the hairs on her body stand straight up. Her hands are shaking; she's cold all over except in that one place, where she's dear God so warm; she hears a loud clang noise from upstairs and can't bring herself to care.
And why do I love it so much?
Loud footsteps all but shake the ceiling above their heads, approaching the cellar door. Ollivander scrambles to push her skirt back up with his teeth and turns to lie once more at her side. His head is leant on the wall beside Luna's, and his breath silently hits her face, her ear. She can feel him looking at her, but all she does is stare forward.
They don't have long to wait. After about thirty seconds, the door is opened, two figures thrust inside.
"No food until you learn to talk, dirt-boy," Scabior rasps at the back of Dean's neck, pushing him into a wall.
And yet the young man still manages to find the defiance inside him. "You call that 'food,' then?" he demands, voice hoarse from dehydration.
Griphook is kicked down to the floor, and then the faces disappear.
The door slams hard and fast as the Death Eaters depart (for, of course, it took two to physically manage him, and even in his deteriorated state, he gave them a run for their money). The sound of at least seven locks magically jarring into their holds follows.
Dean stumbles in their endless night. Once more, he and his eyes adjust. Inivsibly he wipes a stripe of blood from the side of his mouth.
"Damn," he croaks.
Griphook the goblin is silent, used to this treatment. Bitterness has become his life's breath. He makes no attempt to find the others in the dark, only lies where he was kicked, unmoving, numb.
The boy begins to use noise to maneuver his way through. Meaningless vowel sounds are spoken against the space until he feels that he is facing something. That something speaks back.
"We're right here, boy," Ollivander whispers. He gently kicks Dean's ankle to prove the point. As his mouth shuts again, the sound is not dry as it usually is. It smacks as it he has just had something to drink. Luna is the only one to notice it. Hyper-awareness of her whole skin increases.
Dean sits on the floor where he stands, and in a moment he is pushing against their touching feet, causing their bodies to separate. He nudges himself up and backwards until he is sitting right between them. Shoulder to shoulder to shoulder they are.
Suddenly, he smells the air around him. Without light, without sound, without movement, he knows. And Luna knows that he knows. Ollivander knows it, too, but he's beyond caring.
Because that one scent that he catches on their bodies is one he recognizes. He smelled it in the back room of The Hog's Head that night so long ago, in that other world; he smelled it on some other boys at school once in a blue moon (but never before sixth year); he smelled it on himself and he smelled it on Lavender.
God damn. What they smelled like was sex.
He knows. She knows. He knows, too. Even the goblin would know if he paid any attention.
Dean has many words, but in his usual manner, he decides only to use a few of them.
"None of them up there has any respect: for us, for themselves, for each other." His voice is heavy and quiet. "I thought you'd be different." He sniffs and tilts his head back until he stares at the ceiling.
And then: "God, you're fucked."
———
They are utterly different from one another, so having them together in one post is
A. Slightly demented, and
B. Only for archival purposes.
Title: Quite Legal
Fandom: Ella Enchanted (movieverse)
Characters/Pairings: Slannen/Ella
Rating: A very fluffly G
Warnings: None.
Summary: We are officially married, thank you very much.
A/N: I had an vague backstory in mind for this, something along the lines of: AU; Ella and Slannen fall in love (while Ella still saves the day, somehow); they get married. So just run with it.
Slannen was busy announcing their news to every passerby.
"We're married — it's legal!" He brandished a copy of the marriage certificate (the original locked safe away) and shook it emphatically at the last word. "An official of the state was present and signed on the dotted line" — here Slannen pointed at it; stopping to take breath, a short, awed pause —
"...and... we're married." The ending of this pronouncement was spoken far more quietly, a note of wonder in his voice.
Ella looked on and smiled. That's my man, she thought. I mean — elf. Even now, the choice of words still had Ella stumped at times. She played with different words for a moment before resting on one — My husband.
She muttered the word under her breath to see how it sounded.
It felt right to think and to say. Ella's smile widened and she placed a hand on Slannen's shoulder.
"I think it's time to go home," she whispered in his ear, leaning a little from where she stood, behind his right shoulder.
He turned and started a bit, then became a bit red — whether from sudden realization of the loudness his voice had carried, or from other things — and said, "Oh... right," grinning out of the corner of his eye, into hers.
Slannen was suddenly quite glad they had settled on the carriage with the curtains.
Title: Unreasonable
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Luna, Ollivander, Griphook, with a side of Ollivander/Luna. YOU READ THAT RIGHT.
Rating: R
Warnings: The pairing might freak you out. Read with caution. ;D
Summary: In the cellar of Malfoy Manor, Dean's faith in the dignity of others sinks lower.
A/N: I've checked and checked, but as far as I can find, I am the only person to have written a fanfiction for Luna and Ollivander as a pairing, and not just as friends. (Perhaps someone else has written it, but never posted it? I can hope.) This is a big deal for me, especially in a fandom where every pairing imaginable has been written before. So, yeah. I feel proud. :)
Time and space and logic are gone, and in the darkness of the cellar, all that Luna knows is Ollivander's mouth against her clit.
Unreasonable, she thinks disjointedly. Her body shudders. Why have we done this?
And then all the hairs on her body stand straight up. Her hands are shaking; she's cold all over except in that one place, where she's dear God so warm; she hears a loud clang noise from upstairs and can't bring herself to care.
And why do I love it so much?
Loud footsteps all but shake the ceiling above their heads, approaching the cellar door. Ollivander scrambles to push her skirt back up with his teeth and turns to lie once more at her side. His head is leant on the wall beside Luna's, and his breath silently hits her face, her ear. She can feel him looking at her, but all she does is stare forward.
They don't have long to wait. After about thirty seconds, the door is opened, two figures thrust inside.
"No food until you learn to talk, dirt-boy," Scabior rasps at the back of Dean's neck, pushing him into a wall.
And yet the young man still manages to find the defiance inside him. "You call that 'food,' then?" he demands, voice hoarse from dehydration.
Griphook is kicked down to the floor, and then the faces disappear.
The door slams hard and fast as the Death Eaters depart (for, of course, it took two to physically manage him, and even in his deteriorated state, he gave them a run for their money). The sound of at least seven locks magically jarring into their holds follows.
Dean stumbles in their endless night. Once more, he and his eyes adjust. Inivsibly he wipes a stripe of blood from the side of his mouth.
"Damn," he croaks.
Griphook the goblin is silent, used to this treatment. Bitterness has become his life's breath. He makes no attempt to find the others in the dark, only lies where he was kicked, unmoving, numb.
The boy begins to use noise to maneuver his way through. Meaningless vowel sounds are spoken against the space until he feels that he is facing something. That something speaks back.
"We're right here, boy," Ollivander whispers. He gently kicks Dean's ankle to prove the point. As his mouth shuts again, the sound is not dry as it usually is. It smacks as it he has just had something to drink. Luna is the only one to notice it. Hyper-awareness of her whole skin increases.
Dean sits on the floor where he stands, and in a moment he is pushing against their touching feet, causing their bodies to separate. He nudges himself up and backwards until he is sitting right between them. Shoulder to shoulder to shoulder they are.
Suddenly, he smells the air around him. Without light, without sound, without movement, he knows. And Luna knows that he knows. Ollivander knows it, too, but he's beyond caring.
Because that one scent that he catches on their bodies is one he recognizes. He smelled it in the back room of The Hog's Head that night so long ago, in that other world; he smelled it on some other boys at school once in a blue moon (but never before sixth year); he smelled it on himself and he smelled it on Lavender.
God damn. What they smelled like was sex.
He knows. She knows. He knows, too. Even the goblin would know if he paid any attention.
Dean has many words, but in his usual manner, he decides only to use a few of them.
"None of them up there has any respect: for us, for themselves, for each other." His voice is heavy and quiet. "I thought you'd be different." He sniffs and tilts his head back until he stares at the ceiling.
And then: "God, you're fucked."
———
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