Iggy Marauder
has been described as
"a walking sex riot" and
"the gateway drug to sexuality"
so she'd like to issue a disclaimer that you now know what you're getting yourself into.
Moonlight shined down on the forest and the canopy made the beams of light mottled on the cottage.
In the master bedroom, in a too-large bed, a woman was curled up, crying softly. Her blood-red hair was splayed out around her and her soft hiccoughs were the only sound.
It had been thousands of years - some quick calculations had told her roughly five thousand years - since she was last seen alive. But for her, it had been less than a full day since she was in the middle of battle, since she had seen her children, seen her husbands alive and well, felt her husbands die.
She had stayed strong for her friends, for her descendant, but in the dark, silent warmth of the night, she could no longer hold the tears back.
She sniffled, cry-red blue eyes wet, when a timid, soft knock rapped on her door. She knew that knock anywhere, and she murmured a welcome.
The door opened and golden eyes peered through the darkness from beneath white hair and ears. “Malice?”
The red-head sat up and said, “You can come in, Essa.”
The leporine woman entered the room and shut the door quietly. As she neared the bed, Malice could see that Essa’s own cheeks were wet with tears.
Without words, Malice lifted the covers and Essa slid in.
They spent many hours simply holding each other, crying, and talking about their late husbands and children. It would be the only time they got this luxury, these two women misplaced in time.
The Cottage in Swindon: HELP
In a small room in a cosy cottage in the middle of the woods outside of Swindon, smoke curled around a man bent over a piano. His dark curls were wild and ragged, and the cigarette hanging from his lips was half gone, slowly burning itself down without his help.
He was banging down on the keys, eyes closed and brow furrowed. But as he continued, something wasn’t right - there was something within the sound that was catching his attention, and he stopped, ears straining.
A panicked sound outside was growing louder. It was piercing, like an annoying child yelping for its mother.
Curious and half irritated, the man stood and walked out into the den and then out the front door, looking around for the source.
He startled slightly when a deer fawn burst from the bushes, its wailing louder than ever. Its eyes were wide, the whites showing, and it stumbled over itself in fear.
Before he had a chance to wonder what had it in a tizzy, a wolf came snarling after it.
Beginnings at Telgar
They were not welcomed into life at the Weyr. Not at all.
In fact, Iggy and Phie were practically scorned.
Women did not Impress anything other than Queens and greens. That’s just how it was. But now, two girls had Impressed neither a Queen nor a green, but a blue and, worse yet, a bronze.
The Hatching
It was quite an extraordinary accident, what happened that day. It involved two girls and two eggs - and just a dash of fate, perhaps.
The Minders [1/?]
The city glowed warmly, chasing away the stars with yellow-orange street lights. Two people trudged down the sidewalk, quiet and comfortable. In unspoken agreement, they turned down an alleyway, now with an air of purpose about them.
Halfway down the alley, they climbed the metal stairs that led upwards to a column of small flats. At the top, the pair pulled up bandannas over their noses and quietly picked the lock on the back door. With silent feet, they entered and made their way to the bedroom.
In the bed lay two figures, but their attention was focused solely on one.
This person was very obviously not human. Small horns curled up over the temples, and large ears twitched as they caught sound. Smaller, thinner than humans, he was blue and brown and was tattooed.
The duo pulled syringes and needles from their pockets. Attaching the needle on, the man moved to the human in the bed and the woman moved to the alien. As one, they gently injected the drug into their victims’ veins.
Giving it five minutes to take effect, the two criminals removed the alien from the bed and left as quietly as they had come.
With practiced ease, they maneuvered the limp body down the stairs and into the car idling in the alley.
Brown tipped blue ears flicked as they captured sound and inhuman blue eyes took in the large study, and the slight creature ran clawed brown fingers over the spines of the books against the wall.
Steps on the metal spiral staircase made his long ears perk up and he turned, thin tail lazily floating in the air, following his movements like a strand of hair underwater.
From the bedroom above descended a human male, dark hair silky and styled in a unique way that helped showcase the cowlick he had. The non-human, the alien boy, stared at him, blue gaze catching the human’s vivid green one.
The human smiled, devious and lovely, his upturned nose perking with the motion. “Hey, Rainie.”
The alien, Lorraine, smiled back softly, “Hello, Albion.”
“Al, luv. Al’s fine.”
Lorraine said nothing and turned back to his perusal of the leather-bound books. They were all about subjects dear to the owner of the study; fictional book series, psychology, animals, and even whole hand-written books about friends and family, scrawled with memories and drawings and pictures and love.
His tail connected with something and Lorraine froze, though the whip-like appendage wrapped itself around the body that was pressing against his back.
With A Little Help From His Friends
James Potter sighed, sitting on one of the high walls on Hogwarts, looking out at the Black Lake glumly.
He was down in the dumps. He couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong, but he was just…depressed.
Swinging his feet listlessly, he resisted sighing again.
A sudden, familiar voice began to sing into his right ear. “What would you think if I sang out of tune; would you stand up and walk out on me?” James looked over at a grinning Sirius Black, one of his hands on Prongs’ shoulder.
Another hand settled on his free shoulder, gentler than Sirius’ but still firm. Remus’ voice filled his other ear, and James looked up at the werewolf with a small smile. “Lend me your ears and I’ll sing you a song and I’ll try not to sing out of key. Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends.”
“Mm,” Sirius sang, fairly off-key, “I get high with a little help from my friends!”
Remus rolled his eyes, but nudged James. In return, the Potter heir pushed his glasses back up his nose and sang out, “Gonna try with a little help from my friends.”
“That’s the spirit, Prongs-y boy!”
James grinned. “What do I do when my love is away?”
“Does it worry you to be alone?” Remus inquired, leaning in dramatically.
The hazel-eyed boy tried not to grin as he despaired, “How do I feel by the end of the day?”
“Are you sad because you’re on your own?”
Sirius sprung up atop the wall, laughing out, “No, I get by with a little help from my friends!”
“I get high with a little help from my friends!” James said, joining his best mate on the wall.
“I’m gonna try with a little help from my friends!” His other best mate joined them, and laughing they all jumped down, running towards the Black Lake.
“Do you need anybody?” Remus called out.
“I need somebody to love!” James replied.
Sirius barked out a laugh, waggling his eyebrows. “Could it be anybody?”
“I want somebody to love!” James winked at the Black, coaxing laughs from all three of them.
They stopped running, collapsing in the spring grass. Remus was almost positive they’d finished their impromptu song when James sat up. “Would you believe in a love at first sight?”
Sirius rolled his eyes sarcastically. ”Yes I’m certain that it happens all the time.”
“What do you see when you turn out the light?” Remus asked.
“I can’t tell you, but I know it’s mine.” Sirius winked, making Moony roll his eyes.
“Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends!” James wrapped an arm over each of his best mates’ shoulders. ”I get high with a little help from my friends, and I’m gonna try with a little help from my friends!”
They all grinned, and as one sang out, “Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends, gonna try with a little help from my friends, oh I get high with a little help from my friends!” And with a final crescendo,“Yes, I get by with a little help from my friends, with a little help from my friends!”
They all laughed, wrestling and rough housing together. When they’d finally calmed down, the bright, happy sun watching over them, James look into Sirius’ grey-blue, crinkled eyes, and Remus warm amber eyes, and grinned. “I love you guys.”
The three spent the rest of the day getting by with a little help from each other.
If you ever asked where Iggy had come from and she gave you an answer, it would have been a fabricated lie.
To begin, she remembered little of her childhood. She knew it had been south of Trollesund, much more south; she felt the warmth in her bones. She was born for warmer climates. But her parents were hazy recollections, her life before making a trip to Trollesund and being left there fogged over time.
Concert - a Jim/Seb/Barry fic
The flat was fairly quiet, the news turned down low. It was a nice place, spacious and tastefully furnished, but small things strewn about made the place feel lived in - a tie thrown over a chair in the kitchen, a shirt forgotten on the bedroom floor, a pair of dog tags coiled on the bathroom sink, a pack of cigarettes left open on the coffee table, a loaded gun with the safety turned off next to the fags.
Smoke wafted through the living room, emitting from a mohawked man slumped on the sofa, dressed in nothing but an undershirt and pants, legs spread comfortably. Sprawled across him was a smaller man, dark eyes ringed with dark circles, face pushing against the younger man’s stomach as he watched the television. His V-neck shirt was hitched up from squirming too much on the couch as he watched the news, complaining to the mohawked man.
But he was still now, watching intently as reporters and photographers swarmed around a man with a cocky smile and short curls. The man was bowing, grinning, joking, even though he had just been released from prison because they didn’t have the evidence to convict him of the crimes, cold-blooded murder, everyone knew he had committed.
The dark eyed man blinked. “I want him.”
“I’ll see what I can do, boss.”
The Case of the Mysterious Kittens.
The kittens themselves weren’t that mysterious.
It was how they continuously showed up around 221B that was.
And it wasn’t only kittens, John had to admit, but the vast majority were in their younger months.
He thought nothing much of it - Mrs. Hudson seemed the type to leave scraps out for the local strays - until he came home one day and there was, quite literally, at least ten of them mewling at him in the kitchen.
There was only one person who would do something this ridiculous within 221 Baker Street’s walls.
“SHERLOCK?”
Down the hallway towards Sherlock’s bedroom, a mess of dark curls spotted with foamy bubbles popped out of the bathroom door. The man in question looked intriguingly (and sincerely) innocent and also slightly miffed about something.
“What?”
