Come down and stop by our cabin and get yourself a little trinket or two! We’re currently selling:
-Kandi
-D.I.D/OSDD system name bracelets
-Name bracelets (like for trans folk)
-MOGAI flag either beaded (or chevron bracelets)
-pronoun & neopronoun beaded bracelets
-otherkin/therian/fictionkin/factkin bracelets
-age/pet regression
(and all of the above in necklace form as well!)
Keep a lookout for new items, like slime or visual and auditory stim necklaces as well in the future.
We also might throw in a couple of goodies with each order as well, so i hope you like stickers!!!
Please enjoy your stay at our little nook of the forrest, and stay safe out in those woods! There’s creatures out there 😉
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin/James Potter
Characters: Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, James Potter, Marlene McKinnon
Additional Tags: a quick little tumblr drabble xoxo posting here for those of u who dont have tumblr, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), theyre in love!!! and adorable!!!
Summary:
Remus sticks his finger right through the wall of James’s pot. “Glory hole,” he says.
James looks up at Remus, wounded. Sitting on the short wooden stool as he is, his knees are bent up by his ears. He has wet clay smeared to his elbows, on the lenses of his glasses, at the tip of his nose. “Dude,” he says.
“I think we’re doing quite well, really,” Sirius says. He lifts his own pot, currently the least lopsided of the bunch, but the too-wet base sticks to the table. Sirius peers at them through the open bottom like using a telescope. “Here I am, eating my words.”
drabble commissioned by @gilflupin carter mlove... genius big brain carter... best commission idea ever... i hope this satisfies your prompt, which was (for the sake of everyone else) sirius, james, and remus making pottery together!! xoxoxo wolfstarbucks nation wake up!!
FULL TEXT UNDER CUT!
Remus sticks his finger right through the wall of James’s pot. “Glory hole,” he says.
James looks up at Remus, wounded. Sitting on the short wooden stool as he is, his knees are bent up by his ears. He has wet clay smeared to his elbows, on the lenses of his glasses, at the tip of his nose. “Dude,” he says.
“I think we’re doing quite well, really,” Sirius says. He lifts his own pot, currently the least lopsided of the bunch, but the too-wet base sticks to the table. Sirius peers at them through the open bottom like using a telescope. “Here I am, eating my words.”
“This was going to be a nice pot,” James says, watching his damaged piece buckle on its weak side like Pisa.
“It’s still a nice pot,” Remus says.
“What, are you guiltless?” James says. “You destroy the fruits of my oh so earnest labor and then you sit there like doing so didn’t snag a single thread of your luscious moral tapestry, fuck you, Remus.”
Remus offers a big, bright grin that catches on his eyeteeth. “It’s funny. That’s more important than whether or not it hurts your pride.”
“This—this is my pride,” James says. “Understand, Remus, that there is a subliminal metaphor within everything. You single-handedly—single-fingeredly, even—just eviscerated everything I have worked to create in my seventeen years of life.”
There’s a rap on the edge of their desk. James startles about a foot into the air.
Sirius, beside him, looks lazily up through his lashes, then offers Professor Burbage a charming smile. “Hello, dear.”
“I should’ve known better than to propose a creative assignment,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Make art like muggles do! Get into the cultural mindset! It’s hands-on, a break from the readings, the kids will love it! Am I an idiot?”
“It wasn’t your best idea,” Remus says.
“Just don’t make… a mess,” Burbage says, slumping away like they carve years off her life.
Sirius pinches a piece of clay off his fallen pot and hucks it at Burbage’s retreating back. It sticks in her hair.
Remus huffs. “Boring, Padfoot,” he says. He holds his palm out expectantly. Sirius delightedly hands over another wad of clay, which Remus places on the neat stretch of the second phalanx of his middle finger, then flicks it at Marlene one table over. It hits her ear, a glancing blow, before dropping to the floor. Marlene swats a hand mindlessly, like she assumes a fly or a loose strand of hair is the culprit. Remus waits a moment, then flicks a second piece of clay with the skill of a trained marksman; it hits the same spot. A third piece, and Marlene scowls into the air, looking for the origin. She finds, of course, nothing telling, as Remus is hunched over and carving zig-zagged stripes into his pot with singular focus, Sirius is forming a generous clay phallus, and James has dropped his head onto his folded arms, staring despondently at his ruined pot.
“I’ll kill you all with one blow,” Marlene says anyway.
“Good afternoon to you too, Miss Presumptuous,” Remus says.
“Mar, Remus ruined my pot,” James says, holding it tenderly aloft, the corpse of a child. So new to life. So naive yet. “Look at this.”
“Ha, glory hole,” she says.
“Ha!” says Remus while James scowls.
“Unbelievable,” James says. “You all prefer it when I’m miserable.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll make it up to you in droves later, you wet fucking fart,” Marlene says. “Now stop throwing stuff at me, I’m trying to finish this drawing and frankly I think it’s going spectacularly well.”
“I hope someone pokes a glory hole in it,” James says.
Marlene flips him the bird, then turns back to her desk, where she finds Dorcas doodling stars and hearts on her paper. “Well, fuck. This was going to be art, Dorcas. The fruit of my labor, Dorcas.”
“Karma,” James says. He reaches out a hand and Sirius gives him a bit of clay. James smushes it against Sirius’s cheek, which has Sirius snapping his teeth at James’s fingers. James withdraws sharply, tucking his hand to his chest with reproach. “Stay away. I haven’t had my tetanus potion recently.”
Remus presses his knee to James’s under the table. “If you add a little mouthpiece to that abomination of a pot, I reckon we could smoke out of it.”
James’s mouth falls open. “I forgive you. I forgive you, I forgive you—” he leans forward to smack a kiss onto Remus’s lips, grabs a fresh hunk of clay from the wet pile at the center of their table, then gets about rolling it.
Remus, meanwhile, has lost his aloof veneer; he’s bright red from forehead to collarbones, lurid enough to hide his freckles. Sirius looks between the two of them consideringly, then leans forward, presenting his cheek to James, who drops a kiss there to keep things even.
“We are going to figure this out,” James says, grinning with his bright madman eyes and his tie askew, “and we are going to get absolutely snockered. Lily taught me how to smoke out of an apple, you know, and this has got to be easier than that. It’s just got to be.” He rolls the now flattened piece of clay around his pinky finger, then presses the bottom of that cylinder to his pot’s glory hole. Sirius gives a fake, high-pitched, sexual whine that has half the class shooting them looks, but James doesn’t notice. He inches his pinky out of the clay tube. It promptly collapses. He stares at it, crestfallen. “Aw, pot,” he says. Then, affronted, to Remus, “Well, yours is good!”
Remus pokes his pot. It had better be good; his mother is a ceramicist by trade. “Yeah,” he says. James stares at it, brows knit. “Jamie, you can have mine,” Remus says. “Alright? Does that make you feel better.”
James’s scowl softens at the edges. “Yeah,” he says.
“What about me?” Sirius says, fringe falling in his eyes as he violently chucks another clump of clay at Mary MacDonald across the room. She hurls one back, hitting Sirius on the forehead, then pumps her fist proudly. Sirius is wiping splatters of wet clay out of his eyebrows as he clarifies, “What do I get, then?”
James holds his failed pot out, spout hanging elephant-trunk limp. “Glory hole,” he says.
info: omgcp, jack/bitty/parse, just under 2k words.
summary: parse accidentally hits someone with his car, and jack and bitty help him cover it up
warnings: blood, dead body, mentions of a car accident and murder, it felt a bit gory when I was writing it but it's not that bad
Oddly enough, Jack isn’t panicking.
He’s pretty sure he should be panicking. But he’s feeling quite calm, actually. Serene, almost. This is almost certainly one of the worst things that could be happening, but Jack’s brain doesn’t seem to be processing it right now, and he’s okay with that.
Parse is panicking. Parse is also covered in blood, so maybe it makes sense that it’s affecting him more. Bitty’s got his hands on his hips and he’s frowning deeply at Parse, and Jack almost laughs, because Bitty is so rarely openly disapproving of anyone, but apparently this warrants it.
“Can you tell us that again?” Bitty asks. Parse twists his hands in his shirt, starts to run them through his hair. Realizes they’re covered in blood. Goes back to twisting his shirt.
“I was driving,” he says, “and it was dark, and I hit something. And then I got out and it was a person and they’re dead.”
“And you’re covered in their blood because…” Bitty trails off and looks at Parse expectantly. His eyebrows are raised, as if he’s daring Parse to provide a satisfactory explanation.
Parse sighs. “Because I put them in the trunk,” he says.
“You what?”
“I put their fucking body in my fucking trunk and now I need to figure out what do do about it!”
A tiny laugh escapes Jack’s mouth, and Bitty shoots him a terrifying look. Jack clears his throat and looks at the floor, avoiding Parse’s eyes. If he looks at him, he’ll laugh again, he knows it.
Bitty sighs. “Alright,” he says, “let’s get you cleaned up before we do anything else.”
“Won’t I just get bloody again?”
“You’ll feel better when you’re clean.”
“Okay. Yeah, okay.”
Jack follows Parse up the stairs, one hand resting on his back after Parse stumbles and nearly falls. He guides him to the bathroom, sits him down on the closed toilet seat, and tells him to stay there while Jack gets clean clothes. When he comes back, Parse is pale and shaking, his hands twisted together with his nails digging into his skin.
“I killed someone,” he whispers.
Jack doesn’t know what to say to that. He did kill someone, and there’s not much comfort to be given in this situation. He gently separates Parse’s hands and holds one in each of his own. The blood smears between them, covering Jack’s hands as well, but he doesn’t care.
“It’s going to be okay,” he says. “You didn’t mean to, and we’re going to help you. You’re not alone in this.”
Parse nods, a jerky motion as he stares at their intertwined hands. Jack kisses his forehead. “Come on,” he says, “Let’s get you in the shower.”
~~~
Twenty minutes later, they’re back downstairs and Bitty has three slices of pie on the table. Bitty, despite his reaction earlier, greets Parse with a worried look and a tight hug. He fiddles with a strand of Parse’s damp hair and asks, “Are you okay?”
Parse shrugs.
Bitty nods, and he ushers Parse into a chair and hands him a fork. Parse picks at the pie, but doesn’t eat any.
“What are we going to do?” Jack asks.
“Clean it up,” Bitty replies.
“Clean it up?”
“Yes, clean it up. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”
Jack stares at Bitty for a moment. “Yeah, okay. Let me do some googling.”
“I feel like,” Parse says, then pauses and thinks for a moment. “I feel like googling might not be the best idea. Do you really want ‘how to clean blood out of a car’ in your search history?”
“Oh, yeah.” Jack is lost now. Bitty pats him on the arm.
“Don’t worry honey, I’ve got this.”
~~~
The first thing they do is dig a grave. Bitty wants to move the body first so that he can start cleaning the car, but Jack points out that if they’re going to move the body, they’ll need to have somewhere to move it to. So digging the grave comes first.
The far corner of their backyard is secluded, and the ground is soft, but it still takes hours to dig a deep enough grave, even with all three of them digging. It’s well past midnight by the time they’re satisfied, and although Parse seems to have calmed down slightly, Bitty has a murderous gleam in his eye.
“If you ever pull something like this again, Kent,” he says, “it’ll be your body we’re burying.”
Parse briefly makes eye contact with Jack, then looks away before either of them laugh. “Understood,” he says.
Bitty throws down his shovel and sits down in the dirt. Parse sits next to him, and Jack next to Parse. Their legs dangle over the edge of the pit they’ve dug, and Jack feels as though he could fall in at any second. He rests his head on Parse’s shoulder and reaches out to hold his hand. He can see Bitty doing the same.
They sit like that for a long time, contemplating the grave in silence. Then Parse says, “What if we get caught?”
Jack has been trying not to think about that possibility. He doesn’t know what he’d do if they got caught. At this point, it’s too late to stop, but he wonders if it might have been easier if Parse had just called the police when he hit the person. If he hadn’t got Jack and Bitty to help him. Jack immediately feels bad for that train of thought, because Parse didn’t ask them to go to these lengths, did he? Jack and Bitty decided to do this, and the more he thinks about it, the more he’s convinced it was the right thing to do. No, not exactly the <i>right</i> thing. But he doesn’t know what the consequences would have been had Parse called the police, owned up to this, and he doesn’t want to consider the idea of losing him. So yes, Jack decides, he and Bitty are doing the right thing.
“We won’t get caught,” Bitty says.
“You don’t know that.”
“I’m going to do everything I can to make sure we don’t. Besides, who would expect two NHL players and their internet famous boyfriend to have a body buried in their backyard?”
Parse nods. Jack nods as well. Bitty kicks his heel against the side of the grave.
“Are you guys ready for the next bit?” Jack asks. Parse shakes his head. His grip on Jack’s hand tightens.
“We’re going to have to do it before it starts to get light,” Bitty says.
“Can we wait a little bit longer?” Parse asks. He sounds scared. Bitty sighs, but nods.
“Yeah,” he says, “a little bit longer.”
~~~
The first thing they have to do is find a tarp to make carrying the body easier. Jack digs around in the basement until he finds one, tucked in among their camping gear that they haven't used in years. He brings it out to the car, and he hopes that none of the neighbours are awake and looking out the window.
When he steps outside, though, he sees that Bitty has moved the car into the garage, and he remembers that there’s a door leading right from the garage to the backyard, and suddenly the task seems far less dangerous. Jack goes back into the house, then into the garage, where Bitty and Parse are standing by the car, staring at the trunk apprehensively.
“Have you opened it yet?” Jack asks.
“Does it look like we’ve opened it?” Bitty replies. He winces, and seems immediately sorry, but Jack isn’t mad. This is a stressful night for all of them.
He opens the trunk.
The body is inside, as he expected. It doesn’t smell terrible yet. It’s covered in blood, and the blood has smeared across the entirety of the trunk. It’s going to be awful to clean up.
Jack stares at the body for a moment. Don’t think of it as a person, he tells himself. He doesn’t know how else to think of it, though, and he wants to look away but can’t quite manage it. He clears his throat.
“So,” he says, “how are we going to do this?”
~~~
How they do it is like this: they spread the tarp on the floor of the garage. Part of it is under the car, and it’s perfectly positioned under the trunk. Bitty supplies three pairs of bright yellow cleaning gloves, and they roll the body out of the trunk and onto the tarp. Parse doesn’t help much. He started retching as soon as he touched the body.
So it’s Bitty and Jack that get it carefully onto the tarp, Bitty and Jack that each take two corners of the tarp and lift, Bitty and Jack that carry it out to the hole in the garden while Parse holds the door for them and stares at the ceiling. Bitty and Jack that dump it in. Jack thinks it’s fitting, a true demonstration of the lengths they’re willing to go to protect someone they love. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he also thinks it’s horrifying, but he ignores it. That can wait.
Parse is still shaking too much to hold a shovel, still looking sick at the sight of the corpse, so it’s Bitty and Jack that bury it as well, working silently side by side. The sun starts to rise. They pack in the last of the dirt.
It’s obvious that something has happened in that corner of the garden. Where yesterday there had been perfect green grass, now there’s a patch of exposed dirt and rocks.
“How are we going to cover that up?” Parse whispers. It’s the first thing he’s said in hours.
“I’ll go get some trees today,” Jack replies. “Baby ones, and we’ll plant them there. We can say we dug it up for that.”
Parse nods. His shoulders are tense, and he looks like he could collapse at any moment.
“You need to sleep,” Bitty tells him. Parse shakes his head.
“I don’t think I can,” he says.
“Will it help if we’re there?”
Parse shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Bitty stands on his tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to clean the car,” he says, “and then we’re all going to go to bed. You don’t need to sleep,” he adds when Parse starts to say something, “but having us there with you will be better than you being alone. And you do need to sleep.”
Parse nods. Jack reaches out and takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. “It’s going to be okay,” he says again. “You’re not alone.”
Parse gives him a small smile, but he doesn’t reply.
