#sugarsnapsnips

tysm for the taggg @lifeisabitch-butimcute <3333 i've recently been obsessing over (and doing battle with) this little au wherein ginny and quirrell meet in a bar and have a conversation so.... here's some of that :)

Eventually, she takes a sip of her beer, puts down the glass, and offers, “I was eleven.” 

The man’s eyes widen, and something flashes across them, something a little calculating and a little broken. Ginny wonders who he is. 

“I was twenty-six,” he returns, and she thinks that there are probably very different circumstances surrounding each of their personal experiences - a little girl and a fully-grown man - but maybe that doesn’t matter. They’re both here, together in this bar, at the end of the day, and he’s not, and this man might be the only person she’s ever met who feels that gaping absence in the same way she does. 

One thing Ginny has learnt about Tom Riddle is that he lingers. He clings to her - black ink in her bloodstream - long after she’d painstakingly scrubbed away the grime of the Chamber of Secrets, long after Harry Potter had chased each remaining piece of his tattered soul off the face of the earth, long after she and Harry had given up on their attempt at happily ever after. 

She’s twenty-four now, it’s been thirteen years. She wonders how long it’s been for the man sitting across the table from her, if maybe he’s living proof that she’s never going to be rid of him.

except it’s actually a jenkara anniversary treat that i started writing two days and haven’t the strength to properly finish xxxx miserable jily for one and all xxxxx ty @lifeisabitch-butimcute for the tag!!

It’s quiet.

It’s always quiet these days, tense and heavy and suffocating. The noise of the kettle coming to a boil feels taboo, violent in the thick layers of silence in which the house seems to have been shrouded.

It’s been six months now. Lily wonders if she’ll survive six more. She pours herself a cup of tea and tries to force the thought from her mind, but it’s been seeping through the cracks more and more as time trudges on.

Her death feels inevitable now, no more room for hope and drawing ever closer, and it will be either at the hands of Voldemort, or the hands of the damned silence that she can almost feel wrapped around her throat. She frightens herself sometimes when she finds herself wishing that Voldemort would just come and finish them off already - anything would be better than this stagnation.

They survived the first month or so more or less intact. It was almost nice to be able to spend so much time with each other uninterrupted. The house felt like a haven from the insanity waging outside. Lily didn’t hear much about the war - except for the summaries James would give her of what his mates had told him during his secret invisibility cloak excursions. It was safe, and new, and, though it seems slightly unbelievable to her now, nice. Neither of them realised the gravity of it, perhaps, the endlessness of it, but they enjoyed themselves. They joked around and made each other cups of tea and nearly pissed themselves with laughter and played with their son together and had a lot of sex. They loved each other.

Then one month became two, became three, became four, and Dumbledore indefinitely borrowed James’ cloak, and the isolation from the rest of the world started to weigh on them, their safe haven started to turn into a cage.

They started to grate against each other, edges

tysm my darlings @lifeisabitch-butimcute and @moon-seas for the beautiful tags <33 i’ve been back on the rodolhov train recently….

Rodolphus punches him again, in the face this time, hearing the sound of the other man’s nose crunching under his fist - maybe they’re matching now, two bloody, broken noses.

Nobody talks about Bellatrix like that. Especially not stuck-up foreign arseholes who’re meddling in affairs that don’t concern them. And yet, Dolohov insists on bringing her up - as if he’s worthy of even thinking about her.

“I should cut out your fucking tongue,” Rodolphus growls, punching him again just for good measure.

Dolohov laughs, blood on his teeth too, straining his neck to bring their faces closer together, “Just fucking try it.”

Then, he leans even closer and licks a line up the side of Rodolphus’ face.

many many thanks to @fairiehill for the tagggg… here is some timeloop tomlily again (only thing i ever think about)

“But we have to try, Headmaster,” Lily says, a little desperately because - what? “Surely it’s better to try, and I’m sure you could find Pettigrew far more quickly and easily than me - and of course, you’re a thousand times more accomplished at dueling and magic in general.”

Dumbledore looks at her and it feels like a death knell, “I appreciate your faith in me but I’m afraid it’s out of the question, an old man’s meddling is likely to hinder rather than help in this situation - this is a beast that you must tackle on your own. Now, my dear Lily, could you elucidate me on some of the finer points of your ritual?”

*****

After that entirely bewilderingly useless conversation, Lily gives up on Dumbledore. If he refuses to help for some nonsensical reason, then she’ll just have to find Pettigrew on her own. Then she could present him to the Order, or maybe some Aurors and get them to - do something, rather than just sit around on the pebbled shore of a loch and discuss the intricacies of runic arrays.

She's maybe a little bitter about how skeptical Dumbledore seemed of her plan.

thank you for the tags my darlings @themuseoftheviolets @transsexualpriest @velanavis <3333

okay so i’m doing two bc i can’t help myself but these are from my two stupid christmas fics…..

the first one is from the ridiculous santa’s grotto reg pov quillkiller grindeldore chaos that i’m now stuck on and have decided that it may never see the light of day lmao

“Shut up, Sirius,” Bella snaps when Sirius complains again. They’ve just joined the back of the queue for the Santa’s grotto on the ground floor of the local shopping centre, and Sirius has had a complaint for pretty much every second of the ten minute drive to get there.

and the second is from the dumb sybillily good king wenceslas au vision that i was recently struck with and am now obsessing over

Lily always looks lovely, always looks radiant, always looks every inch the king she is, but here, standing by the window, looking out at the night, Sybill can’t seem to look away.

i’ve been tagged in so many things over the last like. month so i’m not putting who i was tagged by bc i cba to go check soz guys but we are SO back baby!! ritawalburga smut!!

The house is screaming now, a discordant symphony mixing with the sounds Walburga is making, earsplitting fury intermingling with breathless pleasure. Rita swirls her tongue around Walburga’s clit, moving faster because she’s a little desperate now too, because she needs to make Walburga come before the house decides to finish them off once and for all.

The legs of the coffee table next to them are pounding against the hardwood floor in time with Rita’s heartbeat as she pulls Walburga closer with the hand on her leg, squeezing tight enough to bruise because if she’s going to die, she wants to leave her mark.

The door slams open and a gust of ice cold wind buffets through the room, knocking trinkets and their wine glasses to the floor with a sharp crash. Rita thinks that perhaps it shouldn’t be a surprise that the stab of danger is just turning her on more. She’s been known to dance on that knife’s edge, after all.

And it feels dangerous, the way Walburga is coming undone, more expressive than Rita has ever seen her and so very sensitive, so very responsive, so very addictive - both of them teetering on the threshold of something.

thank you so very kindly for the tags my darlings @lifeisabitch-butimcute @quillkiller @moon-seas i am obsessed w you all and i come bearing ritawalburga….. realised recently that this fic is gonna mostly be dialogue…… terrible news

“Ms. Skeeter, are you suggesting not only that my son was a death eater, but that he was a traitor too?”

This was then followed by a long tirade about the honour of her family and besmirching the memory of the deceased. That had been followed by an interrogation on Rita’s family history - more specifically on the history of their blood and money - and, having determined that Rita’s blood was pure enough, even if her money wasn’t anywhere near old enough (and it wouldn’t be, as she’d made the majority of it herself in the last fifteen years or so), Walburga had lapsed into silence.

Rita leans back into the sofa, legs crossed at the ankles, and sips her tea, which is now both disgusting and lukewarm, pondering where to take their conversation next.

She can’t try Regulus again so soon, and Orion is certainly still far beyond her reach. She doesn’t particularly want to discuss Sirius in any meaningful way, because his cousin would invariably be dragged into the conversation with him. She purses her lips behind her tea cup; this woman is far trickier than her usual interview subjects. Perhaps she could ask after the woman herself?

“Lady Black,” she ventures, “Might I ask how you spend your time these days? You haven’t been seen in society for the last three years.”

Walburga frowns at her, a small furrow between her brows, the most expression she has shown so far, and in one smooth, elegant motion rises to her feet.

“I’m in mourning,” she says, before turning and sweeping towards the door. As she leaves the room, she calls out, “Kreacher! Show Ms. Skeeter out!”

darling!!! it’d be a pleasure!!!! Untitled Document 8 contains 2 wips, one of which is my lilyrosekiller fic based on chappell roan’s after midnight which i’ve decided actually yearns to be a bartydoralily fic instead and is now awaiting a major edit…. and the other is library fic!!!! library fic my beloved!!!!! it is perhaps a little known fact that the second chapter is fully written and mostly edited and just sitting in my docs until i get called back to it again….. here’s an extended snippet in the meantime xxx