More drabbling, yaye!!11
1. All right, so more queerditch_pub drabbles, for your drabbley pleasure:
Warning: Necro (and het!)- Harry/Ginny: I don't feel and that feels fine
His coldness suits her after the furor and never ceasing clamour of battle. When she takes him, he doesn't say anything, doesn't move, just lays there on his back and lets her ride him, lets her rub against his limp cock until she's swollen and wet, stilling as she comes silently.
It wasn't like this before. Before the war, before Harry rushed into battle, foolishly thinking his courage and love were enough to defeat the most powerful wizard in half a century. Before he left her with barely a glance, saying he wouldn't put her in danger. He would take her, furiously, whenever he could. Against walls, in the stalls of the third floor girls' bathroom, hidden in the girls' dormitory during the lunch hour. He would sweat and grunt and moan, and he was always so full of life.
But now, they're both weary; she sees dullness in his once brilliant green eyes, the lids half closed to hide their shadows and the darkness that lurks just under the surface. He smells like decay, like death and destruction and defeat, and he is still so cold, flesh not warming beneath her fingers like it should, like it used to.
Harry's coldness suits her. The grave is a fine and private place, and Ginny knows it is the perfect place to embrace.
Warning: Chan - Harry/Snape: I stumble into town/Just like a sacred cow/Visions of swastikas in my head/Plans for everyone
Snape watches as Potter stumbles towards the bed, naked skin glistening in the half-light of the candles. The boy climbs awkwardly over Snape's legs and settles in, looking about with his ridiculus spectacles. Snape plucks them from the boy's face. It is better if he doesn't see. There are some scars that go too deep to hide, and some marks that never fade. No, the boy doesn't need to see those, reminders of a past shadowed by youthful capricious choices.
Potter is tanned and beautiful, his soft face round with boyhood, limp cock dusted with only the beginnings of hair. He is like a sacrificial animal, brought to the altar to appease the wrath of a vengeful god.
Snape grabs Potter's hair, silk beneath his fingers, and forces his head down towards his own eager erection, red and glistening like wine. When Snape comes, he can feel the boy choke on the bitter fluid, can feel the small body struggle to get away, but Snape holds his head still on his cock until he is spent completely. He finally pulls the boy off and sees the green eyes watery and red from unshed tears; tears of the virgin -- a final blessing before sacrifice. He turns the boy over and fucks him raw, blood mixing with come and tears.
He knows what the boy does not. There are no gods, and there never were.
Should I warn for het? - Harry/Hermione: happily ever after fails, and we've been poisoned by these fairy tales
When Hermione first saw the towers and spires of Hogwarts looming up across the moon silvered lake, she remembered when her mother had told her the story of Cinderella. In that moment, she felt as though it was she who had a fairy godmother, and slipping on the robes in the train had been her transformation from dirty almost slave to beautiful princess.
But she soon found that Hogwarts, too, was made of glass, was a fragile construction that cracked and shattered under the weight of evil too great to be named and too strong to defeat. Harry wasn't her Prince Charming, and there were no fairy godmothers even in this world where anything seemed possible.
She watched Ginny take her place at Harry's side, the true Cinderella of the tale, beautiful and tragic. Ron was no Prince Charming, but he would do. He would do.
James/Sirius/Lily: And these are the days we dreamed about/ when the sunlight paints us gold
At first, Sirius had been jealous of James's infatuation with Lilly. She was a girl; she didn't know what it was to fumble drunkenly with zippers, or to part James's bed hangings at four am after a bad dream and end up kissing wetly and being brought off with a twist of the wrist and a gasp and not even remembering why you were there in the first place.
When Lily finally fell for James, at the end of sixth year, Sirius and James had been not exactly a couple, but fucking, for three. It didn't take much to see that Lily and James's burgeoning relationship would put an end to that, and Sirius quietly withdrew, choosing to lick his wounds in private.
It was Lily who approached him first, blushing to match her fire red hair and looking at her feet. They met in the Shack the same weekend, the October sun streaming in through the leaves and painting the dust and grime in brilliant hues, gold and red and orange. The bed they fell into was washed with sunlight, and Sirius finally understood how James could love Lily. It was the same way he loved James.
Warning: crack!fic. And wings. - James/RemusSirius: Clip the wings that get you high, just leave them where they lie, and tell yourself, You'll be the death of me
"You can't! They're so...black. Like your mother's soul."
"Ha, fucking ha," Sirius sneered, looking at James in the mirror and doing a fairly accurate impression of Snivellus. "Look, I can't walk around with them bunched under my robes, can I? And anyway, they're uncomfortable. Let's see you try to walk anywhere with a mass of black feathery wings on your back, which must weigh about a stone each, I might add." Sirius huffed and turned around, looking at the brand new wings that had sprouted from his shoulder blades overnight. Oh, Snape was going to pay for this.
"But they're kind of...sexy." James pouted, but the expression was lost on Sirius, who pointedly ignored James's whinging in favor of his newly adorned back.
"Diffindo!" Sirius cried, and the wings severed themselves cleanly from Sirius's skin.
James just stared forlornly at the now useless lumps of feathers, and vowed revenge on Snivellus. Stripping him naked in front of the whole school wouldn't be bad enough. But then Sirius was dragging him to a bed, and James forgot all about wings and Snivellus and thought only of Sirius's cock, which was still a thing of beauty, wings or no wings.
2. Happy Birthday, ebonyserpent! November is the month of birthdays, it seems.
3. Go visit aubrem's livejournal and rec that poor woman some good music!
4. Stare in amazed wonder at the awesomeness that is my icon.
5. Ponder why the lj-cut tag has a dash, while the lj user tag does not.
And I'm off to bed.
Warning: Necro (and het!)- Harry/Ginny: I don't feel and that feels fine
His coldness suits her after the furor and never ceasing clamour of battle. When she takes him, he doesn't say anything, doesn't move, just lays there on his back and lets her ride him, lets her rub against his limp cock until she's swollen and wet, stilling as she comes silently.
It wasn't like this before. Before the war, before Harry rushed into battle, foolishly thinking his courage and love were enough to defeat the most powerful wizard in half a century. Before he left her with barely a glance, saying he wouldn't put her in danger. He would take her, furiously, whenever he could. Against walls, in the stalls of the third floor girls' bathroom, hidden in the girls' dormitory during the lunch hour. He would sweat and grunt and moan, and he was always so full of life.
But now, they're both weary; she sees dullness in his once brilliant green eyes, the lids half closed to hide their shadows and the darkness that lurks just under the surface. He smells like decay, like death and destruction and defeat, and he is still so cold, flesh not warming beneath her fingers like it should, like it used to.
Harry's coldness suits her. The grave is a fine and private place, and Ginny knows it is the perfect place to embrace.
Warning: Chan - Harry/Snape: I stumble into town/Just like a sacred cow/Visions of swastikas in my head/Plans for everyone
Snape watches as Potter stumbles towards the bed, naked skin glistening in the half-light of the candles. The boy climbs awkwardly over Snape's legs and settles in, looking about with his ridiculus spectacles. Snape plucks them from the boy's face. It is better if he doesn't see. There are some scars that go too deep to hide, and some marks that never fade. No, the boy doesn't need to see those, reminders of a past shadowed by youthful capricious choices.
Potter is tanned and beautiful, his soft face round with boyhood, limp cock dusted with only the beginnings of hair. He is like a sacrificial animal, brought to the altar to appease the wrath of a vengeful god.
Snape grabs Potter's hair, silk beneath his fingers, and forces his head down towards his own eager erection, red and glistening like wine. When Snape comes, he can feel the boy choke on the bitter fluid, can feel the small body struggle to get away, but Snape holds his head still on his cock until he is spent completely. He finally pulls the boy off and sees the green eyes watery and red from unshed tears; tears of the virgin -- a final blessing before sacrifice. He turns the boy over and fucks him raw, blood mixing with come and tears.
He knows what the boy does not. There are no gods, and there never were.
Should I warn for het? - Harry/Hermione: happily ever after fails, and we've been poisoned by these fairy tales
When Hermione first saw the towers and spires of Hogwarts looming up across the moon silvered lake, she remembered when her mother had told her the story of Cinderella. In that moment, she felt as though it was she who had a fairy godmother, and slipping on the robes in the train had been her transformation from dirty almost slave to beautiful princess.
But she soon found that Hogwarts, too, was made of glass, was a fragile construction that cracked and shattered under the weight of evil too great to be named and too strong to defeat. Harry wasn't her Prince Charming, and there were no fairy godmothers even in this world where anything seemed possible.
She watched Ginny take her place at Harry's side, the true Cinderella of the tale, beautiful and tragic. Ron was no Prince Charming, but he would do. He would do.
James/Sirius/Lily: And these are the days we dreamed about/ when the sunlight paints us gold
At first, Sirius had been jealous of James's infatuation with Lilly. She was a girl; she didn't know what it was to fumble drunkenly with zippers, or to part James's bed hangings at four am after a bad dream and end up kissing wetly and being brought off with a twist of the wrist and a gasp and not even remembering why you were there in the first place.
When Lily finally fell for James, at the end of sixth year, Sirius and James had been not exactly a couple, but fucking, for three. It didn't take much to see that Lily and James's burgeoning relationship would put an end to that, and Sirius quietly withdrew, choosing to lick his wounds in private.
It was Lily who approached him first, blushing to match her fire red hair and looking at her feet. They met in the Shack the same weekend, the October sun streaming in through the leaves and painting the dust and grime in brilliant hues, gold and red and orange. The bed they fell into was washed with sunlight, and Sirius finally understood how James could love Lily. It was the same way he loved James.
Warning: crack!fic. And wings. - James/RemusSirius: Clip the wings that get you high, just leave them where they lie, and tell yourself, You'll be the death of me
"You can't! They're so...black. Like your mother's soul."
"Ha, fucking ha," Sirius sneered, looking at James in the mirror and doing a fairly accurate impression of Snivellus. "Look, I can't walk around with them bunched under my robes, can I? And anyway, they're uncomfortable. Let's see you try to walk anywhere with a mass of black feathery wings on your back, which must weigh about a stone each, I might add." Sirius huffed and turned around, looking at the brand new wings that had sprouted from his shoulder blades overnight. Oh, Snape was going to pay for this.
"But they're kind of...sexy." James pouted, but the expression was lost on Sirius, who pointedly ignored James's whinging in favor of his newly adorned back.
"Diffindo!" Sirius cried, and the wings severed themselves cleanly from Sirius's skin.
James just stared forlornly at the now useless lumps of feathers, and vowed revenge on Snivellus. Stripping him naked in front of the whole school wouldn't be bad enough. But then Sirius was dragging him to a bed, and James forgot all about wings and Snivellus and thought only of Sirius's cock, which was still a thing of beauty, wings or no wings.
2. Happy Birthday, ebonyserpent! November is the month of birthdays, it seems.
3. Go visit aubrem's livejournal and rec that poor woman some good music!
4. Stare in amazed wonder at the awesomeness that is my icon.
5. Ponder why the lj-cut tag has a dash, while the lj user tag does not.
And I'm off to bed.