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tackytigerfic · 1 year

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I posted 1,451 times in 2022

96 posts created (7%)

1,355 posts reblogged (93%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@sitp-recs

@ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm

@hdsudsfest

@the-starryknight

And myself lol because why not

I tagged 1,437 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#i queue - 556 posts

#drarry - 381 posts

#drarry fic rec - 245 posts

#drarry rec list - 129 posts

#drarry art - 120 posts

#to read - 119 posts

#amazing art - 115 posts

#drarry fic - 104 posts

#drarry squad - 84 posts

#wip snip - 79 posts

Longest Tag: 120 characters

#first in a long line of morally ambiguous antiheroes who have to overcome their own cowardice to prove their moral worth

My Top Posts in 2022:

Howl

M ~ 8.9K ~ Werewolf Drarry

After an encounter with a vicious werewolf, Draco Malfoy wakes in a field hospital with a mangled shoulder, a furry little problem, and an inconvenient crush on Harry Potter. Potter, meanwhile, is still trying to save the world, only this time he wants Draco right there with him while he does it. Taking part in a rebellion against a corrupt regime isn't always glamorous, but at least sometimes there are organic farmshop pastries and fancy hotel bedsheets. Just don't ask about that smell of burning.

A gift for @cluelesspigeons as part of the @drarrymicrofic Wheel of Drarry exchange.

Celina, your gorgeous microfics always have such a sense of tenderness and longing. I wanted to bring some of that softness to this fic, which also includes some of your Drarry likes (werewolf Drarry, long-haired Draco, tattooed Draco - plus some long hair and tattoos for Harry too, because he deserves nice things). Thank you for all you contribute to this fandom, in the form of your lovely words and your fabulous modding skills.

@maesterchill and @sweet-s0rr0w i am so lucky to have both of your brilliant minds at my disposal and will never stop being grateful for that.

Mourning Moon

Draco woke up on a Friday morning in a field hospital in Grasmere, without a single memory of how he had got there. The last thing he remembered was being in London, not two streets away from his tiny bedsit, getting a very late takeaway dinner in the only burger joint still open at that time of the night. He was sheltering from the rain and unwrapping his bean burger—no tomatoes, extra gherkins—and had felt rather than seen something moving in the darker shadows beyond the mouth of the alleyway.

And that was all there was, nothing but a horrifying blank spot in his memory before waking up here on a rickety stretcher, feeling like he had been turned inside out. His shoulder was hurting badly, the pain maybe even worse than when he took the Mark, and he could tell from the thickness of the bandages that whatever had happened to him, it was bad. He could smell the protective webbing of healing charms packed around the wound, and could feel the dittany busily knitting away at the flesh.

“Another one?”

The Healer—who for all Draco knew wasn’t even a real Healer, just someone with an O in Potions who was handy with an Episkey—wasn’t even looking at his face as she spoke, just scribbling busily on a chart and then running a cold, assessing hand over Draco’s sternum. She raised her wand to his skin.

“Another what?” Draco asked rudely, just to make the Healer look at him properly.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Her voice was cool, the spark of her magic at his shoulder something like relief and something like an invasion. Behind Draco, there was a small shifting sound, a rustle of air and greenery and the warmth of something too familiar. The back of his neck prickled, but the Healer held him firmly in place.

Draco could smell the woman’s cold antiseptic scent and below that the sourness of too much coffee and the ripe smell of her body after what must have been a long shift. He could smell the ink on the quill nib, the same metallic salt to the smell as blood, and he knew then what must have happened, his heart kicking faster, the steep jump on the monitoring spell making the Healer frown. Draco allowed himself to stretch his arms, feeling the way his bones tightened under the skin, wrist bones locking for a second, making him think of lengthening strides, the wild rush of the chase, the thrill of a body made exactly fit for purpose. It was really quite unlike himself, Draco thought, looking down at his own bare torso, pale as a grub, his fingers scarred and splintered from chisels and raw wood, his Mark still there, like it always would be, inescapable.

“What happened to me?” Draco asked, needing to hear it.

“Werewolf. Bad bite,” came a voice—his voice—and Draco’s flesh pebbled into gooseflesh as though in a fresh breeze. “You’re lucky we were already onto him. If we hadn’t arrived when we did...”

“Quite right.” The Healer sounded disapproving. “You were lucky tonight, Mr Malfoy. That bite was designed to do some serious damage. Any deeper and you wouldn’t be here to tell the tale.” Her quill scraped against the chart again before coming to a decisive stop as she plucked it out of the air and shoved it into her pocket. “It’s almost as though it was… personal. We won't know for certain until the next full moon, but given the severity of the bite I think I should prescribe wolfbane. I'll check the dispensary.”

She was gone from the tent before Draco could reply, before the shame crept in a flush of heat from his chest up, before he could tell her he knew it was personal, before he could ask if there was anything that could be done for him. There wasn’t; he already knew the bite had taken, the wolf was in his blood. He could feel it as surely as though the fangs were still clamped down on him.

“It’s always personal with Greyback,” Potter said, moving around the stretcher so Draco could see him. Draco felt very suddenly like lying back down and having a messy cry. “If that’s any consolation.” He reached out a hand and patted Draco’s good arm.

It was almost too much, a sensory overload, Draco’s mouth suddenly wet and getting wetter, a prickle of sweat over his top lip, a greying fuzz across his vision before he blinked the colour back into the room.

“You alright?” Potter, at his shoulder, the scent of him already unmistakable.

“I’m—” Draco began, and then stopped before it turned into a growl at the sudden shift in the air, like a turning breeze. Not a threat, exactly, but something equally new and unsettling, the dangerous rolling whiff, the urge to take or be taken. He raised his head, inhaled. “Oh. You. You’re one too?”

Read the rest of Howl on AO3

144 notes - Posted October 18, 2022

Take the Moon

Drarry ~ M ~ 15k

Harry Potter has always wanted a family of his own, and when a deadly blood curse forces him into a marriage bond with his best friend Draco Malfoy, it looks like he might just have found one.

Living with Draco (biscuit-lover, no work/life balance, good hair) and his son Scorpius (also biscuit-lover, colour-codes his bricks, proud bearer of plastic swan-shaped garden ornament) gives Harry the routine and companionship he’s always craved. There’s also the matter of the really great sex (because what’s a marriage of convenience without a little fun, after all?)

It's just a shame they’d always planned to break up after a year…

This is my take on a break-up-to-make-up fic, with a little sprinkle of forced marriage, and a look at the realities of being a parent thrown into the mix. Oh, and Harry just happens to be a werewolf who likes how Draco smells. It's not the story of the marriage, but of the before and the after, and in it i wanted to talk about the ways in which people work hard to love each other as best as they can.

Huge thanks to the mods of @hd-wireless for their sterling work on the fest, and to my lovely friends who keep me going. Special thanks to @sweet-s0rr0w for the cheer-reading, summary-wrangling, and patiently listening to me moaning about whether I'd be done on time or not, to @makeitp1nk who read an early draft when i was panicking, sharpened it up brilliantly, and got me over my slump. And to @maesterchill for the beta and the support - as always you are a ledgebag and I am so lucky to have you.

Read Take the Moon on AO3

[Image ID: tumblr banner with a picture of a Sainsbury’s supermarket exterior at night, a row of shopping trolleys in front. Beside that there is a graphic with a misty moon shape and the title Take the Moon in red letters. Image credit to Liviu Florescu on Unsplash.]

151 notes - Posted August 15, 2022

Six Sentence Sunday

Harry has been fighting the war against Voldemort for seven years. Here, he gets a little downtime with his favourite godchild. Unbetaed.

Rosie was singing, a tuneless joyful sound, hands sticky around her half-eaten apple, cheeks still hot from her nap.

“Come on, darling,” Harry said. “Give me those toes.”

Rosie lay back and kicked her legs into the air, her fat bare feet scrabbling against Harry’s hands. She laughed unrepentantly then let Harry cup both her heels in one hand while he reached for her discarded socks with the other. Her skin felt so smooth, so warm and silky, with a strangely animal, muscular heft to the flexing plump feet.

“That child can’t keep her socks on to save her life,” Molly said from the kitchenette. “I’ll have to spell them stuck if she keeps this up.”

Harry frowned down at Rosie’s little face, then stuck his bottom lip out and drew his eyebrows cartoonishly low, just to hear her make that delicate little wheeze of in-breath that always came before a laugh.

“I don’t think she’d like that,” he called back to Molly, then lowered his voice just for Rosie. “Would you, sweetheart? You wouldn’t like to have your socks spelled on, would you Rosie-Posie? Because if you did—” He paused theatrically, and Rosie, ever-indulgent and with the patient expectancy that came with familiarity, wriggled with anticipatory glee “—then how could I… eat your toes?”

There was a lot of screaming and kicking and tickling and rather a din of monster noises, and Harry definitely got a foot in the face more than once as he pretended to gobble up Rosie’s toes while simultaneously wrestling her socks back on, but by the time things subsided she clambered up, both feet festooned in purple stripes, and settled herself in Harry’s lap contentedly to finish her apple.

Harry kissed her curls, and they sat quietly, Rosie crunching. She was a very restful person to be around, Harry always thought. Her needs seemed very simple, her pleasure at having them met a pure and joyful thing. Harry didn’t remember being that small, but it seemed fairly clear that the Dursleys would have had to really go out of their way to make him miserable. It was so easy to please a two-year-old; more than anything else, the idea that the Dursleys could not be kind to someone so full of potential and so very small—the thought of them treating Rose the way they had Harry—made him realise how truly awful they were.

“She has you wrapped around her little finger,” Molly sighed, and set a cup of tea on the table next to Harry, tucked far enough in that Rose couldn’t reach it. Molly sat down in the armchair with her own cup.

“I don’t mind,” Harry said into Rosie’s hair, which always smelled the same—a hint of a sweet artificial fruity scent, undercut with something earthy and warmly fragrant, like a puppy’s stomach or the earth under damp leaves. “I like it when she’s happy.”

Tagging anyone who wants to join in! Please tag me, I am weeks behind on Tumblr but I love reading them and will love reading them again to reblog when I finally catch up!

153 notes - Posted April 3, 2022

Could We Maybe

Started this microfic ages ago but never finished it so I think it works for the @drarrymicrofic prompt Abrupt. This is inspired by the incomparable @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm and his red strings of fate - and some day I will finish this. Joy, I would love to write something as beautiful as you deserve but such a thing would be impossible for mortal hands to craft.

Harry and Draco find themselves connected by the red string of fate, but Draco can't quite believe that he deserves it. This is the opener (and as far as I had got with it tbh). CW for brief sexual content, soft M maybe?

It happens after the first time they fuck, which isn’t fair, because Draco doesn’t even have time to enjoy the aftermath (bedlinen dense with the heat of their joined bodies, the delicious scrape of Potter’s incisors over Draco’s slowing pulse, Potter so reluctant to separate them that he slackens inside Draco—such desperate intimacy) before Potter says, oh, and Draco feels the tug at his little finger as Potter lifts his own hand, wonderingly.

“I can’t believe this,” Potter says, and Draco feels the same disbelief right down in his bones, the why me from when Potter first kissed him magnified into something bigger, colder, inescapable.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Draco says dully, and Potter laughs, kisses him carefully, knots their fingers together with the red string tangled and snarled between them.

252 notes - Posted February 9, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Far Side

For the @drarrymicrofic prompt Euphoria. Werewolf Harry, Dad Draco, kidfic. CW for brief mention of a newborn, barely-there sex. Umm I do not know, my idea was that Harry and Draco meet up for the first time in years and Harry gets a sort of wolfy impulse about Draco being his mate, it's all very implied lmao

Harry has a photo on his desk; he says it’s his favourite.

Draco with Scorpius, newly born, just a few minutes old. In the corner, out of focus, there’s the tired edge of Astoria in her hospital bed, but the camera lingers on Draco and the baby, close quarters to the impossible newness of it all. Draco can’t even remember who was holding the camera.

Draco comes by the office to take Harry for lunch, sees the photo in its pale wood frame. He’s mildly horrified; the frame is set at an angle on the desk so anyone can see it. Draco turns it inwards towards Harry’s chair, but Harry’s quicker, hands gentle around the frame, setting it carefully back where it was. It’s a proclamation Draco’s not sure he was expecting.

The moon is waxing gibbous, and Harry is restless, pacing, the strung-bow quiver of a pounce behind his every movement, and he stills only when Draco touches him, face turning up for a kiss as though it was all he had been waiting for.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Harry says, and that’s when he says it. My favourite, he says, a big expression for something that wasn’t even his back then. “Why don’t you like it?”

“I like it,” Draco says, but he doesn’t, really. “But I was so worried. He was so small, and Astoria...”

“Look at your face, though,” Harry says, and they both watch the photo in silence. In it, Draco’s head dips and raises in a constant, wondering loop, face brightening when he peers into the swaddled bundle as though he’s holding magic itself, a new sun. His unbearably young self untucks the blanket and Scorpius emerges, still wet and crumpled-looking, the small starfish clutch of his hand reaching out, his opening mouth a silent squall.

“I wish I had been there,” Harry says gently, and Draco wishes he could have—somehow, impossibly—been there too.

Instead, Draco had done it by himself, for years—minding the baby, getting Astoria back on her feet, and when the inheritance issue was settled, helping her move to her apartment in France where Scorpius now spends most of the summers and comes back to England each September with new freckles and his hair bleached to sand-silver.

And then, amazingly, one night—feeling out of place at a work party he had tried to get out of attending, holding a glass of wine warmed through by his nervous hand—Draco had met Harry Potter for the first time since Hogwarts and everything that had been for them. Harry, who was at Draco’s side within about three minutes of arriving at the party; Harry, who told him he looked exactly the same, gaze lingering on Draco’s mouth; Harry, who didn’t look the same—streaks of silver coiling through his curls, smile lines sketched around his eyes—but older and bigger and all the better for it.

Draco had heard about the incident in Ireland, of course, had known about the bite. Knowing wasn’t knowing, though; it didn’t encompass the feeling of Harry’s shaky inhale when Draco shifted nearer, the barest promise of incisor in his smile, the press of fabric around the bulge of bicep when Harry pushed his sleeves up, impatient with heat and maybe something more.

In front of everyone at the party, Draco put his drink down and let Harry press his face into Draco’s neck, his panting breath at Draco’s frantic pulsepoint. They fucked in the toilets in the Ministry basement, Harry barely getting his trousers unbuttoned, Draco with his formal robes still hanging off his shoulders, his fingers tracing the puckered scar tissue at Harry’s shoulder.

“We need to talk about it,” Harry said after, though it was obvious to both of them that, while Harry was the one who had been bitten, mate ran both ways between them. But Draco had to go, already late for the babysitter, and Harry’s eyes were bright with some sort of tenderness when Draco explained, stealing yet another kiss.

It took months before Draco introduced Harry to Scorpius, but of course he needn’t have worried.

“It’s a pack thing,” Harry said from under the dense sleeping shape of Scorpius, both of them curled around each other on the couch. “He smells right. He seems to like me too, right?”

“What would you have done if he didn’t?” Draco asked. He didn’t have to tell Harry what would happen if it had come down to a choice between them.

Harry growled softly, amused, and Scorpius shifted in his sleep, one slack pink cheek visible under the possessive curl of Harry’s arm.

“I’m not just the wolf, you know,” Harry said. “You know I would never—”

“No, I know,” Draco told him. “I like to think this whole thing is still our choice.” He waved a hand, encompassing the couch, the sleeping child, two cups of tea standing cool on the side table, and at the window, a sly wink of moon.

599 notes - Posted January 11, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#i was feeling grim about my writing this year #felt like i have achieved so little #but am giving myself a little mental shake #because that's just brain weasels talking #i posted four fics i like this year #i was published professionally for the first time #made my first bit of money from writing #had two lit agents approach me and am putting a proposal together for them #and i wrote over 100k of another fic that should be ready early next year #not too shabby for someone who never imagined they could write #i wish you all happiness #i love this bar and everyone in it

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