@ Fic Authors What Do You Personally Consider A Successful Fic? What’s The Bar?

yeah, no, for sure

#draco x hermione #dramoine

prompt: snowed in

It was snowing in their common room.

Hermione didn’t sleep. Darkness toyed with her every night until she succumbed to the dusty lamp above her shoulder.

There was always a book on the bedside table. Soft leather covers; second-hand shop prices penciled on the top right corner upon cracking the spine open; always under ten quid because post-war Hermione did not have the luxuries that her former self used to do.

Lacklustre restlessness kept her up consistently, unveiling highly unusual nocturnal activities in her shared dorm.

If someone had told her who would be Head Boy in eighth year, she may not have returned to Hogwarts. He would be cruel and condescending and completely unbearable. But Draco turned out to be a decent roommate. Tidy and polite and quiet, he kept to his room, and covered most patrol shifts, giving her ample time off.

Only, he was a profoundly dramatic sleeper.

Hermione raised the covers to her chin, shielding herself from a gust of snowflakes falling from the ceiling.

Forever in a state of apathy, Draco’s emotions were guarded heavily behind stony mental walls, except for when he slept. Last night, their rooms trembled in the wake of a roaring wind storm. Hermione’s History essay flew across the floor, quills and bobby pins and sweet wrappers tornadoing around the rug. The night before that, the temperature dropped so low, her breath clouded; the trembling fern on her windowsill shed three leaves. Separated only by a thin wall, Hermione experienced the brunt of Draco’s unruly magic night after night.

She’d contemplated waking him, conjured a list of pros and cons. He would be embarrassed. He might lash out. But his unconscious was too heartbreaking to stomach. Every night was cold, chaotic, a shade, or many, uncomfortable. Leaving him alone would be a disservice to them both.

Clumsily, she wiggled into yesterday’s socks, tugging them above her knees. The carpet was damp beneath her bare feet. She wore cotton shorts and a tank, her blanket tucked tightly around her shoulders. She paused behind his door. Boys were always more agreeable after sugar. She detoured.

Minutes later, Hermione crossed the corridor’s frosty white floors, mug in hand, entering Draco’s room without knocking. Snow melted into a layer of glimmering wet upon her shoulders.

Draco slept on his side, hugging himself, brows furrowed.

Hermione called his name once, quietly, and again, louder, when he didn’t stir.

Draco blinked drowsily. Then shot up like a spark. The triangle of light flooding the doorway illuminated the panic on his face.

“It’s only me,” Hermione said sheepishly, trying to sound soothing. “You were having a bad dream.”

He frowned, his hair sticking up in all directions. He was shirtless.

Hermione’s pulse quickened. “Uhm… I brought you hot chocolate.” She gestured awkwardly to the lion-head mug in her hands, cocoa-scented steam swirling through the clean boyish scent of Draco’s room.

He followed her gaze, appearing more confused. The mattress creaked as he shuffled away, silver-scarred ribs expanding. “Did I wake you?” His voice was raspy.

Hermione wanted to tell him about the snow. About the way his dreams manifested into magic. But like each enchanted dream before, any indication of it was gone. Her shoulders were dry. The floors clean. The temperature had risen to castle norm, which was never warm enough anyway.

“I never sleep,” she admitted instead, resigned.

“Never?”

“It’s difficult. My head’s not a happy place.”

“Nor mine.” He relaxed a little, repositioning himself against the carved headboard, a generous gap of space stretched between him and the edge of the bed. He shot her a pointed look.

Blushing, Hermione hugged her blanket closely and crawled up beside him. She could have told him why she was there, but the words would not come. If Draco knew the truth, he would stop sleeping. They shouldn't both have to suffer.

“Will you stay up with me for a while?” she asked.

For once his eyes twinkled, shot with exhaustion, but unguarded. And interested? “Only because you brought me hot chocolate,” he said, nudging his chin in silent demand.

She rolled her eyes as she handed him the mug, hiding her grin.

His throat pulsed as he swallowed slowly, licking his lower lip. Their fingers brushed when he handed it back to her. His skin was warm.

Hermione took a small sip.

“I thought you would be the shittiest roommate,” Draco admitted a while later, eyes fixed carefully ahead. “I thought—Hermione Granger? She’ll preach rules any time I toe out of line and hog all the bookshelf space and be condescending twenty-four hours a day. I nearly didn’t come back.” He met her gaze. “But you surprised me.”

A spark of awareness shot down her spine.

He took the hot chocolate back, drinking from exactly where her mouth had been, a sneaky smile curling the edges of his lips.

They sat until dawn, bickering but not seriously. Laughing, but sleepily and more out of politeness. They were just getting to know one another. There were awkward gaps, moments of wordlessness, ceaselessly thinking ‘what do I say next?’. But there was always a next, even if it took a while. A thoughtful next. A next that led to a longer conversation, and a longer one after that. Thighs brushing, then pressing, shoulders caving towards one another. Eventually, Hermione’s blanket encircled them both, her head resting upon his shoulder.

Drowsily, she told him, “Yeah. You surprised me too.”

For the first time in weeks, Hermione experienced the sensation of waking from a deep sleep.

xx

THE SANDMAN Interview | Neil Gaiman, Tom Sturridge and Cast Talk Netflix Series AKA Tom Sturridge ready to fight everyone for The Sandman bless him.

This is beautiful.  I love it <3

I put Christmas lights on my bookshelf today 😊

Plot Bunnies, Plot Chickens, Etc.

As a lot of people aren’t familiar with plot creatures, I thought I’d shed some light on the members of the mental menagerie…

The Plot Bunny - Story ideas that come bounding in and start multiplying.

The Plot Chicken - They squawk, flap around, and shit everywhere, but when you actually need to do something with them, they scatter.

The Plot Sloth - Takes its sweet goddamned time turning into something useful.

The Plot Mule - When you mash two plots together and get something cool, but you can’t get a sequel out of it to save your life.

The Plot Cat - Lazy little bastards who take up your headspace, scare away all the other plot bunnies, but won’t actually do anything except lay there.

The Plottweiler - Barks loudly and viciously so you can’t ignore it, distracts you from everything else you want to write, but leaves you too paralyzed with fear to actually put words down.

The Plot Squirrel - Cute, distracting, full of nuts, and just TRY to keep up with that train of thought.

The Plot Bedbug - Shows up during the night, chews on you so you can’t sleep, and disappears in the daylight.

The Plot Tick - Burrows in, bleeds you dry, and leaves you with the creepy-crawlies. Mostly preys on horror writers.

The Plotroach - Totally unappealing, but so tenacious they’ll survive anything until you finally give up and write them.

What Plot Creatures have you encountered?

“I haven’t got any options! I’ve got to do it! He’ll kill me! He’ll kill my whole family!”  ( Harry potter and the Half-blood Prince) Today is Draco’s Birthday! so…… Happy birthday Draco! 

older lotr illustrations sometimes depict éowyn wearing ridiculously small armour. apart from the problem general sexualisation of the only female character (who really does anything), there’s another hilarious thought:

éowyn pretended to be dernhelm, a man. to fit in, she must have worn men’s armor. so the armor in the illustrations is normal for rohirrim.

therefore, all the rohirrim rode to war just like that:

Jude and Cardan