What Are You Going To Do About It?

Reblog if you’re over 20 and still read/write fan fiction.

I’m curious!

Love this. So true ❤️️

Writing is not always writing.

Writing is being on the train and mentally seeing your OCs stumble into other people, or flinching away from the germ-ridden handrails, or sleeping on each others’ shoulders.

Writing is hearing a song on the radio and watching one of your scenes play out to the lyrics.

Writing is laying on your floor or sitting by your computer and spending hours collaging newspaper clippings or pictures or people or plants together and making something that is completely, uniquely, your story.

Writing is drawing your characters in your notebooks, and making tea only your one, picky character would drink, and writing an open letter to all your characters just to remind them you love them.

Writing is moodboards, and playlists, and crafts, and asks, and prompts, and pictures, and memories, and you.

So never think that just because you’re not putting words on a page, you’re not a real writer. Writing is something that follows you everywhere, beyond the word document, and beyond the screen.

Because writing isn’t something you do. It’s something you are.

#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

My inner introvert is screaming 😂😂😂

Slytherins appreciation drawing 🐍

Anna's 2k Celebration:

Muke for Anonymous 

13/06/15

Kind of obsessed with the Riverdale peeps! Fantastic photoshoot of KJ!

KJ killing it with the photoshoots lately!!

KJ for The Last Magazine, photographed by Daria Kobayashi Ritch