THREE TIMES!!!!

He’s so hot I just ahhhhhhh

𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚎!?

Jake supremacy

@usergif back to cool event: challenge #4 — typography

Obliviated but you do you boo xx

Hermione: Harry, stop eating cake icing.

Harry: IM SORRY but are YOUR parents dead because of a noseless man? NO? That's WHAT I THOUGHT!

Hermione: Youre disgusting.

Ooohhhh I need a full story NOW!!!!

I want Dramione babies !!!

!!!

Here you go.

*****

Formal Sitting Room

by Pacific Rimbaud

Rated M

1300 words, complete short fic

Tags: Dad!Draco, Mum!Hermione, A Baby, Sofa Sitting, Stupidly in Love 

“You’ll note that I’ve brought you here to the sitting room, and that’s because we have several important things to discuss without the usual distractions.”

Draco adjusted his posture on the sofa.

The long term goal, he had decided, was to look engaged—attentive, he thought—but at the same time relaxed and approachable. One might have a conversation sitting like this, rather than issue commands, a distinction which he had come to value greatly.

His interlocutor leaned forward from the hips, as though he meant to leave.

“Make no attempt to escape. You’ll recall that I’ve set up wards of all kinds throughout the room. You may test them as much as you like, but you’ll get no further than the threshold if you try to run off.”

Draco adjusted his reading glasses, gathering his thoughts.

He paused.

“Are you looking at these?” He removed his glasses and held them up, where they caught the lamp light. “These are mine. They’re not under any circumstances to be removed from my person. They’re quite fragile.” He tucked the arms back over his ears, and began his speech.

“I know that while your goals and mine may not always align, I recognize that your … ” Draco squinted, recalling the appropriate language “ … feelings are valid. It’s perfectly alright to cry, especially in situations like the one we had in the kitchen just now. For my part, I” —he felt his face contort under the effort, which his conversation partner seemed to find amusing enough to smile about— “was wrong in eating the entire banana. I ought to have asked if you wanted any.”

That part over, Draco moved on.

A sandwich, he’d been told.

Positive feedback to start, then constructive criticism, followed by further positive feedback.

“I’ve noticed that you’ve been working hard on your articulation and vocabulary recently, and I admire your tenacity and perseverance. Your choice to monologue at three o’clock in the morning was disruptive to other members of the household. Your tone and projection are impressive.”

His companion settled back against the cushion behind him and yawned.

Draco moved on. His posture had stiffened, and he took a moment to allow his muscles to relax. 

“You’ll recall our earlier discussions about personal hygiene. I understand that progress in that area is dependent on multiple factors outside of your control, and that you’re doing your best under the circumstances.” He drew in a deep breath. “Know that I love you very much, and always will, no matter what you’ve done.”

He swallowed. The words felt less like foreign objects in his mouth every time he said them, which was the purpose of this exercise.

“I’m very proud of you, son.”

“What are you two up to in here?” Hermione’s voice was laced with fatigue.

She entered the room with her arms wrapped around her waist and her eyes still blinking, fogged with sleep, and slid sideways into Draco’s lap. “Hello.”

“Good afternoon. I take it you fell asleep with your book. How was the nap?” He ran the heel of his hand firmly up her spine, then down again.

“Gorgeous. Thank you so much.”

“Of course.”

She considered Draco’s associate at the other end of the sofa. “I’m trying very hard right now to not be terrified of him falling off the edge.”

Draco scoffed. “I’ve put a sticking charm on his bum, he’s not going anywhere.” He tilted his chin at the baby. “Your mother thinks I’d let you toss yourself off the sofa, Fornax.”

“Stop calling him Fornax, he’s going to think it’s actually his name.” Hermione yawned. “He looks ready for his sleep. What did you two get up to?”

Draco wrapped his arm around Hermione’s waist, and without dislodging her from his lap, leaned forward and grasped the baby around the back with a grip steady and confident from constant repetition.

“What did we do, Dennis?”

“Your name is not Dennis, you poor mouse.” Hermione drew the baby into her arms, where it flattened its cheek against her chest and breathed a world-weary sigh. Hermione sniffed its head. “He smells of fruit.”

“We had peaches, and some avocado, and he said no to the banana, but then changed his mind once I’d eaten the whole thing and got angry with me, because he’s your son.”

“And yours.”

“That’s probably fair. Then we did some scooting, and bashing one’s own father about the head and face with a wooden mallet. After that, we rocked for a bit, and read Red Dragon, Yellow Dragon, Blue Dragon half a dozen times, and then we ate its pages for a while.”

“Did it taste nice?”

“It always does.”

“Mmm.” Hermione ran her palm over the baby’s white-blond curls, then kissed the crown of its head. “And then you came into the formal sitting room to practice—what, entertaining etiquette?”

“Something like that.” Draco stroked a hand through Hermione’s hair, and then began the meticulous and satisfying work of untangling his fingers from it.

“Are you ready for your second sleep, my love?” she whispered into the baby’s scalp.

“He’s had his milk and a fresh nappy just now. I’ll go lie him down.” Draco wrapped his hands around the baby’s ribs, and shifted him onto his own chest. “How far did you get in your book before you fell asleep?”

“Two pages.”

“Maybe now that you’ve napped, you’ll make some headway.”

Draco laid a hand on Hermione’s hip and pushed at her lightly to shift her off his lap.

“Or … “ she whispered.

He stopped.

His eyes rolled back in his head.

“I’ll never stop loving what this does to you.” She dropped her temple to his shoulder, still circling her thumb in a ghostly touch over the exquisitely sensitive skin of his earlobe.

Draco pulled her hand away with a soft grip on her wrist, and looked at her sidelong.

“You could read your book, or? Go on.”

“Or … ”

As she grasped his right hand and pulled it toward her, he held the baby more firmly with his left.

She guided his hand under the bottom hem of her jumper, then higher, until he took over and made the revolutionary discovery that she wasn’t wearing anything at all underneath.

“Or,” she said, “we could do something about the way you look in your reading glasses.”

He clutched at her, one all-encompassing press of his palm and fingers around the perfect curve of her breast, then drew back, dragging his fingertips along her skin, and then—”

She gasped with the pinch.

Draco nodded. “That’s settled, then. I’m going to keep these reading glasses on, no matter what they might be doing to my eyes, go and put Griffin in his cot—”

“Griffin was a serious suggestion, which you were incredibly rude about.” Hermione’s voice had taken on a frayed, breathless quality. “It’s horrible of you to bring it up.” She arched her chest against his hand. “If we’d gone with your system he could have been Bootes. Reticulum. Triang—oh, gods, that feels good.”

“Does it? I’m glad to hear it.” He removed his hand from her jumper, and slid it down along the warm skin of her belly. “I’m going to go and put our very beautiful son, with his very beautiful, very Muggle name, in his cot—”

“Are you?” Hermione’s eyes expressed something quite apart from sleepiness.

“And then I’m going to come back here—”

He slid his hand beneath the waistband of the cotton pajama bottoms she lounged about the house in, and which inexplicably turned him on, but stopped a wicked inch above where she might have liked his journey to end.

“And then what?” she asked.

He thrilled at her obvious impatience, advertised in the pitch of her voice, the color blooming over her cheeks, and the tension of her efforts to not roll her hips up into his hand.

The baby made his customary sigh at the advent of sleep.

Draco cupped the baby’s head in his palm, holding him tight to his shoulder, and leaned in close to Hermione’s ear.

“And then, I’m going to teach you some entertaining etiquette.”

OOOO I NEED THIS

hear me out: a movie about a diverse team of heroes shooting their way into a white supremacist cult compound. They're unironically called Social Justice Warriors and they say one liners like "you're cancelled" before blowing a nazi's head off.

😎😎🥵🥵👏👏😈

😩😩😩

Oh my goddess

Dramione watercolor

L👀 K

Did you know that if you see fanart of a ship you don't like, you can actually scroll past it without saying anything? You really can. You can shut the fuck up and make your own post without leaving some shit comment on someone's art.

Like remadora artists don't deserve this.

Oooooh ‘mione’s in love

Peeves is a seriously underrated character in my opinion.

“Watch out!” Ron grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her out of the way just in time. She watched as Peeves dropped what appeared to be a ball that burst open and emitted the most foul, putrid smelling slime right where she had been standing.

“Woah! They was a close one!” Harry said as Peeves zoomed in circles above their heads gleefully.

“Peeves!! You almost hit me!” Hermione shrieked at him with her hands balled up into fists.

“HaHa! Weasel saved Miss Know-It-All from the slime bomb! They must be in looove!” Peeves said in a sing-song voice and doing a celebratory jig.

“Ooohh Weaselby loves Granger! Weaselby loves- OOF!”

A melon sized snowball had emitted from Ron’s wand, and hit Peeves square in the face abruptly ending his song.

“Ha!” Ron said triumphantly.

“Nice shot there, Ron!” Seamus called out.

Hermione beamed at him. “Where did you learn that spell?”

“Charley taught it to me when I was a kid. We used to have epic snowball fights at the Burrow,” Ron told her.

“Why didn’t you ever teach me, then?” Harry punched him playfully in the shoulder.

“If I taught you, then I couldn’t beat you at snowball fights,” Ron said putting him in a headlock.

“Hang on. You were doing underage magic at the Burrow?” Hermione questioned.

Ron released Harry. “Well obviously we didn’t tell mum,” he said as his ears turned pink. “And we didn’t use a wand, so the ministry would just assume it was uncontrolled magic.”

Ron waited for the disapproving lecture from Hermione, but it never came.

“Impressive,” she said instead. “Well, I’m off to Arithmancy,” Hermione nudged Ron with her shoulder in a very Un-Hermione like way. “See you at lunch.”

And with that, she was off.