my-dmatmoobil-memes
my dmatmoobil memes (contains spoilers!)
Memes inspired by Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love by the wonderful Isthisselfcare. The avatar is from a comic made by dn_stardust.
The fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34500952/chapters/85870804
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“Put the damned ring back on, Granger,” said Draco.
“No. I’m through with your surveillance device.”
“Fine,” called Draco to her retreating back. “I’ll tell Shacklebolt that I’m through and he’ll have you actually put under surveillance. With Aurors who will literally watch you round the clock. Every move, every fucking vial of whatsits you pour in your laboratory, and every word you plonk into your computers!”
Granger stopped. She made a strangled noise.
Draco took that as agreement.
He stomped towards her.
“Hand,” he said.
Granger stuck out her hand.
Draco grabbed it roughly. He wanted to put the ring on equally roughly, to show her how cross he was, but he didn’t, out of fear of breaking her finger. There was a moment of blessed shriek-free silence while he slipped the ring back on.
“Oh!” came a voice.
Some Muggle walkers had just popped around the side of the hill.
Cries of delight followed: “An engagement!” and “What a lovely couple!” and “Congratulations!” and “What a beautiful spot for it!”
Anyway, Draco hadn’t known that Avada Kedavra could be cast using only one’s eyes, but Granger was doing it quite competently.
Then she turned to the Muggles and made some sounds of agreement and false joy to move them along. Draco did not join in because he was dead.” - Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love, Chapter 7: Ostara/Contrariness of Granger, by @isthisselfcare
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DMATMOOBIL art 31/40
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“Give it up, Draco. You found what people spend a lifetime searching for, and you just let her leave without you.” Blaise fell back onto the leather sofa and crossed his ankles, looking pensively into the fire. “What I don’t understand is why. You keep saying that if anyone will win, it’s her. And yet here you are.”
Draco opened his mouth to deny, deny, deny. But what was the point? Blaise had seen them together in the prefects’ bath, and later, when Draco tried brushing it off as a casual hook-up, Blaise had only shaken his head and said, ‘I saw your face,’ as if that was supposed to override any lies that came out of Draco’s mouth.
His stomach had been a tangle of nerves since Granger had kissed him goodbye and disappeared with Potter and Weasley to save the world. That was the issue with Gryffindors, forever killing themselves over the next big heroic deed. He wasn’t like them.
“What would you have done?” sniped Draco. It was easy to cast judgement from afar, but Blaise wasn’t living it. “Would you just turn your back on your mother? On your friends? To hell with everyone if you’re in love?”
Blaise gave him a side-long look, grinning. “Are you in love?”
“You seem to think I am.”
“Do you see a future with her?”
“If the world wasn’t so fucked up?”
“Yeah.”
Draco didn’t really have to imagine it because it’s all he’d been thinking about since he first kissed Granger nine months ago.
It wasn’t just her physical being—the charged, tantalising pull of their bodies like opposing magnets—but a vision of what their life could look like. Granger didn’t need pure-blood persuasion to pave her way into the world. She could be self-made. And Draco would stand proudly beside her, as he did best. He could manage the accounts, pursue his hobbies, while ensuring Granger never felt alone navigating her mountainous ambitions.
Draco lived a satiated life, but with Hermione, all he knew was starvation. She was the one thing he didn’t want to barter or consume in small bites. If he had her, he was going to feast.
“It’s not that simple,” he concluded. “It’s not some playground romance anymore. She’s out there risking her life. I can’t afford to love her how I want if she’s just going to wind up dead.”
“Take this from someone who’s buried seven fathers—death is preventable.”
Draco looked up at Blaise, surprised.
His friend had an eerie look on his face, made worse by the fire casting strange shadows over him, but Draco knew the Zabinis had a complicated relationship with murder. And that’s what he meant: murder was preventable, not death.
“What makes you think I could protect her any better than Potter could?”
“The Dark Lord trusts you, you’re a sneaky fuck, and you’re in love. Nobody will fight harder to win.”
~
Donning a backpack full of survival gear, his wand, and the warmest clothes he owned, Draco used their matching bracelets to Port-Key to Granger the next Saturday morning.
She had woven the bracelets with colourful thread—red and gold for him, green and silver for her—and the next week, Draco had adhered matching charms to them. She didn’t know that he could sense her through it. That when she fingered the cool metal engraved with his constellation at night, he felt her presence. Or that it was a gateway to each other using the right spell.
Maybe he’d known he’d follow her all along.
The bracelet transported Draco to lush, crawling hills and enormous, craggy rocks. The sky hung bright white above him. He could sense Granger’s magic in the air, or maybe it was her perfume drifting in the breeze. He inhaled deeply, feeling closer to her already.
There was nobody around when he heard the gasp directly behind him.
He turned and saw the air wobble. The ward he hadn’t realised was there descended. Granger stood two feet away, eyes wide and lips parted. She was thin and pale and seemed afraid.
Regret washed over him. He should have come sooner.
“How do I know it’s really you?” she demanded, wand clutched tightly by her side, a combination of fear and hope flickering in her eyes.
Draco dropped his bag by his feet, taking three strong strides forward. He framed her cold cheeks in his hands, hoping she saw the look on his face and remembered how much she meant to him. He said, “Because nobody else knows how much I love you.”
He kissed her, and a second later, Granger threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back, sobbing.
“I’m here to stay,” he reassured her, holding her tightly. “I’m here to fight.”
And he thought of Blaise in the Slytherin common room, the only one who knew of Draco’s whereabouts, and their discussions of love and death. And he thought of the future he’d seen with Hermione, and he thought he could have it, maybe even a better version of it. One that didn’t involve him at home, pursuing hobbies, but being worth something, too. He could be that. He wanted to be that.
Draco wanted to feast.
(873 words, inspired by Don't Swallow The Cap by The National)
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Hermione couldn’t do it. She could not enter that ballroom. Every muscle in her body had locked up, refusing to take a step further.
This was why they should just keep things casual.
They were good at casual. Or their version of it. The one where they awoke in each other’s arms and Draco summoned buttery pastries and fresh strawberries to bed as they discussed their latest fascinations until noon. The occasional indulgent trips to France, where he showered her with nonsensical gifts like frilly lingerie from secret boutiques, or flowers so fresh their perfume wafted down the boulevard. Where they clinked frosty glasses of crisp champagne before he slowly undid her dress, pressing open-mouthed kisses down her shoulder. Each a promise of all the wicked things he intended to do to her as the night stretched out. The kind of casual that left a smile on Hermione’s face every morning and a lightness in her step that her friends said made her glow.
But this—
“Granger.” Draco’s arms wrapped around her from behind, his voice like velvet as he greeted her fondly.
She didn’t arch into him like she normally would, or rest her head on his shoulder so he could pepper her neck with little kisses. Her body was a tight spring, coiled with tension.
Lucius Malfoy was in there.
And their Slytherin classmates, and their parents, and their pure-blood friends.
She felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter.
“Darling.” Draco kissed her temple. His voice blended into the lush symphony pouring out of the Malfoys’ ballroom. Every molecule of his body belonged here. She’d never felt so alone in his company.
Sensing her distress, he guided her to a rose-adorned pillar away from prying eyes. He observed her with a mixture of concern and awe, admiring her in sheer tulle and layered skirts that intensified like dusk. Another gift, delivered with an exorbitant bouquet of her favourite peonies and an invitation to his family’s Spring Ball.
She was no idiot. She knew what it was insinuating. This wasn’t casual anymore, and she had her doubts if it ever had been.
“I-I can’t go in there.” Her voice trembled. She hoped he saw the blind panic in her eyes, pleading with him to set her free. “I’m sorry, Draco.” She hated disappointing him. It summoned strange, throbbing, rather un-casual aches to her chest.
But he only kissed her forehead and enfolded her in his firm embrace. “If you want to leave, we’ll leave,” he said in a low, careful voice. “But I promise I will never let them hurt you again. If you take my hand and come with me, I’ll make sure you feel like the most powerful woman in that room.” He stepped back, lifting her chin so their gazes met. “Because you damn well are, Hermione. You’re the most powerful person in there.”
It was the highest praise from a Slytherin. And she knew he meant it.
He looked unbearably handsome tonight in midnight blue robes that matched the darkest layers of her dress, his hair tousled just how she liked. A dazzling confidence emanated off of him. This was Draco’s world, and he wanted her to be a part of it.
She stared at his hand, palm up, fingers spread, awaiting hers to fill the gaps.
But first she asked, “Who am I to you?”
He looked at her earnestly. “I’ll spend the rest of my life with you, Hermione. If you’ll have me.”
She sighed a slow, steadying breath. Then took his hand, fortified.
He placed a light kiss on her knuckles, mouth curving into a relieved smile, and they entered the ballroom just like that—Draco’s lips pressed to the back of her hand, announcing to everyone exactly who she was to him.
(633 words, prompt: friends with benefits/spring ball/I will never let them hurt you again, cross-posted from twitter -- also, i made the prompt builder so feel free to write your own spring-themed ficlet using it!)
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It's giving dmatmoobil
Skull of St. Thomas Aquinas being transported to Fossanova Abbey. Photograph by Daniel Ibanez, 2024
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New work posted!
Inhabit
Draco/Hermione
Rated E
Body swap, coworkers/friends to lovers, competitive and stubborn Hermione, “try not to come”, banter and dirty talk
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😍😍😍
Chapter 3 of Say Please is posted!
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your first column of emojis describes your personality! what’s yours?
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reblog this and tag your sign and favorite taylor swift album, it’s for research
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#isthisselfcare#dmatmoobil#spoiler#dmatmobil#batmobile#draco malfoy and the mortifying ordeal of being in love
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Mother has spoken again🙏🥲❤
Nom de plume
Bonjour bonjour,
A note to inform you that I will be publishing upcoming works as Brigitte Knightley.
My AO3 and tumblr handles remain isthisselfcare, but I’ve switched my Instagram to @brigitteknightley. (Pls do not be alarmed if you see a stranger on your feed, it is just me and my crusty memes.)
I’ve had a website made. It consists of very little content, but if you wish to visit, it is https://brigitteknightley.com/
I made a tiktok and a twitter for strategic reasons (because the website template included them)
That is all I have to share for now – thank you for your continued interest! If I don’t post again, I hope you have lovely & restful holidays! xxx
Brigitte
May I also take this opportunity to showcase this gorgeous author illustration by the lovely @gingerhuneybee
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I will never get over this scene. Nevaaaaaar!
Tom Blyth as Coriolanus Snow
The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes
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“They sat up and reached for each other’s hands, face, shoulders, blurting out a flurry of questions – are you hurt, bloody hell, did they get you, are you all right, can you stand, are you sure you’re all right, I saw you get hit, can you walk, oh, thank god, you’re all right, you’re okay, you almost got killed, you stupid, bloody idiot–
They found their feet. He held her dear bruised-up face in his hands and she held his in hers.
He kissed her, softly, under the downpour, softly, against her split lip, softly, amongst tears and rain and blood.
She slid her arms around his neck and rose upon her tip-toes and kissed him back. Draco knew happiness, then. Happiness was her, alive, her tear-filled eyes spilling over, her heartbeat thudding against his chest. It was knowing that her greatest threat was dead and gone, it was the beauty of days ahead that he hardly dared imagine, it was the feel of fingers in his hair, it was the shudder of her half-crying, half-laughing, it was her whisper of you absolute idiot against his mouth.
She pushed her face into his chest and gasped out sobs of relief and joy.
There was movement around them. Potter and Weasley were on their feet. Tonks, looking like herself again, limped towards them, as did Goggin and Buckley.
As he held Granger to his heart, Draco, frankly, did not give a single solitary fuck about the opinions of his colleagues. He only cared about her – about this – this exquisite catastrophe, this beautiful, stupid disaster.” - Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love, Chapter 34: Deus Ex Machina, by @isthisselfcare
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DMATMOOBIL art 20/?
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#isthisselfcare#dmatmoobil#spoiler#dmatmobil#batmobile#draco malfoy and the mortifying ordeal of being in love
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Off topic, but is anyone else obsessed with the Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes??😍
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