Oh my god, Iām obsessed with vroom vroom tom but may I humbly ask for a small snack snippet of shrew tamer Ron Weasley and Hermione? You could write from the first chapter of Ronās pov or the prologue of it or heck the menu of the diner where Ron is taking Hermione and gets her to be agreeable so she can eat??
Can you tell Iām OBBSESSED thank you!!!
Your work is amazing I want to write like you and many others in the fandom.
MY SWEET LOVELY MAD ONE! I did not forget you! I sat down tonight to start writing Chapter 15 of Taming of the Shrew, and I share with you all 586 words of said first draft before I scurry off to bed šš¤
Much like a computer, the brain can only process so much information at once. Tip the scales too far, and the nervous system behaves no differently than any other bundle of chips and wires.
However, when current flows through flesh, stranger symptoms than 404 errors occur. Vision blurs, sounds distort, limbs go numb, breathing requires intention. Some lose their sense of self. Others lose their senses altogether.
It is, in some texts, described as catatonia. In others, dissociation.
Hermione does not make claim to either, really.
Itās probably just another panic attack. Sheās been having quite a few of those lately.
So when she pushes past the bodies crowding the staircaseātoward what or who, she doesnāt knowāshe isnāt operating from her logical mind. Rational Hermione is lost within the maze of her hindbraināthe part of her that feels, fucks, survives.
The frontal cortex, her usual ally, is now stuck on a single thought, the same word stuttering over and over.
Film film film film film film
Except it canāt be. Ron would never.
Hadnāt he always delighted in her discomfort, initiating encounters in places people were sure to see? Didnāt it make perfect logical sense that his thirst for exhibitionism ran far deeper than sheād ever realized?
She doesnāt know himānot really. She didnāt know he had siblings. She didnāt know he had no money. She didnāt know the ins and outs of his life, because sheād never bothered to learn.
Even in the haze of her panic-induced fog, Hermione can see that now. Everything in their relationship had been about her. Sheād told him her dreams and aspirations. Sheād half-listened to his. Sheād ranted and raved about her passions and pet-peeves, but had tuned out for his. Sheād told him every fact of her existenceāfrom her parentsā occupations, her loneliness in childhood, her traumas, her favorite foods, places, things, her weird uncles, her cool aunts, her recurring nightmares, her best-loved books.
She canāt recall that heād done the same. But heād always listenedāeyes bright, nodding and gasping, laughing and frowning at all the right parts.
The only time she stopped to listen was when they had sex. And even that had more to do with her love of following directions and her desire to cede control. His command over her pleasure was the point, not him.
This idea, so new and incredible, lands like a physical blow.
Her survival instinct kicks in, shoving the frozen frame roughly back into view.
Film film film film film film
YES. Yes, this was so much worseāis so much worse than any minor sin she may have committed.
Just as quickly as Hermione saves herself from ego death, she sinks from another realization.
If it was trueāif Ron had really done this to her as Malfoy impliedā
This betrayal would be something beyond her imagining. Beyond the petty jealousy she'd felt over some pretty girl he'd hooked up with before she became his next fascination.
This betrayal would be absolute. Devastating. It would end everythingāeverything.
All hope of love would be lost, her fragile heart laid to wasteāthat beating vessel, so desperately tender, would implode. Cave in on itself, leaving nothing but a shriveled shell.
Already sheād covered her heart with the trappings of bitterness. If what Malfoy said is true, then that cover might withstand every attempt to strip it away, forever.
