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snape100, for challenge #196, "Sleep")
Title: Softer
Word Count: 100
Rating: G
Characters: Severus Snape (plus "you" as unnamed observer)
A/N: This is my very first fic ever and it has not been betaed. I now know what it is like to be humped on the leg by a plotbunny while in the shower (if there is such a thing for something so short -- plotkitten? what are rabbits' young called?).
Severus Snape softens somewhat in sleep. Somewhat: you doubt if anything could ever completely smooth him to satin. But asleep, he becomes a little more delicate, graceful, if that can be said of someone lying still and breathing. Surrounded by the deep black of his hair, his pale face reminds you a little of the waning moon about to slip behind the horizon as the night grows old and tired. You brush a strand of hair out of his eyes and he takes one deeper breath, a little sigh.
Softer, yes.
But even the moon is still made of stone.
-----------------
In other news, I am still really amused by the cleverness of the term "wrock" ("wizard rock"). I dunno why -- it just makes me giggle every time I see it.
As for the plotkitten, it's funny -- I had the first line of this fic already written because it attacked me several days ago, but hadn't been able to go any further with it until this prompt coincidentally came up.
snape100, for challenge #196, "Sleep")Title: Softer
Word Count: 100
Rating: G
Characters: Severus Snape (plus "you" as unnamed observer)
A/N: This is my very first fic ever and it has not been betaed. I now know what it is like to be humped on the leg by a plotbunny while in the shower (if there is such a thing for something so short -- plotkitten? what are rabbits' young called?).
Severus Snape softens somewhat in sleep. Somewhat: you doubt if anything could ever completely smooth him to satin. But asleep, he becomes a little more delicate, graceful, if that can be said of someone lying still and breathing. Surrounded by the deep black of his hair, his pale face reminds you a little of the waning moon about to slip behind the horizon as the night grows old and tired. You brush a strand of hair out of his eyes and he takes one deeper breath, a little sigh.
Softer, yes.
But even the moon is still made of stone.
-----------------
In other news, I am still really amused by the cleverness of the term "wrock" ("wizard rock"). I dunno why -- it just makes me giggle every time I see it.
As for the plotkitten, it's funny -- I had the first line of this fic already written because it attacked me several days ago, but hadn't been able to go any further with it until this prompt coincidentally came up.