#thebrightestwltch

[dustxrgcld]

✖ Soft nips at the neck and shoulder line.

                  He cherished this. Quiet times where there only existed the two of them. With peacefull silences and shared smiles.  The feeling of soft, tender fingers caressing their way up his back made him shiver, a light smile stretching up his lips, tugging at the corner of his mouth.  He felt calm, relaxed under the hands of his lover.  He was at peace.  the pillow lying beneath his body was pressed tight against his face, his hands holding it tight as he fought the urge to turn.

                          He hummed, almost unvoluntarily, as he felt warm lips pressing against his skin, leaving a burning path from his neck to his shoulder. Millions of bolts running throuhgout his body.  She always knew what to do to make him feel okay, to make him feel like nothing else mattered. Only them.  Her lips were light, gentle against his skin, as if she was afraid to wake him up, even though she knew he had been for the past hour.

            ❝ If you keep that up… ❞  the words were barely audible, a murmur passing his lips in a deep, hoarse sound. ❝ I don’t think either of us will be leaving the bed anytime soon.❞

                                                                                             That was a promise.

[spinncr]

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

tw: abuse

“Shut your mouth. Shut your fucking mouth.”

Billy was amped up, that restless I’m-going-hurt-someone-if-I don’t-fucking-move way that he got. Steve held his hands up in a gesture of pacification. He’d known exactly what would happen if he brought up Billy’s dad, but what the fuck was he supposed to do? Just not mention the third of Billy’s body that was covered in bruises? This was probably, like, the grade-A time to shut the fuck up, just as Billy suggested. Shut your fat mouth, Steve-o. 

“He’s abusing you, Billy. That’s not on you, okay?”

“I said shut your mouth.” If Steve didn’t know him better, he’d say Billy sounded like he was about to cry. Sure, he was angry, and an angry Billy was a dangerous Billy. But what if there was more to it? What if he wasn’t just angry? He stepped forward, ignoring the look of pure violence Billy threw him, until he was close enough to touch. Hands on Billy’s shoulders, he ducked a little to force Billy to meet his gaze. “It’s not your fault, Billy. I swear it. You don’t deserve that. 

Billy’s hand fisted in his shirt, right at Steve’s throat, and if Billy punched him right now, he’d probably die, or something.

But he didn’t say anything, and didn’t punch Steve, and they stood there, all tangled up in each other. Billy shook, and maybe he was just cold—the goddamn peacock was wearing a short-sleeve denim shirt unbuttoned to his navel, in November—but Steve slowly pulled him closer anyway. He needed either needed body heat, or a hug, and as long as Billy didn’t punch him, he could damn well have both. 

When he was finally pressed chest-to-chest with Billy, Steve took his responsibilities seriously; he held on tight, tighter than he’d ever held Nancy, tighter than he ever held anyone come to think of it. But maybe no one had ever held Billy this tight, because he clung back just as tight, to the point of hurting.

“It’s not your fault, Billy. Not your fault.”

And as Billy Hargrove cried into the crook of Steve Harrington’s neck, Steve held him, and waited for the shaking to subside. 

[kingwsly]

‘ then again, he’s a jock and they’re slow learners. ’

MEME.   ( to all the boys i loved before meme )      @thebrightestwltch

        internally, ron was definitely laughing at the bluntness. there wasn’t a single part of him that actually liked krum. hermione deserved way better. besides, he didn’t quite understand what she saw in him. over the past few years since her eighteenth birthday, ron had convinced himself there was a reason they weren’t romantically compatible - or, at least why hermione didn’t like him like that. he wasn’t smart. intelligent conversation didn’t come easy to him and while he was sure she found it endearing correcting him or teaching him, a lifetime of that in a romantic sense? it was more of an obligation than a calm relationship, wasn’t it? so krum, of all people, ron just didn’t understand. while ron knew he wasn’t academically gifted, he wasn’t clueless to the world. but krum seemed to have headered a few too many balls a few too many times. and hermione was aware of it. it wasn’t even like she was blinded by love - that idea just about turned ron’s stomach. hermione was very much out of krum’s league. she was out of his own league, even. so it just made no sense. 

          while most would put his dislike down to some form of jealousy, ron was sure it wasn’t. in the beginning, seeing hermione dancing at their school leaver prom, it had been jealousy. but there was also some understanding there after she’d conveniently forgotten quite possibly the best kiss of his young life - and consequently, even still to this day. he’d moved on. he’d found lavender, he’d fallen for her, gotten his heart broken by her and now he was in limbo with his latest relationship. at first it had made him happy, but then.. it wasn’t quite the same anymore and he felt a little lost. and that in itself continued to leave ron confused. while he was sure hermione craved that family dynamic, having natalia’s dad around and being some picture perfect family, he wasn’t stupid. he’d known hermione since they were little kids and he knew when she wasn’t happy to her core. for months he’d watched that telltale crease between her brow, even visible from facetime calls, and longed to ask her how she really was doing. but then things kept getting in the way. knowing how miserable and cowardly he could be and knowing how brave and strong and smart hermione was, staying with someone who didn’t make her happy made no sense. but then, there was the the staged happy family photos pasted on her social media that made ron stop and think for a second - there was a reason hermione was putting herself through it and that reason was tally. 

          it had been stewing in him for months. this constant choking wish to express how unhappy he was, how he knew she was unhappy too. truthfully, he had been ready to say it when her name had flashed up on his phone midway through dinner at his parents’ place. when he’d heard her crying his first instinct had been that krum had left her, cheated on her, done something idiotic and out of line enough to give ron a reason to punch him or let out the distaste he had for him. then hermione told him her dad had died. he couldn’t do it then. she needed him to be there, not judging her choices in life or judging the man she chose to be with. that had lasted for a decent amount of time. even seeing them together when hermione flew back in just after the news, ron had barely batted an eyelid at it. hell, he was even impressed that krum was there. he hadn’t expected him to put a hold on a few matches in order to fly back to their little village and be emotionally supportive.

          and then he wasn’t. perhaps it was the grief, losing someone he’d looked to as a second father all those years, or perhaps it was just him being protective of his two favourite people in the entire world. ron had pictured his fist hitting viktor’s face so many times that it had almost become some sick fantasy. when it actually happened, however, it wasn’t such a relieving moment. it hurt. a lot. and he regretted it immediately after hearing hermione’s shriek for them to stop. causing a scene at the church had not been ron’s plan at all, but the fact that viktor couldn’t for one second think of anyone other than himself or the fact his wife and daughter had lost someone so dear to them? it had boiled his blood and left him steaming from his ears and truly out of control.

          ❝ you keep making excuses for him. ❞ it was blunt and maybe a little against the deal he’d made with himself, but it felt necessary to explain why he’d ruined the funeral the way he did. with a wince, ron shrugged his shoulders as he watched hermione’s fingers clean the dried blood on his busted knuckles. ❝ i know i fucked up today but… bloody hell, hermione, ❞ he continued, a little breathless with some weird desperation creeping in. ❝ he’s meant to be here supporting you and he’s so self centred he can’t even… ❞ ron cut himself off, shaking his head as he continued to remind himself that this wasn’t what hermione needed right now. she needed someone to hold her hand, wipe away her tears, listen and recall stories about her dad and what an amazing person he was. she didn’t need him bashing krum. ❝ i’m sorry, ❞ ron sighed. carefully, he reached out with his other hand to squeeze hermione’s shoulder with a very slight, reassuring smile. 

          ❝ we can talk about something else? or i can take tally if you want a break for the night? ❞ he had to stop himself from mentioning the thrill he would get out of having tally around and how much rebecca would hate the mess it would cause. ❝ just… what can i do to make this up to you? what do you need? i… well, clearly i need a little guidance because punching someone at a funeral is probably not what you had in mind, hm? ❞ it was an attempt at a joke, trying to get at least some semblance of a smile on hermione face, even if he knew it was futile. she was grieving and disappointed and trying to keep herself together for tally. that much, ron was sure of. ❝ i really am sorry.❞ ron paused for a moment, biting his lip before letting out a huff. ❝ not for doing it though. he damn well deserved it but… for the bad timing, i guess. ❞

[starryeyedevans]

thebrightestwltch replied to: A few chords in and Sam was singing quietly to...

Actual Cannibal buffet

thebrightestwltch replied to: A few chords in and Sam was singing quietly to...

Irl lmao about everything. Stop trying to make glee happen you sweet fuckin idiot

sam is trying his best

[slythcrnprince]

Talk Some Sense To Me \ Verse

the war has ended, but the battle rages on.

It’s been years since the Great War, but its scars still linger, strong and stark and painful. He still has nightmares, wakes up with phantom spasms tingling his spine, phantom Crucio’s which have yet to fully relinquish their grip on him. He’s still ostracized by the wizarding community at large, unless they have need for one of his inventions. 

Draco Malfoy has never been good at p e a c e. 

Years ago, he would’ve found such places nauseating, but now he seeks them out: muggle London, it’s pubs and clubs and cafés, the museums, the libraries. No one knows him, no one looks at him too odd, as long as he doesn’t stare too much, and once he gets the hang of Muggle money, he finds the anonymity to be refreshing. 

misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.

Tesco. A muggle Tesco. That’s where he spies her that first time. Hermione Granger, once the second-highest ranking bane of his existence. She’d always bothered him, and he thinks she would’ve even had she been pureblood. She was insufferable. So overbearing and appallingly eager. A know-it-all, who knew more than he. The reason he could never quite rate top of his year. He knew now he had been jealous of her intellect, but it had only ever manifested as resentment. She hadn’t deserved it then, and she certainly didn’t deserve it now. She might be skilled at healing others, but 

Hermione Granger has never been good at h e a l i n g herself. 

It’s the crisps that start to fly from the shelfs, followed by the Cadbury cremes, then the biscuits. And in the middle of the aisle, there’s Granger, frozen in place, trying and failing to suck in air. Recognition hits Draco like a stupefy to the gut. She’s having a panic attack. In a bloody muggle Tesco. 

the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength.


There’s something offensive in the sight. Hermione Granger of all people, should not be brought so low. If she can’t function, how the Bloody Baron is he supposed to manage? She’s supposed to be... be insufferable, and obnoxiously bright, and... everything that this is not. She looks broken, and just looking at her, his own cracked seams feel ready to burst. Getting her out of there is not an act of kindness, it’s an act of desperation. But cooking her dinner is somewhere between the two, and checking on her the day after that, well... he doesn’t know what that is. 

Waking up in her bed? He finds that’s bloody wonderful. 

A post-war Dramione-centric AU Verse, feat. @thebrightestwltch 

[amazongoddcss]

“You are not going without me.”

Diana shook her head; long dark curls danced about her shoulders while she bent over and pulled on her boots. “You don’t understand.” None of them did. It was obvious when her mother, the Queen, and her most trusted advisers were telling these people— the Avengers, about the horrors that resided on Themyscira that these newcomers didn’t believe them. This wasn’t the first time that an airplane or a ship had crashed and stranded people here; it wouldn’t be the be last either. She’d seen it with her own two eyes over and over again, the way that people thought they were exaggerating or assumed they were idiotic women driven to the brink over time. Soon they’d see. They always did.

She stood and sheathed her sword at her back. “I know that it sounds unbelievable, but you’d be wise to believe it anyway. The things that are out there… they’re out for blood.” Diana scooped up her shield with her left arm and stood to face the one they called Captain America. What the Avengers seemed to fail to comprehend was that the Amazons weren’t like the humans they were used to defending and still the atrocities living out there managed to pick them off one by one. “I can appreciate that you want to help, but it will be so much safer for you if you remain within the confines of the camp.”

Foolishly thinking that Steve… at least she’d thought she heard some of the Avengers call him Steve, would take her word for it and remain back with his group she heard footsteps behind her when she turned to leave. Diana stopped in her tracks and whipped around to face him. With an exasperated sigh and a roll of her eyes she pointed a finger at him. “I’m serious,” she warned, “I won’t be held responsible for your death.” Although she wouldn’t admit it, what she’d gone up against out there terrified her, but she had to do her duty and fight for her people.

Again she turned to head out with the other warriors whose sole job it was to safeguard the camp overnight and again she heard footsteps. Why was he being so foolish!? Diana turned around again, looking at this man incredulously. “You’re not going to give up on this are you?” It was rhetorical, but if she had any doubts the small smile that spread across his lips was answer enough. “Fine.” She didn’t have time for this, she had a job to do and it was clear she wasn’t going to be able to stop him. “Stick with me, do exactly as I tell you to and you should be around come morning to see that we weren’t lying.”

“Should I call you Steve or Captain?” If they were going to be spending all night together she needed to know what to call him.

[pianokeysandbowties-archived]

SEVEN MINUTES. { ~ sam

7 MINUTES IN HEAVENroll 11, needy hungry kiss

The whole lot of them went deadly silent when the bottle spun around to the blond who happened to be the only one not wearing any sort of Dalton colors whatsoever.  Blaine had asked Sam to make another trip to Westerville for the weekend.  Their conversation the last time he visited, though he was still sleepless most nights laying in bed trying to feel and remember first hand all the things Sam told him about them, gave Blaine more hope that he still was who he was before the incident.  They’d been separated by what happened that night in the worst way possible.  Short of one of them not making it.  They both did but the cost was one of them having a virtual press of the restart button on everything they were to one another.  While one got the chance to remember it all.

Still.  Blaine couldn’t get Sam out of his head from that night on.  He’d been drawn to look at every photo on his phone that Sam sent him on repeat.  Before class, after class.  Sometimes during class much to his disappointment when one of those peeks cost him his phone for the rest of the day at the beginning of the week.  Warblers practices were even becoming a distraction from the daily phone calls he made as soon as he knew classes were out at McKinley.  

Sam was a gateway.  Back to himself.  Back to everything he’d been missing.  But he was more than that, too.  Sam was a good guy.  No.  A great guy.  One that Blaine knew his life would’ve been much darker without.  Even if he was left in the dark of who he was to him for the rest of his life?  It’d been a life much more cloudy and not so happy without Sam Evans in it.  No matter where he got his new beginning, the footing wouldn’t have been as steady without Sam there to have his back.�� It was only logical that the very next weekend, Blaine wouldn’t take no for an answer when he extended the invite.  Thankfully, Sam made sure he didn’t have to by jumping at the chance to join them.

By late Saturday night, the party had lead them to this moment.  Blaine’s fingers shook as he reached back and shut the closet door.  Still not a peep.  Not a whisper from the peanut gallery of Warblers and girls from Crawford Country Day that’d cackled for each pairing up until now.  What did they all know?  What did they see?  Surely their silence had to mean more than the simple fact that Blaine always seemed to change the subject when it came to who his first kiss was.  Not only because of him possibly not remembering it but because he was pretty sure it never happened.  Or did it?  Another one of those late night thoughts.

Here they were now.  Alone.  Just the two of them.  Blaine could hear himself swallow, hear the sound of his throat working against the pounding of his heart thudding in his eardrums. “Sammy,” he found his hand in the dark and in one single motion had their fingers tangled together.  All the want and ache that’d been building up since he was told the truth had him bursting at the seams.  His heels were off the ground and he didn’t hesitate, not even a flinch, before he captured Sam’s lips with his own. If only to pour out a little bit of the emotions that were threatening to swallow him up if he didn’t let go of them.  He had to take a chance.  Had to know what it was like.  If it ended in a second, it ended.  But at least he could rest having tried to give it his all and he did.

[spinncr]

“No.”

Hermione slept half-sprawled over him, her arm draped across his chest, her breath coming in soft snuffles against his neck. He held her forearm gently, his thumb carressing back and forth over the lines etched permanently into her skin. 

Their marks were parallel like this, the edges of his dark mark just visible over the ridge of her forearm. The jagged lines of the letters his aunt had etched into her arm seemed to disappear into the horizon line between their skin, her scars the ocean, his scars the sky. 

“We both wear the worst pieces of me,” he whispered. He could feel the cool night air against the wet streaks on his cheeks, and in the dark, he didn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t crying. How could she bear it? Every ugly piece of Hermione had been something someone else had done to her, and he was terrified of the marks he’d leave on her this time around. They both knew she wouldn’t be able to stand many more scars, that she was clinging to what was left of herself with little more than will power, terror, and an inability to do anything else. 

What if he was the one that finally broke her?

“How can you stand it?” He breathed, his words coming out in wretched gasps. “How can you stand me?” 

“No.” 

His eyes fell closed as Hermione pressed her lips to the underside of his jaw, his chin, his nose, finally his lips. He didn’t deserve to kiss her back, but he did anyway, because Draco had always coveted what wasn’t his to have, and almost always gotten it anyway. He hadn’t changed, not nearly enough to deserve this. She had to know that. 

“We both wear proof that the worst is behind us, Draco.” Her hands held his face tight, and she hovered over him now. The kisses she pressed to his lips, over and over, were wet with his tears and her desperation and all the agony that hung between them, ready to shatter them both with the drop of a pin. 

“We have to be more than what they did to us, Draco. Don’t you see?”

He didn’t, not in this terrible, grey non-time, not night but not yet morning, when color seemed to have seeped from the world. He couldn’t see hope right now, but he would hold onto her until morning, and then he would try again. 

[kingwsly]

"You make the best pillow, I hope you know."

MEME.   ( randomness )      @thebrightestwltch

         it was an interesting position. the seats in the car pushed and pulled and placed just enough to make sure his long legs weren’t cramped and curled uncomfortably. then again, he was cramped uncomfortably - but happily so. the way hermione was curled in against his chest, her thumb lightly brushing over the faded lettering of his hoodie as this soft comfort... well, there was no way he could really complain. after too many nights being woken up by the busy town centers, worrying for their safety in the old beat up ford, it was nice to have found a place that was off the beaten track. everything was so quiet, so dark, weirdly nice. it was better than any foster home either of them had set foot in, that was for sure. the tinny noise of the rain hitting the car, soft rustling of the trees around them muffled by the car windows that were steaming from their body heat; it was like some weird dream come true. after all, they’d been making thes eplans for years - running away, doing things on their own terms, seeing the world and not becoming another statistic of unfortunate foster children left to rot in some obscure hellhole town. he could have quite easily fit into that crowd, but hermione could never. she was scrappy and tough, sure... but she deserved a bigger life than being stuck and a victim of being in the wrong life at the wrong time with the wrong people and the wrong opportunities.

          a soft, somewhat sleepy sigh left ron as his own fingers pulled to make sure the blanket was right up around hermione’s back. he was always hot - especially when he had someone basically sleeping on top of him - so being covered other than the sweats and hoodie? not necessary. but he did worry. the car was old, the weather was getting colder and by now he was almost entirely sure he’d promised that they’d sell the old car, buy a van and do it out like one of those crazy youtube videos - their own little home on wheels. they could have a kitchen, bed, maybe even a little bathroom if they were smart enough about it. but it cost money. the more they drove the ford, the less they would get for it and the more they’d have to hustle to get the money together for a transit van. it certainly wasn’t idyllic, even if it was the dream. lost in his thoughts of how on earth he’d learn how to wire lights and tile walls, ron had been sure hermione was at least dozing. her soft voice, however, didn’t cause him any sort of fright. if anything, it left his hand gently pressing more into the small of her back and a soft, breathy laugh leaving him.

          ❝ is this you telling me i’ve been eating too many pot noodles? ❞ he feigned offence as his eyes fell closed. without trying to jostle her too much, ron started to shift his legs - one awkwardly shifting through the centre console gap to stretch out his knee, the other resting on the armrest of the passenger door, trying to avoid the window crank. it wasn’t the healthiest lifestyle, but he had to keep reminding himself of the place they’d come from. this, being able to choose where to go and what to do and being able to look after themselves? a thousand times better than abiding by the rules of someone using them for the government allowance that came with fostering. so, sure, every meal for the last week had been something that could be rehydrated with boiling water or had come from a can - he still maintained that the heinz tomato soup he’d had to drink out of said can was basically his five a day for the week - and he wasn’t feeling the best for it, but it was way better than the alternative.

          once he was settled into a comfortable enough position, ron returned to rubbing his thumb against the small of hermione’s back over the blanket, a soft hum turned yawn falling from him. ❝ it’s pretty lucky that you’re kind of small, ❞ ron continued, voice slightly warped from the yawn. ❝ if you were some leggy model, i don’t think we’d have survived past day two. ❞ another half laugh left him then as the mental image of all the awkward positions they’d have to find if hermione was as tall as him crossed his mind. the van would have been far more of a priority then because he would have ended up breaking his back just to make sure his legs weren’t falling asleep. hell, he probably would have had to hang them out of the window, which was basically an invitation for some serial killer with a fetish to drag him out of the window feet first. even that joking mental image was enough for him to open his eyes again, listening out for any tell-tale noises that showed they weren’t alone. he wasn’t even sure where they were. maybe the midlands? maybe near wales? it had been a random selection of roads, deciding last minute where to turn when they got to junctions or letting service stations dictate when they stopped. if something happened, they’d be pretty screwed. that wasn’t smart. probably a bad idea. so the dream, the idyllic... maybe not so idyllic when he really thought about it.

          ❝ you get enough sleep? ❞ he asked, suddenly keen to get back on the road despite not knowing the time and being sure he hadn’t gotten more than a few ten minute naps in. ❝ i’m bloody starving, and i’m pretty sure there was a mcdonalds back the way we came. all i’ve been thinking about is those hash browns. ❞ a total lie - lying was definitely way too easy thanks to it being a basic survival skill in the foster system - that was starting to take effect and was thankfully backed up by the sudden rumble of his stomach. too much food talk, too many nerves thanks to his overactive imagination. as much as he would have loved to lay there in that weird position, enjoying the fact that they were actually together and doing well... the adrenaline was already flowing through his body and if he hadn’t just heard a twig snapping underfoot, then he was definitely going crazy. ❝ come on, i’ll buy you some tea to warm you up and then we’ll get back on the road. maybe we’ll spend sunset by the coast. ❞

[starryeyedevans]

♫: for a vague voicemail

                   [Sam starts speaking as soon as he can, voice rushed and there sounds like there might be growling in the background.]Hermione? Please tell me you remember where that cabin is- That one I showed you on my map? The one from the photos? There’s a bag in my truck, under the back seat. Can you bring it? Hurry. Please? I need- [line is cut mid-sentence]

[hevolves]

@thebrightestwltch

           He’s not known for being helpful, even among others wearing the same house crest on their robes. Derek likes to keep to himself, sometimes only interacting with his sister and a small pack of people. It wasn’t always like this though, once he was a social young boy who came from a prominent wizarding family with talks of going pro at quidditch. Now only a few of them still live and the eldest son of Talia Hale spends most of his time alone. 

          He’s either holed up in the library studying or spending time out on the quidditch pitch. After the fire that killed nearly all of his family, Derek took all his anger and grief, honing it to build his skill as keeper. There’s still more than a couple of whispers around the wizarding world about him going pro once he’s free of Hogwarts. He already carries the mantle of captain for their quidditch team and the next year he’s bound to be Slytherin’s Head Boy. It’s not particularly something he’s striving for, but at this point he figures he’s the best candidate.

          It’s one of the reasons he goes out of his way to assist the poor girl trying to reach for a book that’s too high up. He’s seen her in here plenty, probably has even talked to her in passing. He doesn’t say anything now though, just reaches over and gets the book down before handing it over.

[oflunarcy]

HC + bullying

☾*✧- ̗̀  headcanons ​ ̖́-

      okay so it’s canon that luna has been a victim to bullying throughout her entire experience in hogwarts. from her infamous nickname ‘loony lovegood’ to her belongings constantly being stolen by her classmates, she really did experience a rather overwhelming case of bullying. due to her strange beliefs and even eccentric sense of fashion, her otherworldly demeanor made her a perfect candidate towards bullying. she doesn’t fight back, and never once did she tell anyone about her ill treatment. sure, everyone kinda knew about it, but there really was no one there to fight or defend her. did they pity her ? yes they did. but did anyone do something about it? no, not really. therefore, all in all, before luna had met and befriended harry, she was completely and utterly alone.

       her heighten sense of empathy grows stronger because of this. luna is able to understand others mainly because she desperately wished to be understood herself. however, the reality was that: luna had sunk further and further into her own dreamland. her only saving grace was the quibbler, who was also renown for their strange and unproven articles. just like her father had desperately wanted to believed in the crumpled horned snorkacks, luna turned to the nargles as the source of her problems. to her: the nargles was the ones that stole things from her and hid them. name calling she can handle, and even being ridiculed — no matter how painful, but it was through tangible items that she is able to convince herself of another entity. was she naive? no, luna was anything but. her sense of perception has always been her strongest quality, therefore why are the nargles so different? why does she express such discomfort with mistletoes and not anything else?

     it’s mostly based on her association, really. she associates her bullying with nargles. all her anger and frustration and sadness and embarrassment is all directed towards these invisible creatures. luna had nothing, aside from her relationship with the therestrials, the wrackspurts, the elves, and very selected few of acquaintance. she had no friends during her first five years in hogwarts, and it was only in her sixth year did the bully eventually ceased. sure she started to make friends, but the reality was that there was still many people who were uncomfortable with her. 

     sure the common fandom interpretation was that luna was BFF with ginny, but the reality was no. they knew of each other, and sure they were neighbors, but they weren’t friends. if i recall, ginny even introduces luna as “loony” at first. sure they eventually became friends after they both joined dumbledore’s army, but before all of that?  luna  was so unsuccessful with making friends. she was a lonely girl that would rather stay in dreamland than face the real world. she craves to be accepted, but knows that she cannot conform — and therein lies the truth of her bullying.

[kngslcyer]

“Do you feel anything?”

She was an anomaly, this Hermione Granger, who spoke nothing of her house, her people, her land. He’d say she was a sorceress, if the woman hadn’t viciously renounced the Lord of Light. 

As it was, her story was far from ordinary. Jaime was a little alarmed she’d thought he a wise confidante for that information. She was a maester, chains and all, by the name of Harmes. 

No one knew. 

There was something intimate in that, something disarming, that she trusted him with her gravest secret. She, after all, knew his. They made for strange bedfellows, metaphorically speaking, although he’d admit in the privacy of his own mind, he’d wondered, a time or two what this strange bookish woman hid under her Maester’s cloak. 

Together, they watch from the parapets of the Red Keep as his sister, his lover, the Queen Mother of the Realm, is marched through the capital city, naked, hair shorn, covered in rotten food and split and her own blood. Jaime looks on, and looks on, as she stumbles and staggers her way through the vengeful masses. Her people. The people she’s always scorned and abused. 

“Do you feel anything?”

His fingers curl beneath themselves upon the ledge on which he braces himself, because he knows what she sees. A cold-hearted Lannister, a pervert, scorning his own sister-lover, an oathbreaker, a kingslayer. 

He’s all of those things, and none of them. He feels so much, in this moment, wondering how they’ve all gotten here, how this became their lives. He feels like he’s bleeding from every pore, that every slur, every tomato hurled at Cersei has a twin beating against his heart. Her every pain has been his, always, and it is now no different. 

He feels so much he thinks he might die from it. It is not the first time, and though he desperately hopes it will be the last, he doubts it. The Lannisters were never meant for an easy life, gilded though it may seem from the outside. 

He wonders if Hermione Granger, of the Citadel, Maester to the King, and secret keeper for the king’s father, has had a life as difficult as he thinks she has. He can’t imagine that anyone who can hear his secrets without judgment has led an easy life. This woman, this marvel, looks at him and sees through every broken oath, every betrayal, every war-mongering mistake. And yet she can’t see this. 

“No,” he responds woodenly. “No, there is nothing left to feel.”

[mclaggcn]

"I _think_ we remember things a little differently." Though there was a definite trace of a smirk.

“Obviously,” Cormac drawls as they stroll down a street of pubs in London. She is not Hermione Granger, one-third of the golden trio, here. He is not the McLaggen boy who let down his father here. They’re just two people, on a date. 

It’s the first time they’ve held hands, and their palms are both a little sweaty. 

“The way I remember it, I was incredibly charming, fairly dashing, incredibly impressive...” They both know he’s full of shit. He’d been an obnoxious, pretentious arse, but he’d been a fool. He wasn’t sure he had changed enough to warrant her forgiveness, but he was hoping so. They’d lived through a war, and neither one of them resemble the people they’d once been. He squeezes her hand. 

“In truth, being around you never fails to make me anxious to the point of stress-sweating. Perhaps you’ve noticed,” he jokes. “I was so nervous the day of the try-outs, and i refused to acknowledge it all. I think that day might mark the height of my reign as Hogwarts’ greatest prat.” He’s sorry, is what he’s trying to say. That’s not me. 

[amazongoddcss]

“I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

All she could do was nod and even that minute action took a heaping amount of effort. Adrenaline was flooding her system, spreading further and further with each pump of her heart; it left her trembling— shaking like a leaf in Steve’s arms. Her chest was heaving with ragged breaths that felt like they were being ripped forcibly from her lungs and a thin sheen of sweat rested atop her skin. Diana let Steve pull her into his lap and just hold her while she draped her arms around his neck, each one feeling like it was made of lead.

“It was just a nightmare. A bad dream.”

He was partly right; it was a nightmare. Diana’s entire life since she’d fallen off of that train had been one never ending nightmare. Day in and day out she’d had to endure endless torture, her only reprieve was when they’d frozen her. You didn’t just come back from that no matter how badly she wanted to. It was all she wanted… more than ever now that she’d woken up and been reunited with Steve. He knew that she’d been their lab rat, that they’d experimented on her trying to create another super solider, but he had no idea the extent of what Hydra had done. She simultaneously wanted to tell him everything and nothing. If there was anyone who could help her and comfort her it was him, her childhood best friend. And yet she didn’t want to burden him with that. It would kill him. Without him having to say it she knew that he blamed himself for what happened to her, if he knew the details he’d never forgive himself and that was already a long shot.

How long she stayed wrapped in Steve’s embrace she wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t seem to stop shaking no matter how hard she tried. “Stay.” Her voice was breathy, just above a whisper as she spoke into his neck. Steve, the consummate gentleman, had not only told her that she’d be staying with him, but insisted upon her taking his bed while he slept on his couch. They’d gone back and forth over that for awhile until Diana was too tired to argue with him about it anymore. When she’d started screaming in her sleep Steve had raced into the bedroom to her side, immediately trying to comfort her. 

“Please, Steve. Please stay.”

Diana’s hands grasped fistfuls of his stark white shirt, holding him tighter now rather than just letting herself be held. If it would keep him from leaving her alone in bed she was going to do it. An unexpected sob tore its way out of her, its presence unwelcome accompanied by hot tears that spilled down her cheeks; a wet spot staining Steve’s shirt against his sculpted chest. She was just so tired— emotionally spent and now that she was free from Hydra and remembering her life before them she couldn’t seem to shake the horrors she’d endured at their hands. If she wanted to remember the good she had to remember the bad too it seemed.

“Don’t go. I need you.”

[savedpeople]

ஐ = slapping them .

Send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse — | Not accepting | @thebrightestwltch

What a sting! He blinked once, twice, shaking off the surprise of her slapping him across the face. A surprise, he called it, yet it was precisely what he wanted— for her to lash out. To push her buttons and her patience until she was ticked off enough to act, despite who it was she was acting against.

“Did I strike a nerve?” But the wide, almost predatory grin that slowly took over his features said he knew exactly what he’d been doing. “I knew you had it in you.” Never doubted that she did, vividly remembered how she threatened him in the past, when they’d first met; but he always stopped just short of reaction, used his position to push and push but never quite over the edge. He was learning her limits, learning how to use them, how to break them.

A low laugh dragged from his throat as he rubbed the spot she had struck. “You feelin’ better? Because that was your first and only freebie. As nice as it was to see you use your lady balls— you ever try hittin’ me again and it will not go nearly as smooth as it did for you just now. So I hope this was worth it.”