i need to name this...hmm

People on Tumblr: X ship is disgusting and anyone who ships it is evil.

Me, a classics major: *swilling orange juice from a champagne glass* y’all ain’t seen shit.


After the war, Hermione doesn’t know how to stop her hands from shaking. It’s inconvenient really, not to mention ironic. Hermione Granger, used to being so in control of everything and now she can’t even control her own hands. When it gets particularly bad, Ron holds them in his own and reminds her to breathe. She never wants to speak about it afterwards.

She spends too much time sleeping. It’s just easier than being awake- if she has sleeping draught that is. Sometimes she thinks she’d rather face the nightmares than real life anyway, because at least when you wake up you know it was a dream. 

She’s terrified of heights. Well, to be fair, she’s always been terrified of heights but this is different. She can’t walk up the stairs without fearing they’re going to collapse underneath her, and watching Ron on a broom sends shivers all the way up her spine, making her nauseous. It’s something they’ve talked about (because they’re all about that now- talking,) but no matter how many reassurances are spoken from his soft lips, all Hermione can hear is the tumultuous roar of a dragon or the violent lick of flames.

The nightmares, when they come, are unbearable. All Hermione can see is Bellatrix’s face looming over her, Ron’s form limp on the ground, Harry lifeless in Hagrid’s arms, the ocean rushing closer as she plummets to the ground. Ron is there, when she wakes up, and he holds her as if she’s breaking and he’s trying to keep the pieces together. It helps, but not enough.

Sometimes she thinks things that she probably shouldn’t. Things that creep up on her in the darkest hours of her sleepless nights and terrify her simply for thinking of them. Things she never would have even considered before the war. She tells Harry, one night when they’re both sat at the kitchen table clutching warm mugs of tea in the early hours of the morning. He looks just as horrified as she’d imagined, but he holds her in his arms nonetheless, whispering that it’s not the answer, this will all be over one day. Hermione doesn’t even feel guilty for not believing him.

There are moments were it all feels like it could work. That all the thoughts and phobias inside her head will slow down enough for her to smile and laugh like she used to. Those days are the best sort of days. The worst sort of days are the ones where anything close to a happy thought feels like a sin, because she doesn’t deserve to be happy when some people have had that option taken from them. Those days, Hermione curls up under the covers and waits for it to end.

She tells Ron to believe in himself, believe that it’ll get better, and every time she does she feels like a traitor. Why is it so easy to give other people advice, yet so hard to follow it yourself? Maybe it’s because the only time that she actually feels worth something is when Ron leans on her for support- when his head is buried in her chest and she can stroke his hair and pretend that it helps chase the sobs away.

She looks out on the horizon and she can only see stormclouds ahead. Somewhere along the line, she decides that that’s okay. Hermione is a clever girl, and she knows that nothing is permanent. She knows there will be a time when things start to get better, and even though she can’t see it now, doesn’t mean it’s not there. She’ll just have to wait it out. 


@stilesstylelinski​ ;;;

Brown eyes scan around the room, she was supposed to be meeting some guy here for her “first blind date.” “Some guy” her roommate- whom she really did not trust- had set her up with. This was the fifth date in a row for Malia, and she really wasn’t excited for it to fail, as far as she was concerned, love and relationships weren’t met for her. She never watched romantic comedies and envied the leading girls, who found “true love.” She never had that random connection with some guy, the kind that she could see her whole life flash before her eyes with him. No- Malia just wasn’t that type of girl. Lydia, however, her roommate seemed to disagree with that little fact, and would not stop pestering Malia to go onto these blind fail dates. She even made her dress in a curve hugging red dress, the number made Malia’s body pop- something she wasn’t always comfortable with, but after a few minutes of trying to pressure her into wearing it, the girl finally gave in. The women scowls at that thought, picking up her beer, settling it to her pink lips, taking a fast chug. If she wasn’t going to be drunk for this date, why even go at all? She taps her red painted fingernails against the table, waiting almost impatiently. After awhile, she gives up on this mystery guy and decides to waste her time at the bar, a few shots later and her high heels kicked off under her seat, she’s giddy enough for a pleasant conversation- something she was normally horrible at. With her cheeks now flushed red she glances around the room- Now who could she talk to?