#Best of Lettering

[datcravat]

SCIENCE BEGETS TRUTH✨

[moonsetsoda]

Back on her bike and better than ever!

This is the first time I think I’ve drawn a motorbike and I got kinda lost in the sauce but..I’m also very proud of it and have been thinking about the comic recently so this was cathartic to make!

[olympain]

In 2017, Peter Capaldi wrote a comforting letter to a 9-year-old Doctor Who fan who was dreading to see his favourite Time Lord leave the show. At the 10th anniversary Letters Live show, Jodie Whittaker read the letter.

[bardspeak]

Here's the comic I made for War Never Changes, a Fallout charity zine that's still available to puchase digitally here: link.

The captions are lyrics from Autopsy Garland by the Mountain Goats. I've been dreaming of making this for literal Years, and the mods for the zine let me do it for them! I'm still pretty proud of it, and only regret that I completely forgot to replace Col. Hsu with General Lee Oliver in the final. Sorry man.

[redlettermediathings]

[embershx]

I was thinking about it today and I really need to tell this dnd story. If you ever think your players are dumb I need you to remember this. We as reletively new players decided to play Curse of Strahd, as you do. At a certain point the eponimous Strahd, evil vampire ruler of the plane, whisks you away to his castle. Presumably to threated you. IDK exactly because we never got there. His creepy carriage showed up with the ominous 'Lord Strahd *invites* you to his castle for... Dinner' We, a predominantly autistic group, were like 'Damn, shame we're on this time crunch with our current mission. He was even nice enough to send a ride :(' Completely overlooking how ominous and scary everything was because that's just the vibe in Barovia, you know? We sent back a letter apologising for not being able to attend due to prior commitments but sayingg we'd be happy to come visit him once our current quest was over... Like sure we're pretty sure he's the big bad but he might not be evil yet and like... What if we can Fix Him. Maybe we can help with his curse. And then we wandered off.

[theoldkyokodied]

[Hi Dennis. How was the lion feeding?...?]

This has been something I've been working on for quite a while now, as some people who look at my insta story might know, but I'm finally done!! those text messages from s14ep5 are so unhinged, they haunt me every goddamn day. To drop "i love you so much" just to follow it with what essentially is a "no homo.. for u... even tho u r so hot and i like you so much!". exploading them with my mind into a million pieces, okay?

[cameforstuff]

Hate Mail

Stan had gotten used to reading and replying to piles of mail in a day, slowed by carefully deciphering the messy crayon so he could give the best response. It would usually take him several minutes to think of the perfect doodle to slip in with it. Sometimes he would scrap it several times before he was happy with the result.

His last letter was from a little girl from California asking if it could rain soda she poured it into the ocean. He’d written a polite answer explaining that it would be bad for the sea animals, and a simple experiment she could do with evaporation instead. After a bit of thought he drew Dr. Pine sitting a a table chatting with a sea turtle in purple crayon at the bottom. He was almost glad he had not improved his drawing skills since he was twelve. 

The next letter shocked him a bit. He almost set it aside when he saw it, thinking a bill had been slipped with the fan letters. Yet there on the front, in almost obnoxious cursive, was the typical address to Dr. Pine. There was no return address.

Another odd thing about the letter was just how carefully it had been put together. The wording straight and the envelope closed seemingly perfectly. Yet the bottom corner was scrunched like the writer had been holding it like their life depended on it. Stan opened the letter, to his surprise there was two. 

The first was like any letter from a kid, slightly messy handwriting gushing about their favorite part of the last episode. The ‘Tate Mcgucket’ seemed to really enjoy them discussing the lake’s food web and listed a few of his favorite fish. 

The second letter however was not as kind. It listed 12 inaccuracies in the episode. Each going in lengthy detail. He could only skim it as the text shrunk to save room. The explanations were familiar in a way. Kind of like how he tried to explain things, but laced with passive aggressive remarks. Hate mail was a thing he had gotten from angsty teenagers and upset parents on occasion, but this letter felt different. It was addressed by a ‘Mr. Mystery PhD, A real one unlike yours.’ He stared at the letter for several minutes unsure of what to do with it. 

He moved back to the first letter, replying to it like any other. Drawing a Dr. Pine riding a large bass. He quickly popped open a book for references, this kid seemed like the type to appreciate the effort. Then he looked back at the other letter. A bit of annoyance now when he remembered the letter had no return address. He pinned both to a the corkboard above his desk and moved on to replying to other letters.

He decided he was going to get his reply to Tate, not only because he was determined to reply to every letter, but also to spite this ‘Mr Mystery.’ He may be right that Stan is not a real doctor, but he was a man to stubborn for his own good

______

And thus a saga of mail exchanges begins. Where? Uh I lost it in shipping, you know how mail goes.

Forgot to link the post that this is based on.

[epiclad]

"Have you ever…heard any strange sounds here at the manor? Something beyond the walls, like breathing, or slithering scales…"

[ervotica]

steve if he thinks you got hurt in a battle and you didn’t - the RELIEF that would wash over this man

fem!reader; steve finds you after the battle with vecna. you confess to doing something stupid, and steve cuddles you stupid ✩

For the most part, your injuries are superficial. Claret caked in a smearing line over your temple, matting a few stray curls to the side of your head, a couple of rogue handprints against your pulse point, fingerprints marked in blood on your skin, and a twisted ankle that’ll heal on its own with some ice and elevation.

You’re back in Eddie’s trailer, the curly haired boy propped against your shoulder as you wrestle him upright to wrap sheet after sheet of bandages over his midriff. Eddie can feel your panic like a dumbbell pressed to his chest, your eyes flitting upward at every sound as though something is about to jump out and savage you.

“So, you and Harrington, huh?” Eddie fixes you with a sidelong glance, corners of his mouth tipping up teasingly.

“I know. You think it’s weird, right?”

Eddie hisses as you wrap a particularly sore spot, brows pinching into a frown. He keeps talking despite the throbbing in his side.

“Not weird. Just… unexpected. I get why you didn’t tell me.” You pull his t-shirt back over his ribs - now obscured by a thick layer of padding - and twirl his hair into a frizzy ponytail at the nape of his neck while he talks, pleased for the distraction from waiting for Steve’s return.

“I didn’t tell you cause I thought you’d be weird about it or something. Like… I know what school was like for us, and I didn’t want you to think less of me because I love him. He’s a great guy, Ed.”

“You love him, huh?” he coos.

“Shut up. I hate you.” you snort.

You drop your head to Eddie’s shoulder. Maybe chasing after those demobats behind him wasn’t your smartest move, but you have your best friend — alive, whole, and almost back to his full annoying self.

You’re so diligently pleading your case to your theatrical best friend you almost miss Steve slip through the crack in the door. Your lashes twitch when he makes a beeline for you.

“Hey, honey,” he sighs. You feel every one of his muscles uncoil as he wraps himself around you, a protective hand curled over the back of your head. “I was worrying about you, sweet girl.”

“Hey, Stevie,” you coo. You feel strangely close to tears already, throat thick and clogged with it. Eddie busies himself hobbling to the kitchen in search of snacks. “You’re okay?”

“I’m fine, angel. Show me your leg?”

“My leg’s fine!” you blurt, speech jilted with an incredulous laugh. He turns up a few steps from death’s door, and his priority is your fat ankle. “Just…sit. Let me look at you properly, yeah?”

“Let me stay like this for a sec, okay?” He’s wrapped an arm and a leg over your body, crouched where you’re sitting on the carpeted floor. His voice is a whisper against your skin. Then louder with a question. “Whose blood is this, angel?”

“Eddie’s, probably,” you answer round a yawn. “Bats got a chunk out of him.”

“Okay.” He smears a kiss at your jaw. “Why are you so covered, baby?”

“‘Cause I’m a really great friend?” You grimace, eyes crinkling as you prepare yourself for the brunt of the confession. “And maybe… maybe ‘cause I went out there to save his ass.”

You hide your face against the hollow of Steve’s throat, feeling oddly close to crying again. The sting of tears pervades your sinuses, lips pursed in a futile attempt to keep it at bay.

“I couldn’t let him die, Stevie. He was all I had once, you know.”

“You’re too fucking sweet for your own good, you know that?” he murmurs, rocking back on his heels until you’re well and truly trapped in his embrace, squished and helpless as he kisses every inch of you. “My girl. I love you, you self-sacrificing idiot.”

You snort, squeezing him with as much gusto as his injuries will allow. “For the record, Eddie’s the self-sacrificing one. Not me! Be mad at him. I’m just his knight in shining armour, duh.”

“Okay, angel.” Steve’s voice is thick, and your hands cradle his cheeks when he tilts downward to gather more of you up and into his grasp. “Don’t do it again though, okay? I was so worried about you.”

You sniff, lips smacking wetly over his jaw. “You know I’d do it for you too, handsome.”

“And I’d do anything for you. But let’s not let it come to that too often. Deal?”

“Deal.” You let him wrestle you into another squeezing cuddle. “We should just stay in bed tomorrow or something, right?” Giggling, you press your forehead to Steve’s cheek. “I think my house fell into a hole.”

“You can stay with me, angel,” he laughs. “I don’t want to be away from you, anyway.”

Eddie rolls his eyes with a groan from his firm place on the couch. “For the record, this is disgusting,” He obnoxiously crunches a - most definitely stale - Dorito between his front teeth. “But I guess this is cute, or whatever.” He points at Steve, eyes narrowed. “If you’re ever mean to her, I swear to God I will hunt you down, Harrington.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Steve shrugs, smearing yet another kiss over your face.

You suppose there’s worse ways to experience the end of the world.

[yallemagne]

Logan: The Bible said Adam and Eve. So I slept with them both.

“And Adam. And Eve. And a sssecret third thing 🐍.”

I had a vision.

[monserelates]

P.S. Do you still love me? ; James Potter

⇨ f! reader x james potter

part 2 of the p.s. series

⇨ summary: You find an old letter James wrote to you during fifth year confessing he loved you but never sent. You're now dating someone else. Chaos ensues.

⇨ warnings/notes: use of y/n, angst, lowkey proofread, Emotional cheating themes, heartbreak, tension, crying, James spiraling, reader torn between two people, longing, and one (okay maybe a few) very old love letters.

a/n: this was a bit hard to write because this as you know this is not my usual trope but i hope i did okay!

⇨ word count: 3.5k

You don’t mean to be cold.

It’s just that every time Amos touches you lately, it feels… foreign. Like putting on someone else’s jumper. Warm, yes. Familiar, even. But not yours.

You're sitting beside him on the steps outside the Greenhouses after Herbology, your fingers twisting at the hem of your sleeve, sleeves pulled down past your knuckles. The sun is low, casting golden slants across the grass, and Amos is talking about his upcoming match against Ravenclaw.

He nudges your shoulder with his.

“You’ll be cheering for me, yeah?”

You smile—automatically. You’ve had practice at that. “'Course.”

But your eyes stay fixed on the path ahead, scanning students trickling out of class, your stomach tight with something you won’t name.

Then he leans in and kisses your cheek.

And your whole body tenses. Just barely. Just enough for you to notice it.

You swallow hard. Force yourself to relax. You don’t want to hurt him. He’s done nothing wrong.

Amos pulls back and looks at you with a puzzled sort of affection. “You okay?”

You nod quickly. “Just tired.”

He accepts it. He always does. He rubs your shoulder and talks more about Quidditch while you sit still and quiet and try not to think about that dumb, messy haired boy.

Later, in Charms, he reaches for your hand beneath the desk.

You hesitate.

Just a second.

But it’s enough.

His hand rests, waiting. Yours stays in your lap. You pretend to be too focused on your parchment, biting the inside of your cheek, quill digging a little too hard into the paper.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That it’s just nerves. That the letters don’t mean anything now.

You’re dating Amos. He’s kind. He’s reliable. He makes plans. He picks you flowers sometimes, even if they’re lopsided and smushed from his pockets. He smiles at you like you’re the only person in the castle.

He’s everything you always said you wanted.

So why does it feel like your skin is on wrong?

Why do you feel so far away?

Why do you feel like you belong to someone else?

You can't do that to him, he's done nothing wrong.

But it's eating you alive.

..

Sirius sees it first.

The way you’re quiet in the common room now. How you sit in the corner armchair instead of the couch you used to fight James for. The way you look at the fire like it might spit out the answers you’re too scared to say aloud.

He’s sprawled on the rug, Transfiguration homework untouched, chin resting on his knuckles as he watches you out of the corner of his eye.

You’re trying to read. Trying. But your eyes haven’t moved from the same paragraph in ten minutes.

You're not even blinking properly.

Sirius doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

He just watches.

It’s later—past midnight—when Remus joins him in the boys’ dorm, towel draped over his shoulder, hair damp from the showers.

“She’s off, isn’t she?” he says casually, toweling the back of his neck.

Sirius doesn't look up from where he's lying on his bed, arms folded behind his head. “Y/N?”

Remus nods.

There’s a beat of silence. Then Sirius exhales through his nose.

“She found them.”

Remus freezes. “The letters?”

Sirius just gives him a look. One of those quiet, heavy, yes of course the letters looks.

“Bloody hell,” Remus mutters, sitting slowly on the edge of his bed. “Does Prongs know?”

Sirius shakes his head. “She hasn’t said anything to him. Or to anyone, far as I can tell. Just… pulled away. From Diggory. From everything.”

Remus presses the towel into his lap, staring at the floor. “Do you think she’s—?”

“Confused?” Sirius interrupts. “Wrecked? Realizing she’s got feelings and it’s about five months too late? Yeah. Probably all of it.”

They sit in the quiet for a minute. Then—

“Wait, wait—what are we talking about?” Peter says from behind his bed curtains, poking his head out with an eager blink.

Remus sighs.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Y/N. She found the bloody letters.”

Peter frowns. “You mean those letters? The ones James said he burned?”

“Yeah. Turns out Moony was sentimental and tucked copies into that stupid drawer of his,” Sirius mutters, giving Remus a mock glare.

“I didn’t think she’d find them!” Remus defends. “She was looking for Advanced Transfiguration, not a personal breakdown.”

Peter’s mouth forms a small "o."

“So… does James know?”

Sirius looks away, jaw clenched. “No. And he can’t. Not yet.”

Remus nods slowly. “If she’s trying to figure out what she feels, the last thing she needs is pressure.”

Peter frowns. “But he still loves her, doesn’t he?”

Sirius swallows.

“He never stopped.”

The boys are still huddled in the dorm—Remus on the edge of his bed, Sirius half-lying on his, Peter nervously swinging his legs—when the door creaks open.

James walks in.

Hair damp, tie loose, cheeks a little flushed from racing upstairs. There’s a brightness to him. That usual glow. But it’s… quieter lately. He’s trying, and everyone can see it.

“Alright, what’s going on?”

He pauses mid-step, brows raised as he takes in the room. The energy is tense, tight like a pulled thread.

Remus instantly looks down, pretending to flip a page in his journal.

Peter nearly chokes on his own spit and starts coughing loudly.

Sirius—ever the composed one—leans back and throws a casual arm over the edge of the bed. “Going on? Nothing’s going on. Why would something be going on?”

James stares at him. “Because all three of you look like you just buried a body.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Prongs,” Sirius says, but he’s avoiding James’s eyes now, spinning a quill between his fingers.

Remus clears his throat. “We were just… talking. About that new Astronomy essay. Vector’s is due next week.”

Peter nods. A little too hard. “Yeah. Very important stars. Super… starry.”

James narrows his eyes. “You lot are terrible liars.”

No one answers.

He lets the silence hang for a moment longer. Then he sighs and rakes a hand through his hair.

“Is this about her?” he asks, voice lower now, cautious. “Y/N?”

Everyone goes very still.

Remus closes his journal. Slowly. Peter’s eyes dart to Sirius.

Sirius—cool, unreadable Sirius—shrugs, but his voice is gentler this time. “No one said anything about her.”

James swallows, gaze fixed on the carpet.

Then he nods, like he’s pretending it doesn’t hurt. “Right. Yeah. Just thought maybe…”

But he doesn’t finish. He just forces a smile and walks over to his trunk, rifling through it for something he doesn’t need.

Behind him, Sirius exhales quietly, and Remus shoots him a warning glance like: not yet.

Because James doesn’t know.

And if he did?

He’d never be able to pretend again.

..

The cobbled streets of Hogsmeade shimmer with melted snow, and your fingers are frozen around the paper bag of sweets Amos bought you.

Pumpkin fudge.

You hate pumpkin fudge.

But Amos doesn’t know that.

He’s talking again—some long-winded story about a Ravenclaw Beater and a near-miss Bludger—and you try to nod along, but it’s like your head’s full of fog.

You’re just outside Honeydukes when it happens.

The door to Zonko’s swings open across the street, and James steps out. Sirius and Peter flank him, laughing loudly, the kind of laughter that feels contagious. James is mid-joke, his eyes bright, cheeks flushed from the cold—

—and then he sees you.

Everything goes still.

You swear you hear your heartbeat echo off the snow.

His smile falters. Just a little. The barest hitch in the easy curve of his mouth.

Your eyes lock.

You don’t move. You don’t breathe.

And then, just like that—he looks away. Turns back to Sirius like you were never there.

Like he hadn’t once carried you to the Hospital Wing. Like he hadn’t once written you letters so full of love they felt like gravity.

“Y/N?”

You blink. Amos is frowning.

“What was that about?” he asks, gesturing with his chin toward James, who’s already vanishing down the lane.

You look down, heart thudding. “Nothing.”

He scoffs. “Didn’t look like nothing.”

“I said it’s nothing.” Your voice is sharper now. It surprises even you.

Amos crosses his arms. “You’ve been off all day. Actually—longer than that. Since last week, I think. You barely look at me during meals, you always say you're tired, and now you're staring at Potter like he's—like he's—”

He stops himself. But the implication is loud in the silence between you.

“Like he's what?” you ask, quiet.

Amos hesitates. “Do you still fancy him?”

The question hits you like a hex to the chest.

Did you fancy James for a little while after you started talking to Amos? No. Maybe. Probably..

Did you tell anyone? Oh heeeeeelll no.

It's just a small crush. You thought. I'l get over it.

And you did. For a while, sure.

“I—no. I mean—” You look away. “I don’t know.”

His eyebrows lift. “You don’t know?”

You hate this. Hate how you're making him feel. How you feel. Torn in pieces and pulled in directions you can’t make sense of.

“I just… I need time,” you murmur, not even sure what you're asking for.

Amos lets out a bitter laugh. “Right. Time.”

You can’t look at him.

Because he’s good. Kind. He deserves better than someone whose heart skips for a boy who wrote love letters and buried them in drawers.

“Let me walk you back,” he says after a beat, voice tight.

You nod, but you walk in silence. Side by side but oceans apart.

And James’s eyes still haunt you.

..

The corridor is empty except for the soft flicker of torchlight and the weight of everything you’ve been holding in.

Lily doesn’t say anything. She just walks beside you, shoulder brushing yours as you step into the quiet, unused hallway near the Divination staircase—the one that always smells faintly like lavender and dust.

You sit on the windowsill. Hug your knees. Stare out at the fading light like it might offer an answer.

“Y/N,” Lily says gently, “you haven’t smiled properly in days.”

You swallow hard.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Her brow furrows.

“I should be happy. Amos is… he’s kind. And steady. And he likes me. Everything’s easy with him. Safe.”

A pause.

“But it doesn’t feel right anymore.”

You rest your forehead on your knees. “It’s like I’m with him, and all I can think about is someone else. The way someone else used to look at me. The way he knew me. Without ever having to ask.”

Just around the corner, James stops walking.

He hadn’t meant to overhear.

He’d been trailing behind the group after dinner, letting Sirius and Remus wander off ahead, when he heard your voice. Fragile. Real.

And the sound of his name—not said aloud, but written into the cracks of everything you were saying.

He inches closer, just enough to hear.

“I feel awful,” you whisper. “Like I’m lying every time I smile at Amos. Because part of me is somewhere else. With someone else. Someone I never really gave a chance to.”

Lily doesn’t ask who. She doesn’t need to.

But James?

He already knows.

And he backs away, hand trembling slightly as he grips the stone wall beside him.

Because that ache in your voice—it’s the same one in his chest.

And even though he only caught pieces, it’s enough.

It’s enough to make him want to hope again.

Even if it terrifies him.

..

The fire in the common room is low, just embers now. Most students have gone up to bed. It’s only Sirius and James, sprawled out on the worn leather couches like they used to when they were kids sneaking out for stolen Butterbeer and bad jokes.

But there’s no laughter tonight.

James hasn’t said much since dinner.

He’s staring into the flames, absently bouncing a Chocolate Frog card between his fingers. His hair’s still damp from the shower. His shirt’s rumpled. His usual glow is dimmed. Tired around the edges.

Sirius watches him. Quiet. Restless.

“You alright, Prongs?” he finally asks.

James doesn’t look away from the fire. “Yeah.”

A beat.

“You sure?”

James exhales through his nose. “No. But I will be.”

Sirius shifts in his seat. Elbows on his knees now, tapping his fingers together like he’s working up to something.

“You saw her today, didn’t you?” he asks, voice low.

James says nothing.

“She looked at you like she wanted to say something.”

Still nothing.

“And you looked away.”

James finally speaks. “What do you want me to say, Pads?”

Sirius leans back. “That maybe you’re still in love with her.”

The card in James’s hand stills.

Another silence.

He closes his eyes. Rubs his jaw. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t do this.”

Sirius studies him. “She’s not happy, James. Anyone with eyes can see it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” James snaps, sharper than intended. “She chose Diggory.”

Sirius scoffs. “You really think this is about choosing?”

“She’s with him, Sirius.” James’s voice cracks at the edge, but he clenches his jaw, hard. “Whatever I felt—whatever I feel—it’s irrelevant now.”

Sirius watches him, eyes softening. “She’s still yours. In the quiet ways. The stuff that counts.”

James stands abruptly. Walks to the fireplace, hands gripping the mantle.

“I’m not talking about this.”

Sirius opens his mouth. Wants to say she read the letters. She’s falling apart, too. It’s not over, James. Not yet.

But James turns to him, and the look in his eyes is final.

Tired. Guarded. Shattered.

“Just… don’t.”

And Sirius doesn’t.

Because as much as he wants to fight for them—James needs to be ready to fight for himself first.

So he nods once, slowly.

Lets the silence return.

Lets James breathe.

Even if it hurts.

..

You slump onto your bed. The door creaks open and Lily slips inside, followed by Marlene and Dorcas. They don’t say a word, just sit around you like a quiet circle of safety.

Lily’s eyes are soft but serious.

“Talk to us,” she says.

You shrug, avoiding their gaze.

“I don’t know what I feel anymore.”

Marlene leans forward, voice low but direct.

“That’s not an answer, Y/N. You do know.”

“No, I don’t,” you whisper. “I’m just... stuck. I care about him. I want to care about him. But every time I’m with him, I feel like I’m someone else.”

Dorcas nods slowly.

“You’re spinning him around. And yourself. It’s exhausting.”

You bury your face in your hands.

“But what if I’m wrong? What if I’m just scared to be alone?”

Lily shakes her head firmly.

“You’re not alone. And you’re not wrong for wanting more. You deserve to be with someone who sees you. Not a version of you that fits their story.”

Marlene crosses her arms.

“You have to break up with Amos. Don’t keep pretending or spinning this any longer.”

You pull your hands down, eyes glossy with tears.

“But what if I hurt him? What if it’s not fair?”

Dorcas reaches over, squeezing your hand.

“It’s better to be honest now than to stay and lose yourself completely. You deserve to be happy, Y/N.”

Lily smiles softly, brushing a stray hair behind your ear.

“And we’ll be right here. No matter what.”

You take a shaky breath. For the first time in days, you feel a flicker of clarity.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll figure it out.”

..

You find him sitting on a fallen log near the water, tossing pebbles one by one. The sunset paints the sky in bruised pinks and golds, but you barely notice.

Your heart pounds so loud you think he must hear it.

You swallow hard.

“Amos...” you begin, voice trembling.

He looks up, hopeful but wary.

“I need to be honest,” you say. “I’ve been... distant. And it’s not fair to you.”

He nods slowly, eyes searching yours.

“I don’t think I’m the person you thought I was,” you continue, voice stronger now. “Or maybe I am, but I’m not who I want to be. Not with you.”

His brow furrows.

“I don’t understand.”

“I care about you. I care a lot,” you admit, tears slipping down your cheeks. “But that’s not enough. I’m scared I’m holding you back because I don’t know how to be who I really am when I’m with you.”

He looks crushed.

“So... what does that mean?”

You meet his gaze, steady despite the ache.

“It means we need to stop. Before this becomes something we both regret. You deserve someone who loves you without hesitation. Someone who can be fully there. And right now, that’s not me.”

He swallows, then nods.

“If that’s what you want... I just want you to be happy.”

You blink away your tears.

“Thank you for everything, Amos. You were a good boyfriend, really.”

You stand, the weight lifting even as your chest tightens.

You turn away, leaving behind the ache of what wasn’t meant to be, and stepping toward the truth you’ve been avoiding for too long.

..

The Gryffindor dorm was alive with the usual noise of restless boys — laughter echoing, a stray pillow flying through the air, books shuffled and parchment rustled. Sirius was sprawled on his bed, smirking as he lobbed another pillow at Remus, who was trying, and failing, to focus on a hefty book about magical creatures. Peter sat on the edge of a chair, fiddling nervously with the corner of a parchment, casting quick glances at the others.

Sirius’s sharp eyes caught Peter’s uneasy expression, and he called out with a warning grin, “Wormtail, don’t you even think about it.”

Remus’s voice was low but firm. “Seriously, Pete. Keep your mouth shut.”

Peter swallowed hard, looking like he was trying to keep a secret that weighed heavily on him. His gaze flicked to James, who was lazily cleaning his broomstick but clearly curious about the quiet tension.

James sat up straighter, eyes narrowing. “Alright, what’s going on? Why the sudden hush? You’re all acting like I’m about to get hexed or something.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and tossed another pillow toward Peter’s head, but this time he caught it mid-air, cheeks flushing. “No, it’s nothing. Just some dumb gossip.”

Remus gave Peter a pleading look — don’t say anything, the look screamed.

Peter hesitated, biting his lip. Then, as if the pressure became too much, he blurted out, “Rememberthelettersyouwrotewelly/nsawthemandsheknowsaboutyourcrush”

The room went silent so quickly it was like the air itself had stopped.

James blinked, caught completely off guard. “What? I didn’t get a single thing.”

Sirius threw a pillow at Peter’s face “Our silly pete is just sayin’ he’s hungry, right Pete?”

Peter’s voice dropped to a nervous whisper,

“Y/N found the letters..”

“Oh for fucks sake” Sirius groaned and Remus buried his face into his pillow.

Time seemed to freeze.

James’s eyes widened in shock. “She did what?!”

Remus grabbed Peter’s arm firmly, shaking his head. “You have no idea how much trouble you just caused.”

James pushed himself off his bed, pacing with his hands tangled in his hair. His voice cracked with disbelief and frustration. “Why didn’t any of you tell me? What the hell were you thinking, keeping that from me?”

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, exasperated but trying to keep calm. “We thought it was better if you didn’t know right away. We didn’t want to make things worse.”

Remus nodded in agreement. “It wasn’t an easy thing to keep quiet. But Y/N was struggling, and we wanted to protect you both.”

James let out a bitter laugh, voice shaking with anger and hurt. “Protect me? By leaving me in the dark while she carried this alone? She’s been hurting because of me, and you all just sat there, silent?”

Peter looked down, ashamed.

James stopped pacing and faced them, eyes blazing. “You think this was easy? For me? I should’ve known. I needed to know. How can I fix anything if I’m left in the dark?”

Sirius sighed heavily, his usual cocky attitude replaced with something more serious. “Look, mate, we didn’t want to break your heart even more. You didn’t know how bad it was.”

James shook his head slowly, voice low and painful. “I’m not a child. I deserve the truth. And I deserve to know what’s going on with her — with us.”

The room fell quiet again, the weight of James’s words settling like a stone.

Remus stepped forward carefully, trying to ease the tension. “We’ll tell you everything when you’re ready. Just... give Y/N space, too.”

James ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “Yeah. Space. Right.”

He looked at each of them, eyes burning with emotion. “Next time you think about keeping something like this from me, remember how it feels to find out like this. From a slip-up.”

Sirius cracked a small smile, trying to lighten the mood, but it was thin. “Point taken, mate.”

Peter gave a small, guilty nod. “Sorry, James. I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

After what felt like years of James pacing around the room, he rubbed his face, trying to calm down. “I just... I need to figure out what to do now.”

The Marauders exchanged looks, knowing this was only the beginning.

keep reading

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[boacruz]

hi ! i really love your edits on pin, could you share what fonts you use? ty ❤︎

[redlettermediathings]

[thelostsmiles]

Benedict Cumberbatch reads a hilarious letter of complaint from Rik Mayall to Bob Geldof after dozens of the brightest stars on the British music scene descended upon SARM West Studios in London to unite as a supergroup, Band Aid, to record the song, “Do They Know It's Christmas?” (Letters Live Nov 2024)

Some great reaction gifs. A gif gift, if you will.

[paintpanic]

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