#someone asks about a book and i respond with a book

[lemonlover1110]

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Summary: His baby girl has finally asked the long awaited question: How did mama and papa meet?

Warnings: Fluff

*Changes drabble❤️ Hidden inventory has inspired me🙂‍↕️

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

“Papa,” His four year old climbs onto the bed, to ask a very important question. Satoru puts down his book to attend to his baby girl. You lay down next to him, but you don’t bother looking at her. The kids usually come to you for every trouble or whim, it’s finally time Satoru is forced to help.

She looks up at him with wide blue eyes, clearly curious about something. Satoru patiently waits for his little girl to speak up, “How did you and mama meet?”

“Ou, I can tell that story!” She successfully gets your attention, and you’re more than willing to speak. You doubt that Satoru even remembers the details. To him you probably were just a childhood friend. People don’t usually remember that early into their childhood.

“Nah, I got it, honey.” Satoru’s hand goes over your own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Ren, come here! I have a story to tell!”

“Stop bothering that boy, Satoru. He’s a salty preteen.” You lower your voice, but Satoru ignores you. It’s Satoru’s sole goal to be the annoying parent now that Ren’s gotten a bit older.

“Our salty preteen. He gets to stop listening to me when I stop putting a roof over his head.” Satoru responds, making you click your tongue.

“That same exact logic is why you missed out on four years of Ren’s life.” You mutter, something that makes Satoru roll his eyes because he knows you’re right.

“What is it?” Ren walks into the room, a bit of attitude in his tone.

“I’m about to tell your sister how I met your mom.” Satoru says, and he catches the eye roll from the child. He should’ve listened to you.

“Mom said you were childhood friends, what more is there to add?”

“Okay, attitude! Now listen.” Satoru pats a space on the bed for Ren to sit, and the child drags his feet. The man’s attention goes back to his little girl since she was the one who asked in the first place. He cups her face, kissing the top of her head.

“When we were children, I walked into the kitchen with a scraped knee, and there was your mom. I forgot about the pain, and immediately introduced myself.” Satoru recalls with a subtle smile on his face, immediately losing Ren’s attention.

“Have you loved her since?” Anzu asks, a question that makes Satoru ponder on his life. He purses his lips together, taking a moment to truly think about it.

“Yes.” He ends up nodding.

“That’s debatable.” You respond. “But good job on actually remembering how we met.”

“What do you mean debatable?” Satoru furrows his brows, and Ren slowly gets up to sneak out of the room. Anzu stays, looking back and forth between her parents as they argue.

“Excuse me, Mr. I got married to someone else.” You remind him, and Ren’s ears perk up. Satoru’s mouth opens to defend himself, but someone else beats him to it.

“Dad, you got married before mom?”

“No, papa has always loved mama.” Anzu quickly defends her father as if she just hadn’t heard you.

“That’s right, baby! You were the one who wanted to hear the story anyway. So you can leave now, Ren.” Satoru smiles at his precious princess before kissing her forehead.

“No, I think I’ll stay.” Ren walks back, sitting comfortably in the empty space. The preteen fights back a smirk before asking that prying question, “Who did you marry before mom?”

“Your mom is the love of my life. My soulmate. My other half, I would never—“

“Sayo.” You cut him off, making Ren’s eyes widen. Satoru feels his cheeks get pink at the revelation. At least something got the child’s attention.

“That’s a story for when you have grandchildren.” Satoru ruffles Ren’s hair, making the child whine.

“I have another question, papa.” Anzu asks, and the man hums in response, giving all his attention to his baby. “How are babies made?”

“It was right after my father died. You would’ve loved him, my dad would’ve spoiled you two rotten—“

[itsaintmebabe]

he stands up for you in an interview (midsize!reader)

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ drivers: charles leclerc, oscar piastri, lando norris, max verstappen and carlos sainz

notes: this kinda came to me during the spanish gp today, let me know how you guys feel about it cause i’m not entirely sure abt it so lmk!! <3

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ masterlist

₊˚⊹ᰔ CHARLES LECLERC

He’d just come off the podium, drenched in champagne and Ferrari red, the hint of a smile still playing on his lips as he stepped into the media pen. Charles was running on adrenaline and pride until a journalist leaned in with a knowing look.

“Charles, you’ve been seen out with your girlfriend a lot lately. Some fans are saying she’s not what they expected from someone in your position. How do you respond to that kind of surprise?”

Charles blinked once.

“What they expected?”

His voice was calm, but the chill in it made the reporter hesitate.

“Yeah, just, you know… public figures usually date a certain ‘type’ and—”

Charles cut him off gently but firmly.

“She’s exactly my type.”

He folded his arms loosely, still not raising his voice, but something steel-like settled into his expression.

“She’s smart. She’s kind. She knows me better than anyone else, and she’s beautiful to me,” he emphasized. “If people are surprised, maybe they should spend less time imagining what kind of woman someone like me should be with, and more time questioning why they think they get a say at all.”

He gave the reporter a tight, diplomatic smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Next question, please.”

₊˚⊹ᰔ OSCAR PIASTRI

Oscar had just scored a clean P2 and was relaxed, arms crossed, posture easy. He was talking about race starts and tire temps, until someone slipped in a question that made his brow twitch.

“Oscar, some people think your girlfriend isn’t really the ‘look’ they associate with someone at the top of Formula 1. Does that kind of public reaction ever give you pause?”

Oscar’s entire body went still.

“No. It gives you pause, apparently.”

The reporter blinked. “Just saying, there’s a certain image that comes with being in your position—”

Oscar’s eyes narrowed.

“You know what image I care about? The one I see when I come home after a race. When she’s curled up with a book and one of my hoodies. That’s it.”

He shrugged, voice still even but there was a bite now.

“If that doesn’t fit into someone’s aesthetic fantasy, that’s their problem. Not mine. Not hers.”

He glanced at the camera with a smirk.

“And definitely not yours.”

₊˚⊹ᰔ LANDO NORRIS

Lando had just taken the win and was practically bouncing, messy curls, cheeky grin, and post-race glow. He was in a good mood… until someone tried to sour it.

“Lando, fans online have been debating whether your girlfriend’s the ‘right look’ for someone who’s becoming a brand icon. Do you ever think about image in that way?”

Lando laughed. He actually laughed.

“Are you for real?”

The reporter started to respond, but Lando shook his head.

“You think I’m dating someone because it looks good in a photoshoot? Mate, I date her because she’s wicked. She's hilarious. She's sharp. She's a bit stubborn sometimes—” he grinned, fond “—but she gets me. And yeah, she’s hot as hell.”

He leaned toward the mic, playful but very pointed.

“I’m not worried about my image. I’m more concerned with whether she’s gonna beat me at Mario Kart again tonight and talk shit about it for a week.”

Lando shot the camera a wink and gave the next interviewer a wave.

“Let’s talk about the race now, yeah?”

₊˚⊹ᰔ MAX VERSTAPPEN

Max wasn’t in the mood.

P2 felt like a loss, and the media pen was the last place he wanted to be. But he was standing there anyway stone-faced, giving short answers, until someone really pushed it.

“Max, your girlfriend’s not exactly what we expect from an F1 champion’s partner. Do you ever feel like you could be with someone who fits the image more?”

Silence.

Max stared at the reporter. No blink. No shift in expression. Just complete, icy stillness.

Then, very slowly.

“Did you just ask if I’d trade my girlfriend for a better… image?”

The reporter tried to reword, but Max held up one hand.

“No. Don’t backpedal. I heard what you said.”

He took a breath, voice low and flat.

“She doesn’t need to be anything other than who she is. I don’t date people to impress strangers. I date her because she makes me feel like myself. Because she’s brilliant. And yeah I think she’s stunning.”

Max looked the reporter straight in the eye.

“If that bothers you, I’d say that’s your issue. Not mine.”

Then he turned to walk away no fanfare, no press officer needed just gone.

₊˚⊹ᰔ CARLOS SAINZ

Carlos was in good spirits, having fought his way to a gritty P4. He was laughing with the Spanish press, animated and bright, when a British journalist edged in with a question that turned the air a little colder.

“Carlos, with so many drivers dating models and influencers, fans were surprised to see you with someone a bit different. Is that a deliberate choice, maybe to be more lowkey?”

Carlos tilted his head, smile still on his face but his eyes had narrowed just slightly.

“I didn’t know love was a PR strategy.”

The reporter coughed, flustered. “Well—of course not, but—”

Carlos raised a hand, cutting him off gently.

“Look. She’s not ‘lowkey.’ She’s just real. No filter. No act. She’s herself all the time. And to me, that’s rare.”

His voice softened, but not his resolve.

“I don’t care what anyone expects. She’s smart, she’s loyal, she’s beautiful and when I look at her, I don’t see a comparison. I see her. That’s enough.”

Then, in classic Sainz fashion, he smiled again calm and a little smug.

“And trust me, if you met her, you’d get it.”

[dreamtheatre]

HIII! i saw ur doing marauders fics and i love ur dr who ones so i was wondering whether you could do a remus x reader? where reader is in love with rem but doesn't think he loves her back so gets into an arranged marriage but he has to win her back before its too late? if that makes sense!

The Bolter

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader Summary: Remus was your best friend, but when you finally work up the courage to tell him how you really feel, he doesn't respond and you bolt. However, when your parents set up an arranged marriage for you, Remus if forced to confront how he feels before it's too late. Word Count: 3.8K Warnings: None (?) spelling errors?

The Gryffindor common room hummed with the low, sleepy breaths of the castle. A small fire burned in the grate, dying embers painting the room in flickering hues of amber and wine red. Shadows stretched long across the stone floor, pooling beneath armchairs and climbing the walls like ghosts.

You sat curled into your usual seat by the fire, knees drawn to your chest, a blanket draped loosely over your legs. An open book lay forgotten in your lap, something about wandlore and its application in defensive charms, but the words swam uselessly before you, blurred by tired eyes and a weight in your chest that had grown heavier by the week. Or maybe by the year. Outside, the wind howled gently against the stained-glass windows. Inside, the ache was quieter, but no less brutal.

Remus Lupin was sitting on a comfy armchair just a few feet away, leaning back on one hand while the other absently flipped through a tattered copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. He wasn't even reading it. Just skimming, eyes unfocused, mouth set in that slight, familiar line you'd memorized long ago.

Bored with the book, your eyes narrowed in on him. His hair was soft, rumpled from sleep or the wind or both. A lock had fallen over his brow. There was a tenderness in the line of his jaw, in the way his eyes followed the firelight like he was trying to catch a memory from the flames. He was beautiful, and he didn’t know it. Kind in a world that was growing sharper every day. And you had loved him for so long it didn’t even feel like a decision anymore. It was just something your heart had done without asking you first.

Still, you were too scared to open your mouth and say something in the fear that he would never see you that way. Not really. He had made it clear before that he considered you one of his closest friends, and you were scared that he wouldn't feel anything more. Especially when there were girls like Mary who flirted with ease, or girls like Lily who glowed with the confidence of being loved. Not when Remus was Remus, gentle and guarded and convinced, in that maddeningly humble way of his, that no one could ever truly love him once they knew the full truth.

The end of Seventh Year was approaching, meaning that everyone would be going their own ways soon. James and Lily wanted to get married as soon as they graduated, if the impending war did not interfere. You still had no idea what to do with your life. Your parents would want you to continue on to tertiary studies to become an influential figure in society, just as they were. Still, you were confused about everything. Being an adult seemed strange, and a part of you wished you could stay at Hogwarts forever.

“Why are you still up, dove?” Remus' voice was quiet and a little hoarse. You startled slightly and glanced up to find his eyes on you.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you murmured, leaning against the wall. He gave a small shrug, the kind that said sleep is hard these days. And maybe it was. The full moon was a week behind them, and he still looked like it haunted him. The pain hadn’t quite worn off.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you added vaguely.

“Nightmares?” he asked gently.

“No,” you replied. You.

Remus closed his book and stood slowly, crossing the rug to sit on the floor beside you. He moved like someone afraid to take up space. He was lanky, too tall for his frame, and too careful with every step. His jumper hung loose over his shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing faint old scars that peeked out like ghosts from beneath the wool.

“You’ve been distant,” he stated, voice so soft it barely reached you. He glanced around to make sure no unwanted listeners were near.

You stiffened. “Have I?”

Remus tilted his head slightly, frowning. “Not… intentionally. I just... you’re quieter. Even with Lily! And sometimes you look like you’re not with us.”

You blinked, caught off-guard by how much he noticed. Did he really pay that much attention? “I’ve just had a lot on my mind.” He nodded once as if he understood. Your breath caught as a rough hand delicately brushed against your jawline, and you silently hoped he couldn't feel how your heart leapt, just whenever he said your name. You hoped he didn't know how your stomach twisted when he smiled at someone else, or how you'd memorized the sound of his laugh and played it over and over again like a favourite record in your head.

You had planned not to say anything. To carry it with you, quietly, like you always had. But something about the way the firelight danced in his eyes, or maybe the way your name had just sounded on his lips, made it impossible to keep holding it in.

“Remus?”

He straightened slightly, the way he always did when he heard his name from you. “Yeah?You hesitated, pulse thrumming at the base of her throat. Your hands twisted the edge of the blanket in your lap.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. And I… I think if I don’t say it now, I never will.”

He frowned faintly, concerned. “What is it?”

You looked down, then up again. The words burned at the tip of your tongue.

“I care about you," You tried. Remus' eyes didn't betray a hint of emotion.

"Yeah, dove. I care about you too."

"No, Rem, listen," You swallowed the lump. "I love you.”

The silence that followed was immediate and deafening. The fire crackled once. Somewhere in the corridor, a portrait shifted and muttered to itself. And still, Remus said nothing. His expression didn’t change. Not exactly. But something behind his eyes seemed to shudder.

You felt it as if a spell had slammed into your chest. The moment the hope crumbled. “You don’t have to say anything,” you whispered, already trying to smile. “I just needed to… to say it. That’s all.”

Remus opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked down at his hands. “You shouldn’t.”

Your chest constricted. “What?”

“You shouldn’t love me,” he said, and this time his voice was rough, like gravel. “Not like that.”

You stared at him. The air around them seemed to freeze.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, dove,” he added quickly. “You’re... one of my best friends. But I’m not someone people stay in love with. I’m not safe.”

Your heart broke so quietly it didn’t even make a sound. “I understand,” you whispered after a long moment. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to hear it again.” You stood then, numb, the warmth of the fire no longer touching her skin.

A part of you hoped Remus would reach out to stop you, but he just watched as you bolted up the stairs towards your dorm.

...

It started with a letter. It was not delivered by owl, but by a family friend in a pressed cloak and stiff expression, handed off to you in the middle of a quiet Sunday afternoon at Hogsmeade.

You turned the envelope over once, then again. Your name was inked in your mother’s careful handwriting. Inside, the parchment smelled faintly of lavender, like it had been tucked away in a drawer with sachets and secrets.

Dearest, Your father and I have spoken at length about your future. The world is uncertain now, and safety is not something we can afford to take for granted. We’ve been approached by the Greengrasses with an offer for an arrangement we believe is both practical and considerate of your well-being…

Your hands went cold.

Elias Greengrass is a respectable young man from a reputable family. He graduated from Hogwarts two years ago and has joined the Ministry’s security division. More importantly, he is willing to protect and provide for you, no matter what comes.

You stopped reading as your pulse thundered in your ears. An arranged marriage. The very phrase made your stomach twist. It was something your mother used to joke about in passing at tea - “We’ll just have to marry you off to a charming young wizard before the war eats everyone alive” - always followed by laughter, always brushed off like fiction.

Now it wasn’t fiction. Now it was real.

A knock came at your door before you could even breathe, and you straightened as Professor McGonagall appeared at the door to your dorm, your mother close behind.

She entered without waiting for an answer, and the Professor closed the door behind. She looked the same way she always did. Regal, unbothered, bearing the calm cruelty of someone who had long ago convinced herself that love was a luxury.

“We’re not forcing you,” her mother said, though her tone suggested otherwise. “But this is a rare opportunity. A good match. He’s kind. Intelligent. He's well-bred.”

“You're speaking like he's a creature at an auction," You said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t even know him."

Your mother tilted her head. “You’ll have time to. And he told me himself. He’s looking for a partner, not a trophy.”

“What if I already…” you paused, unsure why the words stung so much.

Her mother gave her a look, soft but tired. “You mean the Lupin boy?” Heat rushed to your cheeks. “He’s not even on the path to employment. He’s sickly, unstable-”

“Remus is not unstable.”

“And he hasn’t come for you. Has he?” That silenced you.

Your mother stepped closer, brushing a hand against your cheek the way she used to when you was little. It should’ve been comforting, but it wasn’t.

“I know this isn’t what you dreamed of,” she said gently. “But dreams don’t last long in times like these. Elias is willing to fight for you. That has to mean something.”

Much to your discontent, it did mean something that this Elias boy wanted to get to know you and 'fight for you', in your mother's words. Remus hadn’t even tried.

The engagement was announced two weeks later in the Daily Prophet. A small, tasteful notice, tucked beneath a headline about another Death Eater raid. Your name was printed beside Elias Greengrass' in looping, ceremonial script. Your hands shook when you saw it. You hadn't told anyone yet, and your parents had went off announcing it to the world. Two pureblood families unioned once more.

The first person to mention it at Hogwarts was Mary. “I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone,” she said, mouth agape. “Is it true? An actual arranged marriage? Like, pureblood-girl-meets-war-hero?” You smiled politely and made some vague comment about tradition and family expectations. It felt like lying with your whole face.

Lily, who had pulled you aside after class the next day, hadn’t been so casual. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, hurt flickering behind her eyes.

“I didn’t want to talk about it,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Still don’t.” Lily didn’t press further, but her silence said enough.

And Remus…

Remus didn’t say anything at all, and it felt like the worst thing that ever happened to you.

James and Sirius had said their parts, all 'fuck-the-pureblood-tradition', and Peter, Marlene, and Dorcas had all congratulated you. Still, Remus didn’t come to you. Didn’t write. Didn’t knock on your door. He passed you in the corridors, his gaze unreadable, his expression neutral.

Meanwhile, your fiancé was everything he promised to be.

Elias Greengrass was polite and dutiful. He wrote three times a week. Perfect, long letters about training and the future and the Ministry’s plans to protect young wizarding families. He signed every note with 'yours', and you hated how kind he was. It made everything worse.

Elias wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t selfish. He just… wasn’t Remus. And it still hurt that Remus had let you go.

You clutched another one of Elias' letters in your hands, which felt cold. Maybe this was all you had left.

...

Remus told himself he didn’t care.

It was easier that way. Easier to focus on NEWT prep and full moons and patrol shifts with James than to think about your hands in someone else’s. Her laugh in another man’s home. Your eyes, that once looked at him like he mattered, softening for someone with a stronger name and a brighter future.

Worst of all, it was his own fault. He'd watched you walk away and hadn’t said a thing. Had sat there like a coward while you poured your heart out and then gently shoved it back into your chest, cracked and bleeding.

And now you were engaged. Engaged. He couldn’t even say the word aloud. The Prophet announcement had hit him like a brick to the ribs. Not that he told anyone. He’d stared at your name in print and then turned on his heel and walked away like it hadn’t cleaved him clean down the middle.

Sirius had tried.

“You’re really not going to talk to her?” he asked that night, legs flung over the arm of the couch in the Gryffindor common room, watching Remus with a look that bordered on worry.

“What would be the point?” Remus muttered, flipping a page of his textbook without reading a word.

“I don’t know, mate. Maybe to say ‘congrats on ruining both your lives.’” Remus didn’t even blink, and Sirius groaned loudly. “You’re such a bloody idiot.”

“Thanks.”

“No, I mean it.” He swung upright and tossed a cushion at Remus’ chest. “You’re the cleverest person I know. You could’ve said anything, and instead you gave her a rejection monologue like you were some tragic Victorian poet. You pulled a bloody Darcy and froze.”

Remus set the book down. “Victorian poetry is good. And I didn't know you read.”

Sirius crossed his arms and huffed. “Tell me, what’s more complicated than letting the person you love walk into a marriage she didn’t choose?”

“She did choose it.”

Sirius barked a bitter laugh. “No, mate. She settled for it.”

Remus looked away, jaw tight. “I told her not to love me.”

“You don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to tell someone not to love you and then act shocked when they don’t wait around to be hurt by you.”

The words hit hard because they were true. And because they sounded too much like what Remus told himself every night before sleep finally, finally claimed him. That he didn’t deserve you. That he wasn’t safe. That if you knew everything - how the full moon really felt, what the scars looked like beneath the charm work, how every inch of him was made of shame and grief and fear - you'd leave anyway. So maybe this way, he told himself, it was better.

After all, you chose someone who could promise you a life and a future that wasn’t marked by pain and clawed flesh and whispered rumors.

He stopped eating dinner in the Hall, stopped answering half the questions in class. Even James, who normally let him brood, started to hover, concern knitting his brows every time Remus came back from the library at 3 a.m, pale and twitchy. He’d grown sharper. Quieter. The ache in his chest a constant, gnawing thing. The moon loomed closer each night, but for once, it wasn’t the thing he feared most. What he feared was losing you. Fully. Completely. Watching your life unfold without him in it.

That night, Remus sat in the Astronomy Tower alone, legs dangling over the stone edge, eyes fixed on the stars.

He thought about your first conversation in First Year. You'd been reading upside down on a bench, hair tied in three different knots and a smudge of ink on your nose. He’d sat beside you because you didn’t ask questions. You just looked at him and smiled.

He thought about the way your voice cracked when you said, “I love you.” How you'd stood there trembling and brave, and how he, being coward that he was, had crushed her with silence.

He thought about a life without you, and for the first time, the idea made him sick.

“Are you going to the wedding?” Peter asked over breakfast a few mornings later.

Remus blinked. “What?”

Peter, halfway through a scone, looked mildly confused. “The wedding? McGonagall mentioned it at the staff table. I think they’re letting her finish school early. Her family wants the ceremony before summer starts.” Remus stared at him, numb.

James set down his pumpkin juice. “You okay, Moony?”

Remus was already on his feet.

Because suddenly, it wasn’t about what he deserved. It wasn’t about shame or fear or scars.

It was about you. And if he didn’t fight for you now, he would lose you forever.

...

It wasn't a downpour, but the raindrops felt slow and sorrowful. The sky hung low over the castle, a curtain of grey that matched the heaviness in your chest. Each step on the gravel path felt deliberate, a beat in the funeral march of your heart. You were headed toward the quiet warmth of an expensive dinner you didn’t ask for, with a man you barely know, wearing a smile you stitched together like a wound poorly bandaged.

Your cloak clinged to your shoulders as you ponder your fate. Elias was kind and faithful. He didn't have the dark mark, nor did he preach blood supremacy like he lived for it. In that way, he was a good man. Your parents certainly could have done way worse than this.

Suddenly, he emerged from the mist as if summoned by your heartbeat, his figure carved from damp stone and stormlight. Remus was standing there with rain dripping from the ends of his hair, face pale and drawn, like the ghost of the boy you loved.

And suddenly, the ground didn't feel solid anymore. There are no words at first. You had imagined this moment once. A hundred times, even, but not like this. Not with him looking at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time and the last all at once.

You wondered if the rain is hiding his tears. Or if he was simply past the point of crying. You couldn't tell. His eyes were hollowed out like someone who’s been awake for countless nights.

The silence grew sharp around you, edged like broken glass, before Remus decided to speak.

"Please don't go see him," his voice sounded small.

"You don't get to choose that." You retorted, but everything seemed to drown out in the sound of the rain and your heart beating in your chest.

“I know! I just…” He stepped closer, as if proximity could mend what he’s broken. “I have to say something before it’s too late.”

“You’re months too late.”

“No. I was a coward. I didn’t say it then, but I... I have to say it now.”

You shake your head, rain dripping from your lashes. “Say what, Remus? That you changed your mind?”

He swallows. “That I love you.”

For a second, the only sound is the rain tapping against the cobblestones, and the ragged rhythm of your heart cracking open again.

“No.” Your voice was hoarse. “You don’t get to say that to me now.”

“I mean it.” Remus pleaded.

“Where was this-” Your voice broke. “Where was this when I was begging you to care? When I stood in front of you and gave you every part of me, and all you said was I’m sorry? You're bloody selfish, Rem.”

His expression shattered. “I didn’t think I was enough,” he whispers. “I thought you'd be safer without me. That you deserved someone better.” You scoffed, but he continued. “You were the only thing I ever wanted. When I saw that Prophet announcement I felt like I fell through ice.”

"Well, you came back alive, didn't you?" You blinked through the blur of tears and rain. “I tried to stop loving you, Remus, Merlin, every time I thought about you my life flashed before my eyes."

“I know,” he said desperately. “And I let you go. But I... I can’t stand the thought of you marrying him. Not when I know you don’t love him.”

“You don’t know anything,” you snapped, but your voice wavered. You were shaking, but not from the cold.

“I know you still wear the bracelet I gave you,” he said softly. “Even when you think no one notices.” You glanced down, and sure enough, the woven threads are faded, nearly threadbare. You had forgotten it was still there. “I know,” he adds, “that every time I walk away, I wish I’d turned around.”

He stepped forward tentatively. “I’m so sorry.”

You let the silence stretch between you, throbbing like a bruise.

“I’m not forgiving you, Rem.” you whispered, voice low and shaking. “Not yet.”

“I don’t need you to.” His eyes shone. “I just need you to know that I’ll wait, dove. For however long it takes.”

You glanced to the darkened tiles before your eyes rose to meet the boy who flinched from love because he thought it was a weapon. The boy who let silence answer for him because shame spoke louder. The boy who finally came back.

And you, the girl who always ran, you stayed.

“I’m not going to marry Elias,” you whisper.

Relief crashes over Remus' face like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. “You still love me?” he asks, barely audible, almost insecure.

Instead of answering, you closed the distance and placed a tentative kiss on his cheek. You swore you could feel his muscles tensing from your touch, but eventually he relaxed and a soft hand rested on your waist.

The kiss that followed wasn't sweet or gentle, but raw and desperate. A stitched-up wound that dared to be opened again. It tasted like rain and ruin and the faintest edge of redemption. When it ends, you’re both breathing like you had survived something... and maybe you had.

Rain still clung to your lashes, but the storm inside you had quieted. In his arms, time unraveled, looping through every bruise and every beautiful mistake that brought you to finally be with him.

"Rem?"

"Yes, dove?"

"Can we go back to the dorms?" You asked almost sheepishly. "It's freezing out here." With a quiet laugh, Remus took out his wand and summoned an umbrella from Merlin-knows-where, holding it over the both of you and wrapping his free arm around your shoulders, letting you lean on him as the two of you walked back towards the Castle.

end

xx dreamtheatre requests are open!!

[curiosity-killed]

Would love to hear your thoughts on atfots… the plot really surprised me given how the last book ended but overall it felt like a mixed bag to me

*cradles ur face tenderly in my hands* babycakes u have opened a can of worms

I'm not even going to pretend that this will be short or coherent so tl;dr: if I'm looking for a fun AU, I turn to ATFOTS; if I'm looking for canon compliant, meaningful sequels to HOTE, I turn to fanfiction.

General disclaimer that here be spoilers for ATFOTS and that while I don't intend this to be lambasting ATFOTS by any means, it's not the most positive review. So like, don't read below if you a) want to avoid spoilers or b) enjoyed the book, probably?

I think there are roughly 2 main categories of critique I have for ATFOTS, with a third just being the catchall for anything I miss and/or me yelling about the things that matter most to me lol so:

I. Sequel Sins

I am generally not a fan of sequels primarily because I think they tend to fall into a lot of similar traps such as overexplaining, inconsistent characterization, and undermining their own themes. This may be a product of growing up in love with sprawling series that all wound up basically having the same formula. ANYWAY.

Overexplaining: ATFOTS starts off by reintroducing Cliopher Mdang. My good sir. The POV character for the other doorstopper novel that came before (& which I love). I get the desire to make a sequel accessible to people who haven't read the first book but ATFOTS feels consistently like it's holding your hand very gently and bending down to make sure you're getting its full sincere eye contact and talking very slowly. I don't have a copy of the book on me to pull quotes, but it's especially flagrant in the first couple chapters.

Inconsistent characterization: WHOO BOY. Cliopher is so old! No he's young again! Now he's middle-aged! I have mixed feelings on the characterization overall—Rodin, for instance, came a bit out of left field—and most of it comes down to the way I loved the characters in HOTE and then in ATFOTS they all felt...a bit flatter and a bit caricaturized and a bit less true.

Undermining themes: The character thing comes in hard here IMO. One of the major threads of HOTE is Kip shaping his own path of success and receiving acknowledgment from his loved ones for his unique, uncommon route. And then ATFOTS comes in and is like ACTUALLY we're going to overwrite that with this GRAND and MYTHOLOGICAL story that also conveniently follows closely the story that will be familiar to your family. This isn't to say there isn't value in that type of story, but it definitely cheapens (imo) the thematic value of HOTE. And this is true for...kind of a lot of the stories' themes. ATFOTS seems to want to be "HOTE themes but bigger and better" and in doing so, kind of falls flat in delivery imo.

II. ATFOTS-Specific Pro/Con

Alright now onto a little more specific issues. This will be brief bc I think they're pretty self-explanatory lol

Con: Overall, I think ATFOTS tries to do too many things. I love a good book with many plotlines (see: erha my beloved) but ATFOTS' structure felt borderline episodic rather than building together into a satisfying reveal/culmination.

Pro: I'll get into Kip's sexuality below but do love the concept of fanoa

Con: It felt like a lot of tidbits of "oh ACTUALLY this was happening all along in HOTE I just didn't mention it"—see the comment that started this all around humming Aurora—in a way that felt less like a delightful little revelation and more like VG retroactively trying to incorporate things she hadn't decided on till that moment. Also feel this way about Ludvic's fam reveal but I'll get into that below.

Pro/Con: While I think the writing structure was a little tighter than HOTE (I'm sorry, I love Kip and I love HOTE but there were like 200 pages of having the same conversation over again) (maybe not actually 200. possibly 20. still.), girlie REALLY needed a copy edit. Like. I will copy edit ur book Ms. Goddard for u (I am cheap) but please let me fix the errors.

III. Getting My Grubby Little Gay Hands All Over this Book

aka personal preference shit that is entirely my opinion without critique for the writing quality but nonetheless are part of my critique

I love HOTE and I love HOTE principally for three four main categories: The Household (and Them), civil service, being The One Who Left, and ASEXUALITY BABEY. There are other aspects I love, of course, but these are kind of the big non-negotiables for me and four that ATFOTS kinda...did dirty imo.

In terms of the Household, HOTE gave us these middle-aged dudes who are pretty much defined and fulfilled by their dedication to their job to the exclusion of most other things. Kip has family but it's not family that really understands him most of the time and it's family that is very far away (*this will come up again). The rest of them don't have family outside of the household. They are very sincerely found/forced thru work family in a way that feels both very natural and blessedly free of nuclearization. They love each other and understand each other** in a way that none of them really have access to outside of this group.

And then ATFOTS (and admittedly RPA) comes along and is like "Ludvic has a dad! Conju's sister and boytoy are alive! Rodin has a devoted penpal!" in a way that feels a BIT like pairing off everyone so that the main couple can be together. Which like. I love Kip/Fitzroy, don't get me wrong, but I love the household and their weirdly intimate and formal and seemingly smooth as clockwork but internally messy vibe. I was so looking forward to reading about the retirement house and how that unspools (or at least thinking a lot about it in the way of the blorbo in the microwave) before ATFOTS.

So much of the heart of HOTE is the idea of community and connection (or isolation) and ATFOTS mostly veers away from that both thru the pairing off and through the things like Kip's solo adventures. It also, in some ways, sort of undermines some of the characters' core traits, such as Ludvic's devotion. Ludvic being a stout, unflinching companion for HR because he believes in him and sees the true man behind the Serenity is imo very different from Ludvic being an unflagging companion because he views HR as his uncle. Idk about y'all but family duty and personal devotion from choice are two different things in my experience.

On their own, they aren't bad but they are disappointing when compared to the aspects of HOTE I loved and would have hoped to see expanded upon in the sequel.

Kip's experience in civil service is also really important to me (literally made me more patient and cheerful at work when I was actively envisioning setting a plague of frogs loose upon my supervisor's house so like. Significant Importance to Me.)! This will not be articulate (I've legit been starting and deleting this sentence for like 5 min) bc it's very near and dear to my heart but the ideas of a) choosing to take a harder path, that is outside your community/family's conception of "normal" because you believe it is good and worthy, b) trying to improve a shitty system because you believe it can be made to better serve the people, and c) learning from both systems—are! just! very important to me okay. And not something I see a lot in fiction, but especially not in my most beloved of monstrously large fantasy novels.

And then ATFOTS is just JK time for an epic fantasy romp! and that's cool but that's not why I loved the first book! that's not the right tone at all!!! if i wanted an epic fantasy romp I would pick up Iron Widow but I wanted the bureaucracy D: (shoutout to ao3 user alfgifu for giving me the bureaucracy and also sorry for all the nonsense comments)

This is also super closely tied to Being the One Who Left tbh because well. Me. But one of the core elements of HOTE—the part that actually first snagged me and pulled my attention in—is that Kip is the one who left his community behind for no good reason to chase a weird dream instead of settling down and following the normal path to success.

*eyeing my high school classmates who are all settled down with 2.5 kids and starting photography businesses on the side while living within 20 minutes of where they grew up* Huh I Wonder Why This is Relatable

At the heart of being the one who left is this tug between guilt and desire/love/duty/curiosity/whatever pull factor. In HOTE, Kip is pushed to stay home by his duty to his community, his love of his family, and his family's own pressure. He's pulled to stay in the service by his duty to the world/government, his love of his found family, and by the urge to do more, to make things better as much as he can. In both places, he's not fully understood and when he's in either location, he misses the other. The importance is the tug, the dual identity, the sense of always being partially understood and partially misunderstood in different ways depending on the ground you're standing on. I could...very literally, write essays on each of these last items but I am trying to wrap it up bc I should actually be coding rn whoops

ATFOTS blots this out by transforming his Solaara experience into, basically, Just A Job. A job he cares about and can be proud of, sure, but just the job. It really...kind of aggressively, ignores the relationships and life Kip has made there in favor of focusing solely on this glorious return to home while conveniently giving everyone else people to be with instead of the household. which I'm sure my mom would like but ANYWAY

and now, last but decidedly not least OR clearest *drum roll pls* ASEXUALITY BABEY

okay so I will caveat this by saying different rep serves different people, there are infinitely many ways to be asexual, etc etc that all being said ATFOTS' handling of Kip's sexuality just left me a little...dissatisfied? And tbh I struggle to articulate it because I feel like it probably comes down to "this isn't the rep I would like but I can see where it's meaningful to others."

Like I can justify it—a lifelong commitment as fanoa is described is different than a romantic or sexual relationship, it's entirely fair to have a character want that commitment without risking it by mixing in romance/etc., it's good to have a devoted and platonic relationship at the core where normally a (straight) romantic/sexual relationship would be

and yet. I caught myself making faces at the book half the time when dealing with their relationship. Some of it feels a little like trying to Do All The Rep in one go—Kip's tingly fuzzy feelings and (mostly) lack of romantic attraction, neutrality around sex and aversion to sex in this relationship—in a way that almost definitely describes actual humans out in the world but feels a little...off in a fictional character? My general wish for asexual characters is getting to be in devoted relationships where the allosexual partner(s) is willing to not have sex and still be committed but I caught myself being like "y'all just fuck already" in ATFOTS which is uhhhh not the norm

tbf my ideal Kip/Fitzroy retirement relationship is basically just them (and the household) all living together and everyone on the outside kind of being ???? is it a sex thing???? while they contentedly carve out their own life yet again but this time with more touch and laughter and song.

Actually having gotten to this point, I feel like my main sticking point with ATFOTS sexuality is that Sex Is A Big Thing in the book while never being super effectively resolved imo and also not actually being a big thing to the characters in HOTE. Like one of these dudes has been celibate for 1000 years or so and another one has had like 3 brief lovers across the same amount of time. I think there are some other things we could focus on here

[qrovidcore]

Trymon "The world is not as logical as I would like it to be therefore I will remake it in better order" versus Rincewind "The world is not as logical as I would like it to be therefore I will try to explain to an uncaring world how things could be made better"

Not quite there, but. As and when you read Sourcery, let there be Conversations.

ONCE AGAIN YOU ARE SO CORRECT ABOUT THEM. THAT’S THEM THAT’S THEM THAT’S THEM THAT’S THEM THAT’S THEM YOU’RE RIGHT AND THAT’S IT AND THIS IS WHY I CANNOT THINK ABOUT RINCEWIND WITHOUT SOBBING IN A PUDDLE ;-;

we are friends now. we are frolicking in the fields holding hands. i am in equal parts terrified and excited to read sourcery, if the spoilers i have are anything to go by. rest assured that once i get there, there WILL be Conversations.

[ceramicbeetle]

I’d apologize for being pedantic but if you write a book for autistic people i feel you must expect it. anyway why is it okay for other kids to express boredom by visually disengaging from the conversation but not the autistic reader?

[repotting]

people who don't normally read sci fi have such bad taste in sci fi 😭

[scionshtola]

what is the cause of the divide between people who say fic and people who say fanfic

[obsesssedblerd]

You look up from your book to see your husband standing over the bassinet with his arms crossed, his brow raising as he looks down inside of it with a tiny scowl. He stays like that for about a minute. You sit up in your shared bed, then call out to him. “Ryo.” 

“Hm.” He doesn’t look up. 

“May I ask what you are doing?” 

“The little brat is staring,” Sukuna says matter-of-factly. “I am simply staring at her in return.” 

Inside of the bassinet, your baby daughter coos. Her scarlet eyes—exactly like her father’s—glitter with interest. You hear her giggle, and you scoff lightly and return your gaze to your book. “She thinks you’re playing a game.” 

“I am doing no such thing.” 

You flip a page. “Put a hand over your face for a few seconds.” He doesn’t respond, but you know he listens. “M’kay, now lift.” There’s silence for a few seconds, then your daughter bursts into a fit of giggles. 

Sukuna rolls his eyes. “I do not understand what is so entertaining about that.” When you look up again, you see that he’s covering his face again, then revealing himself to get the same reaction from the baby.

“It’s called peek-a-boo. It’s a game most babies love to play.” 

The little princess babbles as she lifts her arms up, and Sukuna tilts his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

You snicker. “One: You’ll figure out what she’s saying the more you talk with her. Two: She wants you to pick her up.” 

He sighs dramatically, then reaches into the bassinet to pick up the small girl. Though she has her father’s eyes, she has your hair, the shape of your nose, and your ears. She also has your fearlessness, because she smiles directly in the face of the king of curses. Now at his eye level, she reaches her arms towards him excitedly. “What is it now, you brat? I’m already carrying you.” 

He looks over at you in question, and your smile grows. “She wants to touch your face,” you say. 

“Why?” 

“Because she’s a baby, and she’s curious.” 

Sukuna pulls her closer, and once in range, his daughter lays her tiny hands against his marked face. She giggles more, and you can see his eyes soften. “Hmph. You have your mother’s smile.” 

— — — —

The next morning, you walk into the kitchen where you hear Sukuna speaking with someone. When he turns to the side, you see your daughter nestled in the crook of one of his muscular arms, staring up at him as he concluded whatever story he was telling her. 

“...At the end of the battle, only I remained. Victory was mine.” 

The baby babbles excitedly, and Sukuna scoffs. “Ha, you will do no such thing. How do you expect to join me in battle when you aren’t even a year old, brat?” 

Her face scrunches in what looks like annoyance, and she repeats to him what he taught her the night before. “Hmph.” 

You burst into laughter, and Sukuna raises a brow at the little girl in his arms. “Great. Your mother’s smile, and her attitude.”

[headcanon-that]

hc that jason todd has an instagram/youtube/tiktok account called gatsbyreviews (named after jay gatsby) where he posts reviews of various fictional media (mostly books). thing is, he always gives the reviews in the tone of a pissed-off drill sergeant explaining something for the third time to a particularly bone-headed group of rookies. so even when the review is positive, he sounds like he's passionately defending it in court. he does all his videos in a hoodie and sunglasses, so his identity isn't clear (especially since any viewers who could have recognized him somehow would know he's, y'know, dead) but the visible scars on the lower half of his face are an endless source of intrigue to people in the comments. someone once asked how tall he was, and he responded with a video of him silently stacking up books until the pile matched his height, then standing next to the pile for several seconds before playing jenga with it and eventually knocking it over, as jenga usually ends up going. another youtuber uses the books to find jason's height (the guy in question is real, his name is shane fanx and he's known as the asian height guy) and when it's revealed that he's fucking 6'3 all his viewers start losing their minds. they talk more than ever about this massive, scarred man with the biteable thighs and passion for literature. he gains thousands of followers overnight, people are thirsting in his comments, and jason's just like "hey wtf have i gotten myself into"

on the bright side, he stops thinking he's the ugliest member of the family. after all, when hundreds or thousands of random people on the internet are thirsting over you without seeing your full face, it's hard to keep thinking you're hideous.

[seat-safety-switch]

When we were kids, we didn't have access to cool power tools. Every summer, when the soapbox derby race was coming, we'd break into my neighbour's garage while he was at work. Then, we'd use his drill press, lathe, table saw, all the fun tools. Over the course of a week, a race car was produced, which is more than the workshop ever made during the rest of the year.

Sure, we could have asked him if we could have borrowed his tools, but no doubt he would want to be there to supervise. And then he'd want to help. We'd never get done while we were busy indulging the suburb-tinged fantasies of someone who didn't take wood shop and chose instead to idly worship at the altar of Television Presents: The Fantasy of Bob Vila in adulthood.

One year, Old Man Garrett got a security system. Probably this was because Ted (fucking Ted) didn't clean up the sawdust that one time like we asked him to. The old man must have seen the footprint, and realized that he did not wear size-seven Nikes. Child thieves, casing his precious table saw! Now, our humble breaking-and-entering had become significantly more difficult than "reach a coat hanger under the door and pull the emergency release."

With the help of some of the high-school kids who were taking electronics class, we managed to defeat the security system. We did so using an ancient Japanese technique known as "distract Old Man Garrett while he's setting it, and then cut the wires to the panel." I think it loses something in translation, but you get the gist of it. That year's car was especially sweet.

In adulthood, I got drunk and bragged to some work buddies about our little scam. They responded in abject horror, because I was still occupying the weird hump in the middle of a normal distribution of "acceptable crimes." It was terrifying to them to see one of their own, one of the suburbanites, speak openly about largely-harmless property crimes. What if we had been hurt, they shrieked. Around the water cooler, I would become a pariah, unless I could make amends.

I did hunt down Old Man Garrett after that, still feeling the sting of rejection. He was still on the property, and he still had a beautiful collection of immaculate cabinet-making tools in the garage. I rang his doorbell and, when he answered, I told him the whole story. He laughed.

"I knew it was you dumb shits from the beginning," he bragged. "Fucking Ted -"

"Fucking Ted," I echoed, unconsciously.

"Fucking Ted left his library book on building race cars behind on the workbench that first year. You didn't let him drive, did you?"

I shook my head. "We ran the car into him if the hockey-stick brakes ever failed."

We had a good laugh about the whole thing that evening, and I returned to work with my soul cleansed. It's just a pity Ted didn't know how bad he actually was at crime, before he tried to knock over that liquor store and all.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

ring pop proposal ♡

fem reader, pure fluff, childhood friends to lovers lemme alone do not perceive me yk the drill by now, lil self indulgent fic cus i love childhood friends to lovers and puppy crushes, polar opposite’s trope, this reeks of my oc x canon katsu ship sooooo shh shh do not perceive.

the first person who realizes katsuki has a crush on you is his mom because when she comes to pick him up one day from kindergarten he suddenly mentions you. it’s an innocent little interaction he had with you that mitsuki doesn’t think much about at first, simply surprised her son managed to befriend someone outside of his little group of friends until he starts mentioning you more and more.

soon you’re the only thing he talks about and katsuki even starts begging her to have you come over to play. mitsuki is extremely curious to know what kind of person you are to have been able to enchant her son the way you have, she says it’s fine as long as your parents agree.

you’re a sweet little thing, almost the complete opposite of her little devil’s spawn. you’re polite and a little shy when you ask “ is it okay if i come to play at katsu’s house, please miss katsuki’s mom ?” and how could she say no to you ? she pulls at your cheek lovingly and her son almost snarls at her.

“no touchin’ !” he snarks, pulling you against him like you were his teddy bear.

mitsuki was the first to realize her son had a crush on you when you were always around. when he found something cool during a class trip you were there and whenever he was upset it was always because you had argued about something irrelevant that seemed so much bigger in the eyes of a child.

she realized because katsuki had, and in some ways, will always be rowdy. he’s rough and temperamental and moody—basically, he can be quite the brat. (she wonders where he gets that from a lot) but he’s different with you.

he’ll always be a little rough around the edges but it’s the thought that counts. he drags you around a little too hard but it's to show you something he knows you'd like and you repay him by being patient with him and letting him drag you around to his hearts content. he let’s you use the crayons he’d just denied another classmate seconds ago and when it’s really early in the morning and you’re still sleepy unlike your more energetic friend, he waits for you. sitting with you in the reading corner quietly commenting on a little bit of everything in the book you’re sharing until you’re awake enough to start the day because katsuki wanted you to be together through anything no matter what, starting the day without you was simply unimaginable.

you offer him your kindness and he repays you with his loyalty. acting like your guard dog, protecting you from everything and everyone he considers a threat to you. he goes a bit overboard but it’s the thought that counts and he’s definitely got the right intentions.

“ i’m g’nna marry yn when i grow up !” katsuki proclaims from the backseat of the car after mitsuki had come to pick him up. she looks at him through the rear view mirror only to see he’s not even looking at her, looking out the window somewhat longingly, watching as his school fades away from his sight, further and further and further away from you. she smiles to herself.

“yeah ?” she asks “yeah !” he responds proudly, crossing his arms “ i asked yn if she wanted to be my wife an’ she said yeah, so we’re gettin’ married !”

“huh. how’d you propose ? you don’t have a ring.” she jests.

katsuki responds immediately and exclaims he does have one, shuffling around to reach for something in his pocket. he pulls out a plastic ring pop holder, the candy on top is missing and mitsuki can imagine what happened to it.

“gave her one of these !”

“so that’s why you had me buy those from the store last time,” she hums. “ you ate it, though.”

katsuki tries to roll his eyes but just ends up looking up and to the side, mitsuki recognizes it as him trying to mimic what she does a lot and she snorts.

“well duh, we both did ! ‘f i kept it in my pocket it woulda gotten gross !” he defends. mitsuki simply responds with a hum, smile on her face growing larger as she hears her son happily chatting about the rest of his day with you.

she knows her katsuki is hard to handle. extremely so. but when she sees the way you both interact she can tell something is there. you don’t ‘handle’ him. you like being around him. you like playing and talking with him, she sees how happy you make him whenever you come over for playdates. he holds your hand when you get scared and you hug him tight and beam when you see him again after he’s gotten over a nasty cold.

she can tell you make her son happy and he does the same for you in the way children do with pinky promises and shy cheek kisses, kisses over tiny wounds and refusing to be separated whenever the rowdier one of you both gets his recess time taken away for being naughty.

mitsuki hopes this crush, this love you have for her son can grow along with you. she hopes you’ll stick around as katsuki grows up more and potentially more rowdy and rougher around the edges but even more enamored with you. and with the way her son is squirming around in his seat and tugging at his seatbelt, giddy about you accepting his ring pop proposal, she has a funny feeling you’ll be sticking around for a long time.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Other Misc. Rambling Thoughts on the topic:

(~ !!!!!!!!! if you're just reblogging this post for the Poll section, please reblog the original post without this addition* lol. ~)

(*not that there's anything super personal or weird about the addition, just that it's meant to be kind of casual Side Commentary, not really part of the Main Point Of The Poll, so it would feel kind of weird for it to be emphasized by being included in reblogs unless the reblogs were explicitly about the side commentary, etc..... if that makes sense.. ANYWAY!)

It's neat to read the written descriptions that people are mentioning in the tags, since it's almost like I can see or conceptualize the idea as well, but it's just.. I'm not SEEING it.

Like for example: I can imagine a vase, it's a muted mint green and slightly translucent, elaborate golden birds sprawled down the side in streaks of thin rough watery paint, the base material shimmers gently in the light, there's a small chip where it's cracked on the handle, etc, etc. .. But as I'm thinking about this I see literally nothing.

It seems like perhaps some people can visualize an object first, and THEN describe what they see. But I sort of work backwards. I am building the object in my mind, I can never see it, but it's a collection of concepts. Rather than visualizing all details as a whole at once, I am adding each detail one by one, building onto the IDEA of the thing.

The vase doesn't have a crack on the handle because I just automatically visualized a vase with a crack. It was more that I cognitively understand the concept of a vase, what they tend to be made out of, how they tend to look and feel, the properties they have. So based purely on that knowledge, I can imagine "a chip is something that a vase could have, it would look this way and behave this way" - more like... I'm constructing a bullet point Fact List about the object rather than seeing it.

So if you tell me to imagine an object, I can, in a way, imagine that object in great detail, but it's just.. I'm not SEEING those details, more just knowing it's qualities in a purely conceptual way. Sometimes in the tags when people are like "yeah I can see the skin of the apple, texture, little dots on the surface" it's like… I can imagine that too, I can know it's there, but just with no visual attached.

I guess rather than SEEING something and going ''ah. I know what this looks like because I have seen it''. I more just skip that visual step entirely and go ''I know what this looks like, I just randomly have a list of information about the concept in my mind.'' etc. Maybe similar to how sometimes in dreams, even though a house may look completely different and be in an entirely fake 'dreamlike' environment, you just somehow KNOW intuitively that it's meant to be your childhood home or something. Even when it looks nothing like it in reality. There's a built-in base knowledge of the properties or information of some things within a dreaming mind, etc.

--

This also makes me wonder about like.. how storytelling and myth is so important to cultures all across time. Or how this could tie also into concepts of religion.. etc. etc. If so many people really can kind of conjure these vivid images in their mind, then maybe that's part of why certain things are so meaningful to them? Like a "religious experience" being something you can actually really SEE/feel/lingering with you in your head, rather than just abstract words on a page, detached purely theoretical ideas, etc... hmmm

.

Plus also just for average emotional stuff too, even outside of broader cultural conceptual attachments..

Like, I don't think there's a direct 1 to 1 link (obviously not all people with mental illnesses that significantly reduce their emotional or expressive capacity also MUST have aphantasia or vice versa), but it's interesting as someone who DOES also have a much more lessened emotional range/pretty flat affect/etc. etc. to think like.. Maybe I WOULD be more emotional, in a way, if I could have these vivid experiences..?

Perhaps memories would hold deeper significance if they could really stay with me vividly. Or storytelling would evoke more of a deep emotional reaction to me if I could really picture and feel the things that are going on. If things were more TANGIBLE in my brain, rather than always merely conceptual highly abstracted ideas.

Kind of like, it's probably easier to get over the death of a pet or something, if after not seeing them for an hour you already don't remember what they looked like (beyond just a vague fact list of traits), and you have no vivid memories or mental reminders of them (beyond just factual information stores). COGNTIVIELY you can appreciate the idea of their absence, of course, you still miss them, but there's just no remaining visceral sensory ties. A very "out of sight, out of mind" sort of thing in terms of attachments, memories, emotions, etc. Maybe certain things are easier to "get over", when you're not having constant mental sensory reminders that occasionally rekindle your feelings about the event or etc.??

(like for example, maybe someone could remain angry about an argument longer if they could vividly replay it in their head over and over again. VS just like.. 'Yes I can factually recall the fact I had an argument, and I do have knowledge stored about what precisely was said, but any sort of sensory data such as sights/smells/feelings, etc. from the actual moment of the event are long gone and can never be conjured again in my mind." etc.)

Which again, I think lessened emotional permanence and image permanence in the mind are NOT inherently linked, can all be caused by different things for different people. And, since I can't visualize anything in my head, maybe I'm misunderstanding how it happens and the effect it may have on stuff like remembering things you miss or replaying arguments, etc. etc. But it's still a little interesting to think about, if they could influence each other to some degree.... :0c --

Lastly, It's also weird because I'm actually pretty good at estimating distance and spaces? I can quickly assemble furniture without an instruction manual, pretty easily have a concept of how much space a chair may take up in a room, how two mechanical parts might fit together - BUT, I am literally not actually visualizing anything. I cannot see 3D objects in my mind at ALL. It's like.. just based on the pure List Of Facts About Things Which I Have Observed.. I can intuitively go "oh this works like this/this is this size" just because.. I know it's that size. I don't have to see anything to know..?

But then on the other hand, I'm terrible at directions without a map (I guess because a 3d outdoor environment has WAY more complexity than like.. "Will this square fit into another square?"etc. lol ).

BUT, I also draw/sculpt/etc. entirely without references, and seem to do mostly okay at that..? Like.. I can't even remember the last time I actually used a reference or looked at anything whilst drawing. It's all muscle memory, and me just adjusting as I go until something "looks right" on paper, I never have a set image in my head (or external reference) before hand.. Hrmm....

AND.. I used to say that I had a photographic memory when I was younger, which I know NOW is not true (I always thought it was just an expression, not that people could literally see things in a photographic way). But what I was describing is, I do often associate information with imagery, just... without imagery....

Like "Oh, I know that I took my medicine earlier today because I have a distinct memory, a snapshot of a moment in time, of me rattling the pill bottle in my hands as I looked up at a stop sign while in the back seat of a car". When I say this, I can't ACTUALLY see/feel/hear a pill bottle, or vividly picture a stop sign, but it's more just a factual recall, of. Even though I don't see these things, I know they happened, the information of them happening (me hearing a sound and also looking at a stop sign at the same time) has been stored in my brain as a memory, a collection of linked facts. --

As for other senses, I cannot taste or feel anything in my head AT ALL.. wild that some people mention that. I mean, again, I can have a purely factual recall as if reading a textbook, knowing the information of 'X item typically has X texture, therefore I can imagine what it may be like to feel it' or 'X usually has this taste' etc. - but I can never actually experience those senses in any capacity in my mind alone. I would say audio is my strongest mental sense (maybe a 2.5 or 3 (if it were translated onto the above scale where 1 is most vivid and 5 is nothing)), then visual (4.5 at most, usually 5), and then taste and smell and such are just complete 5, absolutely nothing, I didn't even know people could experience taste or feeling just in their mind alone.. lol...

I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :

-

(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )

[seumyo]

akaashi couldn’t be nonchalant as people made him out to be.

NOTE. Inspired by @/nethsukii’s post from TikTok!

Everyone always assumed Akaashi was the most level-headed person in the room, nonchalant in some cases, the calm voice amongst the chaos, the unshakeable setter with cool eyes and a brain that always operated two steps ahead.

That reputation didn’t change when he got a girlfriend—it intensified. People whispered about how lucky you were to have someone so composed, thoughtful, emotionally intelligent, and stable. A boyfriend who wouldn’t raise his voice, who’d remember anniversaries without being reminded, who’d bring you tea when you had cramps, and listen to you vent without interrupting.

And okay—yes. Two of those things were completely true.

But the “nonchalant” part? That one was a bit misleading.

Because if you asked Bokuto, or Konoha, or literally any of Akaashi’s closer friends, they’d tell you: he’s anything but nonchalant when it comes to you. Sure, he looks calm, but beneath that is a man whose brain short-circuits when you so much as bat your eyelashes at him thrice rather than twice. He’s an intense romantic disguised as a stoic intellectual. And the intensity isn’t dramatic or grand—it’s absurdly, endearingly specific.

“Did you know you sneeze in three stages?”

You blinked, pausing mid-bite of your grilled cheese sandwich. “What?”

Akaashi, seated across from you at his kitchen counter, wore his usual composed expression. His glasses slid a bit down his nose, but he didn’t push them up. He was too focused on you. “Three stages,” he repeated. “You do this little build-up thing first—your eyebrows scrunch, your nose wiggles like a bunny, and then you hold your breath for a second. That’s stage one.”

You stared at him with an expression of genuine confusion. “You studied my sneeze?”

“I observe,” he corrected smoothly, reaching for his cup of tea like this was just another normal afternoon conversation and not borderline concerning.

“Stage two is the sneeze itself. It’s never dainty. It’s loud. Forceful. Passionate.”

“That’s a weird adjective.”

“Am I wrong?” he asked, not missing a beat.

“Yes?” You looked down at your sandwich. “I… don’t know how to properly respond to that.”

Akaashi gave the faintest smile, his eyes flickering with mischief. “Stage three is the little sigh you do afterward. Like you just survived a great war. Then you sniff once and pretend it didn’t just shake the room.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a shrug, “but it’s endearing. You sneeze like a bazooka. It’s adorable.”

“No one’s ever called a bazooka adorable.”

“I’m a trailblazer,” he said matter-of-factly.

-

There were his journal entries—yes, journal entries—about you. You found one once by accident, tucked between a book of poetry and a volleyball strategy book. He didn’t write about major milestones like one might expect. No, you found out your boyfriend documented the way your nose crinkled when you lied, or how your left hand twitches a little when you were anxious.

There was an entire paragraph dedicated to the way you wrapped your scarf, how it was “disarmingly efficient, yet always crooked to the left, like her heart’s trying to lean on someone without asking.”

Who says that?

Akaashi Keiji, apparently.

He once paused mid-sentence in a phone call with Bokuto because you, half-asleep and grumpy, had mumbled something unintelligible from the other room (you had come over for a project and fell asleep after lunch). “She sounds like a disgruntled possum when she’s waking up,” he said dreamily. “It’s charming.”

...

“Akaashi. You okay?”

“More than okay.”

-

Akaashi even adjusted his wardrobe—not that he admitted it. You mentioned once, half-joking, that he looked really good in dark green, and suddenly half of his winter clothes were moss, olive, or emerald. You caught on when he started showing up with sleeves rolled halfway up because you once muttered something about liking the veins in his arms.

“Yum,” you murmur, squeezing his triceps before bursting into a fit of laughter after realizing how embarrassing you’re acting.

But you learned long ago that there was never such a thing as too embarrassing when Akaashi acted the same, if not to a greater degree. He wasn’t nonchalant. Not even close. He was... silly.

A helpless romantic who never made grand proclamations or public gestures but instead memorized the oddest, most mundane things about you like it was part of some sacred text.

And yet, he wasn’t clingy nor weird to the point of you being uncomfortable. He knows your boundaries well. He wasn’t overbearing or overly expressive. He just noticed. Quietly, constantly, lovingly. He didn’t tell you he loved you every day in words, but he knew the way you curled your pinky when you drank from your mug.

He knew you got cold at 3 a.m. even in the summer and always made sure a blanket was within reach. He noticed when you rewatched the same ten-minute section of your favorite show because you liked the background music.

He remembered the exact number of sugars you took in your coffee and the fact that your favorite mug was slightly chipped, but you used it anyway because it was a gift from your cousin. He once stopped mid-sentence while talking to Bokuto on the phone just to say, “She’s humming the Sailor Moon theme in the shower again,” with a fondness so full it made Bokuto gag.

Man, he was whole-body deep into loving you.

-

How Akaashi often spends a lot of time thinking about things that weren’t even that serious.

Like how, that one time, you laughed at someone else’s joke for a few seconds longer than how he’d normally get from you. He doesn’t even get jealous when someone’s flirting with you because he knows—you know—and you’re both trusting of one another.

But to hear you laugh for 1.7 seconds longer?

You might as well give up now, because this man is persistent.

“Are you seriously keeping time now?” you asked, laughing at his behavior.

“Yes, my dad raised me to be competitive.”

“Don’t bring him into this, Keiji,” you laughed.

He looked at you as if you hung the moon and individually painted the stars in the beautiful night sky itself. “You’re very pretty,” he says. “I think I might experience a heart attack.”

You hugged him so hard you nearly knocked his glasses off.

-

When you painted your nails—usually some soft pastel or neutral tone—he would watch intently, chin in his hand like an art critic evaluating a masterpiece. At first, you thought he was just being polite (to try and appear interested, since guys don’t usually find interest in these sorts of things), but when you noticed the way he always commented on the color and style like it was a whole personality trait, you realized it wasn’t an act.

“Oh, that shade of sage green,” he murmured once. “It makes your fingers look like they’ve been kissed by a forest spirit.”

“What does that even mean?” You laughed.

He blinked, entirely serious. “It’s a compliment.”

“Keiji, I told you. If you’re going through something, you tell me—not just like—act this way.” As a joke, of course.

He laughed too.

Eventually, Akaashi started doing them for you. It began as a fleeting thought—you had been painting your left hand with your non-dominant one, struggling to keep it clean, when he silently plucked the brush from you and started painting with delicate strokes.

“You’re going to mess it up,” you warned.

“I have steady hands,” he said with all the gravitas of a surgeon. “We did this in Home Economics, remember?”

“...Yeah.”

From then on, it became a quiet ritual. You’d sit in his lap or next to him on the bed while he carefully painted your nails (he prefers the first one but isn’t shameless enough to tell you most of the time), brows furrowed in concentration, tongue sometimes poking out as he focused too hard. And every time he picked a color, it came with an elaborate reason.

“This one reminds me of the sky right after it rains in early spring. Soft, muted, but a little hopeful.”

You’d pretend to roll your eyes, but your heart would always flutter. Because you won the boyfriend lottery with him.

Akaashi was just built like that. When you two cooked together, he’d narrate what you were doing like it was a documentary on divine beings. “And now, the goddess stirs the pot, bestowing warmth and nourishment unto mankind.”

“Stop it,” you giggled, flicking water at him. “Don’t narrate it like that. You’re making it sound like a case study.”

“But it’s fun,” he says with a smile.

“You’re so weird.”

“I’m so in love with you.”

And he truly is.

And you believe him.

Akaashi wasn’t nonchalant. He was soft-spoken, yes. Composed, yes. But behind that calm exterior was a boy with a mind full of your quirks and a heart that was overflowing with enough love to swallow you whole. And somehow, that made you feel even more lucky than you already were.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[laufeysvalentine]

i want you.

remus lupin x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ remus x best friend!reader -- or in which you're in love with your best friend, but he's not exactly in love with you back... angst

word count ༄ 3.2k

nora’s notes ༄ eeek my first writing post!! i'm so excited. this is kind of bad but IDC part two will be coming and i swear will be better written okay enjoy!! mwah 💘

“moony!” you sing-song as you twirl into his dorm, lips spread into a wide grin. “we’re leaving for hogsmeade, hurry up.” 

he’s on his bed, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he glances up from his book, suppressing a smile when he sees you. “hi, y/n.” 

he embodies the word comfort, you think. he’s wearing one of his trademark warm wool sweaters, an empty mug of tea by his knee, gray blanket draped across his lap, and that smile. it would be the death of you, you were sure of it. 

“hi,” you respond, clasping his book and setting it onto his bedside table. “c’mon, everyone’s waiting for us downstairs.” 

he sighs so deeply you think he might crack a lung, and loops his pointer finger through one of the belt loops of your jeans to pull you onto his bed. “do we have to?” 

as much as you’d like to stay here with him, you also want to buy more chocolate frogs, so you spring back up, tugging at his hand. “yes, please. i’m low on my candy stock.” 

he groans, letting you pull him off of his bed and out of the dorm. “your sweet tooth is killing me.” 

you shrug. “that’s what you signed up for when you said yes to being friends in first year. now you’re just living with it.” 

he just hums in agreement, letting you wrap your arm around his. remus lupin, your best friend. he’s the kindest man you’ve ever met, let alone known. it would be a lie to say you weren’t completely and utterly in love with him, and even more of a lie to say you hadn’t been since before you were a teenager, even if you didn’t understand it then. but, alas, as soon as you’d admitted it to yourself, you also resolved to never, ever tell him. you were sure he didn’t feel the same about you, and why would you carelessly toss away the best friendship and most understanding person ever just for some feelings? 

and so, you waited and hoped, prayed that it would go away. you would move on and keep your friendship. 

and, of course, you didn’t. 

“y/n!” james calls once he sees the two of you walking down the stairs to where the rest of the marauders are waiting. “finally.” 

“we sent you up like ten minutes ago,” peter complains, frowning. 

you shrug. “oops.” 

remus shifts his arm to settle around your waist, nudging you in front of him. “well, we’re here now, so get a move on.” 

you thread the hand he placed on your stomach with your own, thumb rubbing circles onto his. he smiles down on you, and that smile, oh, lord. you could see it a million times and never have enough. you’d jump over bridges to have him watch you like that all the time. you’d sell your soul to be his, really and truly. and the worst part is, you have no shame about it. merlin, you’re in love. 

—

jelly beans or chocolate frogs, that is the question. you glance at one, then the other, then the other again. your shoulders slump. it’s too hard of a decision. you’re about to cave and get both when you feel warm arms wrap around your waist, a chin settling onto your shoulder. without looking, you press a kiss to remus’ cheek. “hi.” 

“hi,” he replies, inhaling your scent, nose tucked between your ear and your hair. 

“chocolate frogs or jelly beans?” you ask anxiously, holding up the two in front of you. “or both?” 

“both,” he agrees with you, and you can feel the tension slowly leaving him as he stands behind you, entwined with you. 

you nod, happy with his judgment, about to speak when someone beats you to it. 

“remus?” a voice yells from behind, excitement coloring her tone. 

you know who this is without looking too, but you wish you didn’t. remus slowly stands back to his whole height, and the sudden absence of his warmth makes you shiver. you turn just as he does, even if you don’t want to see the girl beaming at him. 

you know her, of course you do. doesn’t everyone know celeste huxley, the most beautiful hufflepuff to grace hogwarts’ campus? angels sing when she walks past, men and women fall to her feet in her wake. she’s worshiped, adored. okay, you’re being dramatic, but still. 

you hate her. 

you hate her silky hair, her evergreen smile, her cesspool of kindness. 

and you hate yourself more for hating her. she’s never been mean to you a day in her life, she couldn’t be mean to anyone even if she tried. but still. she’s who you’ve tried to be your whole life. she is the blueprint, the model with cherry-red high heels you wobble and blister your feet in. she has all Os on her OWLs, victoria’s secret hair, people who love on her like a celebrity. and she’s fucking obsessed with your best friend, of course. she could have anyone in the world, and she picked him. why couldn’t she love sirius or james, like half the girls at the school? why did she have to want remus? 

and the worst part is, she deserves him. he deserves someone as perfect as he is, even if that’s celeste. 

as you swallow down your hatred, you realize she’s started to pull remus away from you, pulling on his sleeve towards the jelly slugs, and you almost lob your stupid chocolate frog at her head. tears sting your eyes and you try your best to blink them back as you watch remus watch you, only half-listening to her blabber. he knows you hate her, and the most sheepish, guilty look comes over his face. you ignore him, putting your candy back, too upset to think about eating it. luckily, you spot sirius in the corner and quickly try to make your way over him when you’re pulled back. 

remus has got ahold of your belt loops again, and you watch him whisper something to celeste before gently removing her hand from his sweater and pulling away. he chose you now, but for how long? the thought chills you, goosebumps prickling your skin, your heart. 

“dove,” he says quietly by your ear. “what happened to your candy?” 

“didn’t want it,” you mumble, walking towards sirius. 

“why not?” he’s dancing around the topic, and both of you know it. 

“not hungry.” 

“i’m sorry.” 

“s’not your fault,” you say. you’re not mad at him, you could never really be mad at him, but you’re upset nonetheless. you push away towards the black-haired boy perusing the shelves. “siri, you done?” 

you link arms with your other friend, leading him out of honeyduke’s, leaving remus trailing behind. 

—

“hi dove.” a voice, and its accompanying owner, peeks out from the doorway into your dorm. “may i come in?” 

“hi rem,” you say in response, beckoning him in, putting your book to the side to let him crawl onto you. “can’t you always?” 

his shoulders sag slightly, slumping into your bed as soon as he reaches it. his head is in your lap, and he closes his eyes once you begin to massage his scalp with your fingers, pressing a kiss to your exposed hipbone next to him. 

you don’t say anything, you just let the silence dance between the two of you. 

he’s so pretty. you brush some of his sandy strands out of his face to let yourself just admire him. the towering giant and all his gentleness. your fingers trace the outlines of his face, the scars that decorate it, all the way down to his right pinky, where he has the cutest tattoo. 

i love you is all you want to say. the words pulse at your throat, begging you to let them free. but you can’t. you can’t lose him. anyone else, sure, you would do it. but not him. not remus, your remus. 

when he wakes, groggy but grounded, you have a hot cup of tea ready by your bed, ready for his consumption. you hand it to him as soon as he’s fully awake, pulling himself off of you to accept the mug. “i don’t deserve you, dovie.” 

“don’t say stuff like that, rem. if anything, you deserve better.” you press a kiss to his cheek, smiling. 

“there’s nobody and nothing better than you,” he promises, hand landing on your lower thigh to massage it gently. you smile, letting the quiet linger between the two of you a little longer before speaking up. 

“you wanna talk about it?” you ask, watching him sip his tea. 

he gives you the most adoring smile, and you want to put it in a box and lock it up and keep it forever. “just tired.” 

“okay,” you say, searching his face to verify what he’s saying. “you can always talk to me, you know.” 

“thank you.” remus is always sincere, it’s one of the things you love about him, but he seems especially sincere now. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, y/n.” 

“and you are to me,” you whisper, eyes dipping to his plush pink lips. you want to kiss him so badly right now, but you know he just means it like a friend, as much as you wish it wouldn’t. 

swallowing, you wipe those ideas away, choosing to rest your head against his fleece sweater-covered shoulder. he drops a kiss onto the top of your head, and you sigh in contentment. this is why you refuse to tell him you love him. you couldn’t live without these moments. 

“there’s a party tonight at nine-ish,” he says softly. his thumb is rubbing circles on your knee. “sirius is dragging me along. will you come?” 

you contemplate it only briefly. “i’m tired, rem. you should go, though.” 

“i’ll stay back with you,” he decides with resolution. your heart melts, it’s sweet of him to want to stay with you, but you want him to have fun. plus, you can feel in how his body coiled with excitement when he talked about it–he wants to go. 

“no, go.” you glare playfully at him. “i won’t forgive you if you don’t.” 

“i’ll stay with you,” he repeats, staring right back at you. “it’s just a party. i’d stay with you forever, you know? you’re my favorite person.” 

“i’ll be mad at you if you don’t go, i swear to merlin,” you egg him on, heart melting. 

“no.” he’s too stubborn for his good. 

“i want to be alone,” you lie. you know he wants to go and you refuse to hold him back. “i might come later on, just not at nine. i’ll be there at ten, maybe.” 

“and i’ll wait for you,” he promises. 

“please, remus.” you put on your saddest tone, gaze up at him pleadingly. “i just need some alone time.” 

“you want to be alone?” he asks cautiously, searching for any hint you may be lying. 

“yes.” you cross your toes, tucked under your quads. 

he’s hesitating, and as if in perfect timing, a knock sounds at your door before a familiar head of black hair peeks through. 

“moony, let’s go. leave poor y/n alone.” sirius clicks his tongue. 

you push remus’ shoulder lightly, gesturing for him to go. he casts one long look at your face, as if memorizing every ridge. 

“she’s not going to change while we’re gone, get a move on,” sirius groans from the door. you nod at the statement, and remus concedes. 

“i’ll be here the whole time,” you promise. 

“call me if you get lonely.” he makes you swear before reluctantly getting up. you kiss his hand to send him off. 

you were lying when you said you would join him at nine. five minutes after he’s out the door, you’re fast asleep under the covers, the ghost of his touch comforting you. 

—

as soon as your eyes open, you let out a sound of disappointment. you can tell you haven’t slept through the night, as none of your roommates are in their beds, and they always sleep in. the clock reads that it’s only a bit before eight forty five, and you roll over in your bed. you know you won’t be able to fall back asleep, but you try anyway, until the door slams and your eyes fly open. 

it’s lily, face flushed with the cold and excitement. the second she sees you kissed by sleep, she covers her mouth. “sorry, y/n! were you sleeping?” 

you wave her off. “no, i was already awake. what’s up?” 

“james is going to be at the party tonight. will you come? please, please, please? i don’t want to go alone with him,” she begs. “please.” 

you weigh your options: if you stay here, you’ll just lay in bed, not sleeping. you might as well go with her, you’ll see remus there too. 

“okay,” you agree, and she practically drags you out of bed, she’s so happy. 

—

even though lily’s the one who dragged you here to keep her away from james, she’s off with him in a corner within ten minutes of you getting there, leaving you in a sea of other people, alone. of course, you know most of your housemates that are stuffed into this crowded common room, but you don’t know any particular one of them enough to properly go up to and chat. you sit awkwardly on a couch for a few minutes, next to couples making out, before finally just giving up and getting ready to leave. 

you saw sirius going into a bedroom with someone, so he’s out of the picture, peter’s smoking in the corner with some ravenclaws you have no interest in speaking with, james is alone with lily, and he’d kill you if you interrupted them, and you have absolutely no clue where remus is. 

whatever. you walk towards the door to the girls’ dormitories, stumbling over students on the way, when you just barely catch a glimpse of sandy hair outside on a balcony. you’d know it anywhere–that’s remus. you scramble towards him, eager to see a friendly face, hand cracking the door open, when just as quickly as it came, the excitement dies in your throat. 

because just behind remus is a girl you hate to see. celeste, hair floating behind her. if you blink hard enough, you see a breeze wafting through her hair as her fingers knot around remus’–your remus–neck. his hands are on the small curve of her waist, and he’s pushing her against the railing and, oh god–they’re kissing. 

you let out a thick gasp and your hand slaps over your mouth. you turn and flee. they probably heard you, but they can’t maneuver through the crowd like you can. within seconds, you’re sure you’ve lost any trace of them, darting through people as you sprint outside to the outside of the castle. sure it’s past curfew, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

no one will see you now. 

he’s supposed to be yours. he was yours, he was yours in more than just a best friend. those nights when he fell asleep in your bed, having you wrap your arms around him for warmth, he was yours. when you always visited him post-full moon in the apothecary, and as much as he wishes to push you away, you never let him, he was yours then. when he lets you in, truly and fully, and lets himself cry against you, letting you take care of him for once. you’re the only person he’s ever let himself cry in front of.

and even though you’d deny it a million times, and you did, to sirius, to james, you’ve always hoped that he liked you back. deep down, in the parts of your soul you only ever showed to him. he didn’t have to love you, even. just like, that would be enough. anything would. 

but that was too much for him, clearly. 

you’re crying. tears, fat and hot, soaking the skin on your cheeks. head in your hands, letting your open palms pool the salty water. you feel nothing but yourself and the wind against the cold of the stone steps, whipping your hair around. 

“dove.” 

you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping you’re hallucinating, praying the voice you just heard wasn’t real. you couldn’t see him right now. that would be humiliating. 

“y/n?” 

you crack your eye open when you hear the same voice, trying to swallow your sobs back and failing as they manifest into ugly hiccups. you’re not hallucinating. merlin damn it. 

in front of you, peering up at your blotchy face, is remus lupin, your best friend. the man who’s not yours. 

he’s on the step below you,  but one hand snakes its way onto your knee, soothing your skin with his slender thumb, the other finding your hand to intertwine your fingers. fuck, his touch both makes you lean into him and want to throw up at the same time. his eyes are chock-full of compassion, and god, you hate it. “what’s wrong?” 

his words send you blubbering into tears again, rubbing at your eyes as something splits open in your chest. “n-nothing.” 

“something’s wrong, love. let me help you. let me in,” he pleads in the softest tone, and you have to fight to not give in, to wrap your arms around him and never let go. remember celeste, remember that terrible sight of his lips on hers. 

“remus, leave me alone.” you’re shaking, but somewhere inside you, you find your resolve. you stand, pulling away from him, and make to run back inside the castle, but his long legs catch up to you easily, arm shooting around your waist when your knees buckle and you collapse onto the floor in sobs. 

“y/n, you’re scaring me,” he says, panic accumulating in his voice. “please tell me what’s wrong and i’ll fix it, i promise. please, baby. it’s killing me hear you cry.” 

you’re so close to the doors, you can see them. you stand again. “you don’t get to say that.” 

“what?” his arm’s still around your shoulder and you shove it off. 

“stop it! you’re so mean, remus. you don’t get to call me dove and call me baby and say stupid things like how there’s nobody better than me and i’m your favorite person and then go off and kiss other girls,” you spit out on the verge of hyperventilating. you don’t even know what you’re saying anymore. it’s just coming out, spewing out of your mouth like the vomit that’s sure to follow. but even as each word shocks you, you know they ring true. “i hate you for it. i hate you for leading me on for years when i’ve loved you since we were kids! you’re terrible, remus. i hate you.” 

he’s absolutely stunned trying to process your words, and you use the momentary distraction to race back into the school, gunning for your dorm and locking it once you’re inside. the image of celeste and remus plays through your mind all night, so much that you can barely even think about how you confessed your love to him.

masterlist | next part

tags @lydiasfalling @dancingwithourhandsuntied

[whosmariaaa]

— part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 !

college! sukuna was fucked. not only had he, the campus playboy, fallen in love. he had also made his said dream girl cry. and now you were ignoring him. no matter how much he tried he tried to talk to you, or push you in a corner, you refused to talk to him.

sukuna had tried every trick in the book. approaching you after class, coming to your dorm, talking to you in break time. it was getting desperate at this point, and oh, if his friends weren’t eating this up by now.

“you’re fucking pathetic, y’know that?” toji laughed mockingly as sukuna once again attempted to grab your attention at lunch. “didn’t ever think i’d see the sukuna this down bad for a girl,” gojo joined in.

“shut the fuck up, both of you. what’s so bad about apologizing? get off my fucking dick,” he retorted back. though neither gojo or toji were stopping there.

“you used to fuck a different girl every night, now you’ve been chasing after the same girl like a dog for weeks,” toji commented.

“a girl that hates you no less,” gojo snickered, “you’d get on all fours if it meant she’d forgive you, wouldn’t you?”

“if you two don’t shut the fuck up, i’m beating both of your asses up in front of everyone,” he scowled.

sukuna was seething. his friends wouldn’t shut the fuck up (when would they ever?), you were avoiding him at every chance you got, and he couldn’t get his mind off what happened. he felt like killing someone at this point.

you, on the other end, were getting sick of this. you were still in a foul mood from the 49% you got on the project, the same project you busted your ass off for. and sukuna still wasn’t giving up, though you weren’t giving him the light of day at all.

though, unfortunately, sukuna was very persistent, and he would catch up to you.

you were walking along the empty halls, a little late to class. but you felt somewhat at ease, which was the first time in days. that was until your vision was blocked by someone.

sukuna had yet again cornered you. “where you going, y/n?” he asked, looking down at you. you were not in the mood to deal with him, especially not right now.

“get the hell out of my way,” you snarled. he didn’t flinch at your irritated tone, and your blood started boiling once more when you notice the sides of his lips curling up into a smirk.

“aw, still pissed about last week? y’know i didn’t mean shit, y/n,” sukuna replied, though he seemed more genuine than taunting.

“i don’t give a shit. get out of my way,” you responded in annoyance. then, he had the audacity to grab your wrist when you started walking, pulling you back.

“listen, i’m sorry for making you cry, i didn’t think you’d be this fucking upset about it,” sukuna apologized, but it still didn’t make up for how you were feeling.

“great, man, now let me go,” you mumbled. you felt his grip tighten slightly.

“c’mon baby, i already apologized, what else do you want me to do?” he questioned, his tone growing less calm.

“for you to leave me the fuck alone, sukuna! jeez, man, how much clearer am i supposed to get? i don’t want to talk to you. you ruined this stupid project that i put my blood, sweat and tears into, and you didn’t do crap!” you told him sternly, before ripping your wrist out of his hold.

you grumbled a few irritated things under you breath, getting to class. and there went the feeling of peace you felt this morning.

sukuna thought he couldn’t be even more down bad for you, well, he was wrong. the way you stood up to his shit, oh girl, he was crazy about you.

he stood there in silence. should he drop this, and should he drop you? yes. will he do that? nah, absolutely not. he was in love, and pissed off you weren’t talking to him. that man wasn’t stopping at anything until you forgave him.

──★˙🍓̟!! okay guys wrap it up this is getting insane😭😭 again i feel so flattered with all the likes, comments and reblogs!!! and i’m sorry for this part idk, really more a filler part than anything im sorry, but part 7 is the last part!! it’s going to take a little longer because i attend to make it the longest part yet, so stay tuned 😝😝

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