So Is Harry Stuck As A Rabbit Forever?

This is glorious

Did any of you also notice that Remus steals a glance at Sirius when he says the line “[…] he almost destroyed everything we hold most dear”? The camera captures this moment perfectly: it switches from Remus to Sirius in under a second, showing both Remus’ and Sirius’ emotions. 

Wolfstar, you’re so beautiful, yet so tragic. 

When Jaun Eliya said: “ae shakhs ab tu mujhko sab kuch qabool hai, yeh bhi qabool hai ke tujhe cheen laye koi” and when Sajid Rahim said: “main tujhe bhoolne par raazi hoon aaj tu iss qadar udaasi hai” and when Ahmed Faraz said: “iss se pehle ke bewafa hojayen kyun na aye dost hum judaa hojayen” my heart decided to move on before actually enduring the pain of losing the bond.

WHERE is that poem about that person learning all about their partners hyperfixation before getting dumped the last line is like "love is a stack of books on my nightstand with a bookmark near the end" I need it to feel whole help me please

Ranjish he sahi, dil he dukhane ke liye aa

Aa phir se mujhay chodh jaane ke liye aa

-Ahmad Faraz

Prompt- Dean sleep talks but instead of saying cute things his ramblings are fucking terrifying (ex: "why is the man staring at us?" "there is blood everywhere" etc.) Cas has probably lost 10 years of his life from this. Cute fluffy comedy.

(I’m sorry this took SO long! Work, life, yadda yadda yadda. ;) Here you go, thank you for the prompt!)

No roommate is perfect. Castiel knows this.

Every relationship requires reaching compromises and learning boundaries, and it’s easier for things for become strained when two people are encroaching on each other’s living space. And squeezing two complete strangers into a dorm room the size of a shoebox and expecting them to get along for a year? Well, in his opinion, it’s a miracle that the number of homicides on college campuses isn’t higher, especially when adolescent hormones, poor impulse control, and underdeveloped frontal lobes are factored into the equation.

So, all things considered, Castiel feels pretty lucky to have Dean as his roommate.

Sure, Dean can be loud and boisterous, and he listens to music too loudly, but it doesn’t bother Castiel too much after the first few weeks. Dean’s questionable “tastes” in music actually start to grow on him, despite his better judgment. He’s even started picking up words to some of the songs, because Dean has a habit of belting out a lyric and then pointing dramatically at Castiel to sing the next verse, and Castiel had gotten tired of the disappointed look on Dean’s face whenever he didn’t know the words, so maybe he had looked up some of the lyrics between his classes.

But it definitely goes both ways, because Dean can pretend he doesn’t like Castiel’s soft jazz or documentaries or fiber-heavy cereal brands, but Castiel hasn’t been fooled since the day he walked into their room and found Dean hunched over his laptop, eyes suspiciously red, transfixed by Castiel’s copy of March of the Penguins. Before he could even say a word, Dean had slammed the laptop shut, face flushing red, and snapped, “Shut up, Cas! Some of the eggs didn’t hatch! Stop laughing, Cas!”

And yes, Dean can be a little over-the-top about cleaning (before rooming with Dean, Castiel would’ve thought there could never be such a thing as too clean, but he’s learned differently), but he’s learned to live with it.

For example, when Castiel comes back from class and spots Dean on his hands and knees scrubbing the baseboards, the smell of Lysol hitting him like a brick to the face, he’s learned that Dean needs space, so he goes to the library for a few hours until Dean’s worked off whatever stress or anger he’s been keeping bottled up. Then he comes back, drags Dean away from wiping out the inside of their desk drawers, and takes him to The Roadhouse for a burger. If Dean decides to confide in him, good; but if not, he can still see the tension easing out of Dean’s shoulders as they sit in the familiar atmosphere, talking about classes, talking about everything and nothing, knees barely brushing under the table.

And, in an effort to do his part, Castiel has started being more mindful about picking up after himself and not leaving his damp towels on the floor. He even tries to remember to make his bed in the mornings, although he forgets more often than not in his haste to get ready for class (not that it really matters because it’ll be made when he comes back, anyways).

And okay, Dean is lively and social and charismatic, and there’s always strange people in their dorm room, but Dean always make a point to introduce Castiel to everyone and try to include Castiel in the conversations, even if he doesn’t have much to contribute. Most of Dean’s friends are tolerable, and Castiel finds himself genuinely liking a few of them, such as Charlie and Benny, and even participating in political debates or Mario Kart games. And on the days that Castiel has a test or a paper due the next day, Dean will unceremoniously kick everyone out without Castiel even having to ask, good-naturedly yelling at everyone to “get lost, moochers, Cas has an Abnormal Psych test tomorrow and he’s gonna kick it in the ass!”.

And fine, Dean does party quite a bit on the weekends (or on the random Tuesday) and comes back in the middle of the night, inevitably waking up Castiel no matter how quiet he tries to be. But Castiel can’t even hold it against him, because when he tucks Dean’s drunk ass into bed and brings him a glass of water and some ibuprofen, Dean gives him the most profoundly grateful look that it’s almost humbling. Castiel doesn’t deserve a look like that for doing such a simple thing, a thing that any decent roommate would do.

Dean never says anything the next morning after these occurrences, but Castiel knows that Dean remembers, because Dean will find ways to make it up to him for the next week – just small things, like having coffee ready for him before his classes, or stocking up on Castiel’s favorite brand of peanut butter.

So no, Dean isn’t the perfect roommate, but Castiel doesn’t mind. He knows he’s not perfect either. But they have a good system, and they get along pretty well most of the time. There’s still some things that Castiel doesn’t understand – like why Dean insists that he’s dumb even though he’s excelling in his engineering classes – and they still have arguments, sometimes petty and sometimes not, but Castiel can’t imagine being roommates with anyone except Dean.

Although honestly, Dean hasn’t been just “a roommate” for a long time now. Castiel considers the term “best friend” to be much more fitting. Castiel lives with his best friend, and he thinks this makes him very lucky.

With one exception.

Dean talks in his sleep.

[Keep reading on Ao3]

On the 12th day of Christmas my true love gave to me...

Wolfstar in a pizza parlor where they first meet.

“One deep dish pizza.”

Remus’ head jerked up from where it had rested, face down, on his folded elbows. There was a waiter standing over him in the dim light of the restaurant. He had thick, dark hair that curled around the antlers he was wearing, and a pin on his apron that read, May your days be cheesy and bright. Remus blinked up at him.

“What?”

The boy raised an eyebrow at him, “Your pizza.” When Remus still didn’t say anything he pushed it forward a little, “It’s a deep dish pizza.”

Remus looked down at the steaming meal, then back up at the boy. The name Sirius was embroidered over the cheesy pin. Remus thought it was a bit of an odd name. Maybe it was the name of the restaurant he was in, he couldn’t quite remember. Although, it was an odd name for a pizza restaurant too.

“I…Oh. I didn’t order a pizza.”

The boy—Sirius, possibly—cleared his throat, “Yeah. But you… you looked like you might, y’know,” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, “need one.”

Remus shifted, “I look like I need a pizza?”

Sirius sighed, “You’re sitting her in a practically empty pizza place on Christmas Eve. It’s negative one degrees out and you walked in here with nothing but that sweater on and you’ve been sitting here with your head down for the past ten minutes.” Sirius shrugged, “Yeah, you need a pizza, in my opinion.”

Remus opened and closed his mouth a few times, “I…” Remus felt a flush start at his neck, “Thank you, but I can’t pay for it.” He pushed the menu away from him nervously. The top said Pizza Corner. So, Sirius was his name, “I don’t have any money—“

“Who said you had to—“

“I did.” Remus cut him off, looking back up at the boy, “I’m not taking free pizza from you.”

Sirius hesitated, hovering over the table. Remus wondered if he would shrug again and take the pizza back. Then he wondered if he would insist. He wasn’t sure which one he preferred. Then, Sirius let out a breath, took his antlers off, and slid into the booth opposite Remus. He picked up a slice of pizza, “Well, I’ll eat it then.”

Remus blinked, sitting up straighter, voice lost as Sirius started munching on the first slice. He nodded towards the pizza, “You can still have some, if you want.”

Remus looked at the pizza. Cheese was falling in strings onto the pan from the thick crust. The pepperoni looked spicy, the outer crust crunchy. His stomach growled painfully. He turned away.

Sirius produced two cans of ginger-ale from somewhere within his apron and slid on discreetly towards Remus, “What’s your name and why won’t you share my pizza?”

Remus scoffed, “You know why I won’t share your pizza.”

Sirius folded a second slice and took a bite, “But it’s sharing now!”

“Sirius—“

“Ah,” Sirius pointed his pizza at him, “You know my name, I should know yours.”

Remus pressed his lips together at his slip. He hadn’t mean to say it but…it was nice. It was a nice name, he decided. “Remus.”

“Remus.” Sirius nodded, like he was testing it out. Remus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and goosebumps rise pleasantly. Then he pushed the tray towards him, “Remus, have a slice of pizza.”

“Jesus Christ.” Remus sighed and sat back in the booth.

Sirius just looked at him, eyes soft. Remus looked back for a moment, until he realized he’d started to admire rather than just look, and to wonder of Sirius was doing the same. He looked away.

“I don’t know what you think I’m trying to do, Remus.” Again, Remus fought the urge to shiver at Sirius’ voice, “I don’t know you, you don’t know me, I get it. But…” Sirius set his slice down on the tray and folded his arms on the table, “But, mate, I can see every notch in your spine through that sweater of yours and it isn’t the thickest thing in the world but it isn’t the thinnest either.” Sirius bit his lip, “Certainly not thick enough for weather like this.”

Remus looked down at his hands. They were red and raw from the wind. He hid them beneath his thighs and blinked hard.

“I don’t know your story,” Sirius’ voice was soft and calming, like he could sense Remus’ fight with himself, “but I recognize it. Just a little. I’ve lived it, maybe, or something like it and…” Sirius broke off, maybe regarding Remus or, maybe, maybe, admiring, “It’s just a pizza. It’s Christmas.”

Remus let out a shaky breathe, trying to calm his heart beat down. He felt frozen, and weak, and unbearably thankful. Who was he, to receive this? Slowly, without looking up, he reached forward and picked up a slice.

He heard Sirius let out a breath, “Okay. Good. Alright.”

Remus looked up as he took a bite and met Sirius’ eyes. He smiled, Instantly, Remus felt warmer. He told himself it was just the food entering his system for the first time in he wasn’t sure how long.

Sirius picked up his own slice and they ate in silence for a few minutes, Sirius cracking Remus’ ginger-ale open for him and sliding it the rest of the way across the table.

“So,” Sirius broke the silence when he reached his third slice, “Do you have a place to stay?”

Remus looked up, swallowed thickly, “Don’t push it. I’m eating your damn pizza.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, I’ve gotten this far, I damn well am gonna push it.”

Remus rolled his eyes, “Yes. I do.”

Sirius just looked at him, chewing slowly.

Remus sighed, “No. I mean.” Remus took another bite, “Yeah, no. No.”

“Well, I do.”

“Good on you.” Remus grumbled.

“So.” Sirius pressed on, “So, you do too.”

“No. What? No—“

“Why?” Sirius waved his arm and a piece of pepperoni went flying to the floor by the opposite booth. He looked at it for a second before continuing, “I live, like, five minutes away, there’s more than enough room—“

“This isn’t about room. This is—“ Remus was going to say that it was about the fact that he didn’t know Sirius, but, he found that that wasn’t what was stopping him. “This is about the fact that I, I can’t give you anything in return.”

Sirius dropped his crust onto the tray, “Did I say I was looking for payment?”

They stared at each other. Remus felt a flush creep up his neck and bit into his lip. His eyes flickered down then back to Sirius’ face, “You don’t eat the crust.”

Surprise flickered in Sirius’ eyes but his face remained strong, “No. I don’t.”

Remus kept his glare in tack, “It’s the best part.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Sirius stood, “As long as you keep in mind that it’s negative one degrees. Now,” Sirius untied his apron, and picked up his antlers, “I’m going to put these away. Then, I’m going to grab my coat, and go wait by the door. Okay?”

Remus looked stubbornly ahead of him, “You’ll be wasting your time.”

“Negative one degrees!” Sirius called over his shoulder.

And suddenly, Remus was alone again in the booth. He watched from the corner of his eyes as Sirius hung his apron up, making smalltalk with the chef. He seemed to be doing things in slow motion. He took his time folding his things, even straightening his stupid pin. Remus sat, rigid. His chest felt four times smaller than usual, filled with a strange mixture of guilt and want. This boy, Sirius, whoever he was, was warm. Remus closed his eyes. He was warm and kind. Remus had forgotten what warm and kind felt like, and now it was right in front of him. Right in front of him and about to walk out the door.

No, about to wait by the door.

Patient.

Warm, kind, and patient.

It made Remus want to cry, and smile, and let go, all at once.

Remus jumped, head whipping behind him as the bell above the door rang. He just caught a head of dark hair walking out into the darkness before the door closed and his own face was reflected back at him. He blinked at the expression on his face.

He looked terrified.

Remus turned around quickly, shrinking into the booth and breathing hard. Not so patient then. Not so kind, not so warm. God, he felt stupid. He was stupid. Pizza was one thing. Remus pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Sirius didn’t want him to stay. Sirius didn’t know him. Remus shook his head to himself. He was stupid. He was stupid.

The bell jingled again.

“Hey, sweater-boy.”

Remus looked up, spinning in his seat. His heart clenched.

Sirius was there, in the open doorway. His nose was pink from the cold and a hat was pulled low over his head. He wore a sweatshirt, and held what looked like a thick winter coat in his arms. Remus breathed out, shaking, relieved.

Sirius jerked his head towards the outside and grinned, “Coming? Car’s warmed up.”

Remus didn’t hesitate this time. He didn’t even think to. He got up, he smiled back, and he went.

You know, that giddy feeling when something new or better is gonna happen, some change or something. I love that feel

"When you're born in a burning home, you believe the world is on fire. But it isn't."

I try to run from the fire yet the world feels cruelly calm now, there are no singes on my arms, no blisters on my palm and it feels eerie; like it doesn't belong to me. Almost as if I dont deserve the careful caress of the cool wind. The noise that is not the sizzle of melting flesh is not meant for me.

The world is not on fire and my mind will never escape the unrelenting desire to run back and, bury my charred corpse in the home that burnt my sanity away.

Don’t expect to get anything back, don’t expect recognition for your efforts, don’t expect your genius to be discovered or your love to be understood. Act because you need to act — Paulo Coelho, The Zahir