#tessimagines

Robb knows he can immediately come to you for comfort

If he has any issues or problems, you are generally the first person he wants to discuss them with

After meetings with the heads of other Northern Houses, they will be dismissed and you will stay behind to talk things over

If something is emotionally getting to him, he is the kind of person who wants to talk it over

You can stay up all night, talking over the things that are upsetting him

He also appreciates physical comfort, like holding his hand while he is talking

When he is finished getting all of his emotions out and hearing any of the advise you might have, he will take your face in his hands and kiss you

It's a deep and passionate thank you, one that shows how grateful he is to have you

Eddard Stark

Ned likes to bottle up his emotions

He knows he can always turn to you but it is hard for him to be vulnerable around other people

When things really get to him, he tends to become silent

This is when you know

You will comfort him with a kiss first, and cuddle up to him

He doesn't need words

If he cries, you don't say anything, you know he would rather you just remain physically close

You know he is beginning to feel better when starts to place kisses to your forehead

He doesn't need to say thank you for you to know he appreciates your comfort

The thank you is there when he finds peace and falls asleep in your arms

Jaime Lannister

Jaime is another one who bottles up his emotions

If you ever ask him if he is okay, the answer is always the same: "I'm fine."

Him knowing you care is generally more than enough of a comfort to him

Just asking and a kiss to his cheek is enough to make him feel better. Not completely better, but significantly

Jaime will never admit it but he loves head scratches when he is sad or stressed

He does find it hard to thank you, that requires a vulnerability he doesn't like to show

There are some nights, however, where everything just comes to a head

Tears, sobs, everything. He will start talking about whatever is bothering him with no limitations

In these moments, you just sit and listen. Just the idea of being listened to is perfect for Jaime

To thank you after those nights, he will run you a bath or buy you a gift as a thank you

sometimes, he will even sum up the courage to whisper a thank you in your ear

Tyrion Lannister

Tyrion knows he can rely on you

But when you have spent your whole life being unloved by the people who are supposed to love you most, it can be hard to trust

That's why he can become distant when he is upset

He doesn't like showing vulnerability in fear that you will laugh

He knows this will never happen, but he can't let that feeling go sometimes

When you kiss him though, sometimes you can feel him melt into it

He loves physical comfort

He appreciates that affection more than he could possibly put into words

In these moments, when he can feel you are there for him, sometimes he will let himself cry

And you will just hold him, slowly running your fingers though the mop of curls on his head

He is simple in the way he thanks you - "I love you"

Tormund Giantsbane

Tormund is very open with his feelings

He, of course, likes to appear strong in front of others, but Tormund doesn't seem to equate weakness as being emotionally open and vulnerable

No, to him, that is a showing of true strength

When Tormund is feeling sad or down, he will tell you he is sad or down

He seeks out your comfort more than most men would

If he needs you to hold him, he will tell you and then lie in your arms for as long as he needs

He is not much of a crier, but he is not afraid to shed some tears in front of you

Tormund's way of making it up to you, is a little more physical than others

He is not afraid to show you intimately how much he appreciates your comfort

Sandor Clegane

This man is the king 👑 of repressed emotion

He will simply refuse to accept that anything is wrong with him

If you offer comfort, he is simply not accepting

Dedication is key, however, and sometimes, rarely, Sandor will let you hold him

He might grumble about it, telling you that you are being "fucking stupid", but inside, he revels in it

That physical connection has the power to calm any emotional storm going through them

He will never let you know though, no, that would be way too vulnerable

Jorah Mormont

Jorah is a man who thrives off words of affirmation

The most effective way to comfort him is to reassure him through words

He can totally feel himself calm at your reassurances

Sometimes, all he needs to hear is that he is enough and you love him more than he could possibly imagine

Every time you comfort him, Jorah wonders how he ever ended up having a love like yours

Afterwards, all he wants to do is hold you in his arms and place kisses to your cheek

Sometimes, you have to stop him from continuously thanking you

Oberyn Martell

Oberyn Martell is an emotive man

It is very easy to tell when he is upset

He is honest and real about his emotions, always

He likes to talk them over with you and hear any advise you can offer

Sometimes, though, all he wants or needs is for you to listen

Some nights can be entirely full of him talking about his issues

This will always lead to talk of Elia

As these nights progress, Oberyn's mood always seems to improve

He slowly moves closer

By the end of the night, he has his arms around you and is placing soft kisses all over your body

Oberyn shows his appreciation through pleasure, letting his body do the talking

Gendry Waters

Gendry can get grumpy when he is upset

When he snaps at you, which is rarely, this is when you know something is wrong

A few moments of silence go by before he takes a deep breath and apologises

You don't ever say anything, but instead, you walk over and just wrap your arms around his body

He will always lean into it, taking comfort in the feeling of you holding him

Sometimes, this is all he needs, but other times he needs to talk about his emotions or issues in order to feel better

He will look into your eyes as he does so, their soft expression calming him down

When he is finished you will just smile and place a kiss to his lips

He will place a hand up to your face, running a finger across your cheekbone and thank you

Podrick Payne

Podrick Payne is not a man afraid of crying in front of you

Whenever he is stressed or feeling down, that is what mostly happens

To him, there is no more calming feeling in the world than having you hold him while he cries

He also likes when you just listen to him talk about whatever is bothering him

Your advise is always appreciated too, but he also just likes when you listen to his issues and don't try to solve them

When he feels comforted, his way of thanking you is through acts of service

This can include trying his best to make you a meal or running you a warm bath

You can make your own request for my Back-to-Writing Celebration

This isn’t real. It’s another nightmare, brought forth by the anxiety of war. Every second you spend holding his hand, the blurrier your vision gets. But tears would mean that this is real, not some cruel mind game you know it has to be. 

“No,” you say. Your voice is hoarse and strained. “No, he isn’t dead. He can’t be.”

Nobody says a word. For the first time, you let your eyes stray from his hand. They flicker to his face. It’s just as pale, just as lifeless as his hand. His eyes are open and glassy, staring up towards the ceiling of the Great Hall. 

“No,” you say the word again. It seems to be the only word you can say or think. “No, no, no.”

You drop his hand to the floor and reach towards his chest, your fingers griping the edge of his ragged blazer. Dust and soot has sunk deep into the fabric and new holes line it’s surface. Underneath he wears his green knit sweater. That had been a Christmas present from Molly. It was brown from the dust and the dirt now, and when you touched it, the particles came to line your hands. 

You grip onto the clothes of his chest. You’re shaking them now, like the action will wake him. All he needs is to take one breath, one deep breath and it will be okay. 

You can feel his name in your mouth. You’re repeating it over and over again, every time louder. As your voice grows, so does the violence with which you shake his body. Your cheeks are wet, there is no point holding back the tears now.

“(Y/N),” Hermione is saying behind you. She places her hands on your shoulders, trying to pull you back from your husband’s body. “(Y/N), please, he’s gone.”

You’re back to saying no again. It’s seems like the only rational thing you can say. “No, no, no, he’s not. He’s going to be fine. He has to be.”

You wiggle your way out of Hermione’s grip but now Kingsley Shacklebolt has his arms around you. He pulls you away from Remus, whispering in your ear. “(Y/N), look at him. He’s gone.”

You stop struggling and lean your head against Kingsley’s broad chest. Your breaths are sharp and jagged. You hand grips onto Kingsley’s forearm. 

He’s right. Your eyes search your husband’s face. While it looks like him, with the same features you had grown so used to, there was something missing. No light, warmth or emotion. 

Remus Lupin is dead.

Anger

May 13th, 1998

The glass vase hits the floor with a crash, shards splintering off and dispersing across the wooden floor. You can feel a few sharp tickles of tiny glass pieces falling on the tops of your bear feet. Water is now trickling amongst the shards of broken glass. 

You look down at the mess below you, your eyes focusing on the half-dried pink peonies that are scattered through it. They were a present from Arthur. Perhaps, he had thought the beauty of them would make you feel just a little bit better. Or maybe, he thought the gesture of giving them to you would be a reassurance that he was there for you. But really, all you could take note of was the look of pity sewn into his features as he held them out to you.

You pushed all of the air out of your lungs in a single, loud huff. The pain of being alone, of not seeing him, of not being able to talk to him was suffocating. Day-to-day life had become more than just a struggle. Little things that you would normally pay no attention to had become some of the biggest annoyances.

It feels as though there is a constant scream sitting in your throat. Your chest is constantly heavy, your face is constantly hot and flushed. Your nerves are continuously active, feeling every little thing that brushes by your skin. Your own body has become a constant source of it’s own antagonism. 

The idea of him not being here with you is unbearable. The idea of never looking at his face, never feeling your hands on his chest, never hearing words come out of his mouth again causes not just an emotional pain, but a physical one. It feels like every fibre in your body is being pulled apart by that swelling anger. 

You feel tempted to reach across and press one of your feet down on some of the sharp shards of glass. Perhaps that would provide a release for the boiling emotions coursing through your body every moment. Blood and anger will seep out in a red, burning mix. 

Teddy stirs in the next room. The loud crash of the vase has woken him up. What starts as soft mumbles of discomfort turns into piercing loud screams that echo around the otherwise silent house. You place a hand to your face for a moment, close your eyes and try to quell that rising anger in your stomach. 

You walk towards the door, cursing whatever or whoever caused you to be doing this on your own. 

Bargaining

April 25th, 1998

“Oh, it’s chilly out here.” Molly wraps her cardigan closer around herself as you watch her sit down beside you. “You should be wearing a coat if you’re going to sit outside.”

You offer her a half-smile and turn your gaze back to the rolling hills outside The Burrow. It’s night but the moon is bright, so you can still see the silhouette of each of them. Hundreds upon hundreds of stars litter the sky above you. 

Molly places a hand on your shoulder before wrapping it around your upper arm. “You’re doing so well, dear. We’re all so proud of you.” She leans her face in closer as she says it, the tip of her nose just touching your ear. 

You open your mouth to say something, but no words seem to take form. Instead, you reach your other hand up to place it over hers. You swallow sharply, stifling what you can of an inevitable cry. 

“Oh, here, here,” Molly puts an arm around you, pulling you towards her. She presses your head down on her chest and coos like a mother comforting an upset toddler. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper the apology through the material of Molly’s cardigan. 

“Don’t you dare apologise. I’m serious. You are doing so well, okay?” You nod against her chest.

“I could have done something, you know. If I was with him during the battle, I could have stopped it. Whoever it was, I could have stopped them. He would still be here.” Molly shakes her head, reaching up to place her hand on the side of your face.

“No, no, don’t start that. You could not have done anything, (Y/N).” She holds you tight against herself. The woman is maternal instinct personified.

“I could have. I could have begged him to stay home with Teddy and I. Teddy would have a father, instead of just me.” Your voice breaks at the last bit. If you had begged him hard enough, Teddy would still have a parent he deserves. He would grow up in a happy household, instead of one that is haunted by a ghost.

“That never would have happened, (Y/N), you know that.” Her voice is strong, trying her best to reassure your racing mind. “Remus died fighting for a cause he believed. He fought to make a world he was happy for Teddy to grow up in. You couldn’t have stopped him, my dear. Just like no one could have stopped you.” 

You cry against her, your breaths loud and ragged. She continues to hold you through it, her hand stroking the side of your arm. 

Depression

August 12th, 1998

For a second, your brain can’t register the sound coming from the neighbouring room. Your arms reach out into the empty space in the bed beside you, almost like you can push the sound away. After a few more seconds, you recognise the cry of a baby, his screams growing louder and sharper.

You roll over onto your back, raising your hands to rub your eyes back to life. The room is dark and dim, only a sliver of moonlight coming in through a crack in the blinds. It barely lights up the room and you can only see the outline of the door across from your bed. 

Teddy continues to scream. You hear the wails ripple through his throat, coming out in a disorganised mess of sound. It echoes throughout the house, into your room and lodges in your ear cannel. 

Please, please stop, you think. Just for a single second, please stop.

His cries are relentless. They’re like an endless knock at the door. They want something from you, something you don’t have the energy to provide. The corner of your eyes become wet and you stifle your own, small cry.

A shuffle goes past your door and a little head pokes itself through the crack. You see the red of Molly Weasley’s hair. She had planted herself in the small guest room the last few weeks, trying her best to manage and organise the mess of your life right now while feeling her own relentless grief.

“I’ll get him, dear.” As quickly as she had appeared, she scuttles off again. After a few more seconds, you begin to hear the whisper of her voice and little shushes of comfort. “It’s okay, little one. You’re okay.”

Teddy’s cries begin to settle, and soon enough the house becomes still.

He deserves more, he needs more. What kind of mother can leave her own child to scream like that? What kind of mother has to rely on another woman to comfort her child?

You close your eyes in anticipation of a sleep you know will never come. 

September 30th, 1998

The record plays loud and clear, the fast pop song lightening up the living room around you. You have the blinds pulled wide open, bright autumn daylight streaming in through the windows. You bounce your head along to the music, taping your feet together to the beat.

You hold the duster in your hand, brushing it across the old lamp you have beside the couch. You look down at little Teddy in his rocker. He is smiling up at you with his wide gummy grin, watching as you sway to the song enveloping the two of you. You smile back down at him, reaching out and touching one finger briefly to his nose. He giggles, beaming up at you.

“Oh, you’re happy today.” His continuous giggles seem to sound out the blearing music. “Me too, bubs. Me too.” 

You continue to dance for him, swinging your arms around ridiculously. It’s almost like his eyes are glistening up at you, pure happiness coming from them. 

You turn and begin to dust the mantle of the fireplace, past a vase with fresh daisies. You then see the face-down photo frames resting on the brown mahogany mantle. There is about five of them, all in a row. The hand holding the duster falls down beside your body and you drop it on the floor.

You reach and pick up one of the them, turning the picture to face you. Its a photograph from your wedding day. You’re arm-in-arm with Remus. He is wearing the nicest suit that he owned and you are in your mother’s old satin wedding gown. You can see the little white flower pins you wore in your hair that day glistening in the sun outside the small and modest chapel. 

You watch as you look up at Remus beside you, your smile wide and bright. He is beaming down at you as the two of you soak each other up. In the last frame of the captured moment, Remus turns towards the lens. The expression on his face is soft and golden and warm.

You cannot hear the music anymore, or Teddy’s soft giggles. You cannot hold the picture frame or bear to look at the image it contains. You place it back, face down, on the dusty mantlepiece once again. 

December 25th, 1998

The cramped living room of the Burrow is buzzing with a warm, cozy energy. It’s not its usual barrage of festive noise but a slow gentle hum, half-smiles on the faces that fill the room. Everyone is trying their best to be happy, trying to make the best of the Christmas holiday. Despite the Christmas food, music and decorations, the absence of Fred and Remus still hangs in the air like an unusual smell. 

Teddy sits on your lap, bouncing up and down. His blissful unawareness is the envy of everyone in the room. As he bounces, he begins to babble. Arthur sits on the ground beside him. As Teddy makes nonsensical sounds, Arthur responds with a fake confident understanding.

“Oh, is that right, Teddy? I never would have known!” You laugh and watch as Arthur holds a finger out to your son. He grasps onto it, clenching his fist around it with all of his nine-month-mite. 

“Oh, (Y/N),” Molly says. “We have something little for Teddy.” She pulls a little parcel wrapped in brown paper from beside her and passes it towards you.

“Oh, Molly, you didn’t need to do that.” You smile up at her. Her red hair has noticeably more greys then last Christmas. She tries her best to smile warmly, but you can see there is a layer of sadness there.

“Nonsense, of course we did.” You take the present from her hands and place it in Teddy’s lap. You pull the brown parchment apart and smile as Teddy tries his best to help you. He grasps a piece of it in his hand, shaking it around for everyone to see. A chuckle travels around the room. 

Inside is a tiny little blue tie and a grey button down shirt, one size too big for the nine-month-old in your lap.

A crooked smile makes its way on Ron’s lips. “Add a rugged little tweed blazer and he’ll be the spitting image of Rem-” 

Hermione elbows him in the stomach, cutting off the rest of his sentence. You look up at him, just in time to catch the confused look he gives her. She just shakes her head, “I’m sorry-”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right, Ron.” You try your best to curve your lips into a smile. “We’ll need to get a matching jacket so you can look just like your daddy, huh Teddy?”

You look up at Ron again and offer what you can of a reassuring look. The room has suddenly become quiet except for the constant sound of Teddy’s babbling.

You turn your gaze to Arthur beside you. “Do you mind looking after Teddy for a moment while I go to the bathroom?” He nods and you pass Teddy over to him, watching as he takes his place on the older man’s lap. You slip past the group and up the stairs, heading towards one of the empty bathrooms in the burrow. 

The pain builds slowly. Every step you take up the stairs feels heavier, like you have to push your way up. You only just make it to the bathroom and close the door before you give into the weight. 

The sobs come in spasms, the air punching its way out of your chest. Every time you think of Remus, this seems to be the outcome. A single thought of him is enough to send you down a spiral of relentless grief. There are no happy memories anymore, only a longing for one more conversation, one more embrace, one more kiss that will never come. 

There is a soft knock at the door. You don’t turn your head. You don’t want them to see you like this, eyes red raw and swollen. 

Ginny whispers your name, soft and low. You hear her close the door behind her and she makes her way to sit down on the ground beside you. No eyes connect, but you feel her hand slip down, beside your arm, until it clasps onto your own hand. Her thumb gently brushes back and forth upon the skin of your hand, a slow and comforting motion.

You rest your head on her shoulder as she brings her other arm to come around your body. You feel her press her lips against the hair on your head, trying her best to sooth the cries that still flow out of you. “I’m sorry, (Y/N).” 

You shake your head dismissively. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not fair what happened. You don’t deserve this.”

You remain silent for a moment, letting her continue to comfort you with affectionate touches. You grasp her hand a little tighter when you speak again. “I’m not the first widow in the world.”

She just kisses you on the head again, pulling you in closer to her. It’s a reassuring feeling. You feel your own cries slow and the clamp around your throat loosen.

“I don’t want people to whisper his name around me. I don’t want him to be a half-spoken memory. I want to be able to remember him. I want to remember his face, his voice, his life without wanting to crawl into that grave with him.”

You look up at her for the first time since she entered the room. Her expression is soft and tender. Your eyes are still wet, tears dangling on the edge. Ginny raises a hand up and rubs them away, placing another gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I just miss my husband.”

Acceptance

May 2nd, 1999

Teddy’s chubby little fist grasps onto your fingers tightly as he dawdles over towards the memorial. His feet stomp on the ground, one after the other, happy to be out and about for the day. He giggles as he goes along, pulling you behind him.

The memorial is long and vast, running the length of an entire wall. Engraved on it’s rough steel surface are the names of those who fell in both the First and Second Wizarding War. The sheer number is overwhelming. As the wall continues on, a separate list gathers at the end. Listed below The Battle of Hogwarts, is a series of 50 or so names. 

Today, a group gathers around them. Many of them are familiar, friends or family of the people you had fought beside one year ago today. There is a quiet hush around them all. Teddy’s little giggles cut through them with ease. In his other hand he holds some small dandelions he picked himself. They bounce in his hand with every step he takes.

As you get closer, you reach down and pick your son up, resting him on your hip. He continues to babble as you reach the wall, the names now visible. You scan them up and down until your eyes rest on the name of your husband engraved amongst them. Under his name are a few sentences that try their best to sum up his 38 years of life.

Remus J. Lupin (1960-1998)

Original member of the Order of the Phoenix and former Defence Against the Arts Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Died defending the castle during the Battle of Hogwarts. Survived by his wife (Y/N) and son Edward.

The sentences are simple and blunt for necessity. It feels like an awful generalisation. No person reading this, who didn’t know him in life, would understand the man that Remus Lupin was. A man filled with complexities, so intelligent and kind and pure. No one would know the sound of his laugh or the way he would roll his eyes every time you told a stupid joke. No one would be able to picture the look on his face when he held his son for the first time, or the way he had played with the faint wisps of hair on Teddy’s head. 

No. All those moments were just memories you had to hold onto now. Despite the fact that Teddy would never meet his father, never understand what it was like to be in his presence, you were going to make sure that he knew him. Teddy was going to know the man who had given his life to make the world a better place for him to live.

Teddy giggles and reaches his arm out in an uncoordinated jerk. His little fingers land on the engraved name of his father. You smile and press a faint kiss to his head.

The pain will always be there. You understand that now. You will carry it, always, like an open wound that never fully heals. But that is the way it should be. The pain is only there because of how much you had loved Remus in life, and how much you love him still in death. Inside that pain is every kiss you ever shared, every moment in bed beside him, every little dance you did with his hand in yours. 

In this way, Remus Lupin will never truly die.