#i still need to read and annotate something for my morning class | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

brokenjere · 2 years

Text

seventeen going under (ch. 21) (j.f)

seventeen going under (j.f)

a/n: guys its here - the final chapter. love you all so much for reading and supporting the story, it means so much to me. this will not be the end of my storytelling and i hope to be able to continue their story one day - lmk what you think :)

catch up here

Tangible proof. Those words kept ringing in my ear. Jeremiah had written an entire book of tangible proof that he loved me and all I had given him was a summer of lies. Just listen my mom said. Just listen. Just listen. Just listen.

I rummaged through my room to find any tangible proof hidden in these walls. Something I may have forgotten about or deemed less important. I grabbed notebooks that I stashed from school, flipping through them to find notes written back and forth between us but all I found were niceties written by Conrad in between the margins of my Math and English notes. “You’re gonna kill this test!” “Don’t forget to hang the 1.” “This note was so important.” He would take my notebooks when I told him I was struggling and he’d make notes on the sidelines making sure I got everything I needed to get out of it. When I saw them over the next few days in class, I’d smile to myself. I always felt taken care of.

On my bookshelf was a book. The spine read The Outsiders by S.E Hinton. I grabbed it, the only copy I owed of it that had a broken spine and was well loved. It was the same copy I had in middle school that carried me to now. It was the only copy I read religiously. Next to it was a newer copy with the spine still intact and I grabbed that one, too. We all were forced to read it in middle school but it had quickly become my favorite book of all time. I scribbled down annotations in the margins and between the lines over so many years it was barely legible anymore. The new copy was from Conrad. He gave it to me one night while we sat in the basement alone. Jeremiah went to get more snacks and Conrad pulled it out of the couch cushion. “I annotated it with my thoughts. I don’t know, I thought you’d like it,” he said. I read it that night. This was his tangible proof, I thought. All the notes in the margins of my notebooks and this novel - that was his way of telling me he has loved me all these years, too.

Conrad once gave me a copy of Wuthering Heights. It sat on the top shelf, untouched, but he said it was one of his favorites and he hoped I would read it some day. I never did because classics weren’t always my favorite but I grabbed it off the shelf and opened up to page 1 with a pen tucked behind my ear and a highlighter in the spine of the pages. I wrote in the margins and highlighted what I liked and wrote sad faces next to the stuff I didn’t. I only got halfway through before the sun went down and my eyelids felt heavy. Mom went to Susannah’s without me. No one texted.

The next morning I woke up so early the sun wasn’t fully up yet. There was a dark glow to the Earth and the clouds looked pink. I grabbed the book off the nightstand and I finished it. On the very last page, I wrote a letter. My brain hurt. My heart hurt. My hand hurt. But I signed my name at the bottom with a kiss and then shut the book. My tangible proof.

There was a knock on my door. “Are you awake?” Mom.

“Yeah,” I called back as I got up to open the door. She was in her pajamas, her hair in a messy bun, and bags under her eyes. “You look good,” I teased.

She pushed herself into the room with a fake laugh and sat herself down at my desk. It was a disaster between me digging out every ancient artifact in the drawers and all the new supplies we got a few days ago but she poked at it all anyway. “What’s with the mess?” She asked, holding up a notebook from the 7th grade.

“I was just trying to find something.” She cocked an eyebrow up. “What? It’s true.”

“Find what?” I crossed my arms and shuffled on my two feet feeling uncomfortable.

“I don’t know. Proof I love Jeremiah, I guess.” When I said it out loud, it sounded stupid. Why should I need proof when I know it in my heart? My atoms were split from his atoms. I shouldn’t need a piece of paper to prove that, yet, here I was searching. Her face said everything I knew: I was stalling. I was looking for a way out.

Her eyes softened and she sighed, setting down the notebook. “You know when you were younger you used to beg me to buy Jeremiah cards for every occasion.” I nodded because I knew this. I remembered it vaguely but I didn’t know where she was going with her story, so I let her continue. “Easter, Christmas, birthdays. If there was a card for it, you wanted Jeremiah to have one. And even if there wasn’t, you’d want a blank one so you could make one yourself. Do you know how many cards he probably has?” I shook my head. “Hundreds, I bet.”

“What’s your point?” I asked.

She smiled. “My point is that you signed every single one, ‘I love you”. He has heard it a million times. He has it written down a million times from the moment you could write. I used to have to spell it out for you, that’s how young you were.” She was shaking her head as she was talking as if this was obvious. As if I should have already known. As if she has known from the moment I was born I was destined for Jeremiah Fisher. “I’m pretty sure you came out of the womb loving that boy. Don’t go looking for reasons why you don’t.” She flipped open one of the new notebooks. The page was stark white and empty. “But if you need something tangible then write it down.”

When she left the room, I took her spot at the desk. The page in front of me was so full of promise. So full of all the words I’ve been wanting to say. I took a pen and did what my mom said. I wrote down all my feelings. All the good and all the bad and when I was finished, I had my tangible proof. It was the only thing that sealed the whole thing shut. I stuffed it in an envelope and sealed it with a kiss.

Susannah answered the front door when I rang the bell. I’m not sure what I was expecting but her looks took me off guard. She was perfectly put together and she was smiling. “You’re here!” She exclaimed, pulling me into the foyer for a hug. “Your mom said you weren’t feeling well. How are you?” She smoothed down my hair and kissed my temple before holding me at arms length to look at me.

“I’m good,” I told her, trying to muster my best smile. I felt the need to apologize for the debutante ball but the words didn’t come. I think she saw them in my eyes.

“Hey, don’t worry about everything that’s happened, alright? The boys are okay for now. I will start treatment in a few weeks and all will be well, okay?” She didn’t sound too convinced. “Want me to get him for you?” I didn’t know who she was referring to but I nodded. Both the boys came tumbling down the stairs a few moments later.

They stood in front of me, both effortlessly handsome but in their own ways. Conrad’s hoodie was falling off his shoulders and his hair was messy and pushed out of his face. Jeremiah was put together but I knew it wasn’t intentional. His curls were perfectly placed on his head and they both stared at me with hopeful admiration. “Can I talk to you?” I asked, looking over at Conrad.

The room felt thick. I could feel Jeremiah’s shock and confusion even though I wasn’t looking at him. Conrad cleared his throat and he nodded and stumbled over his words, “yeah, yeah.” He nodded his head so I would follow him up to his room. I avoided eye contact with Jeremiah as I passed him.

Conrad let me in the room first. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it. He kept his hands behind his back and I pictured his white knuckles gripping the doorknob. His eyes were soft. Wanting. Hoping.

I took the book out of my bag and handed it to him. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What’s this?”

“Open it.” He did, careful not to crack the spine. I can still see my handwriting scribbled across the first few pages. He flipped through them, his eyes scanning over the highlighted parts and reading my commentary on the side. “I figured it was time I repaid you.”

He smiled and shut the book, closing the gap between us. He dropped the book on his bed. His arms wrapped around my waist. It was just instinct for me to wrap mine around his neck and let him spin me around. When my feet landed, he cupped my cheeks. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I liked the book.” My voice was barely above a whisper. I was too scared to speak. “I wrote you something in the back. A note.” He went to grab the book but I grabbed his wrist, stopping him. “But before you read it I need you to know that it’s Jeremiah. It’s always been Jeremiah.” He didn’t react. His body didn’t stiffen and he didn’t move. He just looked at me and blinked. “Say something.”

“What do you want me to say?” He straightened himself out and was no longer aching to touch the book. “I’m happy for you. I just want you to be happy. That’s all I have ever wanted.”

“I know,” I whispered.

“You’re my best friend but I was stupid to think that I stood a chance next to him. No one compares, right?” He half chuckled and my heart snapped in half. I shook my head and sat down on the bed. Everything felt too heavy.

“You’re not stupid. That wasn’t a stupid thought. I’m sorry. I wish I loved you that way. I wish I didn’t make you feel this way. No one is comparing you two. He’s not better than you, he's just Jeremiah.” I breathed out the last word like it was something I had been holding in for my entire life. A weight lifted off my shoulders and they slumped down. Conrad moved my hair out of my face and tucked a piece of it behind my ear. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“I wish it could have been me but you’ll take care of each other. Promise me, he’ll take care of you?” The request felt odd coming from his lips but I think I knew what he meant. I nodded and Conrad kissed my forehead. “Go to him. He’s probably freaking out. I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.

“I couldn’t talk to him without talking to you first.” Conrad grabbed my hand and stood me up. He pulled me in for a hug and he held me for a few moments. The world felt so quiet I couldn’t even hear the birds chirping. When he pulled away, everything came back to life. life. Conrad kissed my temple before releasing me completely and I searched the house for Jeremiah. He wasn’t in his room, although his clothes from our summer in Cousins were thrown all around the room haphazardly. The cleaning I did the other day was barely noticeable but it smelled like him.

I found him in the basement laying on the giant Love Sac. It was well-loved and over used, with small holes ripping at the seams that Susannah had patched numerous times before already. His ankles were crossed and his arm was thrown over his eyes to block out the light. He didn’t hear me come down so I looked at him for a few moments as I stood at the bottom of the stairs. My eyes couldn’t drink in enough of him and I could look at him forever but instead, I started to walk toward him. He sat up, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the light and to me. He smiled gently almost like he didn’t want to really be happy to see me but how could he help it? The corners of his mouth turned up anyway.

“Hey,” he whispered. I gave him a small wave. The letter was itching in my back pocket. “About time you showed up,” he teased. My cheeks flushed and he reached for me. He pleaded, “please don’t tell me you love him.”

I shook my head slightly and his eyes softened. “Jere,” I whispered.

“I love you,” he said. I stuck my hand out loosely and he grabbed it. I wish his life vest in this hurricane of a summer. I was keeping him afloat and drowning him all at once.

“I love you, too,” I said.

“I’m glad you finally agree.” I laugh. I actually laugh. “I love your smile. God, is it the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

“Jeremiah,” I tried again, eager to spit out exactly what I need to say. He cupped my cheek and his palm felt hot against my skin. His thumb caressed my face and then my bottom lip, pulling it down gently. I placed a kiss on the pad of his finger.

“Just kiss me, okay? Don’t say anything, just kiss me and be mine.” How could I resist his request? I couldn’t. I let him kiss me and he kissed me like the world was crashing around us and the last thing he would ever remember was the feeling of my lips and I kissed him back as the Earth fell away in giant chunks. His curls wrapped around my fingers and his fingers wrapped around the base of my neck. He was inhaling every part of me, drinking me in with an eagerness I had never expected from Jeremiah Fisher. He wasn’t intense or needy. Never in his life. He was soft and carefree and reminded me of the color of the sky when it’s really early and the sun had just woken up making the sky so clear it almost looked white. Right now, he reminded me of crimson. There was a fire in him that I could not put out.

When he pulled away, our breathing was heavy but it was in sync. We were perfectly in tune. His breath had become my breath and his saliva was now swimming in my body. He was him and I was me and we were one. “Do you know how long I have loved you?” He asked. This admission had struck me right in the gut. He was so desperate for me to love him and it was because he didn’t know I had been loving him all this time.

“Almost as long as I have loved you, I assume.” I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the folded up piece of paper. I probably could have presented it a little nicer but the words just poured out of my body and I was too impatient to wait so I folded it up haphazardly and threw it in my back pocket before I lost the courage. “I wrote this for you, but I’m sure it’s not the first love letter I’ve written for you. According to my mom, you should look through all the cards I’ve given you.” I half-laughed as he took the letter from me, his finger slowly unfurling the paper but I put my hand on top of him. “Don’t open it yet.”

“Why not?” He questioned. I folded my hand over his and he used his other hand, the one not holding my letter, and grabbed my waist pulling me closer to him.

“Read it when you’re alone.” Truthfully, I was embarrased to watch him read it. “And then you can call me in tears because you’re so consumed with love for me there’s no other way to express it other than tears,” I teased, kissing his pouting lips gently as if we had been doing it our whole lives. He smiled into my lips.

“I can think of some other ways to express my love for you,” he mumbled. He shoved the letter in his back pocket and grabbed my waist completely, holding me to his body. I giggled - giggled - like a little girl and kissed him with everything I had inside of me. Kissing him, loving him, was like coming up for fresh air. We collapsed into a pile of limbs on the LoveSac, laughing into eachother’s mouths. I rolled over on top of him and looked down at him. My hair fell in front of my face and he tucked it behind my ear. “Finally,” he whispered.

“You know this is insane, right? Us. Together.”

“Why do you think that?” He sounded genuinely curious but also disinterested. He disagreed and nothing I said would change his mind. I didn’t want to change his mind. I smiled so he knew.

“All we’ve ever been is friends. How are we going to navigate this? Won’t things be different?”

Jeremiah shook his head. “It won’t be different because nothing that I feel is different and I don’t think anything you feel is different. But now, we kiss.” He kissed me and then said, “Us, together, is not inside. It’s right.”

XXX

Later that night, after Jeremiah had read my letter, he snuck through my window. He told me, I love you, thank you, and then he kissed me. He kissed my lips and my jawline and the nape of my neck. We rolled around in my bed, stifling each other’s laughs so my parent’s would not be woken up. It was late and dark and the crickets were alive outside, singing for us.

He asked me how could you have waited so long for this? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I asked him the same thing and he flushed so red it went all the way down his neck. I didn’t notice the backpack that he was wearing when he came inside but now that was reaching for it, I saw it on the floor under the window. He pulled out the notebook that I had already saw, but I pretended to be confused. “I’ve been writing in this since I was a kid.” He handed it to me and I flipped through the pages I arleady saw.

“What is this?” I asked. Jeremiah was shy and he shrugged his shoulders and he kissed my cheek.

“All the ways I’ve loved you.”

That night, we kissed and we talked. We talked about his mom and he cried on my shoulder and then I started to cry as I apologized for lying to him all summer. I never should have done that, I admitted. It’s okay, he told me as he kissed all over my face. He kissed all my tears away until I could no longer tell why my face was wet. He said he could forgive me for anything. He would forgive me until the day that we die and then I told him I hoped he wouldn’t have to do that. I asked him about Conrad. He stiffened but said he was okay. He was happy for us. He was his brother again.

Jeremiah and I had never been given boundaries from our parents. We never needed them because we were just friends, despite everything everyone thought. But now, he was no longer allowed in my room with the door closed except when he snuck in really late at night without anyone knowing. Susannah was less concerned about what we were doing behind closed doors because she said she just wanted to see her son happy. She just wanted him to wake up with a smile on his face. She told me she wished she could see us get married and I told her I wished that, too. She got a photo of us at the ball framed. We were walking down the stage and he was looking at me like I was holding up the universe and I loved him more after seeing that. If that was possible.

Falling into a routine with him was easier than I anticipated. I thought we would mow over speed bumps with a hesitation that would surely doom us but we didn’t. I didn’t notice any speed bumps. He kissed me when he saw me and he kissed me when he left and he held my hand whenever he could. We did what we always did, be friends, but we kissed. Just like he said. And the kissing was good.

We kissed in the pouring rain one fall night. We were in his living room and the rain was pounding hard on the roof and he grabbed my hand and dragged me outside. I was laughing in shock, mostly, but I was still laughing. Jeremiah was laughing. He was dancing with me in the rain and kissing me as the cold water seeped through all my clothes and he screamed that he loved me over the rain hitting the cement. It wasn’t the first time it was said, of course, but it was the first time it was said since he was my boyfriend. He never had to say it. He said it when he told me to text him when I was home safely even though I was just going next door. He said it when he made sure I was drinking water every day. He said it when he brought me my favorite snacks every day. He said it when he stroked my hair until I fell asleep.

I screamed it back and he kissed me again and then I said, “can we go back inside?” He nodded and we warmed up in hot towels and he waited for me on his bed as I got out of a shower.

“You look good in my clothes,” he told me and then I said I could take them off if he wanted me to and then we made love quietly as the rain bled out of the sky. The birds sang us awake and he moved the hair out my face and tucked it behind my ear and told me, “I love you.” He never could say it enough. I could never hear it enough. It sounded new every single time and I prayed that I would never get sick of it.

“Do you think we were meant for each other?” I asked him one night. We were sitting in my bed. My feet were on his lap and he was stroking my ankle as I read a book for English class. Conrad had notes written in the margins because it was his copy from his own senior year. He went off to college when the leaves turned orange and we hadn’t seen him since but he calls pretty often. He’s doing well, he said. He’s happy.

Jeremiah looked at me. “Of course I think that.”

“Why?” I asked him again. Jeremiah chuckled and he grabbed my ankles, manuvering my legs so they sat on either side of him and then he gracefully pulled onto his lap. He traced my bottom lip with his finger and he searched my face for his answer.

“I have never been more sure of something in my entire life, don’t you feel that too?” I nodded. I felt it, too. I felt it so deeply it filled my lungs and made me feel like I was drowning sometimes but loving him made me feel like I was coming up for fresh air.

taglist: @things-that-make-sa-happy@marajillana@calpurnia2002@revemixer@harrysswhore@liltimmyst@chickunn-nuggett@rottenstyx@queenofthehellfireclub@lilbazzi@drikawinchester @gillybear17 @shamelessbluebirdsong

#tsitp #conrad fisher #the summer i turned pretty #conrad fisher x reader #jeremiah fisher #tsitp imagine #jeremiah fisher imagine #jeremiah fisher x reader #jeremiah fisher fan fic #conrad fisher imagine #belly conklin #jenny han #gavin casalegno #chris briney

287 notes · View notes

sketchystalker · 1 month

Text

Okay. This is going to be the semester that kills me

First up, my literary criticism class has an essay due every. single. class. And hey it's a class that starts at 1:30, so plenty of time to do it in the morning, right? Nope! Due at midnight the night before. So I have to fully understand these complex texts talking about things that already go over my head enough to write a paper about it and somehow get it done way before the normal time I'd get it done at (because I am a big homework after midnight do-er). I have like zero time this weekend (because hey, it's my birthday and it's the first week of classes so you'd think I'd be able to have some time off) and my professor decided to add on a 25-30 minute video lecture to the assigned Plato reading (due with an essay Monday at midnight) that she already advised us to start two days ago, and another textbook reading on top of it.

Second, the class I had to beg to get into because my other class dropped last-minute apparently is 8 weeks, and is designed just like an online class, except I have a mandatory in-person lecture twice a week at 8:30 AM. I literally could have just taken the online class and saved time probably. It'll be nice I guess when it's term two and I don't have 17 credits going but it's going to be so much to balance initially.

Third, my grantwriting practicum. It's only three credits, but I'm spending 6 hours in the lab every week working on it because they want us to do all of our work in the lab. But I am such a slow writer that I know I'm going to have to do work outside of that time too. And the issue is that I don't get to use that time to prioritize something that may be more important at the moment, I'm stuck writing grants on all three of my most busiest days (which are right next to each other, giving me little time to do any homework for the classes that meet Tuesday/Thursday. And guess when my lit crit class meets? My Tuesday/Thursdays are literally 8:30 AM-5 PM with only an hour off for lunch. And then I have homework right after).

Fourth, I decided to take a piano class because "oh it'll be fun" and "who knows if you'll have space to take it senior year. Just do it now while you can" and yeah it should be fun, but I'm supposed to practice 30 minutes every day? There's no way. It'd be doable if I had a piano where I lived but I don't so there's no way.

And then my other two classes would be fine and doable if I literally just didn't have lit crit. But they're both English as well, and one is a 3 hour night class meeting on Wednesdays (once again giving me no time to do my Thursday homework), requiring about 150 pages read every week. And the other is variable speech/story/poem/etc. lengths but, knowing this professor, they'll have to be closely annotated. So no skimming for me if I'm short on time.

On top of that I have work, where I am now going to be one of two people among a sea of new hires (and that second person only started like three months ago and apparently makes people really uncomfortable). And I'm in charge of certifying all of them. And until that day happens, like months from now because the process actually takes forever, I and that other guy are the only ones who can give the hour-long tours. So that's 9 hours of my week right now (a majority happening during my Tuesday/Thursdays)

And I'm also the president of a club that I have no idea how to really run. There's so much shit I have to do up-top, like getting certified, making a whole budget that's extremely complicated and I don't know how to do, and start planning and holding meetings, all by a really soon date.

Plus I still have boxes I need to unpack and lists I need to research and send to my mom and apply for studying abroad before September 12th and my oven takes over an hour to pre-heat to 400 degrees which makes cooking anything impossible so I have nothing I can easily make and eat and I still need to confront a professor I've been avoiding and someone wants to interview me and I'm avoiding that email and I'm worried I'm not going to be making enough money this semester because I don't have that many hours and if I don't see my friends I get sad and lose all my motivation to do anything especially schoolwork and I have a stupid fucking 4.0 that I've maintained for this long I literally don't know how to lose it like how do you do an assignment and turn it in that isn't all of your effort ever and how do you know if you miss assignments that you aren't actually going to get a negative 500% grade in the class and I'm trying so hard to have a good semester I need a good semester after last semester I need to stay academically minded and excited to do it but I'm not going to get any exercise which naturally is going to make me sad because moving your body is good for you and feels good and i just don't have time and I said yes to a dnd campaign this semester?????? what the actual hell when i am going to have the time to do that and i want to start reading the illiad right now and i want to watch a movie every week and I think I am actually going to die

#rant post #this is extremely long and nonsensical but i just need to say it somewhere. please ignore #lposts

2 notes · View notes

gogodollie · 3 hours

Text

throws everything against the wall with my brain. have this unfinished valentine’s day fic in the middle of september because i thought about sister imperator receiving flowers and felt sick to my stomach

///////

Another morning, another rush. At least, in Papa’s case it’s yet another rush. Sister had woken up before dawn as usual to get a roll on her daily routine- pray, body shower, undo the curlers that have already begun frizzing from the humidity seeping into the house, and iron her habit for the second time to ensure it’s up to par.

She now sits at the island counter of their kitchen and cards through the mess of complaints, bills, and sloppily annotated sermon notes that had collected on her work desk the night prior. As Imperator waits for her lover, she’s able to lazily peruse and fit together a picture of what her day will look like. Speak to Sister Beatrice about the greenery budget. Collect the ghouls for post-ritual cleanup duty. Tell Psaltarian to harass Nihil into reading his father’s old sermons (or for Christ’s sake put him into Sunday classes with the ministry children).

The white noise of the shower disappears and the comfortable sound of footsteps padding about the tile, Act II of Papa’s morning routine commences. Echoes of drawers being opened and closed, one thin black comb being tossed to the side, deodorant falling onto the floor and then set back on the left side of the sink. Imperator has memorized this all by now and she sits on that knowledge for a moment, on the domesticity she’s fallen into with only a little over a month spent in her newlywed state.

Since the birth and the following marriage of and to her very own Papa Emeritus Nihil, things had moved so fast that she hardly had time to have a second thought. Impromptu wedding, collect his belongings, have the new Papa ordained, move to the hills. Nothing too crazy, right? To Nihil’s credit, she had to say that the past month had to have been the best of her life. Or at least, that’s what the constant flood of endorphins and adrenaline told her. Being around him was a high of its own and one she was planning to ride on the rest of her life. Though they’d been wed in only hours of knowing one another, she felt in her soul that she’d known him an entire lifetime. Satan had never led her astray before and she believed that the blessing of the union from their very own dark lord was all she needed to know that as long as Papa was beside her, the rest would fall into place.

Finally out of the bathroom, she can see the man run to the front door to retrieve his shoes as usual but he stops abruptly before he can grab them. Nihil trips over himself as he backtracks, stumbling into the hallway pantry for a moment and she listens to him rearrange the old cans of food and coffee tins (one with their emergency cash and the other with the only coffee she would bother drinking, imported specially and with a hefty price tag to show for it). He peaks around the corner to ensure that she’s still at her spot and clears his throat for attention. And used to the theatrics but in a way that brought comfort rather than annoyance, she straightens up and raises a brow to signify get on with the show. The sister is presented with a blur of browns, reds, and purples in a hurry that feels uniquely Nihil.

“I got these for you,” he pushes the bundle towards her, still sounding winded from his rush to get ready. “I know the church does their own… thing for Valentine’s Day but I felt weird not getting you something.”

The church thing just so happens to be an orgy and only a month into marriage, a month into the ministry, and a month as the damned anti-pope Nihil couldn’t find the words to say: Well I felt that maybe fucking you in front of all of your peers is a little much (and a little on the nose, come on satanists) so I thought that these stupidly expensive flowers would do. It’s not some good old-fashioned exhibitionism but give me another month and maybe I’ll be ready to give orgies a go.

Imperator is completely expressionless as she looks down at the bouquet he holds out. Her hands are limp in her lap and she makes no move to grab the gift, stares at it like it’s some sort of threat she hasn’t figured out yet. The flowers are limp against the butcher paper they’ve been wrapped in, their petals beginning to unfold and colors dampened from the moisture.

She’s twenty-four and has never received flowers before. The sister can’t say that she’s ever had any desire to be properly courted nor has she ever expected it of anyone she’s been with, including her husband-pope who seems to be even more of a romantic than she’d assumed of him.

He catches her stare and sheepishly looks up to apologize, “I swear they looked nicer when I bought them, I thought they’d be fine overnight- here I can probably get the florist to swap them out.”

It’s only been a month or so since Nihil had joined their church but she can’t help but notice just how much he’s changed in the short time he’s been here. Black hair has begun curling around the tips of his ears and the back of his head seems more like a mop now, weighed down against his neck where it begins to brush against his shoulders. She had offhandedly made a suggestion about him growing it out in order to blend into the ministry a bit more, something to distract from his sweet doe eyes and pure white chasuble. He’ll always be her perfect lamb to the slaughter though.

“No!” She’s quick to pull the bundle close against her and shoots him a stern look. “They’re fine,” comes and goes her blunt explanation, “thank you.” Imperator can’t help but let a glimpse of the smile that she’s been biting back shine through, throat swollen as she holds the bundle with both arms against her chest like it’ll be lost to her if she even considers being away from it. The sister slides from her barstool and stands on the tips of her toes to kiss Nihil gently below his chin, lipstick stain less noticeable to the unsuspecting eye against the white paints.

The man is a bit hesitant about her decision to keep the pathetic-looking gift but knows better than to question her at this point. If she wants wilted flowers, then wilted flowers she’ll have.

#ghost #papa nihil #sister imperator #it’s supposed to end with a reference to copia getting her dead flowers when she’s in the hospital #i have a few more paragraphs to add to this but i’m impatient and need gratification instantly

1 note · View note

messers-moony · 3 years

Text

Annotated Books & Sleek Hardcovers | R.B

Paring: Regulus Black X Fem!Lupin!Reader

Summary: Everything told them to be apart, but they said fuck the world.

Inspiration: Click

People would describe the younger Lupin sibling as warm and bright. She shined like the sun and was warm like a sunny summer day. She was the breeze on a warm summer day and the sun on a chilly autumn morning. She was worn books with annotations in the margins, highlighting, and scribbles. She was dependable, sweet, kind, and loving.

Dependable like a best friend. Sweet like Honeydukes chocolate. Kind of like a puppy dog who had been just adopted and as lovable as soft blankets. Her brother was no different. He oozed shyness, charisma, and intelligence. His tousled sandy hair and gleaming green eyes made everyone bend to his will. He didn’t even know that he was doing it.

But by fifth year, Remus Lupin had come out as gay. A month later, Sirius Black was on top of the Gryffindor table with a blushing Remus announcing their relationship. Remus had given his sister a sheepish look as he sat back down. Y/n had just kissed his cheek and smiled.

Y/n and Regulus had been sitting beside each other when Sirius had taken the Great Hall by storm. Instinctively, Regulus tightened his grip on her hand, and Y/n allowed her thumb to run along his. She watched as his shoulders relaxed a prominent amount.

“Well,” Regulus whispered, “I wasn’t expecting that. Did you know?”

Y/n shook her head, “No, but I’m happy for them. Are you?”

“I ‘spose.” Regulus shrugged, “When do you think they’ll find out about us?”

“Remus is a bit oblivious.” Y/n replied, “Sirius doesn’t really turn his head in your direction.”

Regulus looked down at his lap, “So if anything, we’ll have to tell them.”

“Do you think,” His voice was lower than a whisper, “That he’ll ever be my brother again?”

“I do.” Y/n leaned her head on his shoulder, “Siblings have a special bond.”

“I hope you’re right.”

She snorted, “I’m always right.”

At that, he cracked a smile.

Maybe it was her warmth that melted the ice surrounding Regulus’ heart. The icy, cold, Regulus Black. It wasn’t like they were hiding their relationship, but people were terrified to talk about it. They didn’t want to face the wrath of the young Black brother.

Regulus was described as the dark, cold winter nights people despised. The winter nights that were so low in temperature that even staying inside with the heat on, blankets on, and layers of clothes couldn’t warm. He was sleek, hardcover books and soggy leaves in the fall that left you disappointed when the satisfying crunch didn’t echo through your ears.

Regulus Black was everything but warm. He was your least favorite color. Your least favorite food. He was everything you hated. Perhaps it was Y/n’s sweetness that brought some of the crunchiness back to his leaf, the pen to his book, and the folded pages.

They were star-crossed lovers. Everything in the universe was trying to keep them apart from the colors of their robes and the clashing of their personalities. Regulus was the dry autumn and brash winter. Y/n was the prospering spring and hopeful summer. Perhaps they were the best of both worlds, and that’s why they worked together so well.

It wasn’t until their sixth year when their relationship had become the talk of the school. Regulus had begun wearing long sleeves even in the hot months, and people grew suspicious. Only he and she knew what laid beneath that crisp white button-up. Beneath the cold ice he kept around his heart.

Y/n looked around Platform Nine and Three-Quarters for her raven-haired boyfriend as Remus joined his friends on the train. When she did find him, it wasn’t pleasant. Walburga had been fussing with his sleeve, making sure it stayed down, and she had slapped the back of his head for slouching over. Regulus had rolled his shoulders to stand up straight. Orion didn’t look impressed, and Walburga murmured something along the lines of, “Good enough.”

“Now, what do we say, Regulus?”

Regulus caught Y/n’s eyes for just a split second, and he looked away hastily, “Toujours Pur.”

“Good.” Walburga stated, “Now go.”

He nodded and began walking toward Y/n’s general direction. Regulus took her hand in his directing her on another path, “Meet at our usual compartment.”

Y/n gave him a smile in response as she walked away. It left Regulus with a pink hue coating his usually pale skin. His stomach fluttered, and his heart palpitated. They entered the train on opposite sides and met in the middle at their compartment. She was already sitting down when he plopped down beside her. His head was leaning on her shoulder.

“Missed you.” Regulus slurred, sleep evident in his tone, “Wish I could’ve escaped.”

“I missed you too, Reggie.” Y/n took his left hand in hers, “But I know that we have a lot to talk about.”

He tensed, “I suppose we do.”

“Things like what’s on your left forearm?”

“Y/n, please-“

“I’m not mad.”

“But you’re disappointed.”

Her light laugh confused him, “I’m not either, actually.”

Regulus lifted his head to look at her, “You aren’t?”

“I just want to know what you plan on doing with that mark.”

“I don’t have a choice.” Regulus stated, slumping down again, “I have to serve him.”

Y/n hesitated, “You have choices.”

“What are they?”

“Be a spy.”

“A spy?” Regulus queried incredulously, “Are you serious?”

A silly smile graced her features, “Actually. Forget I asked that. Are you daft?”

“No.” Y/n replied, “I’m actually top of our class, so.”

“If he finds out I’m a spy. Then I’d be killed, Y/n.” Regulus said softly, “It’d be different if I didn’t care about anyone. If I had nothing to lose, but I do, and I don’t want to lose a chance at a future with you because of it.”

Y/n took his face into her hands, “You can’t do this. You can’t work for him. You’ll kill yourself slowly anyway.”

“I don’t have a choice.” He wiped a tear from her cheek, “This was bound to happen. This was my fate.”

“Who gives a shit about fate.” Y/n chuckled tearfully, “Professor Trelawney always said that you could change fate.”

Regulus cracked a tiny smile, “You would pay attention in Divination, wouldn’t you.”

“Someone’s gotta give Sirius the notes.”

“Sirius… I didn’t even think about-“ Regulus stopped, “He’s- He’s gonna hate me.”

“Hey, Regulus, look at me.” His breathing sped up, and his hands began to tremble, “Sirius isn’t going to hate you.”

He shook his head, “No, he’s- he’s gonna- I’m gonna-“

Y/n wrapped her arms around him. Regulus nosed at the crook of her neck, breathing in the sweet perfume. The fragrance smelt of crisp apples mixed along with her scent of caramel, chocolate, and marshmallow. It gave him something to focus on, and with his muddled mind, Regulus fell asleep.

Regulus was still asleep three hours later when Sirius came barging into the compartment stopping in his tracks. Y/n brought her index finger to her lips, ordering him to be quiet. Sirius shut the door and sat in front of them. Regulus’ face was out of view from his older brother's. His nose was nuzzled in Y/n’s neck, and his hair hid his face.

“So,” Sirius began quietly, the atmosphere had never been so thick, “How long?”

“Fourth year.” Y/n thought Sirius’ eyes were going to bulge out of his head.

“But you- and him- you don’t-“

“Don’t belong together?”

Sirius nodded, “Who are you to say? Technically I could say the same about you and my brother.”

“Fair point.” Sirius muttered.

It was quiet again, and all that was heard was the slashing of rain on the window of the train, “How- How is he?” Sirius’ voice had never been so quiet before.

“He’ll be okay.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

Before Y/n could respond, Regulus began to tremble again. He was trying to dig his nose deeper into her neck and reaching desperately for something to hold onto. Y/n allowed his hand to grasp hers tightly. His trembling subsided, and Y/n gently kissed the crown of his head, allowing him to relax finally.

“How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“I never-“ Sirius looked shocked, “I could never calm his nightmares….”

Y/n gave him a soft smile, “Perhaps it’s a Lupin talent.”

“Perhaps.” Sirius replied, “But, is he okay?”

“He will be.”

“What does that mean?” Sirius questioned loudly, and Y/n hushed him, “They didn’t- did they?”

She nodded solemnly, “We’re gonna- We’re gonna work through it together.”

Sirius could see her swallowing the lump in her throat. Sirius could see the dullness in her eyes, the same dull that Remus’ eyes got after the full moon. Sirius could always read Remus through his eyes. They were a tell-tale of his emotions. It seemed that he could do the same with Y/n. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, untold trauma, and unspoken words.

“Take care of him, yeah?” Sirius requested quietly as he stood up to leave the compartment.

She nodded, “Yeah.”

He closed the sliding door quietly. It was a quiet walk back to his own compartment with the Marauders. The task of getting the summer homework to copy turned into an entirely new adventure. Sirius opened the door to his compartment to find James and Peter talking animately. Remus sat with his head against the glass and head in a book. He had some muggle markers beside him that Sirius liked to draw with.

Sirius slumped beside Remus putting space between them. That was the first tell. The second tell was that Sirius didn’t speak, and he stared out to the train's hallway. Remus closed his book, placing it back beside him, and wrapped his arm around his boyfriend's shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low and hot in Sirius’ ear.

“Nothing.” Sirius replied, still not looking into Remus’ eyes, “Your sister was no help. Said I needed to do the homework on my own. Said I was a tosser for not doing it.”

Remus snorted and nuzzled his nose into Sirius’ cheek, “Well, perhaps I ought to tell her that’s not how she should speak to my boyfriend.”

“No.” Sirius hated how distant he sounded, “She’s got other things to worry about.”

The lycanthrope furrowed his eyebrows, “Like what?”

“Like you.” Sirius lied like it was nothing, “Who do you think puts hot cocoa and Honeydukes chocolate at your bedside after the full?”

“Then I should give her a sister of the year award.” Remus corrected, and Sirius nodded, “Perhaps you should.”

If only I could get a best brother award, Sirius thought. It was selfish. He knew that. It was wrong to envy Y/n and Remus’ relationship. Unfit to be jealous of his brothers relationship, but he couldn’t help it. Sirius wanted to be the one to chase all of Regulus’ demons away. Sirius wanted to hold him during every thunderstorm as he used to as children. Sirius should be happy for Regulus even if it weren’t because of him.

It took a month before Remus was storming into the common room and yelled insanities at his sister. Remus wasn’t thinking, words fell from his mouth so carelessly, and the entire common room stared as Remus had his sister pushed against a wall, hands holding her up from the collar on her shirt, seething at her.

“You must be one of the stupidest people I’ve ever met.” Remus seethed, and Y/n flinched, “You must be fucking insane.”

Sirius could do nothing but stare, “Maybe I should’ve disowned you as my sister the minute I saw you hanging out with him.”

Tears ebbed at Y/n’s eyes, “But I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I trusted you, and you betrayed me.”

James couldn’t tell what was worse, the fact that Remus was so calm and his voice was so low or when Remus yelled, “You were my everything. My sister, my partner in crime, my other half, and you fucking destroyed it.”

“Mate, stop.” James tried to interject, but Remus just shoved her against the wall harder, and streaks of silver appeared on her cheeks.

“Wonder what dad would do if he found out.” Remus taunted, and Y/n shook her head, “You know how much dad despises them.”

Y/n choked, “Remus-“

“Don’t.” He snarled, “My name isn’t allowed to fall from your mouth. Fucking traitor.”

Sirius had enough, “Remus, stop. That’s enough.”

Remus whirled around, Y/n sliding to the floor, knees to her chest, “Who are you talk? You did the same thing back in fifth year.”

“I’m not your bloody sister.” Sirius snapped, “She’s been there with you through everything. Maybe if you let her explain, then you could understand.”

Remus pointed at her and looked at Sirius with fire in his eyes, “She isn’t my sister. She’ll never be my sister again.”

Sirius could remember the exact same words falling from his mouth only a year earlier, and it crushed him. Y/n was sobbing, and her knees were pulled tightly under her chin. James was trying to console her, but it wasn’t working as Remus and Sirius went toe to toe. Y/n didn’t deserve this for loving who she loved.

Remus scoffed when Sirius wouldn’t back down and stormed up to the boy's dormitory. Sirius knelt before her and lifted her head from her lap. His thumbs wiped away the tears, and he took her into his arms. So much built-up pain, built-up trauma, built-up lies. She was finally crumbling like a tower on an unsteady foundation. Y/n was a one-hundred-story tower that was collapsing from the bottom up.

Debris falling everywhere and soot clouding the atmosphere. He could see the smog slipping in her mind, clouding up her judgment and thoughts. Sirius could see the debris cluttering and scraping away at her heart. With every scrap and every tear, her heart began to give out. It felt like being crushed in an elevator, with no room to breathe and no room for moving. She was stuck, and that was it.

Y/n couldn’t remember much after feeling Sirius’ lips on the top of her head. But she woke up on the plush of the common room couch. The rough maroon fabric was felt beneath her fingertips. Beside her was a boy in an armchair. He was curled up, and a black fleece blanket covered his body from the coldness of the Gryffindor common room.

Beside her was a glass of water and a note. She picked up the water and allowed it to glide down her throat, soothing the ache from her earlier crying. Her nose still felt stuffy, and she willed herself to sniffle quietly, trying not to wake the boy beside her. The parchment was ripped at the edges and was written in beautiful calligraphy.

"Il y a toujours des ténèbres avant que la lumière brille."

She folded the note and placed it back on the side table with the empty glass. The fire had gone out fully in the common room, allowing the temperature in the room to fall. It was cold, dry, and dark. Y/n had never seen the common room so dark. Not a candle was lit, and no light was shining from the windows. Just the slightest bit of moonlight. Gently she stood up and reached for the boy's hand in the armchair.

“Reggie.” Her voice was smooth and soft, “Reg.”

He stirred and opened his eyes to meet his girlfriend's warm ones. Sirius had rushed to the Slytherin common room despite all prejudice. Some of the Slytherins spat at him when he asked for the password. It took ten people before Regulus finally answered to the incessant knocking. He was shocked to be met with his older brother.

There Sirius had told him what happened, how Remus had shoved his sister against the wall accusing her of betraying him for dating him. Regulus felt ashamed. He didn’t want to be the reason they didn’t get to be civil with each other. Sirius even uttered the exact words Remus had, “She isn’t my sister. She’ll never be my sister again.” Regulus had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying anything.

People stared at the younger Black brother as he walked into the Gryffindor common room. The Gryffindor’s glared, spat, and insulted, but he didn’t care. He found his girlfriend lying on the couch with a thick red blanket surrounding her. Sirius had claimed that Marlene had brought it for her, and Sirius had been the one to move her to the couch. Regulus saw the dried tear stains, the swollen eyes, and the bruised lip.

“It wasn’t pretty.” Sirius had muttered, “Remus isn’t one to hold back.”

Regulus smoothed her hair back, “This is because of me….”

“Reg, no.” Sirius had replied, “Remus will come around. He just doesn’t know how to digest this.”

The common room was silent, and Regulus just held her hand. His thumb stroked the back of her hand softly. Sirius watched as Regulus went through a wave of emotions. He was hurt, confused, concerned, and terrified. It was like watching the seasons go by. Watching everything welt, die, grow back and prosper just to repeat the cycle. It was like watching a new book turn into an old one as the ink was embedded onto the pages, the papers getting folded, tabs being placed, and the spine being cracked.

Regulus appeared to be a sleek hardcover book, but she was his person. She turned him into a used paperback. One with highlighting, tabs, folded pages, a cracked spine, and a loved cover. His heart beat for her. She was the reason he woke up every morning, the reason he ate, the reason he got good marks. She was his reason.

“I tried talking sense into him.” Sirius confessed quietly, “He just brought up the incident in fifth year.”

Regulus closed his eyes tightly and tried to withhold his tears, “Maybe I should talk to him.”

“No.” Sirius said sternly, “You’ll be asking for death.”

“What do I do, Sirius?”

His blue-grey eyes were glittering with desperation, “Nothing… Take care of her.”

With that, Sirius left a kiss on his younger brother's head and left the common room, retreating to the dormitory. Regulus sighed and placed his forehead on the back of her hand. Tears slipped from his eyes and onto the material of the couch. Everyone was gone at that point. The common room wholly cleared and the fire slowly decaying in the fireplace as Regulus Black finally allowed himself to break.

He woke up on an armchair with a soft thick black blanket covering his limbs. Red rimmed e/c eyes met his blue-grey ones, and he felt a wave of relief. Y/n reached her hand out, and Regulus took it, keeping the blanket around his shoulders as she brought him to her dormitory. The girls were sleeping, and Y/n sat down on her bed, Regulus doing the same. She drew the curtains and muttered a silencing spell.

Regulus laid with his head on her pillow, pulling her to lay on his chest. He wrapped the fuzzy black blanket around them. Y/n nuzzled into his side, and he placed a kiss on the top of her head. They didn’t need to exchange words for expressing how they felt. They knew how the other felt. There was no need on elaborating. She fell asleep not too long after, and Regulus laid awake trying of solutions.

Even when the sun broke the horizon, Regulus still had nothing.

They continued the year like this. Remus and Y/n didn’t speak at all anymore. Remus went as far as to change his schedule and ignore the sweets left on his bedside after the full moons. Sirius would pretend it came from him, but Remus still would budge. He would chuck the chocolate in the trash even though he knew that Y/n barely had money in the first place to buy it. He’d dump the hot chocolate in the waste bin and smash the mug to get out any frustration.

Sirius thought that the worst part was Remus never grieved for his sister. He never saw Remus cry or get upset about what he did. It was like Remus had no remorse for what he did. Sirius had grieved. He had sobbed in the midst of twilight with shit silencing charms. Sirius had wailed and clutched his blanket close to his chest, hoping it would soothe the aching of his heart.

When they graduated, Remus didn’t look for his sister in the crowd. He didn’t care if she was there or not, but she was. Y/n was there holding Regulus’ hand tightly, watching her brother shake Dumbledore’s hand. She watched as Sirius embraced Regulus in a tight hug in the shadows. Y/n smiled bittersweetly at their embrace as Regulus took her hand back in his.

Sirius began to open his mouth, “No need to lie. I know he doesn’t care if I was here or not.”

Y/n shuffled on her feet, and Sirius took her into his arms. Sirius was shorter than Regulus, and he didn’t smell the same, but his hugs were just as comforting in a brotherly way. His hand caressed her hair, and Sirius couldn’t help the way his heart ached. He shouldn’t be the one hugging her, Remus should, but he isn’t. Sirius kissed her forehead and released her from his hug.

“I’ll write to you guys.”

“Don’t get into too much trouble.” Y/n replied with tear-filled eyes, “I can’t imagine you gone.”

Sirius smirked, “Yes, ma’am. Don’t you know I always obey the rules?”

“She’s being real, Sirius.” Regulus didn’t crack a smile, “This war isn’t a joke, and I’d- I’d like to see you next year when I graduate.”

“I’ll be there.” Sirius said solemnly, “I won’t leave you guys. They won’t take me alive.”

Y/n cracked a smile, “Good.”

Regulus nudged his girlfriend, and she wiped the tears from her cheeks, “Protect him. He gets reckless and forgets about himself. Don’t let him do anything stupid.”

Sirius could still hear Remus’ voice in their first Order meeting, “I swear on all Merlin if they touch her, they’ll be sorry.”

“‘Course. Don’t forget he’s still my boyfriend.” Sirius replied, and Y/n smiled, “‘S why I’m asking you and not James. Keep- Keep my brother safe, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They joined the Order of the Phoenix without looking back. Remus, James, Sirius, and Peter quickly became some of the best Aurors of the Ministry of Magic. Sirius had made the Daily Prophet multiple for putting Death Eaters in Azkaban. Many citizens of the Wizarding community thought of him as the next Alastor Moody.

Seventh year was the worst one yet. Most of the Slytherin Death Eaters were attacking the younger kids. Most of the older Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs had to defend them from the unforgivable curses. It seemed normal to hear the crucio curse being thrown away and seeing green flashes. It made Y/n sick to her stomach.

It got so surreal that Y/n and Regulus had begun sleeping behind tapestries or hidden tunnels. Dormitories and common rooms were no longer safe. Their backs ached, and body’s sore from lying on concrete, but it was better than dying. Graduation was not a celebration, and no one from outside was allowed in, but Sirius waited for them at Kings Cross.

The next time Y/n saw Remus was when she was being sworn into the Order, and he barely spared her a glance. Not long after the speech was being spoken, another person entered the meeting point. He was shockingly familiar with wavy black hair and blue-grey eyes. Remus jumped out of his seat, and James had to hold him back. Regulus released a breath and stood beside his girlfriend.

“Now. I’m sure there’s a lot of confusion.” Dumbledore began calmly, “Regulus has sworn to be our spy.”

Remus growled, “He’s a Death Eater.”

“Exactly.” Remus glared at the old Professor, “Therefore, he can enter and participate in their meetings. Then he can come back here and report what he knows.”

“I don’t like it any more than you do.” Regulus said, “I don’t want to put anyone in danger, but someone needs to do it.”

Remus went to speak, but Regulus cut him off, “Someone needs to protect your sister.”

Everyone stared in shock at the bold statement that came from the young Black brother's mouth, and Remus leaped from his seat, “She is a traitor. Just like you.”

Instinctively Regulus moved her behind him as Remus was now face to face with him, “She’s everything but. Wasn’t she the one who stopped Fenrir Greyback from killing you?”

“Shut up.”

“Wasn’t she the one who cleaned your wounds after the full moons before the Marauders?”

“I’m warning you.”

“Wasn’t she the one who used to make you hot chocolate when the nightmares got too bad that you couldn’t sleep?”

Remus snapped, and Sirius pulled him away from Regulus. But they all saw how Y/n cowered when he lunged forward, how she flinched back, covering her face with her hands. Regulus kept a tight hold on her hand, and they watched as Sirius calmed Remus down, bringing him upstairs. When Remus was gone, Dumbledore spoke again.

“Well, the first Order meeting will be announced in just a couple of days. It allows Y/n and Regulus to get in their positions.” Dumbledore announced, “It allows Y/n to get some training and Regulus to get Voldemort’s trust.”

Everyone dispersed. Y/n and Regulus apparated to a flat they had bought in London. It was relatively modern for the time and had everything they needed. The place was clean and brand new. When they landed in the living room, she went straight to the bedroom. Regulus prepared her a hot drink and set it at her bedside table with a warming charm. He laid beside her, placing her head on his heart.

“Je Vous Aime.” His french accent was so smooth and gentle, like a baby blanket, “Je t'aime aussi.”

Everything just got more stressful as time passed. Regulus’ job got more and more dangerous, making Y/n worry profusely. It got to times where they had to pretend to throw curses back and forth so he could prove that he was loyal to them. It wasn’t until a rumor of a spy for the Death Eaters came out that Regulus’ job became crucial. It took three more meetings, and on October 15th Regulus knew who it was.

He could remember the day vividly how Voldemort welcomed Peter Pettigrew to the Death Eaters with open arms. Regulus had stared in mock happiness but, in reality, had been shocked. Someone so close to the Potters had gone and betrayed him. So when Peter was absent from one meeting, Regulus brought it up.

“They spy is Pettigrew.”

“No.” James chuckled, “You’re lying, right?”

Regulus shook his head, “He plans to kill you, Lily, and Harry on Halloween.”

Everyone stiffened. The air was tense, but Dumbledore smiled victoriously, “Beautiful work, Regulus. We’ll apprehend Pettigrew when he’s seen again.”

They had set up a false meeting where Peter got sent to Azkaban only two days later after Regulus announced he was the traitor. That sparked the war between them, and this time, Regulus was on the right side, the side he always wanted to be on. A week later, and on Halloween, Voldemort was dead. Many people's lives were lost, but many were saved.

After the war, Remus had proposed to Sirius, and yet Y/n was still not invited to the wedding. Sirius had begged Remus to make amends with her. The war was over. This nonsense was not needed anymore. But Remus was stubborn, and Y/n was too afraid to approach him, so James gave her the invisibility cloak to watch her brother marry. Not the ideal way she planned on watching her brother and his love get married.

A couple of months later, Regulus and Y/n did the same. Except they did it alone, with Sirius being their only witness and the person marrying them. Sirius couldn’t help but feel awful for Remus not being able to walk her down the aisle, not to see her in the pretty dress she had picked out. It wasn’t until fifteen years later when Y/n had two teenage boys, and a little girl did someone came knocking on her door during the winter holidays.

Both boys were running around the house, and their little sister was trying to keep up. Two twin boys who were fifteen - Romeo and Romulus. A little girl who was just about ten named Ascella. Romulus was a carbon copy of Sirius. Romeo had the Lupin sandy hair and the Black family eyes with the Black family defined face. He was the best of both worlds. Ascella looked like a female Regulus.

Romeo was the Keeper of the Slytherin house for Quidditch. Romulus played Beater for Gryffindor, and little Ascella would get her Hogwarts letter in just about a year. Regulus and Y/n both predicted she’d be in Gryffindor with her brave, mischievous nature. Y/n was the one to get the door with her two boys behind her. Ascella had been called into the living room by her father.

Y/n was shocked to meet familiar green eyes, “Um- hi.”

“Hey.” Remus said nervously, scratching the back of his head, “I hope I’m not intruding.”

Both boys behind her looked confused, “Mum, who is this?”

A pang of hurt hit Remus, “This- This is my brother.”

“Brother?” Romulus questioned, “Like he’s our uncle?”

“Yes.” Y/n retorted, “Now you boys grab your sister. Go do something upstairs while we talk, yeah?”

Romeo looked crestfallen, “Mum, we aren’t five.”

“I know, but we have a lot of talking to do.”

Romeo sighed, “Fine but be safe.”

She kissed the tops of their heads, “Of course.”

Ascella was running to her brothers within seconds after Romulus called for her. Remus saw her black hair flutter around as she followed her brothers up the steps. Y/n smiled and motioned for Remus to come inside. The house was lovely and decorated for the holidays. Y/n walked through the hallway to the living room, and Remus followed.

“I apologize for the mess.” She chuckled, “Having the boys home makes the house messy.”

Remus saw the pictures on the wall, “A Slytherin and a Gryffindor.”

Y/n smiled, “Yep. Romeos the Slytherin, and Romulus is the Gryffindor. We have a feeling Ascella will be in Gryffindor too.”

He placed the picture back down and sighed, “Merlin, what did I miss?”

Regulus was still stiff and stern, “A lot if you couldn’t tell already. That’s what happens when you call your sister a traitor and decide to disown her.”

All three children were listening secretly and grimaced at their father's words, “But don’t worry. I’ve done your job. I’ve been there for her, protected her, and made sure she was happy.” Regulus snapped, “And Sirius did your job of being the children’s uncle.”

“He didn’t even tell me you guys had kids.” Remus muttered, “‘Course he didn’t. In case you don’t remember, you didn’t want anything to do with us.” Regulus retorted.

The children had never heard their father speak this way with so much ice in his words. Regulus was blunt and unapologetic, “We wanted you to be a part of our family, Remus, we really did. But we didn’t know how you’d feel.” Y/n informed.

“Plus, the last time you saw us, you tried to kill Regulus.” Ascella covered her ears, and Romeo ushered them to his room to stop listening, “Yeah, so forgive us for not inviting you to be a part of our family.”

Regulus punctuated his statement by putting his arm around Y/n’s waist, “I’m sorry.” Remus murmured.

“I’m really sorry for how I acted. It was immature and stupid of me.” He continued, “I didn’t know how to feel when I heard my sister was with a Death Eater at the time, and I was just scared.”

Y/n stood up and hugged him, “Remus. What you did isn’t going to be forgiven. I’m sorry.”

He had tears glazing in his emerald green eyes that dulled with age, “I know we were young, but that doesn’t excuse the words you said or how you acted. Trying to kill my husband and saying god awful things about me.”

Y/n took her seat beside Regulus, and Remus sniffled, “You did this. Not us.” Regulus reminded, and Remus nodded.

“Okay, I just- I’ll go.” Remus stood up from his seat and walked down the hallway to the front door; he took in every family portrait.

When he got to the door, Y/n opened it for him, and he walked out, “Remus.”

He turned, and Y/n hugged him one last time. His chin rested on top of her head, breathing in her shampoo that still hadn’t changed since third year. The same perfume from fourth year. Her arms fit around him just the same way as they had when they were little children running around the lake. Y/n kissed his cheek and released herself from his embrace.

“I may not be your sister.” Y/n repeated with tear-filled eyes, and Remus allowed the tears to fall; her two boys were standing beside her, “But you’ll always be my brother.”

The door had closed, and Remus decided that that was the end of his chapter. He had underlined, circled, highlighted, and folded every significant page, but this was the end of the chapter. He was flipping to the next page, where the new chapter began. The new chapter where he had to live without his sister or his niece and nephews.

Remus always loved fragile, cracked paperbacks.

3K notes · View notes

of-foolish-and-wise · 3 years

Text

a uni survival guide: tips from a phd

if there's one thing i know about, it's college. i've done it, i've taught it, i've lived and breathed it. these tips are for first years in particular, but honestly for everybody. i think it's so important for people to have balanced lives in these years -- academics are not everything. you know what didn't help me in the real world when i was afraid i wouldn't live through it? my fancy college note-taking format. you know what did help me? the friends i made there who i knew would get on a plane and fly across the country in a matter of hours if i told them i needed them.

academic

- figure out where class is held ahead of time: don't be that kid who's late on day one, i beg of you

- use the writing center: especially for basic grammatical editing, which a lot of professors don't have time to mark on papers

- speak up in class: talking through ideas helps you work through them, and asking questions about something you don't understand can open up great lines of conversation

- find a regular schedule that works for you and stick to it: my college schedule was morning free time, class, lunch, class, practice, homework. that consistency was a life-saver

- keep a planner: it's so important to have a central place to track deadlines, assignments, and engagements

- annotate your reading: when you're stressing about a paper topic, being able to go back to what you've highlighted and written in the margins is a life-saver

- color-code your coursework: i use the same color highlighter, pen, and notebook for any given class. it's super helpful

- if you can't focus while studying with friends, don't: i reserved group studying for days when i didn't have important work because i can't be in a room with other people without talking to them. if your school has one, the quiet floor of the library is your best friend

- treat yourself to a "fun" class: art was always my place to just sit back and chill, a way to end the night all zen in the darkroom instead of conjugating russian verbs in a fluorescent-lit cinderblock prison. for you, it could be gym, it could be pottery, it could be some random course about, like, the history of cooking or something -- explore!

- profs are people too: don't be too nervous around them. also, know that if you're struggling -- even b/c of something in your personal life -- you can admit it, and they'll almost always understand why you missed a deadline or bombed a test

- go to office hours: it's the only way to get to know professors in big courses, and it's so helpful for both your grades and learning how to navigate relationships with authority figures

social

- don't let academia keep you from your friends: it's a case-by-case basis, but sometimes it's okay to let the reading slide and spend time with friends. i graduated seven years ago and my college group text still talks every day. that's so much more important to me than the fact that i never finished brideshead revisited

- joining a club is one of the best ways to make friends: i played ultimate frisbee through college and it was the source of so many lasting relationships, as well as the way i met all my local friends when i was abroad

- say yes to things you don't know if you'll like: you'll surprise yourself. me? turns out i love drinking games. and theme parties. and skinny dipping. and rock climbing

- don't be that person who looks down on their peers for partying: honestly? that person kind of sucks. you don't have to party if you don't want to, but actually, a lot of those people are super nice and also good at school -- don't just write them off!

- show up for your friends: go to their games, their concerts, their art shows, their standup nights. show them that what matters to them matters to you, too

- set aside a night to do a group activity with others: whether your vibe is wednesday night trivia, a weekly "terrible movie" showing, or a get-high-and-watch-nature-documentaries-type thing, these are great ways to liven up the week and de-stress

- this is a great time to figure out who from high school really matters to you: you don't have to force relationships that were built mostly on convenience if there are friends at uni with whom you click more. people you became friends with purely based on the coincidence of where your parents lived do not have to be your forever friends. they can be! but they don't have to be

personal

- don't expect too much of yourself: a 4.0 is not the end-all, be-all. if your family or somebody tells you it is, tell them to call me, and i will personally talk some sense into them

- take advantage of university support services: mental health counseling, free yoga classes, multi-cultural societies, etc

- drink water: please, please don't get kidney stones in the middle of the semester, says the girl who got kidney stones in the middle of the semester

- let yourself take breaks: if you need to lie to a professor and say you're sick when really you're just feeling down and you need to sit in bed and watch a movie, that's totally valid

- don't freak about individual assignments: my students come to me freaking over a B+ and i tell them, honey, no job interviewer is ever going to ask you about your second paper from communications 101. i wish i'd known that

- go see speakers if there's someone interesting coming to campus: these talks are always cooler than you expect. i'll never get over the fact that i didn't go see anita hill when she came to my undergrad

- do your laundry on the same night every week: i can't explain why this is so helpful but it really is

- keep up on the news and the memes: read the school paper, the school blog, the memes page -- college politics and inside jokes are fun and convoluted and fascinating

- set the groundwork for long-term self-care: all of the above is really just to say -- university isn't just for learning about the french revolution, it's also about learning how to balance, how to handle failure, how to ask for help, how to make a salad that doesn't totally suck, etc

#uni #university #university tips #fresher #freshers #freshman year #freshmen #first year #first year tips #uni tips #college tips #college #studyblr #studying #academia #of foolish and wise #fresher tips #college masterpost #study masterpost

2K notes · View notes

whump-town · 3 years

Text

A Favor

Feeling very Hotch and Hank these days (feel free to send me asks about them because I fucking love them and I will write more about them if given the chance)

No warnings

No Pairings

It begins about mid-April in the height of the whole “April showers bring May flowers” thing. Hotch is sitting on the porch when Derek pulls into his driveway. The day is chilly, the perfect sort where the weather never gets the chance to get humid because the rain doesn’t stop falling and the sun stays tucked behind thick, billowing clouds. Windshield wipers darting quickly, never fast enough to fight the rapid downpour. Sitting out in a rocking chair, sweater pulled over his white-shirt to fight the chill, Hotch cocks his head to the side as Derek throws his door open, jogging - head down- to the porch. The car is still on.

“I need a favor,” he shouts as he nears the porch. He runs on up, ignoring Hotch’s raised eyebrow of confusion. Derek follows his eyes to the car and lets out a breathless sigh. “Listen, man, Hank’s got the croup or something. The nursery won’t take him when he’s got a fever and the plumbing just blew sky high at that house I’m renovating on Sixth Street. Savannah -”

Hotch stands, all Derek needed to say was that he needed Hotch to watch Hank for a little bit. The rest is rather unnecessary. How many times did Derek spend an hour or the day watching Jack so Hotch could do his job? Hanging around a park or the office instead of out doing what he wanted. Even if he hadn’t watched Jack, Hotch loves Hank. He cares about Derek and he also likes Savannah. Besides, his day isn’t exactly looking too busy at the moment. “He’s in the car?” Hotch asks, reaching down and grabs the raincoat he’d laid over the chair beside him.

Derek nods. He winces, “he’s moody but I think he’s excited to see you.”

Hotch hums. As they near the car, Hotch’s jacket is thrown over his arm as he walks into the rain, he smirks as they get closer and Hank’s crying gets louder. He looks at Derek, a twinkle in his eye, and betrays his amusement. Hank doesn’t exactly sound excited to be here.

Derek opens the door, immediately placing a hand on Hank’s heaving chest, shushing him gently. “Hank,” he calls, rubbing Hank’s chest with his thumb. “Baby look who it is.” Hank whines, kicking out and still making softer crying sounds as he rubs his eyes and finds Hotch. “See?” Derek offers, stepping to the side to let Hotch step closer. “I promised I’d take you to see Hops.” Hank still cries, softer now but big pitiful tears that make both men’s heartache. It makes Derek feel awful that he has to leave him.

Derek steps back, sighing as he moves to the other side of the car for the diaper bag. “Everything should be in here,” Derek shouts, as he leans around and drags the heavy bag out. He hadn’t looked in it, he realizes, before leaving but he’s certain diapers are good but he’s not so sure about a spare change of clothes. If it’s that big of a deal, Hotch will just drive him to Derek’s. Besides, Savannah should be off by five and Derek should be done by lunchtime. They’ll be fine. Hotch has done the baby thing before.

Hotch unbuckles the straps holding Hank in, frowning when Hank immediately starts fighting to get the rest of the way out. His fingers have lost the dexterity he had in his youth - too many years of abusing them for all they were worth in fights, countless hours of paperwork, and... Foyet. Wiggling baby and tiny little mechanics do not help. He’s managing slowly when Derek comes back around, his grey t-shirt now soaked, and he steps back to let Derek in.

“Alright, alright -” Derek gets him out in a second. Working through the straps and buttons with no issue. “Look,” Derek turns and gives Hank to Hotch. Smiling when Hotch wraps his raincoat around the baby, rocking his body to try and soothe Hank back down. The baby takes to Hotch, wrapping his arms around his neck, and presses his wet face into Hotch’s shirt. Derek can faintly hear him hiccuping, still crying but softer now. Whining more than sobbing.

At that moment, Derek has no idea the impact of the domino that he has knocked over.

When Hank was born, before Hank was born, Reid went through this phase of reading every parenting book he perceived worth it. If they were really good, if Reid found them intellectually stimulating and correct statistically, he’d turn them over to Morgan. Annotated. They would be covered in sticky notes, full of notes and commentary. Lots of directions about orders to read the books in and how to skip around so ensure he got the best read according to Reid.

Having nothing to do with what Reid thought was best or even important, Derek found himself reading through the guides about grandparents. About the ways that people change. Adapting to being a parent and then how parents handle being grandparents.

His father would never meet Hank.

Chicago is so far away. Fran is here when she can be, she’s a fantastic grandmother. He’s called her for everything under the sun and even though Hank has had a thousand colds and upper-respiratory infections come and go, he still calls her for every single one. Just to make sure. Just for someone to tell him he’s doing all this right.

Savannah hasn’t talked to her parents in years. Things are too complicated.

Hank will have a grandmother. One.

It’s so unfair.

It eats Derek up. Grandparents had been so important to him as a child. His grandmother was one of the only people he felt safe with, always. She was just calm in the storm of pain in his life. Who could be that person for Hank? He never wants Hank to need someone but it’s better to have a net to fall on, something to brace against when the floor gives way than to come crashing through the floor. To be met with concrete where it doesn’t have to be.

Then Derek goes and spills all those dominos.

The first time that it happens he’s a mess. He dropped Hank off at daycare at seven, like he does every morning. So, reasonably, that’s where Hank should be at two when Derek goes to pick him up.

An hour later, shaking and on the verge of tears, Derek finds him in Hotch’s backyard. The two calmly swaying in the hammock, Hank drowsily listening to Hotch read “The Lorax”. Even intently listening, head tilted up so he can see Hotch, to the older man’s boring, if not entirely too complicated, commentary about capitalism and Karl Marx. The alienation of labor and lack of class consciousness, it’s no wonder the kid is falling asleep.

Putting Hotch on the emergency list had been more of a precaution for the possibility that Morgan is on a job and Savannah has work. He hadn’t really considered Hotch would need to go get Hank. Morgan hadn’t even wanted to list him, didn’t want to bother him like that.

By about the hundredth time, it’s no longer jarring to walk into the daycare and find his son is already gone. Even the workers know to warn him now.

Derek has a key to Hotch’s, he’s more than earned that right but especially these days. He lets himself into the front door and through the house, knows exactly where to find his son. The kid spends more days out of daycare than he spends in it.

“What are you two going to do when he goes to Kindergarten next year?”

They’re in the backyard, as they typically are. As annoying as he finds paying for a program that Hank doesn’t honestly attend most days, he can’t complain that much. Hank is reading exceptionally well, having two adults’ undivided attention for long periods of time helps. There are side effects. He can read books on his own but he does occasionally do old people things.

Like grunt when he sits down.

And asks to drink everything out of a mug.

Derek can see the face Emily makes, knows how this conversation goes by default of how it’s gone a hundred times before. “No,” Derek says, flatly. “You can not pull him out of Kindergarten.”

Hotch looks down at Hank, the toddler curled up into his side with a picture book. “He doesn’t have to go to Kindergarten.”

Derek had made himself sick thinking about Hank’s perceived lack of support. He hadn’t anticipated this. The giant hammock Hotch put up in his backyard. Met for fall days just like this, large enough for Emily and Hotch lay on two separate ends. Hank in the middle of them, feet kicked up on Emily’s thighs like a little king. The bookshelf in Hotch’s old office lowest shelf full of children’s books. The car seat in his old pick-up truck. The go-gurts, applesauce squeeze drinks, and gummies in his kitchen cabinets.

“There are proven benefits to homeschooling,” Emily offers, eyes peeking up above her own book.

Morgan rolls his eyes, “and there are too Kindergarten as well.”

Hotch says nothing but the blank look, the slight glare, speaks for itself.

“I don’t want my four-year-old to act like an old person,” Morgan defends. Is it not bad enough he grunts when he bends down to get things? That he’s told Savannah his back hurts and he needs a heating pad? He’s four. He doesn’t need any of those things. “No offense,” he adds, very delayed. The worst part is that he was going to have to bring Hank here this afternoon anyways. He’s expecting a new roofer at his property on the other side of town and Hank gets too antsy to watch. Besides, Hank would much rather be here.

“Look!” Hank sits up, twisting and turning around so that he can show Hotch his book. Derek moves forward, about to fuss and warn him to gentle but Hank knows what to do. He spends every day with two old people, neither as limber as they once were. Covered in scars and trauma that have stolen mobility. He knows how to be excited and bouncy with them. So he’s careful even as he looks like a monkey climbing up the side of Hotch’s legs and hip to half sit on his stomach and turn his book around. “See?”

Hotch nods, smiling encouragingly. Hank’s new thing is spiders. Bugs are very age-appropriate but Emily and Hotch struggle to maintain a blind amount of interest. Especially when Hank brings them bugs, he’s so excited too. It’s adorable but Hotch is going to lose his mind if he has to let Hank crawl into his lap with one more spider.

“I’ll be back by six,” Morgan says. He kisses the top of Hank’s head, nodding his head when Hank shows him the enlarged picture of the spider in his book. “If not--”

“He’s fine here, no reason to rush around.”

Morgan nods, "love you, buddy."

Hank ignores him, just falls over onto his side. Squirming around until he's tucked against Hotch's side, smirking up at his father.

"Behave."

But the truth is, Hank always acts on his best behavior for Hotch.

#criminal minds #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #hank morgan

49 notes · View notes

wolf-and-bard · 3 years

Text

The Geraskier Soccer Parents AU of my dreams (in an early morning strike of weird-brain):

-Geralt knows he isn't the best dad ever. He tries so goddamn hard, but his job is demanding and consumes so much time and even with Ciri being seven already, he still has essentially no clue what he's doing. He sometimes falls into bed, half-dead, and she is the one to give him a good-night kiss. He sometimes forgets she prefers cheese and puts ham on her sandwiches. He is sometimes too happy to have her sleep over at her friends rather than invite them to their house. He doesn't read her all the children's classics, doesn't go trick-or-treating with her, doesn't even pretend Santa Claus is a thing. He isn't the best dad ever. He tries.

-There is one thing he never, ever fails to do and that is take Ciri to soccer practice. Ciri picks up and drops hobbies, interests, even tastes by the week, still unsure what she wants to pursue, but soccer isn't only her favourite pastime, it's theirs. Practice is twice a week and they have a ritual for it. Geralt picks her up from school and drives her there, she tells him about what the dumb boys in her class said, how her art project is going etc. Geralt is there throughout practice, tucked in between Foltest - a guy who is constantly worried for his daughter Adda to get hurt and also very much anxious for her to do well - and Tissaia - a woman who has not one, but three girls in Ciri's age group and several more in others, and knits like a magician - and watches. He takes notes, silently cheers for Ciri.

-After their games and while Ciri changes, Geralt chats with her coach Vesemir - who used to be Geralt's coach, but now prefers to train the girls' teams - about the progress of the team, upcoming tournaments etc. Sometimes when Vesemir is indisposed, Geralt even leads the practice. When Ciri is all done, Tissaia usually has another hat or mitten finished and Geralt and her drive with their girls to whatever food place the girls are in the mood for. They have an early dinner in which Tissaia lectures the girls on their form and in which Ciri is sometimes allowed to sit on Geralt's lap - but only if Fringilla or Yen don't tease hear about it - but in which she definitely gets to steal his milkshake (Geralt hates milkshakes). Geralt only praises her when they're back in the car and Ciri tells him he's too much of a softie with her and should be more like Tissaia. Should maybe marry Tissaia. They both laugh because that is never going to happen.

-Life is good that way. It's not perfect, it's not without bumps, certainly not without tears and scrapes, but whatever the job, whatever injury Geralt carries with him, however long he has to drive, he never, never ever misses soccer practice.

-The season's just kicked off in the year of Ciri's eighth birthday when Geralt and her arrive early on the field to find the stands empty save for a girl in the most ridiculously colorful excercise clothes and blond hair that is braided intricately around her head. With her is a man, maybe five years Geralt's junior. Ciri bolts towards them with a bright grin and Geralt is hesitant to follow. He knows neither the girl nor the man, but from what he can gather she wants to join the team which is just what they need as they're one girl short this season. "Hi, I'm Ciri, I adore your braids." Geralt holds back on the eye-roll. It's nice Ciri can make friends this easily, but his house already is a shrine for role-playing and board games, dolls and random DVDs and another friend means more things Ciri will want to try out. "Thank you," the girl replies and tilts her head to better show them off. "My uncle Jaskier braided them for me, I'm sure he can do yours too." Both girls look up expectantly at the man and Geralt only really notices him then. He is averagely built with bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile. His floral print shirt has three open buttons and his pants barely reach his ankles. He has the look of a flippant music teacher or a hipster coffeeshop owner. His eyes meets Geralt's and, wait, did he just wink? "I'd love to, dear," he says in a smooth voice that absolutely does not go straight to Geralt's guts. Geralt turns on the spot and decides to pressure check the balls, but he can hear the others giggling as Jaskier braids Ciri's hair. "I'm Priscilla by the way. What's up with your dad?" - "Oh, don't mind him, he's bad with meeting new people." - "Very intense." That's Jaskier. Oh, Geralt will show him intense.

-Ciri invites them to their after-practice dinner. Geralt wants to begrudge her that, but she and Priscilla have latched onto each other in record speed and Jaskier actually fights Tissaia on some of her more strict stances and he braids Yen's and Sabrina's hair too, only Fringilla doesn't want him to touch hers which he respects. Geralt and Tissaia glance at each other. Come to a silent agreement. They may not befriend Jaskier, but he's sunny and so good with the girls and they can use someone like him among their ranks, someone who doesn't have Calanthe's tendency for swear words or Crach's tendency to break out beer in the middle of practice or even Nenneke's tendency to relate everything to the workings of god.

-Jaskier is as faithful as Geralt, perhaps the only one who shows up every time without fail. Shani's parents only drop her off and Crach switches between Cerys' and Hjalmar's practices and Tissaia sometimes texts Geralt to pick up her girls. Jaskier is there, every time, earlier than any of the others. He chats with Vesemir about his day-to-day, brings home-baked cookies for everyone, he cheers and whoops and tries very hard to understand soccer even though it's evident he doesn't. Geralt never wonders why it's him and not Priscilla's parents that come, it's none of his business. He begins to tolerate Jaskier, but he knows that is where he has to draw the line. He has his hands full with Ciri and his job and his brothers too. He can't afford friendships that extend beyond the field.

-Jaskier doesn't let him off though. He always takes the spot next to Geralt (technically an improvement over Foltest's sweaty visage) and prattles on and on, at least until the game begins. When it does, Jaskier divides his attention between the girls and the stack of paper on his lap which he annotates during practice. It's often either sheet music or the illegible scrawl of pre-teens or wonkily drawn instruments. Jaskier already told him, but from that too it is obvious that Geralt's hunch was right, he is a music teacher. Geralt finds his eyes darting to Jaskier's long fingers, nimble and calloused from the various string instruments he plays. Finds himself glancing at where Jaskier's tongue peeks out in concentration. He listens to the man's ramblings and hums his replies and comes to dislike the days when Vesemir isn't there and he has to focus all his attention on giving the girls a good practice. Not that he doesn't want to, it's just that having Jaskier at his back unnerves him.

-(Jaskier for his part doesn’t care at all about soccer, but he cares about Priscilla so he convinced her parents to let him take her; after that, she said it would be fine if he dropped her off and picked her up again, but Jaskier pretends he is super invested in the sport and the team and he is, but mostly he’s invested in charming Geralt)

-After an entire season of mutual pining and obliviousness, Tissaia decides she's had enough and rallies the other parents. She has Foltest organize a big party at his country house, has Nenneke promise to look after the girls (the woman doesn't drink) and has Crach whip out the finest spirits he has in storage. Calanthe makes a phenomenal playlist and it's Tissaia's job to get Geralt to the party (Jaskier's not a problem) and dress up nicely. Only Aridea, Renfri's stepmother, refuses to pitch in, but she's been a bitch anyway.

-When Geralt picks up Jaskier at his downtown flat he has to grip the wheel of his rover hard in order not to short-circuit. Jaskier has done something to his hair that Geralt can't name but that makes him go woozy inside. He wears a plain shirt that compliments his eyes and hugs his body just right and he looks high on life with color in his cheeks and the most dazzling smile. He's gorgeous. "Darling, don't you look dashing," Jaskier says excitedly and props his feet up on the dashboard, only after kissing Geralt on the cheek. Which is not fair. "Likewise," Geralt mutters, then blushes furiously. He didn't want that to come out, oh no. Jaskier either didn't hear or acts like it and they drive in silence to Foltest's country house. Well, aside from the songs Jaskier hums under his breath, some new composition no doubt.

-At first, Geralt thinks it's a nice enough party for someone who doesn't like parties. Foltest's grilling burgers, they all have cocktails, the music is mellow. Not that that stops Jaskier from swirling an already quite drunk Calanthe over the terrace in dazzling moves. Geralt wants to be swirled like that. "You really have it bad, don't you?" Crach comments when he notices Geralt staring. Geralt downs his beer (he's no cocktail drinker) and tries pointedly not to stare at how Jaskier's swinging his ass around.

-The buzz makes it easier and he relieves Foltest at the barbecue for a bit. But then Jaskier walks up to him, a little short on breath and grinning his most flirtatious little grin. It gives him fucking dimples. Sigh. "Hey you big strong man," Jaskier says. He smells like pineapple and coconut, but isn't even a little drunk. "Jask," he says, pointedly flipping a burger. "Foltest says he has an old karaoke machine in the shed, but it's too heavy for me. Help me?" - "...fine." Geralt gestures for Foltest to keep up with the meat and he and Jaskier make their way along a garden path that winds through thickets and by a small pond. The shed is painted blue and white and Geralt and Jaskier find it very much cluttered, but not dirty which is nice. Geralt only understands it's a trap when it's already sprung on them. The tiny click of the look is almost inaudible over Jaskier's anxious commentary of their search for the machine. There is only one small window and no light Geralt can see. Fuck.

-"Ehm, Jaskier?" he reaches out and gently touches Jaskier's shoulder which has the other man yelp and jump. Which doesn't bode well for what Geralt has to tell him. "I think we're trapped." The effect is immediate. Jaskier goes rigid, his breath catches. Is he afraid? Claustrophobic perhaps? Shit, so he can't be in on the joke. "Jask?" - "Geralt. I know we aren't the closest, but I need you to hold me right now." And he launches himself at Geralt. Maybe he is in on the joke? No, he's trembling too hard for that. Geralt catches him and does as asked. "I am absolutely going to die," Jaskier whines into Geralt's neck and Geralt can't help a small chuckle as he rubs Jaskier's back soothingly. This is... surprisingly nice for a trap. Also likely Tissaia's doing. Geralt has a rare idea. "What if I distract you until someone finds us?" he murmurs against Jaskier's hair and Jaskier draws back a little. In the half-dark his eyes glisten, widen when they meet Geralt's. "You would?" - "Close your eyes, Jaskier." Geralt feels a surge of daring, perhaps granted by the intimacy and seclusion of the situation. He catches Jaskier's lips with his own. When they part, Jaskier grins, shaking from something other than fear. "I thought you didn’t much like me," he whispers. "I thought I got on your nerves." - "Idiot." They kiss again and, faintly, Geralt can hear someone cheer from outside.

152 notes · View notes

kimistorm · 4 years

Text

Poetry and Capitalization [Nathaniel X Reader]

It was another normal day at Françoise Dupont High School. Students were slowly trickling into the first class of the day and you were sitting quietly in the back hidden behind a slightly battered copy of your favorite manga. You heard footsteps come your way and you glanced up to see Nathaniel coming back to his seat. You gave him a quick smile (which he returned) before turning back to your book and pushing back up the glasses that had started to slide down your nose. You really needed to get those adjusted. Laying on your side with your glasses on was not the best of ideas.

That was how most mornings went. The two of you silently in the back of the class. Sometimes you wished that you could strike up a conversation with him, so you could get to know each other, unfortunately, you were too nervous to. You might've had a small crush on the red-head next to you. Okay, maybe not small. Try...head over heels in love with him. He was just so pretty, and talented, and you could go on and on. You didn't want to make the mutual 'sitting silently next to each other' feeling awkward. Plus, making a conversation was hard.

The bell rang and Ms. Bustier called the class to attention, "today we'll be working with partners on a project." You inwardly sighed and you heard other students actually sigh. Working with people was such a pain sometimes, and you dearly wished you didn't get partnered up with someone difficult to work with. "Don't be all cranky just yet," she frowned and waved her finger in a scolding fashion, "you'll be working with your table partners." Immediately the class was much happier. You turned to look at Nathaniel next to you and gave a small, somewhat awkward wave. He mirrored it. "Now I want you to analyze and annotate this poem by e. e. cummings. [love is more thicker than forget]" Ms. Bustier explained as she handed out the paper. "You'll have the rest of the class to work on this." She finished and the class bustled with activity.

You cleared your throat and ended up coughing into your hand. Why were you so nervous all of a sudden? This was just a school assignment. That you were working on with a partner. Who happened to be Nathaniel. The boy you were totally head over heels for. Oh. That explains it. "So..."

"Let's read it first, then we'll talk about it." Nathaniel suggested and you readily agreed with his suggestion. The two of you lapsed into silence as you read the poem. When you finished reading, you took out a writing utensil to make notes.

"It's a love poem." You declared once Nathaniel had finished reading. He nodded in agreement. "Well, obviously. He says it straight out in the title."

"He describes it as something that's kind of everywhere." Nathaniel added his own thoughts.

"Yeah, even in the hearts of teens." You muttered under your breath.

"Huh?" Nathaniel squinted at the paper in confusion, "where?"

"Uh nothing!" you answered hastily. You didn't want to make things awkward. Or make him think you're weird. And you definitely didn't want your confession to come out through the poetry of some old man who didn't care about capitalization. "It's everywhere but also it's minuscule. Since he describes how love is lesser than a lot of things."

"I wonder what he means by 'and more it cannot die'?" Nathaniel pondered.

"Maybe it's something like how my love for you won't fade even if you never notice-ah-I mean it's everlasting." You felt your face turn the color of his hair. What was this? First you were coughing over just thinking about talking and now words are spilling out of your mouth without you thinking about it?

"Do you believe love is everlasting?" he seemed to have not noticed your huge slip-up.

"Well yeah, if you find the right person. I think it's hard to do that, even harder to find mutual everlasting love." You nodded, you let out a silent sigh of relief. You didn't spill out your entire heart to him just then.

"What about unreciprocated love?"

"Like how I feel about you?" you clapped your hands over your mouth and stared wide-eyed at Nathaniel. You were certain he caught that. He looked at you in shock. Oh how you wished you could hide behind your manga, glasses weren't very good shields. Maybe you should take a leaf from Nathaniel's book and get bangs to shield your eyes. Or maybe you could wear prescription sunglasses.

"What?"

"Uh nothing!" you mentally cried at how your voice had just jumped a pitch, you were sure everyone in the class could hear you.

He smiled, "it's alright to tell me. I won't laugh at you."

"No no no, it's fine. I mean it's nothing. Nothing. Really." You wanted to bash your head on the table. What were you doing? "Have you ever thought about how nearly everyone in this class has some sort of crush or romance?" you died on the inside. You were certain by this point someone had control over your body. You were never like this. "Nevermind. That was a silly thought. Do you think mad could mean angry or insane?"

Nathaniel blinked. He looked like he needed a couple minutes to digest what had just happened, and to be honest, so did you. "Are you feeling alright?" he asked in concern, "you're not normally like this."

Inside you were squealing. He noticed you enough to know what you were normally like? Maybe your love wasn't in vain. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just, I'm not used to talking to my crush." Okay, now you were dead. "I never said that." You whispered and face-desked but immediately regretted that because your glasses started to press uncomfortably on your face.

You felt a piece of paper push its way to your face and you sat back up to look at the paper. On it was a few words written in Nathaniel's scrawl. 'I like you (f/n).' Your face turned into a tomato and you looked at Nathaniel quizzically but he was pointedly ignoring your gaze while an equally bright blush covered his cheeks. "Flip it over." He muttered. You did what he told you to and gasped. It was a drawing of you sitting at your desk with a manga held in your hands.

"Wait what?" you questioned in awe.

"Nevermind it's obvious you don't like me back I thought that maybe you did and maybe it was a good time to show you-" you didn't know his face could get to the exact same shade as his hair.

"Wait no! I do like you! You're an adorable tomato! Wait, that's not a compliment." You guessed that your face was probably the same shade as Nathaniel's hair as well.

The two of you made eye contact and then started to quietly laugh, "so you do like me?"

"Of course!" you affirmed, "I have for a while now." You added quietly.

"Good."

"You owe me twenty bucks!" You heard Rose squeal and you and Nathaniel looked at her mortified. Juleka sighed but handed her the money anyway.

"Were they betting on us getting together?" you whispered.

Nathaniel looked shell-shocked, "I think so."

You turned back to the poem in front of you, "this is still a thing we need to do."

From under the table you felt a hand timidly hold your own and you quickly reciprocated the action, "do you think this was intentional?" Nathaniel wondered as he looked at Ms. Bustier who was busy helping some students at the front of the room.

"I'm not about to give credit of this to a man who doesn't use capitalization."

Masterlist

AN: Okay, a bit of explanation about the capitalization jabs at e. e. cummings (and yes, he often writes his name like that). He commonly doesn't follow normal capitalization rules or even just writing rules. He likes to use the words to create "aesthetic movement" (source) Example.

#my work #my writing #fanfiction #mlb #miraculous ladybug x reader #mlb x reader #reader insert #miraculous ladybug #x reader #fanfic #nathaniel x reader #nathaniel kurtzberg #nathaniel kurtzberg x reader #nathaniel mlb x reader #from 2018 #kimi's writing

150 notes · View notes

unholyhelbig · 3 years

Note

Triple Treble High school AU??

Read on AO3 | Request prompts here

The darkroom wasn’t originally in the blueprints for the high school. It was a small space that was wedged between the back stairwell, something that still smelled so thickly of drain cleaner, and sawdust, that the developer only added a twinge of vinegar to the mix.

Beca had pestered and persisted until the school board agreed to convert the unused storage area into a place for the yearbook committee to soak and hang their film. It could fit about four people at a time and left her blinking away the red light when the bell rang, load and enough to vibrate the whole room.

She leaned against the table that woodshop had constructed, mindful of the surface that could splinter at any moment. She was putting the finishing touches on her book report for Mr. White’s third-period English. She was cutting it close, but the photos from the pep rally the day before still had a good three minutes left of the egg timer.

She twisted the dial and listened to the satisfying click that accompanied it.

Beca had learned a long time ago that it was better to be unseen than seen by the whole world. There were no standards that way, if this batch of photos didn't turn out, or darken fully, that would be okay- because it wasn’t like they had noticed her, other than the small flashes of light, or the click of her Nikon.

She scribbled the finishing touches on her interesting take of “To Kill a Mockingbird” and shoved the crinkled lined paper into her backpack. She hadn’t put much thought into it- having read the novel more than once and never finding it as moving as it was intended to be.

The timer sounded off and her heart caught in her throat. It always did, even though she was the one that set it. She knew it was going to hiss eventually, and her hands moved before her mind could catch up. She peered over the edge of the basin at the photo that developed fully.

Chloe Beale beamed charismatically, her arm around Kaylee Eli, brow glistening with sweat. The logo of the cowboy shining under the lights. Beca was a damn good shot, but Chloe was an even better model. She stared right into the lens like she actually saw Beca- she noticed and posed and smiled with the same type of vigor as always.

The second warning bell sounded off and Beca fished the photo from the solution with her tongs. She shook it once, then twice, before clipping it on the line. She shouldered her bag and then emerged into the hallway, breathing in to clear out the sharp acidic scent from her lungs.

She nearly collided with a warm body, also trying their hardest to get through the hallways and into homeroom in time for the third and final bell to sound. Her sneakers squeaked against the floor, and her shoulder did make contact with something soft, and hot, and she stumbled with an apology before even realizing who it was.

Posters, and buttons scattered across the floor with a deafening clatter, and a pile of books were soon to follow. They were obnoxiously red, white, and blue. And Beca was on her knees, very suddenly, scrambling to pile them into a stack that they had once been.

“I’m so sorry,” She said, her own backpack forgotten.

“Were you in a supply closet?”

Beca glanced up, meeting hard and ripe green. The girl in front of her was a mass of blonde hair and lip gloss. She shoved her bangs back and gave Beca an inquisitive look. The posters were stacked now, and the two raised to a standing position.

“No, I mean, yes.” Beca frowned “It’s not a supply closet anymore, though. It’s a dark room. For photography.”

The girl studied her. She looked vaguely familiar. Those posters did too- Aubrey Posen for Student President. She realized she was still gripping them, reading them. She flushed and handed them over.

“I’m afraid I’ve made you miss the final bell.” She said.

“Don’t worry about it. Have a fantastic day.” Beca replied, even if she didn’t’ mean it. She grabbed her bag from the floor and maneuvered her way around the girl and walked off towards her first class- one that she wouldn't be paying much attention to.

Aubrey glared down at her posters. The word Fantastic was outlined in blue and slanted in a way that screamed desperately. She swallowed back the suddenly queasy feeling in her stomach and pulled her shoulders back. It didn’t’ matter if the candy-cane stripes and the blue lettering were tacky. It would win her the vote.

She felt disheveled, the pink late slip in her pocket burned like dry ice. She hated breaking the rules, and even this, even having the permission to skip the first half of the morning to work on her campaign, made her feel like some kind of common criminal.

Aubrey walked all the way to the gym.

She was meant to set up the ballot tables for the three lunch periods. She hadn’t thought that many people would skip out on the greasy scent of fried chicken and the brothy greens that were slopped next to them to vote for student council. Not many people cared about the election, and sometimes Aubrey questioned her own dedication to the cause of no cause at all.

The gym always smelled thickly of sweat and floor wax. It’s bright lights seemed to be the only thing in the school that ran on an automatic timer. The last moments of morning cheer practice had just concluded, and Aubrey waited dutifully by the double doors for the girls to clear out.

Most of them- she knew cordially. She was nod at them and say hello, and even give them a button to strap to their bags. So they smiled kindly as they exited past her, and wished her luck on today's vote. She figured she needed it.

“Are you nervous?”

“Huh?” Aubrey had started to study the sound system in the corner, but her focus was suddenly on the one remaining cheerleader in the gym. Her voice echoed, and her smile radiated. “Oh, uh, no my opposing candidate is a gerbil so.”

“he’s got a solid campaign.” She replied, walking across the seal in the center of the floor. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re going to do great. You’ve got my vote.”

Aubrey hadn’t been this close to Chloe Beale. Not in school- they usually avoided one another after Bumper’s Halloween party, two semesters ago. She didn’t remember, much- the fowl taste of beer, the flashing lights, a kid in a skeleton mask, and Chloe Beale’s lips on hers. Cherry, and tart with alcohol.

Her cheeks reddened at the thought, all-encompassing. “Right, I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to tell me that.”

“Oh?”

Chloe took a few steps backward before turning completely and walking towards the double doors. Aubrey struggled to avert her eyes, knew that she had to, but couldn’t find a way to do it. Chloe could feel them on her- swinging her hips intentionally.

She found herself letting out a trembled breath once she exited into the hallway. Her arms were burning, and so were her cheeks. Aubrey M. Posen had always been intimidating; in her fancy blazers and thick reading glasses. Her lips tingled, and she pressed two fingers against them to quell the sensation. The girl probably didn't even remember her on Halloween night, that stupid skeleton kid, drenched in fake blood, and the flashing lights that spurred her drunken stupor.

Chloe pressed her back against the painted brick wall and let the coolness drip through her sweaty t-shirt. She hadn’t slept well the night before, and practice before the day had even begun made her bones ache and her stomach turn.

She was going to be late for class, she knew that before they had even finished listening to coach Morris reminding them (for the third time that morning) about the pep rally on Friday. She peeled herself from the wall, blinking away the light from the trophy cases, before slinking into the locker room. It was empty now, the remaining scent of body spray and lotion clouding her lungs.

Chloe quickly changed and pulled her bag over her shoulder. She didn’t’ have a pink slip, not as she should, but figured that Mrs. Gordon would excuse her this once. She would slide into first-period Chemistry and try her best not to disturb the room more than she had to.

“Miss Beale,” She felt her heart seize, Mrs. Gordon’s eyes on her, lifting from the workbook that she was struggling to flip through. The rest of the room had taken to staring at her too, roaming eyes and giddy for a distraction, no matter how small. “Take the nearest seat.”

It would certainly be easier than working her way around the room, through the bags and the lab stools. She glanced sparingly at the empty seat closest to her. Beca Mitchell lifted both of her eyebrows and shifted the camera bag to the floor, allowing her to take a seat.

“Flip to page seventeen, The building of Electron’s and Neutrons”

Chloe reached for her bag, but before she could Beca shifted the textbook towards the middle of them, letting her scan her eyes over the annotated version of the paragraphs. She had never expected Beca Mitchell, resident outcast and photographer, to go through the nightly reading and actually absorb it.

She smelled thickly of cloves and chemicals. It was earthy but comforting. It almost relaxed Chloe from the morning, brought her down to a familiar buzz after sharing a conversation with Aubrey in the gym. She blinked through her lack of focus and tried to concentrate on something other than how close the alt girl was, and how their knees almost met under the lab table.

Beca reached up and turned the page, Chloe realized she hadn’t read a single line.

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #Aubrey Posen #Pitch Perfect #Pitch Perfect Fanfiction #triple treble #Triple Treble Franfiction #Request

27 notes · View notes

slytherinsnekxvii · 4 years

Text

this isn't my best work, but it's still pretty good for something i wrote when i was 15 after having a half a year of writer's block. anyways, ahem, presenting the fic in which severus says fuck it after the lake incident and just doesn't go back to hogwarts but potentially gets dragged into the war anyway despite living in the muggle world for like,, three years, part 1 (aka the only chapter i wrote bc my writer's block came back oops):

It starts simply, like most things do. It starts with a few words, tossed out without care and full of childish conviction. It escalates to brawls in the corridors and duels in the dungeons--if you could even call them that when it was four-on-one and most encounters left him reeling. It continues until he's twitchy and hypervigilant and awkward, always on the lookout for an attack, ready to bite before anyone could bite him.

It ends much the same. The events leading up to this are a production fit for the theatre, if the crowd is anything to by, but the ending itself is quite simple. Gasping for air near the shore of the Black Lake and battling a headache that hurts almost as much as the sharp press of his heart at the thought of what he'd done to Lily, he simply gives up. He picks himself up, tells himself this is the end of it and goes about collecting his belongings.

His wand comes to his hand easily enough with a mumbled Accio. His bag does, as well. Its contents, on the other hand, have to be collected by hand. His textbooks and ink are strewn beneath the tree, mostly, but the loose parchment and his quill are lost to the wind. He snatches up what he can find before someone gets it into their head to come further humiliate him and turns to head back into into the castle. Only to be smacked in the face by a bound sheaf of parchment and a quill. It's suspicious, and he's tempted to burn it then and there. It's his, but they were definitely scattered about the grounds two seconds ago. He doesn't burn it. He hesitates, puts it in his bag and returns to the castle, intent on making his way to Gryffindor Tower.

The apology doesn't go well. Lily isn't interested, refuses to hear it. He returns to the Slytherin dorms, drops into his bed and thanks Merlin that they'll be going home soon. Cokeworth is God-awful, but at least there's only one man trying to kill him there and only one woman for him to disappoint.

So, he waits it out. Spends his final classes looking over his shoulder and staring blankly at his parchment every time he remembers that they tried to kill him and they humiliated him and they got away with both. He shrinks into himself, avoiding the corridors at all costs, skipping meals to avoid being in the Great Hall and spends as much time as possible in the Library and the dusty old Potions Lab on the Fourth Floor that no one knows about, losing himself in research so he doesn't have to interact with his Housemates. He sits alone at the Leaving Feast, refuses to touch his plate until Evan Rosier falls into the seat next to him and bothers him into eating. The Headmaster dismisses them, says that they'll see each other come September and lets them filter out onto the train.

He ends up sharing a compartment with Mulciber, Avery and Rosier even though he's barely spoken to any of them since the incident. Evan needles him about everything and nothing the whole way to King's Cross, and when they get there, Evan claps him on shoulder and that's goodbye.

He gathers up his things, goes to meet his mother so they can Apparate home and not waste what little money they have on transport. Eileen's cheeks are sunken, her arms rail thin, her dress loose-fitting. He'd still rather see her than anyone even loosely affiliated with Hogwarts. She nods at him, he nods back. They go home.

He spends his summer making himself useful. He does odd jobs for the neighbours, is grudgingly polite to his father, takes care of his mother. By the time term rolls around, people are talking about that Snape boy. Strange, and quiet, too, but he works well, doesn't he? September first dawns bright and early, and Severus doesn't go back to Hogwarts.

He studies at home instead, nose buried in his mum's old books. He plants the few ingredients he has hidden away in his trunk at the back of the house and uses what grows to brew medicines and weedkillers and anything he can think of after experimenting a bit. Mr. and Mrs. Smith down the street both swear up and down he's working magic on their little garden and their old bones.

He feeds cats, delivers packages for the grocer, takes tables and nightstands home to cast Reparo on. Someone tells the pub owner about him, and the next thing he knows, he's frying chips and learning how to mix drinks even though the most complicated thing anyone ever orders is a pint of the beer that they have on tap.

It's not a bad existence. Eventually, slowly, his mother starts coming back to herself. She takes over the brewing when he isn't around. Annotates his annotations and even makes a trip to Diagon Alley for more ingredients to add to their garden when Severus forgets to write Narcissa to ask her to send a few more.

Severus is old enough now to drag his father home from the pub behind him when he's done working. One evening, they come home and Tobias nearly trips over the end table that Severus is meant to be fixing for Mr. Williams three houses up. Severus works his wand out of his boot and goes to cast a spell, but Tobias grumbles and bats his hand away. Drunk as he is, he still digs out his toolbox and gets to work. The job turns out almost decent.

By December, Severus is at the pub, feeding cats on his break and making deliveries when he has the time. Eileen is brewing and Tobias is doing carpenter's work fixing and building wardrobes, cupboards, cabinets and everything else. It keeps him busy enough that some days he doesn't see a drink at all. It's not much, but there's a little food on the table at the end of each day, and Severus thinks that he's probably better off than he would have been at Hogwarts.

Sometime around Christmas, his mother talks him into getting a Muggle education and writing his NEWTs. He writes the O-Levels for his Muggle exams in January. They're a breeze, given how well-read he is. He sees Petunia at the store shortly after, and she sneers vaguely in his direction. He hears her condescending voice in the back of his head and decides to sit the A-Levels in May out of spite.

His birthday comes and goes, the NEWTs come right after and he aces each and every one of the written exams. The practicals are spread out across the following weeks, and he's leaving the Ministry after his last exam to find that the date coincides with that of a field trip for the Sixth Years at Hogwarts.

He watches them a little, tearing his gaze away after he catches sight of a tanned arm draped over a shoulder touched by a red braid. The students mill near the doors for a while and so, Severus looks around for escape routes, eyes skipping hurriedly from door to door until they rest on a Ravenclaw who'd also taken the January NEWTs. All kinds of people had been there, adults who hadn't passed when they were younger and needed to retake the exams to get jobs, teenagers who had family fortunes waiting for them whose parents wanted them to at least look like they were competent, and overachievers--like Severus assumed the Ravenclaw was--who wanted to know where they stood before the actual exam. He jerks his chin toward another door, this one proclaiming to lead to the "Apparition Division". Severus nods once at him and makes his way toward it.

There's a one-day course for Apparition, apparently. The woman at the receptionist desk doesn't even bother looking at him, just points him in the direction of the Training Room with her nail file. He stays for nearly the rest of the day, until they're finally done. He gets his license and is quietly pleased to see that the building is nearly devoid of life when he leaves. He goes home.

May and June come around and bring with them the A-Levels. He finds them only marginally more challenging than his O-Levels and returns to his routine. It's a nice routine, which takes him all the way through to July of the next year when Lily starts coming in with Black and Potter and Pettigrew and Lupin. The first time it happens, he leaves the counter so fast that the patron he'd just given a glass of water to is convinced he teleported. He's already taken his regular break to go feed Mrs. Jones' cats, so he steps into the kitchen and tells Jimmy he's taking a smoke break. Jimmy snorts and reminds him that he doesn't smoke.

He fidgets, trying to think up a way to avoid going back out, when the ruckus they're making makes Jimmy look through the little window and see the lot of them crowded around a little table. He gets a peculiar look on face for a bit, before he asks Severus if they have something to do with why he doesn't go to his fancy school anymore. He doesn't need an answer, just tells him to keep an eye on the food and steps out to man the counter. Severus stays late, frying chips and washing dishes until the early hours of the morning when Jimmy pats him on the back and kicks him out.

It keeps up until September comes around, and by then, Severus has taken so many smoke breaks that he's actually started smoking. He keeps smoking long after they're gone.

He goes back to his routine until it's broken again by a letter that comes by owl. It's a short letter, coming from a Potions Master whose apprentice had been overseeing the exams. It claims that his work was the best either of them had seen in years and after asking around, they'd found that he was unbound to any Master and was highly recommended by the Malfoys. It ends with an offer. Severus would think himself foolish not to accept, so, he does. After that, two days a week are dedicated to Flooing to Master Diogene's laboratory to fulfil the requirements of his apprenticeship. It finds its own little nook in his routine and so he continues until June of 1980.

He's preparing to go to the pub when there's a knock at the door. It's not so uncommon anymore, so he thinks nothing of it, only that he hopes it doesn't take too long. His shift starts in half an hour. He pushes his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, where they perpetually are these days, and decides he'll roll them up properly later. He opens the door.

"Good afternoon," a very pregnant Lily says, and standing next to her is the Ravenclaw from the Ministry, back straight, arms clasped behind his back, his entire being alert.

"Good afternoon," he replies, awkward. After a long moment of silence, he asks, "Can I help you?"

"Depends on whether or not you let us in," she says.

Wordlessly, he steps aside, sliding the three pairs of shoes nearer to the wall in order to let them pass. "Do you want tea?"

"No," she says, at the exact same time her Auror friend says, "Thank you."

He gestures them into the little kitchen, where they sit at the little table where he and his mother and his father take their meals. He tugs his wand out of his boot, flicks it so that the cauldron bubbling away on the stove scoots aside but doesn't spill. The burner beneath lights on its own. He puts the kettle, already full, on to boil. "So," he begins, absentmindedly rolling up his sleeves. "Is there something you need from me?"

Lily smiles, strained. "Can't I just visit an old friend?"

"Sure," he says, quietly. "You made it very clear that you would prefer if we weren't, though."

Her expression twists. "And with good reason," she grits.

He says nothing. The kettle whistles. He searches for the boxes of tea, sets about mixing two cups of mint. He puts them both on a tray with milk and sugar, as well as the small container of honey kept for special occasions. He puts it on the table.

"I'm sorry."

She doesn't say anything, just watches him with bright, green eyes aflame with old anger. She picks up one of the teacups and starts doctoring it to her liking. Her Auror friend follows suit. It really is obvious, Severus thinks, watching the man scan the room from top to bottom, corner to corner. He sighs. "Why are you here, Lily?"

She glares at her tea. The Auror shifts uncomfortably. Severus sighs again. "You know, when people visit old friends, they usually don't bring Aurors with them."

"Trainee, actually. This is my last year." He grins sheepishly. "That obvious?"

Severus nods.

He leans over the table, stretches out a hand. His right, Severus notices. He leans over and shakes with his left.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," the Auror trainee introduces himself.

"Severus Snape, but you already knew that."

"Ah, yes. Of course."

Lily continues to glare at her tea. Shacklebolt fidgets. Severus stares, adjusts the heat on the burner below the cauldron. Silence prevails. The door creaks open, just then, and Eileen comes in, stirring rod in hand. "You'll be late if--oh," she says, noticing their guests. "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon," the other three respond with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

"Well, if it isn't Lily Evans. It's been quite a while, hasn't it? You look well," Eileen says, nudging her son out of the way so she can poke at the mixture in the cauldron.

"You as well," Lily mumbles. "And it's, ah, it's Potter now, actually. Lily Evans Potter."

"Ah, I see. My mistake. Congratulations are in order, then, Mrs. Potter."

"Congratulations," Severus echoes.

"And you're a Shacklebolt, yes?" Eileen continues, her hands methodically sprinkling ground lavender into the cauldron. "Elodie's son, I should think. You resemble her quite a bit."

"Yes, ma'am," the trainee replies. "Grandmother says I'm nearly a carbon copy."

Eileen hums, lowers the heat under the cauldron. She takes out the stirring rod, examining the clinging lavender paste before wiping it off and placing it on the counter. "I suppose I'll leave you it, though Doris just passed, and she said that Jimmy has a full house, so, do try to hurry. It's already nearly four."

"Yes, Mam."

She leaves, and once more, silence settles over the small kitchen. Severus looks at the clock on the wall, sees that it does, indeed, say that it's minutes to four. Eleven minutes, to be exact, and it's a ten minute walk to the pub. He starts gathering the tea things, has just taken Shacklebolt's empty teacup when Lily clears her throat.

"Are you a Death Eater?" she asks.

"No," Severus tells her, and takes her teacup. Ten minutes to four.

"Prove it," she says, glaring.

Severus sets down the tray and leans across the table, arms outstretched, palms up, forearms exposed. The skin on either arm is pale, smooth and utterly unmarked, save and except for the scars one is bound to get when their preferred work involves knives and hot cauldrons.

"You keep regular contact with Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, as well as Regulus Black and Evan Rosier, all of whom are suspected Death Eaters. Why?"

Severus' eyes narrow. "Lucius is sponsoring my Potions Mastery. Narcissa, for whatever reason, enjoys my conversation. Regulus and Evan both seem to think that I'll drop dead if I don't speak to them at least once a week and I haven't been able to disabuse them of the notion--though, not for lack of trying."

"So, you aren't planning to become a Death Eater?" Seven minutes to four.

"I'm not," Severus says, biting down on something rising in his chest. He returns the tea things to their proper places, washes the cups and sets them to dry. When he looks at them again, Lily's glare has softened into an unwavering stare.

"Are you certain?" she asks, and Severus grits his teeth.

"Oh, no, not at all. I only left the Wizarding World to live in a Muggle neighbourhood with my Muggle father, work for a Muggle and feed old ladies' cats and fix their husbands' cabinets because I thought it would make it easier for me when I decided I wanted to murder them all. Obviously," he snaps, throat closing around the words as soon they've been forced out of his mouth. His jaw clamps shut. Three minutes to four.

"You're being an a—" she starts, but then she bites her tongue. "Why... why did you leave?"

He stands silent for a moment. "Reasons I don't believe we have time to discuss. It appears that I'm late for work, I'm afraid." The clock reads three fifty-nine. By the time, he reaches the front door, it will be four o' clock. He starts walking.

"But–" Lily begins, standing.

He gestures them onto the porch while he shoves his feet into his boots. "Terribly sorry to leave in a hurry like this, but duty calls. Things to do, people to see. Enjoy your evening, Mrs. Potter. Auror Trainee Shacklebolt." Four o' clock.

"Really–"

"Until next time, Mr. Snape," Shacklebolt interjects, and with a stiff nod, he and Lily make their way towards the Apparition Point they'd used and Severus is walking down the street. He exhales, slowly, carefully at the quiet, telltale crack of Disapparition off in the distance. He picks up the pace and hopes that'll be the end of it. He knows it won't, though. Until next time, Shacklebolt said.

It isn't the end, of course. It never is. There's a knock at the door just before he's ready to leave the next afternoon, and he contemplates just not answering the door and staying at home for the foreseeable future. There's enough food to last at least a week, and he could always just tell Mrs. Havisham that he wasn't feeling well. The news would make it around the town and back within the day. The knock sounds again. He sighs and gets up to go answer it. "Can I help you?"

"Only if you want to. May I come in?" Shacklebolt asks.

Against his better judgement, Severus lets him in.

#severus snape #snapedom #pro snape #fic #i didn't expect anyone to take me seriosuly but someone did and goddamn it i'll be damned if i don't give them something to read #anyways have fun #probably a bit ooc #but that's what makes aus fun amirite hehe #alright that's enough from me

115 notes · View notes

archivedjr · 3 years

Photo

JORDAN RILEY FOR RIOT! MAGAZINE, feat. mickey alteri ( @sequelslasher )

JORDAN RILEY BREEZES INTO HALLOWED GROUNDS like something out of a movie — not a hair out of place, and she doesn’t miss a beat as she slides into an empty seat at the table, apologizing for running late when she’s ten minutes early. When this is pointed out, she laughs.

“I try to be fifteen minutes early to everything; anything else is late.”

Orders are placed, pleasantries are exchanged, and once a steaming cup of jasmine tea is in front of her, Riley becomes an open book to RIOT!

YOU STARTED OUT IN THEATRE. WHAT MADE YOU WANT TO TRANSITION TO FILM?

It was something I thought long and hard about. I always knew I’d make that leap eventually, but I didn’t know when, and I had lots of conversations with my agent about it. It came down to waiting for the right project to come along, and I was lucky enough for it to happen so early.

HOW DID YOU KNOW THE DEEP CUT WAS THE RIGHT PROJECT?

My agent gave me the script to read over and on the train ride home I cracked it open; I couldn’t put it down. I had plans with friends that night that I canceled so I could finish it. I was making notes in the margins, just immediately highlighting, annotating. It hit me at one moment that I was putting the cart before the horse and I knew I had to play Sloane. I at least had to try, or I’d regret it.

WHAT WAS YOUR AUDITION LIKE? HOW DOES IT COMPARE TO STAGE AUDITIONS?

Well, I didn’t have to prepare a song or dance. It didn’t stop Mickey from asking me to sing a few bars when he saw all the stage credits on my resume. [ She laughs. ] It wasn’t too different, honestly. They had me read my sides, and gave me room to improv a little, which was great for me because I have some improv training and I think my acting is the most fresh when I’m thinking on my feet. I was really in my element in the audition room, so any nerves I had building up just left me completely.

WHEN DID YOU FINALLY GET THE CALL?

After about six weeks from my initial audition. I did several rounds of callbacks after my first audition and then I didn’t hear anything for a couple of weeks, and I thought, well, I didn’t get it. I was between gigs at the time and took up waitressing because you still have bills to pay and food to put on the table, whether you book a job or not. I never got a formal call, either — Mickey found out what restaurant I was working at, requested to sit in my section, ordered a whole cake and asked me to write ‘Congratulations Jordan Riley, you are Sloane Whitman’ on it. I think I jumped ten feet in the air, I was so happy. I know I quit on the spot, but I think my boss understood.

THERE’S A LOT OF HEAVY SUBJECT MATTER IN THE MOVIE. HOW DID YOU PREPARE FOR THOSE SCENES?

I’d try and isolate myself prior to shooting those particular scenes just so I could clear my head and get in the right mindset and just wholly and completely focus and be in the moment. And I think, as people in general, if you live long enough, you have some less-than-stellar life experiences. I tapped into my own and pulled from those experiences to elevate the performance as best I could. I think the audience knows when an actor is simply acting, you know, running through the motions, making sure they hit the beats, and when an actor really believes the material they’re trying to sell and is in it, and I wanted to make sure I did all I could to be in it.

WHAT WAS YOUR PROCESS OF GETTING INTO CHARACTER?

I like to think of it as ‘soft method.’ I went back to my script annotations and I just built off of that. I thought about what Sloane’s daily routine would be like — she doesn’t have one, in my opinion — and I went from there. There was day where I hopped on a bus just to see where it would take me, which, in hindsight, is a little reckless and dangerous. I also made a huge playlist of music I felt like she’d listen to and I played that when I was in hair and makeup, and I’d have it on me to listen to between scenes just so I could stay in that headspace.

WHAT WAS THE MOST CHALLENGING DAY ON SET?

I don’t want to spoil anything, but the third act is about what you would expect from a slasher movie. There’s a lot of action, a lot of things happening, one right after the other and it all takes place on one location at night. It took us weeks to shoot this sequence of just, madness happening, and there was one point, it’s three in the morning, we’ve been shooting for hours with no break, I’m covered in blood, so are some of my co-stars, and we’re just — we’re all losing our minds, a little bit. Keeping up the energy and staying in the moment was definitely a challenge, because you’re sore, and tired, and hungry, your throat is getting hoarse from screaming, but you still have a job to do and you have limited time because sunrise is in a few hours and then you can’t shoot anything until the next night, and it’s a tight schedule. We pulled it off but that was something I hadn’t anticipated.

WHAT WAS THE BEST?

Any day where I got to do my own stunts. I have a huge background in dance, I run three miles every morning, and I have some experience in self-defense, so I’m fairly athletic, fairly flexible, and the way fight scenes work, it has choreography. It’s a lot like a dance, and I thought, well, I can do that. And they let me!

RUMOR HAS IT MICKEY ALTIERI IS A PRETTY STRICT DIRECTOR TO WORK WITH. WHAT WAS THAT EXPERIENCE LIKE?

I can’t lie to you, I was a little intimidated at first — but when it comes down to it, he’s just trying to make the finished product the absolute best it can be. That’s what everyone on set wants, and when you’re all working toward the same goal, it’s hard to get upset about reshooting a scene twenty times. Especially because — he’ll have the shot, you know he will, but he wants to try something different, wants to change it up a bit, just to see what will work, and he’s really receptive to suggestions and ideas other people have. There were a few moments where we finished a scene, and it was good, we got everything we needed, but he goes, okay, let’s try this. And we try that, and it turns out to just push things to another level. I really respect that and the level of dedication there is. It was the best motivator, to be completely honest with you.

WHAT HAS YOUR LIFE BEEN LIKE SINCE FILMING? DO YOU GET RECOGNIZED OFTEN?

I’ve gotten recognized a couple of times, but it hasn’t been anything extreme yet. More often than not people have kind of double taked in the sense of, ‘I recognize you, but I can’t place it.’ Life’s been good, though. I’m originally from Ohio and I recently got to go back home and visit my family, which was great. Everyone was so excited to hear about LA and what filming was like and it was just nice to be surrounded by the people who mean the most to me.

WHAT IS YOUR GREATEST INSPIRATION?

My abuela. She’s the strongest woman I know; she immigrated here from Puerto Rico on her own when she was seventeen years old, and she built an amazing life for herself. She’s the reason I got into acting in the first place. I think, if I become even half the woman she is someday, I’ll have done good.

WHAT WAS THE BIGGEST THING YOU LEARNED FROM WORKING ON THE DEEP CUT?

To not be afraid of letting my guard down and just being vulnerable, both as an actress and as a person. You never really think about it, but the horror genre is home to some of the most deeply human stories you’ll see in film, and this one taught me a lot about myself — mostly, to stop holding myself back.

WHAT’S NEXT FOR YOU?

Professionally, I’ve got a stack of scripts on my dining room table I’ve been looking through and some auditions lined up. I can’t say much more than that — just that I’m excited to get back in audition rooms and see where it leads me.

Personally, I’m just enjoying the last few weeks of anonymity I have. I might sign up for a surfing class or go out for pizza and beers with my friends tonight. Either way, life’s been pretty good to me lately. I don’t have any complaints.

#EDITS.#MINE.

9 notes · View notes

naerysthelonesome · 3 years

Text

Time spent together

Part 5:

Road trip

It was the morning after Apollo had sent Lit that email. The email that had revealed to him that his subconscious was trying to sabotage him. The damned email in which Apollo had given Lit summaries of a dozen Greek retellings, most of them chock full of piney love stories. Apollo felt like he could kick himself.

He truly hoped Lit wouldn’t read too much into them… Was Lit the kind of guy that noticed symbolism?

He told himself it didn’t matter anyway. There wasn’t any reason he should see Lit again. They could complete the rest of the project from the safety of their dorm rooms, thank you very much. Even so, he realized, the thought of not seeing Lit again hurt. He wanted to see him again. He wanted to joke and flirt with him, to push his buttons, and have him get snarky and mad. He wanted to tuck that stray curl of hair back under his bandana and cup his face.

Wait what?

Apollo buried his face in his hands and groaned. He’d have to figure out a way to keep talking to Lit after this project was completed.

The next day was mostly spent emailing Lit, reading his drafts, and editing. Maybe a little daydreaming also. And the day after that, they’d submitted their project. It was good, but apart from feeling relief at its completion, Apollo didn’t care much for it. His heart was hammering most irritatingly as he looked for Lit, after class.

He was just a little bit surprised that the boy had been waiting for him.

“Hallelujah we’re finally done”, Lit said grinning.

Apollo rubbed the back of his neck. Was Lit happy to be done with him?

“Um yeah”, he replied with a hesitant smile, “So I wanted to ask you for a favor…”

Lit nodded. “Oh?”

“My sister’s having a party this weekend and-”

“Wait! Please tell me she isn’t named Artemis”, Lit interrupted with a laugh.

“Uh… she is my twin, so”

Lit snorted. “Dear God. Okay, continue”.

“Right. So my sister’s having a party this weekend, and I was wondering if you could come along”.

“Oh”, Lit’s still smiling, but a little confusedly this time, “Why?” he cocked his head to the side, and Apollo wanted to kiss his neck or something.

“I love my sister. I do. But I really do need some company if I’m gonna have to deal with her ass”. This wasn’t a lie. Artemis loved to tease Apollo about him never bringing his dates over, despite being single herself. Except in her case, it was a choice and not cowardice, another fact she liked to tease him with. “She lives with some friends of hers, a couple hours away. We could make a road trip of it”

Lit looked hesitant, and Apollo’s heart dropped a little, but then he nodded firmly, “Yeah! Sounds like fun. When do we leave?”

Well that went well. Lit was even starting to look excited.

“Tomorrow?”

…..

Apollo found Lit waiting beside his car, a light backpack slung from his shoulder, and a book under his arm. Upon coming closer, he realized it was one he’d asked him to loan from the library. The thought that Lit was seriously reading his favourite books made him feel both warm and scared at the same time.

“Hey! You ready?”

Lit turned to reply, and Apollo saw his eyes widen a little when he saw him.

“Ready as I’ll ever be”, he said a little shakily.

Apollo knew he looked good that day, with his olive green polo shirt and ray bans, but damn he wasn’t expecting that reaction. He felt quite pleased with himself as he got into the car.

Lit tossed his bag into the backseat and climbed in, securely locking the seat belt in place. Then they were off. Apollo saw Lit sigh back against the seat as they made their way out campus.

On the way to Artemis’, they drove past a big field that Lit seemed to really like looking at, and a then over a highway that he did not care for at all. Lit was flitting through the pages of his book, chewing on a pencil. Occasionally, he’d very lightly underline something in the book. Apollo wondered why, as he wouldn’t get to keep the book anyway.

“So you also desecrate public property”.

“Hmph. At least it’s an upgrade to the pasta sauce I found two chapters ago”, Lit replied shutting the book.

Since the road was long, straight, and utterly deserted, Apollo looked over at him. He had intended to ask him about the book but was caught off guard by how beautiful he looked. Apollo was fond of poetry and felt the immediate urge to write some about Lit. He wanted to write, or maybe sing, about the delicate hair curling at the nape of his neck, the faint white tracery of old scars, the brown skin seeming to almost glow in the afternoon sunlight, his long, dark lashes hanging over the pools of dark coffee that were his eyes. Instead, blood rushing to his cheeks, he turned away.

Lit reached out to pick up his phone and change the music.

“Whoa what’s wrong with Lorde?” asked Apollo, now slightly offended.

“Nothing at all”, Lit replied with a shrug, “I just fidget with stuff when I’m bored”.

The car was filled with beat of Daydreaming by MISSIO, and Apollo found he didn’t mind the change in music.

“Maybe we should play 20 questions”, Apollo said jokingly.

Lit sat up. “Okay”.

“Wait I was just kidding”

“Nono, let’s do it. But please don’t ask stupid questions. Some asked me to read ‘Serpent and Dove’ a couple weeks ago, and I did because I hate myself. It had the most uninteresting sequence of 20 questions I’ve ever read, I don’t want that for us.”

For us?? There was an us?

“Cool. I’ll go first. Why do you annotate books that you aren’t going to keep anyway?”

Lit let out a little sigh, and said, “It’s like leaving behind a small piece of myself. Of course, the next person to pick up the book won’t know it’s me, but that’s not the point”. He breathed in as if this wasn’t an easy thing to share, and continued, “I don’t tell people much about myself. I don’t make a lot of friends, and I’m definitely not an open book. I think this is way for me to just let people see me, but… anonymously. I know that probably doesn’t make much sense, but it’s what works for me”.

Apollo sat stunned, but tried as hard as he could not to show it. For someone that didn’t share much of himself, Lit had shared a lot with Apollo, and he didn’t quite know how to feel about it. Maybe he was grateful. Maybe he was terrified of Lit’s trust in him. The last thing he wanted to do was let Lit down.

“Well that was definitely interesting. Your turn.” Apollo thinks he did well enough at playing it cool.

“Um”. Lit fidgets around, shifting his legs and squeezing his own fingers. Gods above! It’s making Apollo nervous. “So the books you asked me to rent out…” Apollo’s heart starts to speed up. Surely Lit hadn’t noticed! “Was there any… particular theme to them, or?”

“Theme? Well duh. Mythological retellings”, Apollo managed, with a laugh that sounded fake to his own ears.

An embarrassed blush crept up Lit’s cheeks, and Apollo almost regretted lying to him. “I know… but, anything… else?”, he asked, waving his hand about like it could explain what he wanted to say more eloquently than words could.

Apollo decided to play dumb. It wasn’t like he’d been lying anyway. He really hadn’t meant for all the books to be so damn piney.

“Not that I can think of…”, he said, feigning a look of confusion, “Why?”

“Never mind”, Lit said, turning away to hide flushed cheeks, “Your turn”.

Apollo cleared his throat. He hadn’t meant to ask this next question so early on. Maybe he was doing it because he didn’t like lying to Lit. Maybe he was doing it so Lit would be distracted from his embarrassment. Maybe he wasn’t doing this for Lit’s benefit at all. Maybe he just had to get this off his chest.

“So this is a slightly serious question. If, you know… hypothetically speaking, I were to tell you that you had to…” If he weren’t belted to a car seat right now, he’d be squirming, “I may or may not have told Artemis that we’re dating!” he finally blurted out.

Lit turned to stare at him.

“I mean, of course we aren’t, but would you mind faking it for the weekend?”

Lit just looked like he was in pain.

Then his face broke out in a cheeky smile, and he said, “Let’s do it. And let’s make it convincing”.

#litpollo #litpollo fanfic #lityerses #apollo #toa apollo #trials of apollo #modern day au #apollo's mind this time

15 notes · View notes

secretly-tword-obsessed · 4 years

Text

Playful

Hello giggly messes! This is a Hamilton tickle fic that I wrote in my T fic diary a few months ago.

Summary: Aaron Burr sees himself as mature, but he can have a little fun from time to time....

Burr could be described as many things: Precise, motivated, determined, intelligent; but playful certainly wasn’t one of them. No, not Aaron Burr. He was a serious and productive man, not a silly slacker. Unfortunately for him however, he was constantly surrounded by some of the most weird, bouncy, silly men in town: Laurens, Hamilton, Mulligan and Lafayette.

I mean sure, they were hard workers, trying to get their points across, and they’d made great progress. Folks looked up to them as inspirational figures, representatives. But boy, the four men had overactive goofball sides.

“Dream on Hamilton”, Laurens said, softly punching his friend’s arm.

Alexander groaned: “Just you wait Laurens, just you wait”.

The four men were seated at The Place To Be Bar as usual, and they and Burr were the only ones there. Well, there was a reason for that, it was very early in the morning.

Burr was sitting alone at a seperate table from the revolutionaries, drinking in silence. The men had invited him over, but he said that he was fine. In actuality, he wasn’t, for he had recently received the news that Theadosia’s husband had returned from battle, and that they were functioning as a normal couple once again. He thought that perhaps he could drink away his sadness, but he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the four men seated at the table beside him. He decided to wait till they’d leave.

“Wait, wait for what?”, Laurens said, “For Washington to become aware of your existence?”. Lafayette let out a snicker at that.

“Shut up”, Hamilton groaned, taking another sip.

“Don’t tell Laurens or Laf to shut up”, Hercules said.

Listening in on the conversation, Burr knew that they’d be there a while. He got up to leave the bar, perhaps he could come back late at night when it was completely empty.

“Yo, Aaron Burr, where you goin’?”, Laurens asked, turning to him.

“Home”, Burr stated.

Hamilton raised an eyebrow at him questioningly. “You don’t just walk into a bar, sit alone, take a few sips and leave. Whats up Burr, is everything alright?”, Hamilton asked.

Burr just sighed as he walked up to the men, Lafayette patting a spare seat beside him for Burr to sit himself down in.

“Actually”, he said, “Everything’s not ok. Something bad has happened”.

Burr wouldn’t give specifics, the men knew nothing of Theadosia, or any woman for that matter. But the four seemed to understand that Burr wasn’t comfortable giving details, and they accepted that.

Lafayette swung a comforting arm around Burr’s shoulder and pat his back. Burr just looked downwards at the floor.

“Thanks”, he muttered.

“What was that?”, Lafayette asked, softly poking Burr’s side. Lafayette intended this to just be a harmless friendly gesture, and was shocked when Burr shrieked and jumped in the air. Burr looked at the four men staring at him, and realising what just happened, blushed intensely.

“Sorry”, he said, embarrassed, “Just a bit sensitive”.

“Sensitive?”, Laurens said, “Sensitive as in ticklish?”.

Burr shivered at the word: No, not ticklish.

‘Ticklish’ was childish and playful, Aaron Burr was not.

“No”, he responded, trying to sound calm, “Just sensitive”.

When Burr looked away, Laurens winked at Lafayette. Laf got the message and grinned deviously.

“Are you sure your not ticklish?”, he said, poking Burr’s side with more meaning this time. This time, Burr didn’t shriek, he squealed.

Jeez, why did bad things have to happen to good people?

“So, your sad. Need some cheering up Mon Ami?”, Lafayette asked as he wiggled his fingers at Burr cheekily.

“Ok”, he chuckled, standing up, “Thats enough of that”. He turned to leave the bar.

“Get ‘im”, Hercules said.

And soon, Burr was running, dashing out of the bar as four goofs chased him.

No, even if they caught him, he wasn’t ticklish, right? What was the point in running.

Nope, Burr was done lying to himself. He was done resisting.

He was childish, he was playful, and he was enjoying the chase.

And yes, he was ticklish. Very damn ticklish.

He was about to leave the bar when Hamilton grabbed his arm.

“Aaron Burr, sir. Why out so soon?”, he teased as he tackled the man to the ground.

Burr lay on the ground, completely at the mercy of the four men.

They quickly assumed their positions: Hercules holding Burr’s arms above his head, Alexander and John on his left side and and Lafayette on his right.

“So”, Laurens said, a huge grin on his freckled face, “For the last time Burr, are you ticklish?”.

Burr wiggled with anticipation, bubbling up inside of him like a cold pint of beer. He couldn’t stop the smile tweaking the corner of his lips. He didn’t say anything, which was an answer in itself, and the four men grinned wider.

And finally, they dug in.

Lafayette danced his fingers up and down Aaron’s ribs, Laurens scuttled across his neck and Hamilton poked at Burr’s fully exposed underarms, annotating fingers. Mulligan was the muscle keeping Burr down.

And he didn’t even try not to laugh, he just laughed loudly and freely, squirming madly. All of his saddened thoughts of Theadosia just disappeared in his laughter.

Sure, he was embarrassed out of his mind, but this was still the best he’d felt in ages. But they wouldn’t know that.

“Ha! You like this!”, Lafayette remarked as he scuttled his fingers down to Burr’s belly.

Burr turned red: “Dohohohoho nohohohohohot!”.

“Do to!”, Lafayette remarked, “You haven’t even asked us to stop, I can see it in your eyes. Your not upset anymore, are you?”.

Burr felt like he could melt; both from Lafayette’s words and the unbearably ticklish sensations all over his body.

“So Burr, whats your worst spot, hmm?”, Laurens asked, narrowing his eyes at Burr.

“Nohohohoho plehehehehehease!”, he laughed.

“No Please? Iv’e taken many biology classes, but Iv’e never heard of the No Please before”, Hamilton chuckled, the other three men groaning at his pathetic joke.

Hamilton’s underarm pokes were what was getting at Burr the most. Being tickled in such a vulnerable place without being able to protect it: pure torture.

Hamilton seemed to notice this, and replaced his poking with wiggling fingers.

That was when Burr cracked.

“NOHOHOHOHO STAHAHAHAHAWP PLEHEHEHEHEASE!”.

At those words, the men quit it.

“Oh, so your underarms are your worst spot?”, Hamilton teased as Burr sat up, panting.

“You feeling better now Mon Ami?”, Laf asked, swinging an arm over Burr’s shoulder.

He was feeling better, a hell of a lot better. He hadn’t remembered the last time he felt so good. Maybe he should be playful more often.

He didn’t know why he did it, perhaps it was a tickle aftershock or spell or something. But in a second, he was viciously tearing his way through the bar at Laurens, who he knew was ticklish from a time he saw him get wrecked by the other men once.

Laughter can do the impossible: I guess it really is the best medicine.

Sorry that was short, I wrote it a long time ago. Thanks for reading and please give me feedback! (Because my back is hungryyyy).

#hamiltontickle #hamiltonticklefic #tickle #ticklefic #ticklish!burr #ler!hamilsquad #lee!burr #cheer up tickles #hamiltontickles

50 notes · View notes