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yallthemwitches · 9 days ago

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“He’s a muggleborn too, I think that’s why she likes him,” James says, now talking to no one but himself and the ceiling. “He listens to all the same muggle music, watches films… they probably go do cool muggle things like fairs and refrigerators… ride airplanes…”

“Mate, I don’t think you do a refrigerator.”

James ignores him, barreling onwards. “Meanwhile, I’m stuck here, basking in the feeling of how soft her skin was on my bloody arm like a fool.”

A little two-part, (sorta) matchmaker Sirius extravaganza because...I love THEM.

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

“You’ve been in here for thirty seconds and already made two dramatic sighs so just spare me and tell me what's wrong.”

James presses his face into his pillow, arms hanging off the sides of his bed.

“Evans was helping me study for potions.”

“That frigid bitch.”

James turns and casts his mate an icy glare, inciting a grin in return. Burrowing back into his pillow, he cards both hands through the back of his hair, the tips stand completely upright.

“It’s not just that—she laughed when I made a joke.”

“The nerve —”

“And she touched my arm…not grabbed it, but you know…touched it.”

“And I thought little miss perfect Evans would want to save herself for marriage.”

“Padfoot.”

Sirius sighs, throwing the magazine down in defeat. He had hoped sarcastic deflection would get him through this rendition of ‘Prong’s Big Feelings’ but chances were now slim to nothing.

“Look, Prongs,” Sirius says, moving to sit on the side of the bed, “I’m glad you and Evans have worked out some weird, masochistic agreement that resembles being mates, really I do. But unless you have something juicy to tell me, I really don’t need a theatrical play by play.”

James flips himself over to stare at the ceiling, shrouding his vision with his forearm.

“What the fuck are you talking about? This is juicy. She touched me.”

“No—she brushed your arm. Juicy would be if she touched your—”

“Sirius please,” James turns to him, face completely flushed. “Just don’t—for once. This is sacred— Evans is sacred. She’s perfect. She touched me .”

“Yes, we’ve covered that.”

Sirius glares at the door, trying to use whatever bunk he retained from third year divination to will Remus into the room and take James’ wallowing off his hands. No luck.

“Do you think she is still hooking up with Altwood?”

He holds back a sigh. Ever since Remus had caught Evans and Altwood looking at anything other than stars on top of the astronomy tower months ago, James had spiraled into some sort of trench that only got bigger as his friendship with her grew.

“Mate, I don’t think you do a refrigerator.”

James ignores him, barreling onwards. “Meanwhile, I’m stuck here, basking in the feeling of how soft her skin was on my bloody arm like a fool.”

Sirius stares at his friend. James is his best mate, smartest bloke in school (well, besides himself), quidditch captain, heartthrob of at least every girl who wasn’t in love with him—and yet he still found the energy to be a pathetic idiot. Honestly, it would be admirable if it wasn’t so bloody annoying.

“You know–you could just talk to her? I mean you claim you are mates now.”

James turns his head to look at him, the sheer mask of pain twisting his features being enough of a response.

“ Or–,” Sirius back pedals, “You could push all your feelings way way down and never talk about them again. Healthy, normal.”

“Yeah–that, that seems better.”

A silence passes between them, calm enough that it almost has Sirius convinced the conversation has sorted itself— almost. He knows James, has deciphered all possible combinations of his mannerisms like translating runes. Silence and James Potter do not cohabitate long.

Five, four, three, two—

“Did I mention she also smells really good—”

“Fuck it, I’m going to go read in the common room.”

He doesn’t wait to hear whatever nonsense James yells after him, taking three giant steps towards the door and bounding down the staircase.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t tolerate his mate’s constant pining—it definitely was bloody better than the quidditch gibberish he otherwise spouted in his free time—but if he was being honest, it was just so boring.

All the ho-humming and pining would at least be interesting if it was impossible for them to end up together, but it was actually entirely plausible and—if he was reading the room correctly– more imminent than his poor, lovesick idiot of a friend could comprehend. Remus might think it was best to let it sort itself out on its own, but he was having a harder and harder time not just taking both their heads and smashing them together.

So maybe that’s why when he finds Lily sitting in the common room he doesn’t kick out the group fo first years taking his coveted spot near the fireplace but sits just across from her, settling in with a piercing gaze that will only take a matter of time before—

“Don’t do that.”

Lily doesn’t look up from her book, flipping the page with a flick of a finger as she chews the inside of her cheek in focus. Her red hair falls gently into her face and she blows a strand away, an action that would make James thump his foot like a rabbit in heat.

“Do what?”

“Stare at me like that—it's gonna make your harem of admirers think you fancy me or something.”

She flicks her eyes over to a corner of girls who had started twittering the second he stepped foot into the room. Leaning over and giving a small wave, the girls bow their heads inwards and a fresh burst of squeals starts anew.

“What if I do fancy you?”

She gives him a hollow, exasperated stare for a couple seconds as though waiting for a punchline but he offers none, letting an unwavering smile grace his face. He waits until she goes back to her book, then continues.

“I just don’t get it, Evans.”

She makes a loud sigh, slamming the book shut.

“Alright Black–you win, you have the floor. What do you want?”

Her nostrils flair, something that he has long learned means she has reached a fighting mood. His favourite Evans iteration.

“I just don’t get how you make all these blokes go absolutely nutter, yet you are just like–,” he makes a sweeping gesture up and down her body, “--sitting here, without a single fuck to give.”

He expects the comment to rile her more, but instead her mouth twitches, a rebuttal already ready to go.

“You’re one to talk—cock tease of Gryffin—”

“How’s Robbie by the way?” He cuts her off, already getting bored of her jab. Lily reels back, eyebrows arching above her fringe.

“Do you mean Robert?”

“Yeah, blonde bloke, yea high, apparently shagging you—”

Lily opens her mouth, then clamps it shut, the cogs in her brain moving quickly. Sirius waits, a calm, innocent smile tugging at his lips.

“I’m not shagging him.”

“You were shagging him, then.”

“No—well, I mean–” she teeters off, frustration growing on her face.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but it was a one time thing. I didn’t want anything else from it and he was ok with that.”

“How very progressive of you.”

“What can I say, I’m a sexually liberated woman,” she quips back. Look at them go—having only a somewhat hostile conversation.

“I gathered from your constant lack of bra.”

A line of blush crosses her cheeks and she crosses her arms over her chest. Sirius' grin falters. Oops maybe too far.

“It’s just odd that a bird like you can have tits like that and a bum like that–”

“Jesus Christ, Black.”

“–and apparently only care to...” he turns his head, catching the title of her book, “...read Gravity’s Rainbow, drive my best mate completely nutter, and be good at potions."

He finishes his monologue, expecting to immediately feel the consequences of his admittedly shallow evaluation of her as a person, but instead she just blinks at him, chewing again at the inside of her cheek.

“What’d you mean ‘drive your best mate completely nutter’---James and I just study together sometimes.”

Oh, fucking hell.

Dealing with one oblivious person was one thing, but two. He should be deemed a martyr, get some sort of saintdom for the amount of bullshit he slogs through on a daily basis. Why doesn’t Remus have to deal with this? Where is that lazy arsehole anyway?

“Evans,” he sings, a low teasing tone that he hopes imbues everything so he doesn’t have to elaborate.

“I’m being serious. Him and I are just mates. He told me—”

“Evans.” A little harder now, with feeling.

Lily opens her mouth and shuts it again, looking down at her lap to the book that has long been abandoned. Feelings have never been his strong suit, but he can tell something is working hard in that pretty little brain of hers.

“He can’t still fancy me,” she murmurs, “He was shagging Elodie just last weekend.”

“Excuse me?” It’s Sirius’ turn to look incredulous, brows knitting in confusion.

“That’s what I heard from Mildred—he shagged her under the quidditch stands.”

It would be funny if he wasn’t so taken aback. Not only had James definitively not shagged Elodie McLauren under the quidditch stands (though a hilariously horrible place to do so), but in some sort of twist of irony he distinctly remembers that what James had been doing at the time in question was dissecting yet another study session in which he swore that Lily had changed shampoos because she had smelled “less like cinnamon and more like roses.”

“Fuck Evans, no—Merlin’s tits can’t you girls find better hobbies— James was with me all last weekend. Ask Remus or Pete, they’ll say the same.”

Lily’s eyes blink rapidly, looking rounder than before. Her lips part and a flash of white teeth bite down against her lip. If James was here he would die.

“So–,” she said slowly. “Potter didn’t shag Elodie?”

“No. Not even a little bit.”

She shifts so her feet are on the ground and her elbows are propped on her knees.

“And you are sure about that?”

“Evans, listen—if James stuck his prick—”

“Black.”

“Sorry,” Sirius huffs, “--if James had coitus–, ” he shoots her a sarcastic, affirming nod, “--then I promise I’d be the first to know about it. Trust me, I live with him.”

Lily stares at him as though he has turned to dust, looking past the common room and into some deep unknowable place where all her secrets reside. Things start to click into place, Sirius’ brain piecing things together as though working through an extremely difficult arithmancy equation. A grin creeps onto his face, a real one—the kind that resembles a predatory animal before eating their prey.

“Hey, quick question, Evans. Why are you so invested in James’—”

A thump reverberates into the room and both Lily and Sirius look up. James stands at the bottom step from the dorms, looking like he just showered with his hair still damp. His mouth hangs ajar, eyes flickering from Lily to Sirius, a look of utter betrayal embedded in the hard line of his mouth.

“Pads, we going to Hogsmeade or what?”

He moves slowly towards them, his eyes now focused solely on Sirius, looking more and more flushed with every step. With what seems like a lot of mental struggle, he turns towards Lily.

“Hey Evans–uh, thanks again for the help earlier. Are—,” James stammers, his attention now finding something utterly fascinating in the floorboards. “Are you going to Hogsmeade today?”

Lily straightens up, her book falling to her feet with a clunk. She grasps at the wisps of hair that reach her chest, curling the ends around her fingers.

Honestly, it would be painful to watch if it wasn’t so bloody hilarious.

“Yeah—have some errands to do,” her tone has changed but Sirius can’t put a finger on it. More airy? Amicable?

“Right.”

James turns like a wooden soldier, eyes burning into Sirius.

“Well, c’mon mate. Remus is waiting.”

He turns away from Lily so she can’t see his face and makes a scrunching expression that means What the fuck are you doing but Sirius ignores it, yawning as he stands up.

“Bye Evans—always a pleasure chatting with a sexually liberated woman. ”

He shoots her a smile, and both Lily and James’ faces burn redder than the Gryffindor banners. He knows in about five seconds he will have to pay for it, watching the questions flash past James’ eyes like a conga line-–but what was that saying about begging for forgiveness?

#jily #Lily Evans #james potter #lilypad brotp #my attempt at humor?#an excuse for Sirius to interact #and of course he will do so with Mutual Pining (proper noun) jily #jilypad if you squint #my writing #trying to make a james potter so pathetic and lovesick

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alphabetbill · 4 months ago

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Macabre [ HEMLOCK GROVE ] - chapter 1

" 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧, 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤, 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠- 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 "

[ C I C A D A ] hosho mccreesh.

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~ description ~

A werewolf whose only skill is running from his fears, a half-upir with no idea of the true darkness lying inside of him, and a girl found alive in the woods months after her mysterious death.

Some secrets in Hemlock Grove should have just stayed buried. In a town that isn't so sleepy after all, monsters of all kinds are wide awake under the surface, crawling their way up.

~ warnings~

This story will contain mature and heavy themes that may involve potentially explicit content, gore and murder, talk of kidnapping and stalking victims, supernatural/paranormal/religious themes and trauma, any other themes not covered in the general description will probably be tagged here at the start of the chapters that other significant warnings apply to.

A list will be linked here upon completion and upload of each chapter:

Cicada and the Snake

Chapter 1 . Chapter 2 . Chapter 3 . Chapter 4 . Chapter 5 . Chapter 6 . Chapter 7 .

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c h a p t e r o n e .

Peter Rumancek

<<>>

IT WAS WITH A HEAVY HEART SOMEWHERE INSIDE THAT Lance Evergreen would lay his daughter to finally rest, but not heavy enough.

On a muggy October evening, the man would stumble into his house, more of a trailer trash dwelling than anything, and hit the drinks as though he had never left them. Judith had been gone for months, and in his mind, seeing them lower her battered corpse into a hole in the ground where he would never see her again felt almost offensively anti-climactic. He had dreamt of the worst-case scenario over and over again, had imagined how it happened, when and why. How they would find her and what would be left of her.

By the time her body was found dumped in that ditch, in his head, Lance had already seen it all.

He had already mourned. He would never stop.

Peter went to visit him the day after the funeral.

He kicked his way through discarded beer cans and shattered bottles that spilled sticky ichor onto the bare particle board. He thought Uncle Vince was bad, given his lethal alcoholism that had eventually killed him, but this was just sad and Peter was just sad.

He knew Lance as well as he had known Vince, the two men having been close friends. Peter knew that Lance had an ex-wife, Judith's mother, who had shown up for the funeral and left promptly afterwards. Peter hadn't known her all that well from the couple of times he met the woman when he was little, but he had seen the way she clung to her cigarette and never said a word to anyone at the funeral. She used to be a local, but neither his uncle or Lance had brought it up so he had never had a reason to ask why she left. They also had a son who died.

Peter had also known Judith, which only made his heart squeeze more to think about it. He had fond memories of throwing worms at each other, collecting snails as kids, and gathering around Nicolae Rumancek to observe the fairy he had caught in a mason jar. He remembered so clearly how Jude was so adamant that it was in fact not a fairy, but a firefly, and that Peter's grandfather ought to let it go. Now his grandfather was gone, the girl was gone, and all he had left were faded recollections to remember it all by.

The man was already out cold by the time he reached the couch, which had been torn up by a dog- he could tell from the scent. It must have died not too long ago, because the food bowl still sat in the corner of the kitchen, flies buzzing around it. Peter took it upon himself to dispatch the old food with a hollow feeling in his chest and returned to the living room.

It was difficult to see how much this man had changed. Peter had fond memories of Lance giving him shoulder rides and driving around in his car. He remembered his stories, many of which he and Vince made up, and remembered how life-like and exciting he had been. Now all that was left was a husk of the soul of a man- a man with a failed marriage, two dead kids and one dead best friend. Alone in the world to drink and then die.

Peter didn't know what to do to fix his uncle's friend. He didn't know how to help his sad, hulking body off the couch when he had no interest in learning how to move. He didn't know how to console a father whose daughter was gone. But he did know that he wanted to be there for him, and that he wanted to help.

So, he helped. All while the man had drank himself into a stupor, the boy found his way to the kitchen and to the garbage bags beneath the rusted sink with the constant drip. He put the bottles, the cans, the wrappers, and all of the litter that his eye could see into the bag and hauled that bag out to the trash. He came back. He repeated the process.

It should not have been Peter's job to clean up this mess, but for once he didn't mind doing it. It felt almost therapeutic to cleanse the trailer of the mess and the alcohol and the despair he wished Uncle Vince had the chance to. The last thing he did was pry the bottle from his hand and set it away on the kitchen table.

Then Lance muttered in his sleep. Something something not worth it anymore.

When Peter came home later, he hugged his mother. He loved Lynda and she loved him, but they had never been a family for too much sentimentalism. Tonight was different. He needed that hug. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to never hug her again.

The following day at school felt like walking through a land of zombies. Peter was new to town, having arrived a couple of weeks prior to Judith Evergreen's funeral. He didn't know whether or not it was because of that, that everyone here seemed so lifeless and flat. He didn't think so, because he only found one or two funeral flyers dangling from the noticeboards, all of which had been trampled on or discarded on the floor.

It was the end of the day and Peter was in the middle of picking up one of the memorial notices for her when Roman Godfrey spoke to him for the first time.

"So you knew her," he said. A statement, not a question. His eyes– those eyes– tore right through the flesh and into his soul.

Peter knew at once that the boy was upir. He could sense it from a mile away, from the very first time he had glanced in the rich boy's direction on his first day at school. He could sense it like a serpent shifting beneath Roman's skin in the dark.

Roman was impossibly tall for the age of seventeen and had a face that had been morbidly carved by the holiest of angels. His hair was brown and loose, unlike his crisp blazer or tucked-in shirt and trousers. Peter wondered if the boy could smell his blood.

"Yeah. When I was a kid" he replied, anything to erase the unbearable cloud of tension that was the upir standing behind him.

"Mm. It's weird. I knew her too," Roman said. His voice didn't sound sympathetic, or if it did, it fronted as disjointed and monotone. "You want a lift home?"

It was raining and Peter had no interest in walking until he became a soggy wet dog. So he accepted.

The car was a vintage cherry red Jaguar, which Roman explained had belonged to his father. Peter wasn't sure what he was meant to do with this information but nonetheless continued to listen. The ride was relatively quiet and the radio hummed in the stretches of silence between admittedly one sided conversations.

"You're new in town," Roman said, making small talk.

"Are you a Gypsy?" he asked, but surprisingly not in that sneering way most other folk did.

"People at school say you're a werewolf. Is it true?" he questioned, as if Peter hadn't heard the rumours already, much like a subtle interrogation.

All of those things were correct, but Peter scooted around the last question by declaring that he was just an obscenely hairy teenager.

The car stopped on the side of the road near a slope that rolled down into a clearing, pulling up just in front of a rusted mailbox.

"You're related to Vince," Roman evaluated, seeming to recognize the dwelling. "He used to work for my mom at one point."

Peter had not known about that, and briefly found himself wondering what exactly his uncle had been doing with Olivia Godfrey. A strange, unnerving woman indeed.

As he thanked the rich boy and got out of the car, retrieving the mailbox, a car drove by.

Peter jolted.

In the seconds it had taken for the other vehicle to pass, a girl had appeared sitting in the passenger seat of Roman's car, where Peter had only been sitting seconds ago. In the small window of time he caught a glimpse of her, he saw black and blue and gray skin and teary, blood-filled eyes.

He saw Judith Evergreen, and then she disappeared.

"Something wrong?" Roman asked, viridian eyes narrowing.

After taking a moment to settle himself, unconvincingly the werewolf shook his head. The Upir left, but not without staring at Peter for a little longer than what was considered a normal duration of time to stare at someone.

He descended the old wooden staircase and into the clearing by the river where his home, previously Vince's, sat overlooking the water. He entered, greeting his mother, and opened the fridge to pop open a beer.

"So what's up with the Godfreys?" he asked, swigging from the bottle as he went over to plunge into the couch, stretching lazily to reach the remote and flicking on the TV.

"Bad business," Lynda said as she sipped on her cup of tea, already seated on the couch. "You should steer clear of them."

"The boy, Roman. He's an upir. I don't think he knows it himself," he sighed. All he could think about was the sinking feeling he got when he was near him, the feeling of drowning slowly, or being buried alive beneath the burning weight of his stare alone. Despite this, Peter couldn't deny his nagging intrigue. Call it morbid curiosity.

"He dropped you home?"

"He offered. It was raining."

Lynda said nothing in response, but Peter knew what she would have said.

Be careful with him.

That night Peter sat down on the edge of his bed and found himself staring through his window and out into the woods. In those woods, he thought he saw a girl.

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boring but we're getting there i swear also oh my god i'm actually posting for once????

anyways this is also on wattpad and chapter two will be out very soon :) i'll shut my mouth now.

#bill skarsgard #hemlock grove #roman godfrey #bill skarsgård #bill skarsgård fanfiction #roman godfrey x oc #peter rumancek x oc #someone plz tell me if i'm supposed to use capitals for upir because it looks weird when i do #i know if its a proper noun i would but ehhhhh

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