#i did it!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

greyeyedmonster-18 · 1 year

Text

good luck rituals (old and new)

(My prompt for this years RSCandyHearts by @goodboylupin was "superstar". While I'm not sure if this is what the box of candy hearts had in mind when it was chosen, this is what I came up with and I immensely enjoyed writing it. For those of you who are unfamiliar, here is short YT clip of the "superstar" reference...

otherwise.

enjoy

xoxo)

Remus’s back was pressed firmly against the cool brick of backstage as he listened to the stand-up comic start to wrap up their set. Ending their ten-minute slot with a joke about travel size snacks, that was yielding little response from the audience. Though, Remus wasn’t sure if it was the material (well, not entirely sure) or the lack of audience, having refused to peek around the corner of the wings to look out into the eyes of strangers. Instead, he kept his eyes closed, and he took a breath to try to calm his nerves and the heartbeat he could feel in his fingertips. Trying to remember this is what he had been working for and dreaming about.

All the time spent busking on street corners.

Working a stupid office job making photocopies and answering phones despite how often his voice cracked.

All the time spent practicing in tiny apartments and recording on his ancient computer in coat closets to avoid upsetting his neighbors with the dulcet sounds of improvisational jazz on an alto saxophone.

Time and energy and he had finally landed himself a slot at the Black Lagoon Lounge.

Well.

An unofficial slot on a night reserved for amateurs, that was unpaid, but he had auditioned and one someone over. He was talented enough to be standing backstage, waiting for his name to be announced by the host; for the lights to dim.

Waiting for his own ten minutes in the spotlight.

He was sweating already, thin turtleneck sticking to his skin as he exhaled through his mouth before he put his saxophone down on the piano bench backstage, hearing his old music teachers voices in the back of his mind screaming bloody murder as he did so.

You’ve been nervous before, Lupin. You’ll be nervous again, and you can still do this.

He swallowed and tilted his head back to stair up at the rafters. A mess of narrow catwalks and railings.

“I can do this,” Remus whispered to himself before placing his hands underneath his armpits, fingers applying pressure against his ribcage just so. “I can do this,” he repeated, pulling his fingers out and bringing them to his nose, inhaling deeply.

At least he didn’t smell.

Clean sweat.

Clean set.

“Let’s hear it one more time for Florence!” The host exclaimed, clapping into the microphone on stage. “Now this next one, I think you will really like…”

Remus picked up his saxophone and clipped it to the lanyard around his neck. His mother had knitted a pad for the back of it, bright magenta and yellow resting just below brown curls.

“All the way from Detroit…”

Inhale.

“Please welcome--Remus Lupin, his saxophone called Moony, and jazz.”

Remus snorted at the introduction, exchanging a weak smile with the Host—a man with messy jet back hair and round glasses, in purple plaid pants—as he walked onto the stage. He waited for the lights to dim slightly, blinking out into the lounge.

It wasn’t exactly the roar of the crowd.

A drunk at the back of the bar, slumped over on a stool.

A few staff pretending to be super busy, making scenes of taking a single plate left behind back to the kitchen.

The odd couple making out over their table, second drinks forgotten, in favor of touches and giggles and tongues.

And then there was him.

Remus already suffered from incurable dry mouth, having taken the route of soaking his reeds before playing, learning the hard way that he simply couldn’t conjure enough moisture on his own. His mother always said he lost everything sweating about the small stuff. But this man blinking back at him in the audience caused every drop of moisture Remus had left on this tongue to evaporate.

“H-h-i—” Remus started, his voice cracking, somehow able to turn a one syllable word into three. An impressive skill and he felt his face flush, looking down at the microphone to avoid the stare of him. “I uh, will…spare everyone here tonight a fumbled introduction, I’m not great with talking… just…I think I’ll just play, if that’s alright.”

A small chuckle.

That was the roar.

Remus made quick work of test notes.

Making sure his fingers remembered how to move.

And that his lungs remembered how to breath.

And that is mind and heart loved how it felt to be the center of attention for once for all the right reasons, watching out of his peripherals as the couple stopped making out and the staff slowed their paces as he played.

Remus went to the bar after his set, his saxophone in its case beside him, fiddling with the flimsy red straw in his whiskey and coke. He smiled to himself.

I don’t know what I just listened to, but I’m pretty sure I liked it, The Host had said after Remus exited the stage to the sound of cheers and a whistle.

“I liked your set,” came a voice and Remus looked away from floating ice cubes in his glass to see leather trousers sitting next to him at the bar stool.

“Uh, thanks.”

“I liked your audition tape too.”

“Tape?” Remus asked, panicked and finally looking up at the face that he knew belonged to black trousers. The one with the eyes he had avoided his entire set. The one with the cheekbones and the long, black curly hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail like something out of Vogue. The one who whistled at the end of his slot.

“Sirius Black—I own this place. I couldn’t make it to the auditions, but I did have them recorded…” He trailed off, with a lopsided grin, signaling the bartender. “I knew you were a good bet.” Remus nearly choked on his whiskey, and he sat up straighter on his bar stool unconsciously and Sirius laughed, “Relax, relax. I just said I liked it.”

“And I’ve forgotten every word except for thank you, and I’m…pretty sure I need to impress you further.”

Sirius laughed softly—that was the roar he heard earlier, this man— “Impress me? I just work here.”

“I’m told its part of playing the game…”

“Well, my philosophy has always been let your craft play the game for you…”

“You’re a musician?”

Another bark of laughter, and Sirius took two tattooed fingers and fished the cherry out of the top of his drink, “No, just a Lounge owner, I’m afraid.”

“Then of course you don’t know about the games. I’ve been at this for years and its always the people in charge you need to impress…”

“And you haven’t?”

“My music and…me…we’re an acquired taste, it seems.”

Sirius grinned, that cocky-lopsided one he saw earlier somewhere at his five-minute mark in his set, the one that definitely didn’t make him flush and definitely didn’t make him tongue tied now, “Lucky you then.”

“Wh-y’s,” another crack in his vocal cord, elongating syllables, “that?” Remus quickly picked up his drink and took a large gulp.

“I have a refined palette.” Sirius shrugged, “But—”

“But?”

“I have to ask what you were doing before you played.”

“Oh, I just work a stupid office job. Signatures and…filing.”

“No, backstage before you went on."

“W-What?”

“I went to go ask my brother about something, he's the annoying one with the headset running around back there, and saw you…you know…smelling your hands. Good luck ritual?”

“Oh god,” Remus smacked his hand against his forehead, “I’ll buy you a drink if you pretend you didn’t see.”

“I drink for free.”

“…Hot wings then?” Sirius laughed again and Remus winced, running his hand down his face, “I will give you the ten I made in tips tonight."

"Keep your money."

"You saw...?"

“I didn’t.”

“…Thanks.”

“I’ll just have to wait and see if you do it again next week. Find out eventually. This will be fun."

“Next week?”

“Refined palette.” Sirius said, picking up his pink drink and standing off the barstool, “You’ll get a call Monday.”

“I could kiss you.”

“Slow down there, superstar.” Sirius winked and made his way back to the center of the Lounge where he was sitting when Remus had first seen him to watch the rest of the acts.

Remus stood in front of the entrance of the Black Lagoon Lounge, phone stretched out in his hand, and his saxophone in the other as he pasted on a goofy grin and snapped a photo.

We’re still here! Another Saturday! Will send the recording as always.

A year ago, Remus felt lucky to have a 10-minute slot for amateur night.

And then he felt lucky to have a half hour slot to open on Saturday nights.

And then—now—he couldn’t believe his name was the one on the marquee.

TONIGHT: REMUS LUPIN, MOONY, AND....JAZZ

He waved to the security team as he walked in through the double doors, and down the stairs through black velvet curtains. He wasn’t on for another two hours but could smell the smoke and hear the soothing vocals of the singer who opened for his own opener.

It was the same every Saturday, and entirely different at the same time.

A routine he could rely on with familiar faces. The staff. The Host. The doors and his dressing room, now filled with his favorite brand of cigarettes and cards from people who had stumbled by the lounge and heard him play.

He kept his mother’s neck cushion on his lanyard.

He kept his reeds in a cup of water.

Some things didn’t change.

But now he played to full rooms. An actual crowd, the sound of cutlery clinking together accompanying his sets. Regulars who sat in the front every week and put twenties into a hat he left on the stage.

Sirius.

Who stood in the back, leaning against the bar with his long curly hair swept to the side and his array of leather clothing and whistled every time.

Every week for a year

And Sirius went from handsome man who made intense eye contact in a nearly empty lounge To Lounge owner.

To Man He Needed to Impress

To Friend

To Boyfriend.

There was a knock at the door, the backstage manager, who Remus had learned was Sirius’s brother, popping his head in to signal it was getting closer to show time.

Remus still carried his own saxophone backstage with him, not trusting anyone else to set it up just right and the way he liked it.

Remus still got nervous, like it was the first night all over again. Reveling in the sensation of his heartbeat hammering a rhythm of its own.

He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, placing his hands underneath his armpits, and applying light pressure.

“You have been nervous before, and you will be nervous again,” Remus whispered to himself, “And you can do this.”

“You can do this,” came a second voice and Remus opened his eyes, unable to stop himself from smiling at the sight of Sirius in front of him. The toes of their shoes were touching, and Remus sometimes wished he could spend the evening counting eyelashes on grey eyes instead of counting out beats in his head.

Lucky that there was time for both, knowing Saturdays ended with Your Place or Mine? And absent touches on freckles and scars and tattoos and ribcages and hipbones.

Sirius looked at him expectantly, “Go ahead and finish…bad luck if you don’t.”

Remus shook his head but brought his fingers to the base of his nose and inhaled deeply anyway. It was bad luck if he didn’t finish the ritual.

“Still the weirdest fucking thing I’ve ever seen….” Sirius said.

“Ever?”

“Definitely.”

“Well, I have a second good luck ritual now too and its bad luck not to finish it…” Remus teased, and Sirius laughed, bringing a hand up to Remus’s chin and tilting it upward before kissing him softly.

“Good luck, superstar.”

#rscandyhearts #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #love love love #everyone praise me for writing a damn thing #i did it!!#before the deadline!#amazing!#also im sorry i took such a ridiculous take on this prompt #but you are wrong if you think remus WOULDNT do this

66 notes · View notes