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greyeyedmonster-18 · 7 months

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best day

(For @goodboylupin’s Candy Hearts Challenge. My candy heart prompt was "best day". thank you for hosting this mini-fest once again.)

Days are bad. Life is hard. Love is the easiest thing in the world.

It was raining outside, wind howling through the cracks of the windows, rattling the pipes outside of Remus and Sirius's flat. Remus was wishing right about then he hadn't insisted on paying part of the rent. Maybe then they would be tucked away in some lavish home in London; someplace where they didn't have to shut the windows with such force and didn't seem to be swaying with the wind.

He knew it was going to be a bad day the moment he rolled out of bed and heard the sound of the steady rain. Because his joints ached, and his hands were stiff. Because he was going to be one of those idiots outside in this weather--the kind everyone pointed at from their car windows, snickering behind their palms--holding fast to a withering umbrella, hoping he didn't get blown away with everything. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have bothered leaving their flat on days like this. Ordinarily, he would have made himself comfortable on the armchair they had found at some woman's estate sale, that had stains on the arm from too many nights with wine and mornings with cups of coffee and not moved a single muscle.

Waving his wand to do the simplest tasks and asking Sirius to do the others.

But today he had an interview at the Ministry, which required a lot more than a wand wave. Moving.

Remus sighed as he rummaged through his closet, pushing past worn t-shirts that Sirius insisted be hung up to find his slightly less worn button-downs. He pulled a pale green one off the hanger. No holes. No stains. It would do.

Brown trousers and a fraying belt that had survived both sixth and seventh year. He was overdue for a replacement, but when did he wear belts? For interviews, almost exclusively. Maybe once he got a job. If? He got a job. Blame it on wartime, blame it on the weather, blame it on himself, the market had been bleak. The prospects had been bleaker. Hogwarts certainly hadn’t advertised how difficult it would be to find any type of job let alone something he could actually find himself doing in the long term or had any interest in. It was all well and good to “Join the Order!” and “Fight the Good Fight!”, which Remus had been doing (whether he was doing it particularly well was another story) when you didn’t have to worry about working or making money to support yourself.

James and Sirius had both offered.

Remus always said no.

Even if right now, as he pulled a navy sweater over his collared shirt, he was wishing he had said “yes”.

Remus was wishing a lot of things.

He sat on the bed, unrolling a pair of mustard-colored socks to put on his feet.

The toe gave way. How long had he had these socks? Had they been his Dads?

Remus stared down at his big toe, poking through the top of his sock, the rest of his toes safely tucked inside.

“Well, this seems about right,” he muttered to himself, putting on his other sock before slapping his hands to his thighs and forcing himself out of the bed again.

Brushed his teeth.

A hair on the top of his head wouldn’t lie flat.

He sniffed a bottle of hair potion Sirius had in the cabinet, contemplating taking his chances, but decided better of it. Brown loafers. Remus’s bare toe wiggled inside the material. Somehow already sweating.

“Sirius?” Remus called, lingering in the threshold, realizing the flat was quiet. There was no singing; bread wasn’t baking; it wasn’t the weather for Sirius to be outside tinkering with his bike. “Sirius?” he tried again.

He ignored the sinking feeling in his chest. It was early, maybe he had just stepped out to the shops. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Remus inhaled and reached for the door handle, the wind blowing it open. At least he could wave his wand for an umbrella.

The day got worse from there.

Before Remus could make it to the underground, a car rushed by, splashing his pants with mud and water. Loafers soaked, and it seemed pointless to keep drying them off. A spell wasn’t going to be able to fix the sweat under his arms, or his heart that only seemed to beat faster and faster, a racehorse trying its fucking best and going nowhere, as he got closer to the front desk of the Ministry to check in for his interview.

His shoes squeaked down the hallway; his toe poking through his sock, squelching and squirming.

His voice cracked through every answer—for a job he was certain he could and would do in his sleep. Filing for fucks sake! Putting things in drawers and sitting around waiting for more papers to go into drawers or be sent to the owlery and Remus couldn’t answer a single question without clearing his throat or sounding like he was en route to a second puberty.

He didn’t bother with the umbrella on the way home, letting rain soak through his clothes, drip down his face. At least the hair on his head was now flat.

Remus sighed as he walked in through his front door, beyond defeated, dropping his soaked RJ LUPIN briefcase on the floor with a thud.

“Is that you, Remus?”

“Who else would it be?” Remus shot back, rougher than perhaps warranted.

“The Queen. Invited her over for tea,” Sirius responded as he turned the corner, stopping in front of Remus and smile fading as he took in the sight before him. Remus returned with a weak jazz hand and a feeble grin. Ta-fucking-da. “Trying out a new look, are we?”

“Where were you?”

“When?”

“I don’t know, Sirius,” Remus said, shrugging off his jacket and letting it fall to the floor, “This morning?” This month?“I went—”

“In the pouring rain?”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Forget it.”

Sirius’s eyebrows were a straight line above his hooded eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak again, pick the fight Remus wanted him to. The wind groaned outside, Remus feeling like the flat was swaying and Sirius looked over his shoulder, breaking the irritated eye contact he had with Remus to make sure the “living room” windows were still holding fast.

Remus peeled off his stuck loafers, that probably needed to go straight to the bin. The hole in his sock was bigger now, his second toe trying to come to the surface for air. Sirius turned back around to face Remus, slowly scanning the pile of wet clothes, the umbrella that wasn’t used. The hole in his sock. A body that was a breath away from giving up hope and strength to keep him standing on two feet.

“Have you eaten?”

“I’m not particularly hungry.”

“But I have an idea.”

“For dinner?”

“No,” Sirius said with a slow grin, grey eyes turning up slightly, and he inclined his head toward the bedroom, “Sort of.”

“Sirius.” But Sirius just grabbed Remus’s hand and pulled him down the hallway through the door of their room. One by one Sirius slowly took off Remus’s soaked clothes, folding everything as Remus stood there near the bed. Too curious for what was going to happen next to want to continue a fight that neither of them wanted to have. But it was a hell of a lot easier than being afraid. Remus held his arms above his head, for Sirius to take off his sweater; watched deft fingers undo every single button on his nice shirt. Watched as Sirius took off his own clothing until they were both in their underwear. Remus swallowed and brought his hand up to push a long dark curl out of Sirius’s face, safely behind his ear.

“I think we need a redo,” Sirius said, putting his both of his hands around Remus’s waist, pulling him closer.

“A redo?”

“Of today. Fresh. Never happened.”

“What are you—”

“Shh, shh,” Sirius hushed him with a kiss to his mouth before pushing him backward onto the bed. Sirius made quick work of throwing the blanket over the top of them. Positioning Remus’s hand around his waist, and Sirius flicked his wrist, to turn the lights off. “Good night.”

“Are you out of your mind—”

“Remus I’m trying to sleep. Don’t you have a job interview tomorrow? You should really get some rest.”

“I—”

Sirius feigned a snore, and Remus fell silent, kissing the back of Sirius’s neck before getting comfortable underneath the blanket, resting his nose along Sirius’s shoulder the same way he did every night to fall asleep. It was probably only five minutes, maybe less, but when the sound of birds chirping magically filled the room, and gold and orange light appeared on the ceiling, Remus couldn’t help but feel restored.

Rejuvenated.

A brand-new day.

Sirius yawned and stretched. They took their time getting out from underneath the covers, throwing on sweatpants and old t-shirts. Toothpaste kisses in the bathroom, with matching foam goatees. A shower that was going to add some trouble to the water bill, but the steam, and the hands and the fancy bath soap Sirius liked pushed every worrying thought out of Remus’s mind.

A record played as they walked down the hallway into the kitchen, Sirius going to the cabinets and pulling out flour, while Remus went to the coffee machine.

“Fancy a Dutch Baby?” Sirius asked.

“Have you ever made one before?”

“No, but I do know how to read instructions.”

“Can you follow them though?”

“Where is the fun in that,” Sirius grinned, reaching for a recipe book on top of the fridge that had been a gift from Mrs. Potter, “If I recall, there’s one in here…”

The sun was getting close to setting outside. It was dark and gloomy, and the rain was determined to keep beating down on the pavement and windowpanes. Inside it was warm, sunlight radiating off of a boy with dark hair and big heart.

“Sirius, hey—”

“Forget about it,” Sirius said, “Don’t…think on it for another second, alright? Let’s…just have a good day. The best day even.”

A good day. They needed more of those.

Remus paused, before closing the lid of the coffee maker, “I love you.”

“Love you too, Moons. Now—remind me how the oven warms up,” Sirius said, gesturing to the stove and oven combination in their tiny kitchen. Remus shook his head and pressed a kissed to Sirius’s lips. Soft. Sighing. He looked down at his feet.

His socks were still on—Sirius hadn’t taken those off when the day restarted. The seam was intact.

#rscandyhearts #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #and after the 900000th time attempting to post this i have been blessed #please enjoy this late love month dribble #thats not quite happy but not quite sad #and R is very very very wet

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loudlittleecho · 3 months

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Too Late to Save Them: Frozen in Time.

Part 3

Paul had moved the Ice Growler into a shed. He had needed that field, after all. The ice had repaired itself from the previous chips, but never grew larger or smaller. It was just one of those things one keeps in a shed. Out of sight, out of mind, unless you need something.

It had been a year. Two, maybe? From Paul’s estimates, when his son found it. His kids visited every so often. Becks, his oldest, worked as a librarian. His son, Nathaniel, was a. . . stock broker? Banker? Paul was never sure what his son did, but Nathan was always talking about his ‘next big break’. Paul loved his kids, and he and Sara had made sure the two had a decent enough education, and that their wills were fair between the two. Especially when Sara’s cancer diagnosis revealed itself.

Well, Nathan was fit to be tied about the ice in the shed.

“Dad! Do you know what this means?”

Paul added another helping of green beans to his plate. This was a ‘dedicated meal’. Sara had made the kids promise- you will visit your father once a season- this was one of those meals.

Rebecca– Becks- visited more often, though Nathan typically visited only the four times a year.

Nathan continued. “This could be my big break! Ice that never melts?? Dad, I could compete against the Stanley and Yeti brand- I could sell it to medical companies- I could sell it to anyone! I– we could make millions! Why did you not tell me earlier?”

Paul took a swig of sweet tea. Nathan always got very animated when he got a new idea. That’s what he was, an idea man. Becks had a concerned look on her face.

“Dad, have you checked if it's safe, though? What if it’s dangerous?”

Paul loved his children. Becks, the overthinker, and Nathan, the optimistic.

“Bits of it have been in the fridge for a few months now. Nothin’s gone bad. Fridge hasn’t been plugged in for awhile.”

Becks placed the spoonful of corn down. The little family shared who brought what to their dedicated meals. Paul had supplied the iced tea, corn and green beans. (this year he hadn’t managed to shuck and peel like he used to. These were from cans, but he had made sure to rinse and season them thoroughly) Becks had brought the ham and mashed potatoes, and Nathan brought Bluebell Homemade Vanilla Ice Cream and store bought brownies. (the brownies had a discounted sticker from the grocery bakery. Paul was just glad Nathan was there).

“Dad. . .” Becks said worriedly, while Nathan jumped up. “The fridge! Really!”

The rest of the evening had a different pace from previous dinners. Nathan was on the phone with different “investors”, while Becks was on theirs researching about unmelting ice and effects of low levels of radiation in humans. Paul thought Becks had finally mastered Sara’s tater recipe. It was the butter. For a few years Becks had tried a ‘fat free’ healthier butter. It seemed to Paul that this year Becks had finally admitted that regular butter (and a heaping spoonful of it) made the best mashed potatoes.

. . .

It had been two weeks. Becks had bought him a new fridge and had brought replacements for everything he had in his other fridge. She told him she loved him and was just worried about the untested ice. (He mentioned twice about paying her; Becks just shook their head both times with a “Dad, I don’t need your money. I just want you".)

Nathan had asked him to borrow the ice. Have it tested. Have his investors look at it. Of course, Paul agreed. He wasn’t getting any younger, and if this really was something Nathan saw as helping people, “of course dad! Think of the diabetics!” Well, who was he to stop progress?

. . .

Nathan had asked his dad to give him the ice. Paul wasn’t sure. If what Nathan said was right, this could make Nathan a lot. . . and he needed to be fair between his two children. Nathan snapped at him. “Give me the ice. Becca can have the farm.” Paul still gave Becks a call. Becks had murmured something he couldn’t hear, but did say: “If you want to change your will that’s your choice dad. If Nathan’s plan doesn’t work. . . I’ll make sure Nathan’s ok. Don’t you worry.”

Paul trusted his children. The overthinker and the optimist.

He updated his will.

Part 4

#dpxdc #dcxdp #danny phanton fanfiction #phanfic #too late to save them #Option A: Frozen in time #(If you didn't catch it Danny is in the ice)#Becks is she/they. Paul doesn't quite understand but loves his child.#original characters #sorry for the delay! life came up #dc characters are coming soon #how long had Danny been floating in the ghost zone?#the answer will be revealed soon

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