Send A Word And I Will Write A Drabble Or Headcanon Based On It

send me   ‘ hold up ‘   for your muse to grab mine by the back of the shirt to keep them from doing something dangerous / foolish 

send  ‘ hold up ‘ reverse  for my muse to do the grabbing

❝ I…I’m sorry. I have to go ❞

"Go where?!" He asks it with a laugh, using it to hide the disappointment he feels. It's natural, he knows, his mum had warned him a thousand times; people drift apart by the time school starts to end, friendships change, people change. James wants to believe that Peter's only running away from hanging out behind the herbology greenhouses because he's stressed about NEWTs, or because they all still have a history essay due in two days, or because McGonagall's been breathing down his neck about his plans for the future. They're all stressed about NEWTs. About classes. McGonagall. It's barely an excuse. It's been happening more and more lately. Peter's distance. Seven years of being joined at the hip is starting to dwindle, and as right as his mother usually is, James doesn't want it to be true. Any plans about the future are usually shot down, any questions about hanging out for the weekend, or going to Hogsmeade, or even just studying together, most of them are rejected. And he understands, truly, - it's an exhaustive time for all of them, mutually. But surely they're supposed to be leaning on each other, supporting each other, not drifting apart? They're supposed to stay together, the four of them. They're supposed to save the world. He seems insistent on leaving, however. And for the hundredth time, James lets him go, letting out a soft breath of Peter's name in protest. It's not enough to keep him around. It never is.

HP Character Aesthetics (8/?)

James Potter

Vices

HEADCANON:

James isn't a regular smoker, despite the fact that he's usually got a pack nearby, at most times.

It had become a bad habit in Hogwarts, something he had picked up the summer before their sixth year with Sirius, under the pretense of looking cool. They didn't look cool, really, but that didn't stop him from trying, hanging out down the far end of the Potter estate, by the lake, lazing on a sunny afternoon. The cigarette balanced carefully in one hand, toes dipping in the water, shirt unbuttoned with the hopes of getting some kind of a tan.

Peter had joined them, once, face scrunching up slightly at the scent of tobacco that clung to their clothes.

He only smokes on occasion. Drunk after a common room party, their sixth year. After winning a match, their seventh. Dawn, after a particularly rough full moon. It's even less frequent, now - he'd had one on the night Lily had told him she was pregnant, and one on the day Harry was born.

James relies on a lot of things to cope. His vices, however, are few and far between.

☆ + QUIDDITCH

"Seeing her in the stands, way back in Hogwarts, cheering us on."

He says it with a laugh, light on his lips, a fondness shining in his eyes. It comes naturally, when he thinks of Lily. "I remember.. - our first match, in sixth year, against Hufflepuff. It wasn't even a big one, just a friendly game, to get the ball rolling for the year. But we'd had a really good summer, and she had actually said hi to me on the train on the way there, and just before the match, she'd wished me luck."

He grins then, lifts a hand to his hair, a soft, embarrassed flush of pink tinting his cheeks. "She shouted my name from the stands, and I was so distracted, I got hit in the head with a quaffle. Absolutely worth it."

“Can any single person shut the fuck up about any single thing for an hour?”

"Would that include you?"

He asks it dryly, far too hungover to be anyway amused by Sirius' ramblings. The light peeking through the curtains of the bedroom is far too bright, the sound of someone pottering around downstairs is far too loud, - which, actually, is probably what Sirius is talking about in the first place, - and his head is pounding. For the most part, he can tolerate everything his brother says, greets his words with a warm grin and a wicked sense of humor, -

But his wedding is in two hours, he's lost his glasses and his left shoe, and all he can remember about the night before is the roar of Sirius' motorbike.

And firewhiskey. Lots of firewhiskey.

James turns over on the bed, hand reaching out blindly for his wand. It's not on the bedside table, and for a moment, he's confused, frowning as he tries to see through the blur of his shitty vision.

"Have you seen my wand?" he croaks out, rolling over to actually attempt to sit up, stomach lurching in the process. "Where the bloody hell are my glasses?"

"I would answer both of those questions and more," Sirius retorts, voice coming from somewhere on the floor, in a pile of blankets, "however, since you so rudely suggested I shut up, I intend to do just that."

His wand isn't there, but there's a book on the nightstand.

James throws it at him.

Character aesthetic ♡ James Potter

“the last enemy that shall be destroyed is death”

here’s a beautiful and smiling kat to make your day immediately better ╰(◡‿◡✿╰)

❝ I don’t think I can make it…❞

"You say that every time." It comes off as a little more of an accusation than he intends, but it's not necessarily untrue. Peter does say it, almost every time he suggests something, and James is reaching his tipping point. There's something going on. The war has taken it's toll on all of them, dragging down their spirits like a fucking vice. It's not fair, not when they're only just graduated, only just on the precipice of becoming adults, and they haven't had a chance to live. And as tolerant as James wants to be, tries to be, none of that can relieved the ache he feels every single time Peter says no, or doesn't show up, or cancels at the last minute. Once upon a time, all he could do was spend every waking moment at James' side, and James misses his best friend. It hurts. It's his fucking birthday. It's a slow descent into losing him. He can see it from a mile away, can tell that Peter's mind is somewhere else, even in Order meetings. Maybe he's planning on becoming a hermit, on running away, on totally disengaging from the wizarding world to keep him safe. James wouldn't blame him, really, - the bigger Lily's bump gets, the more tempting the thought becomes for him, too. "Don't worry about it," James settles on finally, lifting a hand to pat Peter's shoulder. He doesn't smile when he says it, simply shrugs, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "There's always next year."

« Padfoot follows Moony absolutely everywhere »

James