James Potter: seventeen, hair got struck by lightning at age
four and hasn’t sat down since, knuckles that jut out, holds his wand between
his teeth to impress girls- to impress the
girl, doesn’t own one pair of matching socks, the kind of attractive that
fills the ribs, fills the shoulder blades, fills the heart, Sirius painted his
nails once and he kept the polish on all week, sees the girl before registering anyone else in the room, young organs
pumping young blood, wired to himself, to his boys, to the girl, can tell what you’re about to say before you say it, he’s
just sort of like that, has a habit of leaning arms on peoples shoulders, starts
the trust fall before anyone realises they’re meant to be catching him
Sirius Black: seventeen, eats whipped cream by the fork
full, rolls up the sleeves of his robes, begins most conversations with: you absolute fuck, column of his throat
running down the neck like water, leaves his text books all over school, made
of gut feeling, of instinct, of starting before you know how to finish, a part
of him still stuck in that house, with the door slamming, with his mother
yelling, with the world ending, he is
the bomb going off in the swimming pool, he has probably made a bomb go off in
the swimming pool, smoking just outside the door- look- you can see the smoke,
you can see the shaking hands.
Remus Lupin: seventeen, jumpy, long eyelashes, the sullen quiet of fog
in winter, scars up the arms, round the neck, across the chest, eyes that stare
as if they are waiting for permission, plays the same records until he’s mouthing
the words in his sleep, gives out flowers for gifts, sarcasm that could stop
the heart, soft, like the skin above your collar bone, like stained glass
windows with light through them, like seeing a star in a textbook, knowing
that something that good is out there
even if it is far away, often has wind billowing through his baggy t-shirts, pulls
out his bottom lip when thinking, at night wakes up sweating, dreaming of blood
in his mouth, the kind you get when you rip an arm off, when you lick the bone
Peter Pettigrew: seventeen, socks right to the knee, eating
an ice cream, has a sore neck from always looking up, raw fingernails- bitten
to the cuticles, full of fear, oozing fear, could fill cathedrals with this
fear, burns books for no reason, unmade bed, the flush of a cheek that is bloated,
a mound of blood, sits on the floor because there is no room at the table,
counts on his fingers, pulled a muscle when walking up the fourth staircase,
shuts his eyes, opens them, realises he is still in his own skin, pale, a stick
of white, unassuming, like flowers, or the moment the ground gives way, all at
once, as if it was going to all along
A transition from darkness to light. One of the things I’ve been loving about season 5 of Samurai Jack is the character progression in Jack and Ashi, as well as how it also effects their physical appearance. Both coming from the darkness of their own problems and coming into the light, either through reinvention or rediscovery.
No piece of mine has never had as much interest surrounding it as this one has, so thank you for expressing your excitement to me. I hope you’ll find it was worth the wait. (Protip: if you’re reading on mobile, ditch the app and read on Safari or Chrome instead, as the app is prone to close on longer pieces of text).
This one is dedicated to @permanentcross, simply because she’s the best. E has listened to me ramble on and on about this story for longer than anyone should have to. She’s the inspiration behind many things beneath the cut, all of which I will leave up to your own interpretation.
Without further adieu, I present you with Nine Months…
No pun intended but I really feel like I gave birth to this one, lol. Anyhow, this is a bit different than what I usually do. I think best friend Harry is very underrated. Enjoy, and I’d love if you would let me know what you thought. I worked super hard on this one! x
You pad your way across the wood floors of your home, shuffling into the kitchen and towards the far right of the room. After a long, long day of meetings at work you’re more than happy to finally be home. You had hoped that a long, hot shower would be the cure all for the tension coursing through every muscle in your body, but apparently not. You bite your bottom lip as you reach the refrigerator and pull on the handle, the light from within illuminating your otherwise dark kitchen. Hoping to find a well past midnight snack, you squint into the fridge and bend down as far as you can to peer into it. The contents inside the fridge isn’t sparse in the slightest, but as your tired eyes look through it, nothing seems appetizing. While you’re debating between the plethora of flavors of fruit smoothies Harry had stocked your fridge with, you let out a sudden gasp. Your hand on the fridge curls tightly around the cold metal, while the other one flies on instinct to the middle of your tummy. Your brows furrow together as you stare down in shock at your ever growing stomach. The feeling was one you haven’t felt before through the course of your pregnancy and it makes you pause for a second. You’re so exhausted, you aren’t sure if it was painful or if the baby had just kicked.
“S’going on down there, little one?” You whisper softly, pushing the fabric of the long sleeved, oversized shirt you’re wearing up to snake your hand onto your bare skin. You rub it in soothing circles, and then the three rather annoying beeps of the refrigerator steal your attention. You shut the door of the fridge and settle for grabbing the near empty pack of Chips Ahoy cookies from the counter before making your way up the stairs and to your room.
but it’s like- the night throbs in my veins sometimes and i don’t know what to do with this energy? it isn’t my heart, no, not that, not anything known, but it flows like blood would and i want to leap out of the window- i want to meet the stars / i want to tell them that the night isn’t the darkest place that i’ve been but even when i’m there somehow starlight still guides me.
Summary: Deciding to stay in for a date, Peter and the Reader are faced with annoying and embarrassing comments from the whole team, who are unaware of their relationship.
Word Count: 2,428
Warnings: language, fluff, annoying avengers (??), embarrassed!Peter, embarrassed!Reader, cuteness, LOTR trilogy. (Let me know if I missed any)
A/N: Alright homies, I apologize it has taken me so long to upload something. I’ve been reaally stressed. So hopefully this is okay? For the anon that requested this, I hope you like it. I’d love some feedback, as always. Enjoy reading!
Dark, gray clouds blocked any source of light from shining through the big, thick glass windows surrounding every inch of the building.
The entire tower was filled with a solemn mood that spread into every corner and room.
Most of the team dreaded days like these, since it put a damper on their mood, (especially Steve).
You, however, cherished days like these the most.
It’s where you find your peace and inner self, no matter how depressing that may sound.
It helps you relax and release any stresses that corrupt your thoughts.
But the best reason of all is that you don’t have to leave the house, even if you had a date with Peter tonight.
However, thinking that idea through, you realized something.