'Hold Up'

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

By a unanimous vote, we’ve decided to do a soft opening, and take this weekend to plot and reply to memes.

What that means:

All of our members should follow Memento Memes, where I will be reblogging memes throughout the weekend for us to use. To keep them all in one place and from getting lost on the dash, send any memes you’d like to be reblogged to me and I’ll reblog them there.

I will still be accepting Applications all weekend. Friday Night, Saturday Night, and Sunday Night, all at 9pm EST. That way people can easily join in and get right into the plotting and memes.

On Monday at 6 pm EST, we will open officially. This will be started with everyone posting their Self-Paras of their characters waking up. This can either be a Solo Para if your character is alone, or a Para with your characters significant other if they woke up with them. That is completely up to you if you’ve plotted that.

Doubt

HEADCANON:

Despite how much of his heart and soul he puts into it, James has so many doubts about himself being a father. His own father had always been a great example, and that was never in question, but he's seen first had what shitty parenting can do to a child. The first time Sirius had openly talked about his parents, something about it, - not just a hatred for how they treated Sirius, their son, but a sense of unrest that came with knowing people could just be like that to their children and be perfectly content with it, - just never sat right with him.

When he and Lily found out she was pregnant, the first thing he felt, above all else, was euphoria. Pure, complete happiness. But the doubt crept in, and the fear, and even when Harry had arrived, and he was set in James' arms in a little bundle of soft blankets, James couldn't deny that haunting doubt that loomed in the back of his mind.

He always wanted to be a good father. The only thing standing in his way was his own insecurities, doubts and fears.

mcrningecans​:

who: @jamiespxtter where: the potter cottage. when: january 1, 1979.

      LILY STILL COULDN’T BELIEVE IT. James stood before her, flesh and blood, and she didn’t think it would ever fully settle in her brain. They’d stayed in the hallway for what felt like an eternity, her fingers digging into his back until she cried out what felt like all the water in her body. He’d wiped them away for her, and she’d kissed his cheeks, as if that would stop the tears. But more came, for both of them, as their new reality settled on them like a wet blanket. Where was Harry? 

     Like clockwork, though, they’d drifted into the kitchen. Lily, still sniffling, had begun to root through the cabinets to find the tea kettle, mostly because it kept her busy, but also because it had been a while, and she’d like to taste a cuppa again. She’d kept it in a different spot when they’d first moved in, of course, and eventually moved it when they started using it every evening. Now, the kettle was singing, and Lily used magic to pour two cups and deliver them. She didn’t have the energy to move, after all, not now, not when James was so close. All she wanted to do was stay beside him, and figure out what was going on. After all, they’d always been able to figure everything else out together. They’d get this too.

     A small sip sent warmth through her body, and Lily allowed herself to breathe again. Shoulders fell, jaw slackened, eyelids lowered. They’d all been struggling since she’d woke, and Lily felt the tiredness that came with all these discoveries. Still, she didn’t want to rest. She couldn’t. Now, she needed a plan. She needed James. Her James. Lilys fingers reached for his again just because here she could. Here, at least, she had his hand to hold onto. “I don’t know what to say,” Lily managed, the first real words she’d spoken that weren’t obscured by her tears. What did you say to the person you loved most in the world, who you thought you’d lost? “His room is empty James. Like when we just moved in. The home office I wanted to set up? That’s what’s upstairs. A bunch of boxes full of ingredients. And, I mean, we’re okay… You’re not–” She sucked in a deep breath, because her eyes already were red-rimmed, and she didn’t need anymore tears to fall out by confirming what he already knew. 

     “What–what do you remember?”

--

He would have stayed there for a lifetime, if that was what she needed. 

They both needed it, really, and James held onto his wife desperately, a hand threading through her hair to nestle at the nape of her neck, trying to soothe her as best as he could. That sensation alone simply didn’t feel real, - none of it did, and while part of him wanted to believe this was some twisted game the fates were playing on them, there was simply no explanation for it. Every shuddering breath she took, every sob that wracked her chest, James simply held on tighter, relieved to at least feel alive again. It was a small mercy, he knew, but what else could be said? Their home had changed, as had they.

He had died. He was sure of it.

Lily’s breathing calmed him. She settled, eventually, as did he; though nothing could ever pull him away from her. Not now. Losing her had been the hardest thing he thought he would ever have to face, and now that the reality was setting in, there were much worse things coming for them. Even as they made their way to the kitchen, James kept a hand on her, needing the solid, affirming reminder that she really was there. It was the only thing that kept him standing upright, kept him pushing through the agonizing, deep ache that had settled in his chest, a loss he didn’t quite know how to deal with. One he hadn’t prepared for. Dumbledore had never given them any warning about this.

She was working on autopilot as she found the kettle, and used her magic to make them both a cup of tea. He felt too sick to drink it, but took the warm cup in one hand anyway, another sensation that felt borderline bizarre. Their table is small enough to leave them sitting side-by-side, and James moved his chair to sit facing her, hunched forward, his free hand rested carefully on her thigh.

He needed to hold her. He needed to know she was real. She relaxed slightly, after a sip, and James let his hand move, rubbing soothing circles against her leg. His own autopilot.

“.. he killed me.”

Saying it hurt more than he could bear.

“I - I told you to go. To get Harry, and leave. And then - I looked at him, and he -”

James had barely put up a fight. He dropped his head, the guilt turning in his stomach, as he stared down at the cup in his hand.

I’ll see you

with your

laughter lines

Katherine McNamara Photo shoot with Joshua Shultz

❝ 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.

Doors

HEADCANON:

The Potter estate is big.

It's not unwelcoming, or imposing, by any means. Any aspect of being too much is immediately washed away by his mother's warm hugs, his father's booming laughter as he greets guests, and the fact that it's James' home. Marlene had been enamored by the place from her first steps inside of it, and while he had tried to be boastful about how many rooms were simply for sleeping in, she had been more interested in the doors.

There had been many generations, passed through the estate. And with it came many tastes, and senses of style, and urges to make a house a home. All of these things added together had turned the estate into a miss-match of different rooms and different stylistic ages, the house it's own portrait of a family tree woven into the very brick work and foundations.

There's big doors. Small doors. Doors with peeling paint, and doors made of concrete, reinforced with charms. Doors for house elves, and doors for half-giants. The back garden can be reached through wide, gaping, fifteen-foot-tall glass doors, - or through the little side entrance, a little wooden door, built into the side of the kitchen.

Marlene had laughed at him once, at the age of fourteen, when he had walked through and smacked his forehead right off the awning.

He was left with a bruise on his forehead for a week.

He's learned to duck.