#Little Hope James

[asthma-michael-myers]

I’ve seen screenshots flying around and decided that I also would like to share mine. Mostly of John. 

He is looks like he is lecturing in front of a class.  Serious topic it’s about your survival (surviving the next exam/Little Hope/whatever, just keep talking).

And also one James because I really like his eyelashes in this pic.

[daunart]

my whole life, all anyone's ever wanted was to possess me

[smellroy]

The Terror but it's Geronimo Stilton

Bonus:

[nopickls]

THE TERROR + FIRST/LAST APPEARANCES

This set was made for @tuxedomeme. Consider donating for a set!

[toramirr]

The moon is beautiful, it’s it?

[froggerland]

GIRL NAVY GIRL NAVY GIRL NAVY!!!

[ultravioletbrit]

“gone” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 518 words

Part 4/5 (part 1, part 2, part 3 /part 5)

For a moment, Regulus still considers making a break for it but instead he takes a deep breath and turns to face his brother. They stare at each other for several moments, a myriad of emotions flicking across Sirius’ face as he opens and closes his mouth without saying anything. Regulus is struggling to find the right words also, but he’s saved when James breaks the silence.

“Did you really just try to sneak out the front door?” He asks.

Regulus’ stare slowly shifts from Sirius to James.

“And I was almost gone, if you didn’t notice.” Regulus defends himself.

“But we’re standing right here.” James gestures to emphasize that they are in fact standing very close to the front door.     

“Your point?” Regulus defiantly crosses his arm.   

“Hey guys?” Regulus faintly hears Sirius in the background.

“My point is that this is apparently your brother, which I’d still like a bit of an explanation about.” James starts.

“I can—” Sirius tries to interrupt.

“But regardless, there’s obviously something going on between you two.” James continues, ignoring Sirius.

“Yeah, but that’s—” Sirius tries again.

“So clearly, he’s not letting you leave without talking to him. And I’m definitely not letting you leave without getting your number.” Again, James talks over Sirius.

“You’re what?!” Regulus and Sirius ask at the same time.

“What makes you think I’d give you my number?” Regulus asks.

“Hey Reggie, good to see you, what are you doing here?” Sirius turns to the side—not facing Regulus—and dramatically asks no one.

“Do you not want to give me your number.” James smirks.

Sirius turns the other way, still talking to no one, “Hey Sirius, long time, no see. Funny story actually.” Sirius says in a mocking voice.

“I… …” Regulus tries to answer James.

Sirius turns around again. “Oh yeah? I’d love to hear it.” Sirius continues talking to no one.

“So, you do want to give me your number.” James’ smirk grows.

Sirius turns again and continues in a very dramatic mocking voice. “Well, Sirius, I just love you sooo much, I couldn’t be without you.”

“I never said that.” Regulus fires back at James—but also inadvertently answered Sirius’ statement.

Sirius turns to respond to Regulus until he realizes that Regulus wasn’t talking to him, then drops his shoulders. “I might as well be talking to a mirror.” He tosses his arms up.

“No… but you hesitated, love.” James’ smile softens and Regulus hates to admit that he has to fight to restrain his own smile. James opens his mouth, but Sirius cuts him off.

“OKAY, that’s enough!” Sirius stands between them and grabs Regulus by his ear and starts pulling him towards James’ couch.  

“OUCH!” Regulus yelps. “You are hurting me!”  

“Well, normally, I have a very sweet disposition, but you lost that right when you ignored me!” Sirius shouts and Regulus continues to yelp.

“Okay, wait a minute, Sirius.” James tries to jump in.

“I did my waiting! Twelve minutes of it, while you two were doing… whatever the hell that was.” Sirius throws Regulus on the couch. “Now sit. I want answers!”

[static-radio-ao3]

quick wash — 21 minutes

i asked si to give me a location, a keyword and a color, she gave me a swing seat on a porch, soft, forest green and it somehow turned into a jegulus laundromat meet cute (sorry) - 1.5k

a birthday gift for @poetskings <3

Regulus, unlike most people, likes the fact that his building doesn’t have a laundry room. He’s somewhat less fond of the lack of heating, but he quite likes the romance of going to a laundromat. Of sitting on those plastic chairs and staring at the dizzying spin of clothes in the machine, the way they tumble in the dryer.

So every Wednesday, which has been laundry day for about as long as he can remember, he packs up his laundry and walks down seven flights of stairs, because of course the elevator doesn’t work in his building either. He brings his headphones and lets the weight of loose change in his pocket ground him.

He greets the laundromat clerk, someone his age who looks like he’s never even heard of ironing his clothes. His hair always looks disheveled, like he rolls out of bed and goes straight to work, but he never tries to talk, which Regulus appreciates.

Regulus remembers hours spent sitting in front of the washing machine as a kid, watching it spin and spin and spin. It was equal parts dizzying and meditative.

He wondered, sometimes, if he could crawl in there. He was small enough (too small, his father's voice corrects). Maybe he could crawl in and spin and spin and spin and come out clean.

If he could not be new, he could at least be clean.

Because there's no washing off the person you are. No matter how hot your showers, no matter the fact that you scrub at your skin until it's raw and pink, no matter no matter no matter.

But sometimes, if you're lucky, you can wash off the person you are. Don a shiny new identity. Make everyone forget the person you were, make sure they only see the person you've become.

Sirius did it, once. Left and never came back and became someone new. Good. Worthy.

It was a Wednesday afternoon, probably, because Regulus had been sitting there, watching the machine spin and spin and spin. He heard Sirius' footsteps, despite his light tread. He heard the front door open. Heard it close again. He didn't realize, at the time, what it meant.

The tiny overhead doorbell jingles, and Regulus looks up almost instinctively. He knows the regulars on Wednesdays. The college student who exclusively wears Thrasher hoodies. The grandma and her dog who she dresses in human clothes.

But this time, it’s none of them. Regulus can’t help the way his heart stutters, a harsh thud, when he lays eyes on the man walking in.

He looks handsome even in the glaring lights of the laundromat. The tiled walls and floors don’t cut him into flat planes. Instead, they soften his edges, cast him in a dreamy glow.

Regulus faintly thinks the man looks like a detergent advertisement.

The man tugs his gloves off and unwinds his scarf from around his neck, the protection against the winter cold excessive in the heat of the laundromat. He’s wearing a dark green sweater, made darker still by the stain that covers most of the front.

Regulus forces his eyes back to the washing machine, watching it spin and spin and spin, until a heavy coat drops down on the seat next to him. The man peels off the sweater revealing a white t-shirt. Regulus sees a thin golden chain disappear under the collar of the shirt.

When the man catches Regulus staring, he lifts his shoulders in a shrug, a bashful smile on his face.

“There was an incident involving a child and hot chocolate and favorite sweater was the unfortunate casualty.” He shakes the sweater a little as if to offer proof. “Didn’t want the stain to set, so here we are.”

“Need a hand?” Regulus asks, but he’s already pushing himself out of his chair before the man has a chance to reply.

The man blinks, surprised. Fair enough, Regulus has never been accused of being polite or helpful. Something to do with the permanent frown of his face, the rigid line of his shoulders.

“Yeah, that’d be— Thanks.”

“You can just put it in,” Regulus says, inclining his head toward the machine. “I’ll grab some detergent.”

Because, sure, he wants to be helpful, but he’s not quite willing to offer up his own detergent, the vanilla cotton one that costs more than any detergent reasonably should. Thankfully this particular laundromat sells detergent by the dose for a few cents.

“Who’s your friend?” The clerk asks, leaning on the counter and glancing over Regulus’ shoulder.

“Not a friend, just helping him out,” Regulus says mildly, rifling through the different bottles of detergent until he finds the right one.

The clerk fixes him with a flat stare. “You’ve been coming here for months and never once have your tried to help someone.”

“Maybe because that’s literally your job,” Regulus quips. “Also ever heard of New Year’s resolutions?”

“It’s February. Little late for those, isn’t it?”

“Okay,” Regulus squints at the name tag, “Evan. Thank you so much for your input.”

“Oh, shit, wrong shirt again,” Evan (?) grumbles, fiddling with the tag on his shirt. “Boss is gonna kill me.”

Regulus opens his mouth to say— something, probably, but he decides he’s better off leaving it alone, so he fills a tiny cup with detergent, drops a few cents in the clerk’s hand and heads back to the machines.

He makes quick work of setting up the machine, selecting the shortest program, quick wash — 21 minutes.

“I’m James, by the way.”

Regulus settles back into his chair, offering his own name in return.

“Oh, like the star! That’s such a coincidence, one of my friends is also named after a star.”

Regulus’ mind flashes to another boy named after a star, but he pushes the thought away. “Yeah, well, you know what they say,” he mumbles awkwardly, unsure how to proceed and the floor unsteady under his feet even though he’s sitting.

“No?” James says, voice climbing and head tilted. He shoves his coat to the side, making space for himself next to Regulus. “What do they say?”

Great question. “Nothing, it’s— nothing.”

Spin and spin and spin, washing away sin and sin and sin.

“So,” James asks after a while, shifting in his seat to face Regulus. “You come here often? Wait, shit, that sounded like a bad pick-up line. I just meant that you seem to know your way around these things.”

“Yeah, my building doesn’t have a laundry room and this place is just down the street, so I’m here pretty much every week.”

“Cool,” James says, and the worst part is that he genuinely seems to find that cool. James pulls out his phone, and Regulus knows he should look away — privacy and all that, but Regulus isn’t looking at the screen at all. His eyes catch on James’ hands, big and veiny.

When James moves again, Regulus catches a whiff of his cologne. And Regulus tries to be normal about it, tries not to inhale too deeply and trap the scent into his lungs, but James smells woodsy and soft. Sunny pines, like forest green personified.

Regulus can picture him a swing seat on a porch on a cool summer evening, a breeze tousling his dark curls. Regulus blinks, suddenly back under the harsh glare of the laundromat lights.

“What about you?” James asks, expecting Regulus to know what he’s been talking about, which is a reasonable expectation, but there is unfortunately static in Regulus’ brain.

When Regulus is silent for too long, James laughs. It’s not a mean laugh, or a cruel one, like his mother’s laughter. It’s not at Regulus’ expense, like his father’s laughter. He feels warmed by the sound, and can’t help the bashful smile that appears on his face.

“I was just asking what you do for a living,” James repeats.

“Oh! I work at a bookstore. I’m the buyer for our children’s section, actually. And I have Tuesdays and Wednesdays off, hence the laundromat.”

“Do you have a favorite book?” James asks. Then he adds, “Personally, I’m a huge fan of Green Eggs and Ham.”

It’s a bad joke, really, but Regulus can’t help the amused huff that escapes him. James’ eyes brighten, leaning a little closer to Regulus as if desperate to hear it again. Like Regulus is the sun and James is a flower.

They talk while James’ sweater spins and spins and spins. Talk about books and movies and TV shows. They talk while Regulus unloads the dryer and folds his shirts, the fabric warm under his fingertips. He’s meticulous about it, moving slow despite the practice, desperate to prolong the interaction. Desperate to coax another laugh out of James, warm and low and rumbling.

Eventually though, he’s got all of his clothes sorted away in his bag, James’ sweater almost done washing and then needing a little while to dry, too.

But before Regulus can be too disappointed about it, James asks, “Same time next week?” His eyes are bright and soft behind his glasses, a tiny smudge right on the edge.

“Sure,” Regulus says. He tucks his smile away for safekeeping. When he gets back home, he drops it in the jar of pennies on his desk.

[courfee]

Regulus finds a label maker. That’s useful.

Reg with a label maker from early morning, coffee cups by @alarainai stuck with me for some reason...

[hetchdrive]

Asking someone to eat your body so they and the people they are responsible for don't starve to death in the barren wilderness is probably one of the most romantic things I can think of superseded only by Crozier refusing to do it and also insisting Fitzjames be buried well enough that the others can't dig him up if they find him.

[julesart04]

[llittletingoddess]

Some James being on top of the world for you :)

[dragonkick-bootshine]

blorbos from my hospital 🏠

[thatlenguy]

Oh yeah, also. Nox. Deep space discounts sona. My friends badgered me into making it real and now here we are.

He got arrested for running some sort of smuggling ring and is now the worst most particular stockroom manager you've ever met. Oh joy.

[becky5203]

I know JKR is a terrible person and you won’t catch me defending her but making Harry’s best friends mirrors of his dead parents was a galaxy brained move if ever there was one.