@jegulus-microfic | march 21 support | words: 976
hiiii so i had the worst fucking time at work lately and i felt like i needed to disappear and wondered why i was a public enemy number 1. so to make myself feel better i wrote this (yes, you guessed- james is me; reg is my therapist 🤠). do i feel better? not really. do i hope someone else with similar feelings will find comfort in this? absolutely.
tw: anxiety, self hatred, everyone is mean
James lay on the carpet and looked up at the fluorescent stars on the ceiling. He was having a shitty day; he started it with a huge smile on his face, but as he walked into the coffee shop he always passed on his way to work, the barista looked at him like he had just killed their pet. Maybe they're having a bad day, he thought.
So he ordered his coffee, waited until the order was ready, and watched the barista. They served another customer with a radiant smile on their faces. Well, maybe they just don't like me.
The thought made him lose his spark a little, but as he grabbed the paper cup and left with a cheery see you tomorrow, he plastered that bright smile back on his face.
It hasn’t stayed there for a long time. While waiting for the light to turn green, he looked at the girl holding her mother's hand and winked at her. The woman at her side must have read it wrong, because she frowned at him and led the girl as far away from him as the other people would let them. Yeah, she didn’t get it right; I was just trying to be friendly, not creepy.
As the day went by, there were similar situations waiting for him at every corner: his boss walked to the break room while James was making tea and gave him a nasty look; his colleagues didn't say a word to him all day, apart from polite greetings. James needed help with some paperwork and asked Carolina from accounting about it. She just huffed and took the papers with an eye roll.
He didn’t get it—what was he doing wrong? He was nice as ever, smiling at everyone and trying not to get in anyone’s way, yet still, each person with whom he interacted that day seemed to hate him.
Even Sirius seemed angry with him when, after being asked if he wanted to come over and watch today’s game, the long-haired man replied i can’t.
By 4:00, when he finished work, there was a purple spot on his hand where he was pinching himself to get his mind off of the whole everyone-hates-me thing. He walked out of the building, saying his goodbyes with a small smile and sad eyes that no one seemed to notice. He walked the five blocks from work to his flat, looking down, deep in thought.
What did I do? Are they mad at me for taking that sick leave last week? I didn’t even know they needed my help so much; I shouldn’t have done that. Was I rude to that barista the last time I went there? And Sirius? He’s never like this; I had to muck something up.
The spiral went on and on until James realised he was at the entrance to the building he lived in. And now he’s here, lying on the floor, looking at the stars he and Regulus put up there so long ago. James wondered if his boyfriend would also be mad at him.
He didn’t know how much time has passed before he heard a key turning and the door creaking. He still lay on the carpet when Regulus shouted, “Hi, baby! How was your day?”
“Good, I guess,” James replied robotically. As the younger man walked into the room, he heard a sigh and quick steps, and suddenly Regulus was looking down at him with a face James couldn’t exactly read from this perspective. “Am I a bad person, Reggie?”
His boyfriend crouched next to him, putting his fingers in James’ hair. That was the first thing today that didn’t make him feel like a piece of garbage.
“Que s'est-il passé chéri?” James has heard this question so many times for the last six years that he didn’t need translation, so he just started rumbling about everything that happened and everything he felt.
The longer he talked, the harder it was to hold back the tears in his eyes. When the first rolled down his cheek, Regulus laid down next to him, taking his face into his hand and caressing it gently with a thumb.
“You’re not a bad person, mon rayon de soleil,” Reg whispered to James, looking straight into his eyes with so much adoration and honesty that it made him cry harder.
They stayed on the floor, with James crying quietly and Regulus cradling his face. It took another eternity for the older man to calm down, but when he finally did, he sat up, rubbing at his eyes. Regulus stood up, extending his hand to help James up and putting his arm around the other’s waist for support. James felt sour after so much time spent in one position, so it actually was easier to walk like this.
Regulus sat him down on a couch and went to the kitchen to make them tea and pasta al pesto. Moments later, he was back at James side. They ate in peaceful silence, yet James' brain was still racing. Regulus must’ve noticed it, because he put their dishes on the coffee table and pulled James to his chest.
“Baby, you could start a cult,” he started into the crown of James’ head, “and you would still be better than anyone else. Even if you did something wrong, you would immediately try to fix it, and this is not a bad-person trait. You did nothing to piss all those people off; it was just an unlucky coincidence. They all had a bad day today, and apparently instead of dealing with it in a mature way, they decided to act like a bunch of kids. It’s not your fault. You’re not a bad person,” Regulus repeated the words like a thousand times.
James still had his doubts.
But James felt better.
translation: Que s'est-il passé chéri? -> What happened, darling?
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@jegulus-microfic | may 11 gentle | words: 573
part 1 | previous part
I don't know what's happening to me, so I'm pouring it all on James (i’m sorry)
tw: implied child abuse in the past, anxiety, dissociation
James sat at the dinner table, playing with his food rather than eating it, trying to silence his thoughts by concentrating on the conversation Sirius was having with Marlene about the next Quidditch game. Unfortunately, he was losing the battle between him and his mind—he couldn’t remember most of the time spent in the Great Hall, yet the one thing he remembers vividly are the silver eyes looking at him almost the whole time from across the room.
He was thinking about his last meeting with Regulus often—how the younger boy held him, whipped his tears more than once, and how he listened. It wasn’t much, but it meant the world to James.
And yet it still made him feel uncomfortable sometimes—what if Regulus used that knowledge against him? What if he was too scared by it all and went to Sirius and told him about it? Or even worse—what if he reached out to James’ parents to warn them?
He was overthinking again—James knew that. If the other boy did any of those things, he would know immediately what’s with Sirius’ straight-forwardness and his parents’ concern. And still…
The spiral in his head went on and on until he found himself at the Astronomy Tower again. He doesn’t know how or why he got there, but the moment he came back on earth, he sat on the cold stone, looking up at the night sky.
He was trying to find the northern star when the door creaked slightly and Regulus sat right beside him. The boy reached out and placed his hand over James' knee in silent question. In response, the Gryffindor just nodded once. Regulus lowered his hand and immediately started rubbing small circles on his knee with his thumb.
After a long moment of silence, Regulus’ gentle voice came to James’ ears.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m feeling like I’m in some kind of trance or something, like—I don’t feel like I’m in my body feeling my emotions. It’s more like watching a movie in shit quality,” he answered quietly, resting his head on Regulus' shoulder. For some reason, the other boy's proximity, his touch, and the smell of strawberries and cigarettes on his body helped James calm down. “But it’s not always like that, you know? Normally, those thoughts aren’t so loud, and I don’t feel overwhelmed by them—they’re there, but I can live with them. But lately… I don’t even know what is happening; it has never been so bad.”
Regulus didn’t respond. He just perched his head on James’ and kept caressing his knee.
“You know you’re not too much, right?” he asked at last. “If it wasn’t for you, Sirius was going to die in that house. I can see the way you treat younger students, and not just Gryffindors—all of them, regardless of which house they are from. And you’re not doing it to rub it into others’ faces. Yes, you are loud and obnoxious—“
“Well, thanks,” James chuckled from where he was still lying on Reg’s shoulder.
“—BUT your heart is so pure, and each and every person in this castle can see it,” the younger boy finished, reaching with his free hand to the other boy's head to stroke his hair. James let out a content sigh at the feeling of slim fingers tangled in his curls.
“Thank you,” he whispered, closing his eyes and letting himself enjoy the moment of peace for some time.
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I’ve come to a realization….
I’m one of those authors that says “english isn’t my first language” and then writes the most advanced thing I’ve written in a while. No but it’s so real, english really isn’t my first language, I struggle to find the words for obvious objects and describing things ;-;
ex: calling a night stand a bed stand and getting caught by my dear mutual @be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie while she was editing something I wrote 💀
Also just forgetting to add words because in my mind I wrote them but in reality i didn’t-
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hello miss padfootastic I am here to see if you have ever considered writing age gap prongsfoot???? idk how that would work, but I am leaving this prompt in your inbox and running away.
miss imp!!!
i have not considered this but i am absolutely listening. age gaps are…*chefs kiss*
so, i’m thinking it can go two ways.
1. mythical monsterfucking
one of them, say sirius, is like a hundred year old vampire—bit of a crotchety old man stereotype who doesn’t really like humans and keeps to himself, travelling the world in luxury and generally doing what he wants. cue like, 20-21 year old james potter who stumbles into his path and never lets go. he’s so fascinated by sirius, sirius is a bit baffled by this small, fragile human who isn’t scared of him??? even after finding out the truth??? it’s peak sunshine-grump dynamics where j slowly breaks his barriers down until sirius is practically worshipping this little human, becoming unbearable protective & not letting anyone touch him. james goes to university with a 300 year old figure of legend as his bodyguard, nbd. gets fucked by a dick older than his family lineage. ykno, that sort of thing.
(also,,,,if u really wanna go all the way,,,,think kraken!james with multiple limbs/tentacles who’s been isolated & othered for his very long life for being different and along comes sirius, coming right up to the sea just to talk to him, hang out, tell him stories. never once being intimidated or making him feel like a freak. just—smol, human sirius teaching love and tenderness and affection to a scarred, lonely monster. that’s all)
2. the normal, perhaps more scandalous, human route.
of course, the only valid option here is a sugar daddy dynamic. let’s see. i know sirius as the older one feels more typical, but i’m thinking…businessman james encountering teenage/young adult rebel sirius who runs away from his home. james offers to give him a house and food, all above the board. over time, sirius obv falls in love with him but j is an honourable man, turns down his advances bc he doesn’t want to take advantage of someone so vulnerable. of course, there’s some dubious notions of power imbalance & stuff here but arguably, that’s what makes it fun. it’ll be a very classic younger-person-chasing-the-older-one bc i’m a sucker for that trope and i can just see sirius being a little minx, eroding all of james’ self control using whatever means he could and not even feeling a little guilty about it.
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Oh, to be "Mr Manchester" who just used to casually run into James Maxwell "most evenings" in 1986. (Courtesy of the British Newspaper Archive & the Manchester Evening News).
"Whom do I see strolling through Manchester late on most evenings but James Maxwell, actor and artistic director, whose craggy features are well-known through countless film, television and stage roles.
"I walk home from work at the Royal Exchange Theatre to my urban paradise," he explains, "paradise" being a flat above the Arndale Centre.
"I love it," he says, "but no one living there can be accused of having a morbid interest in old architecture."
One of his many showbiz tales is of when he was in a show at Manchester Opera House in 1953. The scenery didn't work - in fact, some of it fell down - and the distinguished knight playing the lead not only didn't know his lines; at times he didn't know when he had to speak.
The audience was cool, to say the least, and at the end the knight decided he should speak to them.
"I apologise for the mistakes duing the evening," he announced grandly, "but I assure you that everything will be put right by the time we open in London."
& Mr Manchester, at the G-Mex, "jokingly suggested this wasn't [James Maxwell's] kind of theatre.
His instant retaliation would have gladdened G-Mex boss Tony Harrison, sitting along my row. "No, It's everyone's theatre," he retorted.
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