Vexed
Sometimes, James Potter talks to me. Then this happens. Then I'm sad that he's dead. And not real. If you read it, tell me what you think. Should I expand on it?
Characters: Lily Evans/James Potter
Genre: Humor
Summary: James was vexed. This was a very vexing situation for him for a variety of reasons, the main one being he was so rarely vexed.
Vexed
James was vexed.
This was a vexing situation for him for a variety of reasons, the main one being he was so rarely vexed. Sometimes, a little confused. Often, bewildered. But never vexed. He had an uncanny ability to find an answer for everything, no matter what the question, occasion, moral ambiguities involved, amount of alcohol he had consumed, or reasons why he should just keep his mouth shut and look pretty. Sirius often said that any tough decisions he needed to make were handed off to James for consideration. Consideration here having the meaning of an eye roll and a quick quip.
When it had been a question between one large burly Gryffindor sixth year and another for the position of Beater, he had looked back and forth between them and decided they would need to duel. With their bats. To the death. He was overruled by McGonagall's sensitive 'rules' about public maiming and brutality, but the point is, he had made his decision in the clinch and would therefore stand by it to the end.
Because James was nothing if not loyal.
So from the moment he had decided Lily Evans was the one for him, he had pursued her relentlessly. A little aggressively, actually. From that instant on it was all auburn hair ablaze in the sunlight, emerald glinting at him from underneath thick eyelashes, those shapely eyebrows constantly narrowed in irritation, her soft pink lips constantly thinning and throwing insults his way with pinpoint precision. Gods, but she was stunning. He could tune out her blarney and just watch those lips for days, the way her hands settled on her shapely hips when she realized he wasn't paying any attention... What a girl, what a girl.
Of course, years later in the flower shop, with her hands on her hips and her eyebrows narrowed and her eyes flashing, she was just as ferociously gorgeous and he wanted just as much to throw her on the counter and shag-snog- ...snog then shag her senseless. But the bother was, he couldn't come up with an answer for her question. Questions, rather. Any of them. Not a single one.
To "What flowers do you want, James?", he had gone with the old stand-by: "Whichever ones you want, dear."
This had not gone over well. So, dumbfounded, he had suggested lilies. After all, what other kind of flower was there?
This had earned him a massive eye roll and a grunt of frustration. When had his Lily started caring about the intricacies of their wedding anyway?
He should have said yes to the elopement. Instead, he'd chosen to be noble and manly and stand up for the little girl fantasies she hadn't known she'd had. And what had he earned himself in return? The withering glares of every shop keep. They were all thinking he was a horrible choice in husband and that, if they could get away with it without being caught, they would dispose of his body under the bricks in the back patio.
And when his blushing bride had asked him why he didn't care what flowers they chose to decorate the ceremony that commemorated their lifelong commitment to each other, all he could come up with was what he hoped was a dopey-looking shrug and a nonchalant "I don't know".
Why should he have to help pick flowers? He knew nothing about them, other than they were quite decorative and often fragrant. Lily had never wanted flowers-the first time he had tried to apologize with a full bouquet had prompted an entire debate about her equality in their relationship and what he would do if she brought him flowers as an apology. It had seemed silly at the time, and it had entrenched in his brain the very creed that Lily Evans soon-to-be Potter did not really fancy flowers.
Boy, had he been wrong.
Because he could not come up with a suitable answer to her questions, that meant he was not taking this wedding seriously and that meant he did not love her.
Now, he was frustrated. Silly bint. Of course he loved her. Would he be putting up with her aggressive mood swing if he didn't? All the same, there is only so much pouting and abuse a man can take before his ego tags in and mucks things up even worse. James was dangerously close to that point. The whole shop smelled like all the flowers in it, and he had a headache. He had canceled a round of Quidditch with his mates to be 'supportive', and all the goals he wasn't scoring right that second made him twitch a bit.
He still loved her. Was still steadfastly loyal to his burning love for her. That was the mantra his old dad had taught him to repeat, and he was sticking with it.
But if he could do it without being caught, he would hit her with a Silencing Charm and get himself a few minutes' peace.
Characters: Lily Evans/James Potter
Genre: Humor
Summary: James was vexed. This was a very vexing situation for him for a variety of reasons, the main one being he was so rarely vexed.
Vexed
James was vexed.
This was a vexing situation for him for a variety of reasons, the main one being he was so rarely vexed. Sometimes, a little confused. Often, bewildered. But never vexed. He had an uncanny ability to find an answer for everything, no matter what the question, occasion, moral ambiguities involved, amount of alcohol he had consumed, or reasons why he should just keep his mouth shut and look pretty. Sirius often said that any tough decisions he needed to make were handed off to James for consideration. Consideration here having the meaning of an eye roll and a quick quip.
When it had been a question between one large burly Gryffindor sixth year and another for the position of Beater, he had looked back and forth between them and decided they would need to duel. With their bats. To the death. He was overruled by McGonagall's sensitive 'rules' about public maiming and brutality, but the point is, he had made his decision in the clinch and would therefore stand by it to the end.
Because James was nothing if not loyal.
So from the moment he had decided Lily Evans was the one for him, he had pursued her relentlessly. A little aggressively, actually. From that instant on it was all auburn hair ablaze in the sunlight, emerald glinting at him from underneath thick eyelashes, those shapely eyebrows constantly narrowed in irritation, her soft pink lips constantly thinning and throwing insults his way with pinpoint precision. Gods, but she was stunning. He could tune out her blarney and just watch those lips for days, the way her hands settled on her shapely hips when she realized he wasn't paying any attention... What a girl, what a girl.
Of course, years later in the flower shop, with her hands on her hips and her eyebrows narrowed and her eyes flashing, she was just as ferociously gorgeous and he wanted just as much to throw her on the counter and shag-snog- ...snog then shag her senseless. But the bother was, he couldn't come up with an answer for her question. Questions, rather. Any of them. Not a single one.
To "What flowers do you want, James?", he had gone with the old stand-by: "Whichever ones you want, dear."
This had not gone over well. So, dumbfounded, he had suggested lilies. After all, what other kind of flower was there?
This had earned him a massive eye roll and a grunt of frustration. When had his Lily started caring about the intricacies of their wedding anyway?
He should have said yes to the elopement. Instead, he'd chosen to be noble and manly and stand up for the little girl fantasies she hadn't known she'd had. And what had he earned himself in return? The withering glares of every shop keep. They were all thinking he was a horrible choice in husband and that, if they could get away with it without being caught, they would dispose of his body under the bricks in the back patio.
And when his blushing bride had asked him why he didn't care what flowers they chose to decorate the ceremony that commemorated their lifelong commitment to each other, all he could come up with was what he hoped was a dopey-looking shrug and a nonchalant "I don't know".
Why should he have to help pick flowers? He knew nothing about them, other than they were quite decorative and often fragrant. Lily had never wanted flowers-the first time he had tried to apologize with a full bouquet had prompted an entire debate about her equality in their relationship and what he would do if she brought him flowers as an apology. It had seemed silly at the time, and it had entrenched in his brain the very creed that Lily Evans soon-to-be Potter did not really fancy flowers.
Boy, had he been wrong.
Because he could not come up with a suitable answer to her questions, that meant he was not taking this wedding seriously and that meant he did not love her.
Now, he was frustrated. Silly bint. Of course he loved her. Would he be putting up with her aggressive mood swing if he didn't? All the same, there is only so much pouting and abuse a man can take before his ego tags in and mucks things up even worse. James was dangerously close to that point. The whole shop smelled like all the flowers in it, and he had a headache. He had canceled a round of Quidditch with his mates to be 'supportive', and all the goals he wasn't scoring right that second made him twitch a bit.
He still loved her. Was still steadfastly loyal to his burning love for her. That was the mantra his old dad had taught him to repeat, and he was sticking with it.
But if he could do it without being caught, he would hit her with a Silencing Charm and get himself a few minutes' peace.