#after finding out about the the moon landing he goes thru a phase where he tries to ride his broom as high as it can go

[padfootastic]

So… this ended up longer than I meant for it to be. Sorry. 😁

The way you view James is interesting to me. I always imagined him as being a pretty free spirt who is just so incredibly alive. Most people who meet him probably describe him as the most alive person they’d ever met. He lived every second to the fullest and wanted to go all the way out to the edge and experience everything. Of course him and Sirius are described as “much admired rebels” but his rebellion isn’t the same it’s a freer thing if that makes sense? It’s not born form such darkness as Sirius’ is. James’ is fueled by a lust for life, new experiences, and new people and it’s more him challenging or rebelling against pure blood society (which I think is like just how the Potters roll) and their messed up ideals not his family.  Sirius’ being fueled by a lust for freedom (from his family, their beliefs, abuse, and his demons) and discovery of who he is and wants to be. Thus rebelling against his family, their beliefs, their power, and pure blood society. 

The Potter family where an old and wealthy family, but where mostly content with a comfortable life in the “back waters” of wizarding society and weren’t concerned with blood purity. Even with a history of muggle and muggle born rights activists. I always read this as them being rather different. I kinda felt like we were dealing with a family that just passed down the value of “fuck society we do what we want.” Like I imagine them as eccentric inventors, cures breakers, adventurers, magizooologists, quidditch players, dragon handlers, aurors, and whatever else wild, exciting, fun thing one could think of. I definitely think that doing well (academically, career wise,etc) was important and considered valuable by them but for some reason I just seem like being a rather wild and free bunch. Definitely still approachable, kind, down to earth, kind, accessible, but worldly, fun, exciting, intense, passionate, adventures and excitement on legs.

hello! definitely no sorry needed, i love talking all things jfp 💜💜

i’m gonna be honest, i don’t actually see james as a rebel at all (with or without a cause). i see him as pretty much sticking to what’s expected of him in most cases (esp public) and only really going off the path when he’s with a trusted few. i definitely see where ur going and i love it! he’s definitely full of life and always, always happy to be trying new things. i often call him the sunshine kid and i’ll stick by it. i definitely think a large part of it comes from the confidence & high self esteem his parents instilled in him—he sees something and he goes for it, and this often ends up in him doing all these weird, adventurous, often dangerous things right? (i also think he has a large uhh what’s the word, adrenaline kink? nope, that’s not it. but u know what i mean right? the kind of person who loves extreme sports, for eg)

also lol love the hippie potters vibe you’re drawing here. (i also have this funny mental image of like, ridiculously wacky/eccentric potters and then comes james—a whole buttoned up, proper posh boy kid—and they’re (incl portraits) all just baffled like, how is he like this??? who gave him the stick up the arse?? like everyone else is dressed in the most mismatched, alternative fashion ever and then u have james in sweater vests and shorts and buttons downs)

i’m now also imagining harry learning all this about his family and it’s so !!!! like i’ve read a few fics that super focus on potter family history (one where they were like, military tacticians and super op fighters which was so good) and i love stuff like that! harry finding out that the potters were this bunch of crazy inventors & chose the most ridiculous professions and i feel like that would give him such a sense of freedom and relief and he’d definitely be next in line ykno?

[qphuikj]

Quantum Phantasia

By Hui Kj

2019

CHAPTER 1 

Oh, to be - and you do that of way and developing as that is what till the next bicycle. As I meditate on the bicycle’s heroin: it is too for two, and who are the flowers for? You dance around the source. Means of purpose - you have helped very much so. The impressions: the different words for different people - attention, a function could swerve to slur in a mind and latching discussion. Where does the wastefulness go? - bicycle construct theory, forgive me. The phrase my only stance, and you say it could change but all the same. Moon phase, eschaton questions to build; how are you laughing at absurdity? - what, which what for curiosity? A help out of discomfort: bicycle spirit for us. I am building on hills with hope for a share of collective insight thru times. Will you will again? We wield the bicycle as we must. 

Daylight innocence - if we are talking - no matter what. Me: offering in aimless concrescence. You: just how you are. This is just how it is going to relay for one to imagine change in the bicycle’s modes: Forgive, it is just living, the shift is doing so, you find, and morning is of no dread for you against bicycle. The worst proclaimed and practiced all over in all’s habit anyway - have a good day. Many rushes of life, and nail it as Temple after our depiction - bicycle. Which genre superstition kicks in foreign ideals? To do good for free you say. Along the water to not be seen and covered by trees - there the mind. Pick your color, and foundation inspires - if that will not happen, then the atmosphere is home and our circle of earth offers a moment’s worth. Now, tell me how. We meditate with our palms and study a puzzling utopia of our own if you say, and here we are to learn in any way because it saved mornings, and I will introduce the royals when you hear the ring. For now explain to me your everything.

Okay, it is not wrong to not be right you mentioned - our common friend has not heard from me and I feel the distance: his season is star filled and the royals will lecture it. Ask about centered survival patterns to anyone. When the boundaries are devoured and the horizon is chased: pause for drama, a bicycle checkpoint would help. The royals will lecture gift formats like on how to look with purposeful heart. You know how it ends, but that is something else. Please, maybe tell me more.

Forgive me; you keep it divine - I wonder. You’ll find there is a nothing to worry - bicycle, but my conflict of purpose in a spinning world of the bicycle’s heroin. Note not my advice; introduce me to your family. There is balance in every way: now a drift going down hill. The royals will bless you; I told them your name. You have sprung my introversion, and it is still up to you - thank you. 

When we imagine format way back when: think of where Skylar is. Now you have taught him endurance with just a few pokes you have longed to get acting for anyone but I say them as you do and Skylar is magnificent with a young shyness - the royals will lecture my faults and it is still up to you. Already so integrated, and us bailing him out of society from false justice in retrospect of a noble revolution, and he caught a cold early this year from meditating in nature any time; I’d like to invite him to the school sometime before we open. If you get tired: he knows about the bicycle. My addiction I will not pass on - he told us different and it was selflessly intriguing but of coming together in a great way all correct. By age and the royal’s blessing I am apt to leave you running till you get to your bicycle - tell me your color. With the colony we will build on the hill a foundation of shared intent; you include me and save when I fall. Somehow something will give us time - minds without mess. I walk into town to find you now: you invite me into your home - thank you. The first board meeting: the colony of color.

Not many have sat around: down on the couch here - you told me. You pull from your shelf a book of symbols and let me glance, and when I looked for ‘light’ you said think of an animal - flamingo on a bicycle. You told me to drink my smoothie but I stood up for the backyard in aimless anxiety. We sat for a cigarette like a picnic on the grass, and I am asking you now if we are like each other. You do not tremble when some things collapse - you are exciting. The jabs are not relevant to you, and that is how I will still learn even if a claim is registered in a difficult society. 

Skylar’s symbols he latched and got going from your graceful mind’s intent - the common and expanding language we all seem to meditate on; he was sobered and contained in wicked culture for carrying equal concepts across structures. What we are bringing him to is the utopia of possibility that is seemingly aware and curious of: where it all goes right in finding truth - though mostly you are the celebration with him and that is all. To already knows how it ends with a path coming quick so soon. The royals will talk to you about color, and Family is in no way secret anymore but tell me more. You turn to Circles in the book and you mention a universe that is always a way. Forgive me. Now in moonlight, you pull out the couch’s bed and it is something like a bicycle. We know I can not sleep, and we are there itching our hair hailing music as meditation - thank you. Now you mention bicycle and we know we get disappointed: this selection you chose for purposeful misconfigure vibrations at daring risk atmosphere generally but we can swim thru. The royals make sense in time - they will see and they take interest. I still only offer my respects and absorb their wisdom - they ask about colony expansion and you know Skylar better than I.

In the morning you emailed your sister about what memory of mother together again - what bicycle do we meditate on? The heart in your family flows thru you too, and that is no surprise from how you tell me what you do about divine and honoring in honesty even when death shifts over loved ones - thank you for sharing and you show strength in heart - love, oh. Where do you want to start? You said your mother use to talk about architecture, which reminded me of a pressing bicycle errand that is a surprise for you, and I leave in swift with a secret glee. 

It was your idea to open space for him and you visit him again now, and I begin a new test-module derived from collective intent and a mode against error-loss that you helped me see, and I talk amongst faculty on the hill about you and about what we will have - the royals want to be refreshed too; so thanks for giving me words. The opening debate for the students is youth direction, and it is of balance just as is: it is healthy to watch and latch onto any hoping minds - flamingo on a bicycle. Thoughts on diet and taking care of the land; the way to obtain insight even in difficult generation. So, I ask you about trusting in pulling streams or moving water of. You said: water and good. Skylar will split our joy and the royals keep asking about him too - please wish him a happy day there now in the middle of where you are in company. I will see you two hopefully soon. 

Thank you for bringing the future to me for us. The surrounding culture pulls me at times, and yet the construction on the hill has shifted in color - I meditate on change. I pray to Spirit, but it does not need me to keep it alive at times I believe - there is more living for us and the values we are closing in on must be explained in depth to those troubled or even the ones who surpass our heart to prompt insight for each other with concepts developing that have and will keep us and even the universe alive, thanks.

One day we will marry Skylar of his own grand ideals - love his love, and I hope he will continue to develop endearment as some extraordinary surrender but also a departure from surrendering that you say he described with wholesome compatibility functions to prompt a productive family dynamic that will rest our feet when strangers come about, and the equality of common empathy to say all is family. Let me know if he is in love - bicycle heroin. I must see him more. You know how it ends; explain this to me. 

I have had doctors try to kill me - bicycle. The caution - my flaw - is staring at cornerstone arena and itching my arm with aimless wonder against violence coming any second - to system relapse with error; but I make a life of this and shake it off. Bicycle absence: you know how it ends. We function far from wrath and will not meet it even if it is weak and able to collect spirits - the idea is that people will join in their own good will, and accept the wonder. The trace beyond the royals is Spirit’s bicycle and that is where their focus has been and mine merely sparked in a way not yet pointed. 

To praise magnificent divine; we are coasting to the eschaton that is a singularity of purpose and climax. If you know how it ends, and Skylar and you discuss this: Invite me to the light, and we will tattoo identity in a way that is universally splendid. You tell me he reduces to applying a simple sacrifice consistently - what a celebration it could be. . . but you two know how it ends. Tell him I can not handle newer machines - our bicycle. He will get to the colors first - flamingo heroin.

The pressure for the academy: my time away from the knowledge transfers and exciting forms has made me a weaker spirit - caught up in routine schedule; bicycle heroin. Name the team - where does the mirror go? You are there now: what is his color? I owe life for how you fix what is falling - pride: dark and lonesome. Did you tell me your color?

Critique the colony’s hill - oh, never mind; not yet. At what angle will the motto fit? Never mind, we have not painted - the walls are up mostly. There will be a big picture: a tree on a boat; no, a flamingo bicycle on a straight path, no storm. You are telling me he likes me - what is my color? Let your office be the school’s library; but I know you are an outlet for me undoubtedly and will be for everyone of your gentle way with guidance and any of your maps of purpose will save many worlds. Yet, all I have is my bicycle heroin. 

You tell me everything about the bicycle, and you say you found your color: you have become. How do you remain hidden in your everything? When you teach on intent you are relaying fruit. You told me one morning that Skylar has his own calendar precise to when concepts act out at last, all aligned to everything astrology: his example a youngling from the temple on her violin, then another when someone had a needed cry all of personality community. A colony of needed cries. 

What color of shirt will Skylar wear on his first day? - flamingo heroin maybe. The sun will shine thru the school, and what purity is for our motto in your eyes? You say he teaches you on foundation to keep on; I miss you two. The hill, a climbing to monument. The royals asked about a meeting. When you consider family, is it learned or the meditation is on fire just because? As I walk where the garden will go, I know they all will feel safe. You make me feel safe against myself - what is Skylar saying to you now? - bicycle heroin.

The garden - Skylar: the beautiful wave. Maybe he will fall in love and flourish in color - the youth will find their purpose in the same world we live out in; this is home and I need you here. Your time with him is like a flamingo on a bicycle. We differ when I talk about my grey - you just wait with love and I am sorry. You will lecture against the bicycle and that is why I call you friend. Where there is growth at the temple, there will be a team here for us and they will build their own temples. The school is for the ones like Skylar, and I can not take a stance as some leader if you just whisper. Don’t you see I never fell in love again? - bicycle heroin. 

When you look at me there is a point against nothingness. Never mind that; the royals will not have me - flamingo on a bicycle. The sky makes me pause, and Skylar makes me think of blue; what about blue? You root for the establishment but your mind is my dream. You freely give, and I am frantic against comfort. You dance around the source and I am a jealous man - bicycle. Skylar meditates on what haunts himself, so sure - my personal value is slipping away in ignorance of direction; just on the hill waiting. If he is suspicious of me, that is what makes him right - bicycle heroin.

Skylar is in love in many ways - all so personal and in divine bicycle that strikes my heart when I can only place something on a desk in a mess as he benefits only in selflessness. I am merely a harbinger somehow appointed to allow you thru and up to carry a miracle that is the boy that cripples me but will live on for eternity in the eyes of the one’s who never felt the love that you two revive to develop - thank you, from a flamingo on a bicycle. 

You say he has new symbols, and I merely meditate on his spirit already. The rain now erases the dash of sorrow when one knows the garden is glowing - will you not come sit with me and tell me your everything? The colors and lack of colors is what will save me today. When there is not a wait, and the world bicycles around a subject: should one not let the self fall away? The difference between us is that you are integrated and the framework always seems to be in need of you from over here. Though, this is not a school - with ones like Skylar this is an infinite colony and there is nobody of credit besides the options that ask of each other. The bicycle heroin is how we are opened.

With the garden’s colors in the rain: I thank you. You teach me the mind’s piano. Could you ask Skylar what his love language is? - in some years there will be his name carved into a step with me long gone as the color will still keep him still somehow. He already makes me wonder where I will be when he saves the world. Tell me softly how you sweep me away - oh, never mind that. You say you want to teach poetry - so, thanks. Wherever you are: take care and take your time. A flamingo on a bicycle. 

CHAPTER 2

It is understood in a beguiling and troubling way to think that your infinity of medicinal and mere inspirational ideals have spiraled against you - impossible as it seems, you say it is so, and when you get out of the hospital I will be here with open arms, or hidden away in shame: it is up to you, but I will feel ashamed and feel deeply with only empathy all in all. Last week you gave me a drawing of a flower and I passed it onto the royals - bicycle. 

There is only a longing from me a guidance for you that gets found sooner than a life lived unhappy. Your sister wrote to the school this morning and stated that you will not be here tomorrow to teach - the young ones will paint you up wonders and that is a great thing. She is only your step-father’s daughter, and Skylar will visit you thrice a week. I am against the day - could it be your old lover? The redhead who could never look you in the eyes. I know you loved your mother. 

When love was happening in a past register of myself, what it was is not what it is - a heart will transform, yet I do not know if your heart has become dark or dull. The only optimism relevant is a source from you, in me for me - and I may be responsible in a way even if you just feel empty. Your mother knew what you needed, and your sister remains family still. If it is anger: give me your anger, and it can just be fine that way if there has been an injustice that I am suspicious of. I go to your office and you are not there. Tomorrow I attempt to teach poetry with an open approach calling for participation.

If you see error in me I will set fire to spectacles unknown in pure focus of what it all could have been - I am sorry. In a way this is virginity - like, what is this? The only bicycle for me is the one to you but that is not your bicycle I see now: wow. You challenge me like a man should - Skylar is infinite and you know his color. If you see the moon thru your window then let yourself heal. If you have bad faith in me than I will change my name and bother none no more - flamingo. 

I register you passive but as an endless placer with a collective mission: the social study away from the people besides your to me at times and with your very special Skylar. He is outgoing and will meditate on love than put into action the purpose and potential it possesses but not all can see - you make me see. The issue is that I have become dependently obsessed with how your rainbows curve and I look up in awe to a promise. You do feel for me in a way that I may have difficulties sorting - the hate for myself is drifted away, like today in your initial poetry class. Everyone has only praise for you, and I spark on that spark because I want you to be happy in all. 

He is a powerful leader - all around the faculty is the excitement of a genuine beautiful mind. Skylar makes insightful comments in class and he approaches the teachers directly with a pressing concern on the general morals and functions - for example, in art history he knows whether the focus is on mood, religion, or vanity. There was joy in my heart when I found him seated in the garden. Even if he has the power to rule and is of justice to find the faults and may then kill me with a word: that is of my own ordeal and he will save the world with a palm of grace and youth stretched out and up. 

The more you are away: the more I do not fear death. For as I am family, the bicycle is at home with yours left beside it - all here for anytime. My voice does not catch up to you in any space - the emotion derived from your innocence and splendor leaves me quite tired; tho who was I before? - flamingo on a bicycle. 

There are no flaws found in you two in any frame and time only shows an interesting depth - like my grandma is dying of old age and light is the answer. It is Sunday and I am going into town to see her as well as you in following for this evening. She is 100 years old and the nursing home faculty have to feed her water with a spoon daily - she is 75 pounds and sleeps for days at a time. The old men nod, and the women chat about their families. The morning glowed thru the windows and it was quiet. Her hands are cold; my families warmth far away - my best is in sorrow and grey. 

My grandmother was a photographer - specifically nature-wildlife spectacles. The light was in the creatures no matter where the light stayed or went; the moment would freeze for an eternity all in all - bicycle as her collection developed. On her mirror there was a picture of my grandfather, her sisters, my parents and her young in the desert with a red hat on - just heroin. Her breathing is slow, and her skin frail. When death kisses she will transition and look down on me: guide me and I will meditate on this moment for when family brought me to brokenness in a way and my heart fluttered.

The walking in the weather - still bicycle in my mind. With age in gratefulness: meditate on how it is as it is until there was the strangest feeling. My mind starts to race no matter how it is - something is not right. The sounds carve outward and a feeling of doom rushed over me. There is just a repetition of piercing feelings that seem all too deadly. Any moment and anything - an error and a confusion prepare me for nothing but an entanglement: bicycle panic. Down the road the people are moving about; the eyes were too good at seeing me, and as I stumble into the hospital I wonder if I will join you. 

~

The doctor tapped his pencil while squinting at me with question. I completely forgot I have not slept in 3 days. He wrote me a prescription for bicycle heroin and that is what you are on in the room a couple hallways away. The doctor said you have made improvements and will be discharged tomorrow afternoon. He also said that your sister will be here, and when I entered your room I knew you would not be apt to teach by the look on your face. You are not wearing a shirt, your legs are shaking, your gaze at a wall, and unbearably lifeless with the same sorrow and doom I feel. I go to your desk with the books, the comb, the medicine, and I look to the mirror and say hello but you do not move in the slightest. 

Neither of us were meditating but you were still. I made little paces around the room and you stayed gazing at the floor. There were other patients throughout the hallways and you started to take off your socks which made my eyes frantic. Your defeated voice puzzled me - something is not right. I want to pass you love messages but the window shuts out the light and suddenly you speak: I am addicted.

I sat next to you and sobbed on your shoulder - what is wrong? You kept staring at the ground and your breathing slowly deepened and see how I follow you in everything? What is wrong? You stand up and go to the door to close it and as your turn towards me: a hysterical broke out and you fell to the floor like a possessed pig. I rubbed my eyes and could not look away. I have never seen a more sad person as I started to shift back to normalcy. You looked very unattractive and embarrassingly disturbed to the point where I just stepped quietly out, signaled a tech, and walked out like I never knew you - and I never did.

~

The open-neighborhood-park was empty and I sat with a cigarette mildly numb and aimless with the bicycle script tried. It feels like a new year and I want to change. The grass was plush and my body felt as a golden stream sinking into itself. No troubles bothered me and life was being lived and death could happen but it felt nothing like I used to feel. The cigarette was a spectacle and shifting bicycles never had me suspicious; the school is a masterpiece and my jaw dropped thinking about the 45 students with promising artistic insights in their current bicycles and the one’s that will bloom after a storm. This mere moment of distraction painted me blue.

Up the hill, past mid-day: a lady of royalty stood on the front steps with her arms crossed and with a tapping foot - something is not right; mere dim blue. She waved me inside and pointed to my office where another woman who was pregnant had her head in her own lap weeping on the floor; my door open. The mother was shaking and would not look up until I stepped down beside her - she pointed into my office and resumed in pain. To my surprise there was Skylar at the chalkboard already turned towards me with a defeated, blue aura and bandages on his wrist. The words on the board read: ‘I am me.’ - over and over until he was out of room. I was horrified. He went for his mother to lift her up: the two sat down across from my desk as I raised my hands of confusion and as he puffed his chest smiling, the boy speaks tragedy…..

His love is love…..

The scars will tell but heal…….

Family will comfort him……

Dignity thru chaos in his mind……

Monarch, no…….

When they left he handed me a note: I wept in doom with all variations of hope plummeting, dragging me into the dull core of the earth.

You defiled hope! Oh, to be the imprinter disease source - you coward! I hate you! You have kidnapped light for your circus! Hideous, demented fool! Diseased, pitiful armadillo demon! You have had enough heroin! You have wasted your whole life, snake! Only a child!

Ladybug Finale - by Skylar Peterson, for Dr. James

My love will not change, but the range from rays In rage

River mother, another brother in the cage - mage one day with my dear mate

The world changed: New love and a mouse dance

Five years her and a holiday glance dance and paint pants in a health trance

I did not keep what he said, and I gave up being dead

Brother whispers out  ‘bless the wed’s beds’ 

And I shout:

I will be happy…..

You will be happy….

She weeps, but still sassy

And they can still laugh at me - any day in a way

All family anyway at this next Sunday

fin

RSVP - Mr. and Mrs. Peterson / Sunday @ 5th Royal Manor 7 o’clock

Note:

In the end it is blue. The colony placed as a new place; the headmaster an old friend known from temple in my early days back there - Al, he is noble and speaks many languages and inspired me to find peace. Lately, psychology has framed a resting way with active meditation on types of types again and has become my life. With my home outside of Amsterdam I take a couple patients and teach religions at the local school three classes a week. The simple things matter to me: neighborhood cats near the back shack, apples picked from a tree, poetry, and the bicycle heroin that never let me love again - to be the mouse on the mice trap by a laughing, old, sad sad man. 

contact: 645372@protonmail.com