the life and times of Lily Evans
He notes how the words used to get her angry in months past, and how those same words later made her hesitant and shy, but now he revels in how they make her laugh and how she gives as good as she gets. Your fan club will kill me, she says with a grin, and he responds that maybe it meant she should create a new fan club and be its only member. Those three words become a compliment and he compliments her often, because he likes the way she laughs and flips her hair.
Marry me, Evans, he says, if only because her refusals are now paired with a smile and not bodily harm. (x)
and through timeless words and priceless pictures
we’ll fly like birds not of this earth
and tides they turn and hearts disfigure
but that’s no concern when we’re wounded together
Sirius: ARE YOU BOTH MAD OR WHAT?! IT’S QUDDITCH HERE!!!
(Source: starktowering)
(Source: starktowering)
snowman
James is thoroughly offended because nobody will recognize that he is a poet.
(Source: starkreactor)
Karen Gillan as Lily Evans.
(Source: doriangrayiswilde)
He asks her to look for his glasses in the kitchen but as soon as she sees the ring she knows that it’s what he really sent her in to find. He’s been leaving it around for days, in bathroom drawers and on bedside tables and in her pockets, like he’s going to surprise her into saying yes. Like she’ll suddenly change her mind after telling him repeatedly that getting married in the middle of a war is the stupidest idea she’s ever heard.
She never really looks at it up close - usually because he’s looming over her shoulder, grinning like a loon - but she does now, when she’s alone, and the design of the thing surprises her. Tasteful. Elegant. Surprising because it’s James and he always did love the ostentatious. Without really knowing why, she starts to slip it on her thin white finger. She thinks about being married to James Potter in the middle of a war. She finds she doesn’t entirely hate the idea.
“Find anything interesting?” James appears in the doorway and Lily lets her hands drop, clumsily yanking the ring off her left hand to clench it hidden in her right. His self-satisfied smirk shows that he knows exactly what she’s hiding. ”Anything you particularly fancy?”
”What? No!” she snaps, getting up and surreptitiously dropping the ring back where she found it. ”And I didn’t find your glasses, either—which probably explains why you seem so blissfully unaware of the state of your hair. It looks like something crawled on top of your head and died there. And your jacket. You’re a mess, Potter. And we’re late.”
She stalks out past him but when he catches up, he takes her hand and his thumb brushes across the little round pink indentation on her palm where she’d gripped the ring.
