#tle

Keng reminding everyone not to confuse him with his character. ©: 02, 03.

“The end of the world,” said Lily simply.

James looked up at her, hazel eyes bright with moisture he refused to let fall. “Yeah. The end of the world.”

There is something inherently powerful about finding the words to express solidarity, to say: I understand, me too, I know exactly what you mean. It’s a kind of magic you’d never find in any book but that could change the course of history far more than a mere spell.

But Lily Evans was sixteen years old, and she did not yet know those words. She only knew that the boy before her was hurting in just the way she herself had hurt. So she did the only thing she could think to do: She let go of the swing-set pole and walked over behind him, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressed her cheek to the back of his head, and hugged him. James sat still and startled for half a moment, then his shoulders shuddered ever so slightly, and he sunk into the embrace, touching a cold hand gently to her own.

They stayed like that for an unknowable stretch of time, until Lily felt a soft dampness tick against her skin. She glanced up; the yellow light from the street lamps was swirling with faint flutters of white.

“Look,” she said softly to James. “Snow.”

“Oops, that was your foot, wasn’t it? Never mind, mercifully you have two. One to spare…”

Lily was laughing, her head dipped back, the loose locks of dark red hair dancing around her shoulders as they went round and round.

One, two, three…one, two, three…

“Oh, god, watch out—!”

“I did tell you I was terrible at this,” said James as they nearly trampled a house-elf and toppled a whole mess of puddings.

“You did,” agreed Lily, through another enchanting burst of laughter, “and I appreciate your honesty.”

“I’m going to twirl you now.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Ah, Evans, you said the word. Now I have to.”

“What word?”

“Dare.”

— The Last Enemy by @chdarling

When the blood forms in your hands and pools at your feet…dripping down your nose where you stare, hands outstretched as if for a treat.

You smile because there is nothing left but viscera coating your mind and soul. Fragmented memories, and torn silhouettes of shadows most forgotten.

Forgive me.

I was originally not going to post this, but I thought - why the heck not. All my love goes out to C.H. Darling. This Marauders fic has brought so much comfort and whimsy into my life, and it’s been a privilege to have this sitting on my shelf, waiting to be re-read again and again.

Finally caved and made a sona for @sugarhog05 's Leviathan Express.

I hate that fuckass train.