biting up my neck--

❛ and girls need cold anger. they need the cold simmer, the ceaseless grudge, the talent to avoid forgiveness, the side stepping of compromise. they need to know when they say something that they will never back down, ever, ever, lily oteale evans. xx.

[anorakbaby]

[painted-bees]

Character solidifying!

[lilevens-blog]

1. How does your character think of their father? What do they hate and love about him? What influence - literal or imagined - did the father have? 2. Their mother? How do they think of her? What do they hate? Love? What influence - literal or imagined - did the mother have? 3. Brothers, sisters? Who do they like? Why? What do they despise about their siblings? 4. What type of discipline was your character subjected to at home? Strict? Lenient? 5. Were they overprotected as a child? Sheltered? 6. Did they feel rejection or affection as a child? 7. What was the economic status of their family? 8. How does your character feel about religion? 9. What about political beliefs? 10. Is your character street-smart, book-smart, intelligent, intellectual, slow-witted? 11. How do they see themselves: as smart, as intelligent, uneducated? 12. How does their education and intelligence – or lack thereof - reflect in their speech pattern, vocabulary, and pronunciations? 13. Did they like school? Teachers? Schoolmates? 14. Were they involved at school? Sports? Clubs? Debate? Were they unconnected? 15. Did they graduate? High-School? College? Do they have a PHD? A GED? 16. What does your character do for a living? How do they see their profession? What do they like about it? Dislike? 17. Did they travel? Where? Why? When? 18. What did they find abroad, and what did they remember? 19. What were your character’s deepest disillusions? In life? What are they now? 20. What were the most deeply impressive political or social, national or international, events that they experienced? 21. What are your character’s manners like? What is their type of hero? Whom do they hate? 22. Who are their friends? Lovers? ‘Type’ or ‘ideal’ partner? 23. What do they want from a partner? What do they think and feel of sex? 24. What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually? 25. What are their hobbies and interests? 26. What does your character’s home look like? Personal taste? Clothing? Hair? Appearance? 27. How do they relate to their appearance? How do they wear their clothing? Style? Quality? 28. Who is your character’s mate? How do they relate to him or her? How did they make their choice? 29. What is your character’s weaknesses? Hubris? Pride? Controlling? 30. Are they holding on to something in the past? Can he or she forgive? 31. Does your character have children? How do they feel about their parental role? About the children? How do the children relate? 32. How does your character react to stress situations? Defensively? Aggressively? Evasively? 33. Do they drink? Take drugs? What about their health?  34. Does your character feel self-righteous? Revengeful? Contemptuous? 35. Do they always rationalize errors? How do they accept disasters and failures? 36. Do they like to suffer? Like to see other people suffering? 37. How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories? 38. Are they basically negative when facing new things? Suspicious? Hostile? Scared? Enthusiastic? 39. What do they like to ridicule? What do they find stupid? 40. How is their sense of humor? Do they have one? 41. Is your character aware of who they are? Strengths? Weaknesses? Idiosyncrasies? Capable of self-irony? 42. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain? 43. Does your character have any secrets? If so, are they holding them back? 44. How badly do they want to obtain their life objectives? How do they pursue them? 45. Is your character pragmatic? Think first? Responsible? All action? A visionary? Passionate? Quixotic? 46. Is your character tall? Short? What about size? Weight? Posture? How do they feel about their physical body? 47. Do they want to project an image of a younger, older, more important person? Does they want to be visible or invisible? 48. How are your character’s gestures? Vigorous? Weak? Controlled? Compulsive? Energetic? Sluggish? 49. What about voice? Pitch? Strength? Tempo and rhythm of speech? Pronunciation? Accent? 50. What are the prevailing facial expressions? Sour? Cheerful? Dominating?

[darionfamous]

[lifeinpoetry]

you make my mouth a site of violence

m. mccoy, from “a place of light,” a place of light (via lifeinpoetry)

[wordoyster-deactivated20181217]

[lilevens-blog]

more lily scents: matches,

[lilevens-blog]

FLASHBACK // Between You & A Giant Squid...

@prongsalot

There was still a small, incredulous part of Lily that wondered what she was doing here at all. It had started quietly enough, at times sounding almost and unnervingly like her sister, around the moment when she had just started from the Gryffindor common room towards the passageway into Hogsmeade. Yet insistently it grew, following first the lines of logic to which Lily so willfully clung, like the lines on her own palms-- and then, breaching “unlikely” altogether and barreling headily towards reckless abandon, growing louder and more crass the entire way, until it had quite become what it was now: an untidy string of profanities interrupted superficially by the tremble of her hands. 

In the cellar below Honeydukes, the air smelled a lot less like warm pastries and fresh treacle fudge and more like damp wood and earth. The voices overhead reached her through the floorboards in such a muffled way that Lily really had to strain her ears to pick out any particular conversation. She was listening half-heartedly, and mostly for one of the Marauders-- Remus, perhaps, with his shaky voice and distinguishable turns of phrase; or maybe the brash, grating laugh of Sirius. Anything to clue her in to the fact that this was, yes, actually, a prank, just another prank like the hundreds they’d all pulled together already, another stab o’ fun, and that Evans had totally fallen for it, can you believe that, mate? Evans! 

Her face grew hotter as the seconds passed, from rose to poppy in a couple of seconds, conjuring the theoretical conversation to such exaggerated extent until she was convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt that those conversations had already happened, and here she still was, standing in the rot of the cellar, Honeydukes sticky and bustling and bright just above her, oblivious to her presence or her want or her trembling hands, and the Marauders had already purchased their toffees and sugar quills and pepper imps and were well on their way to... wherever it was they spent their bloody time together.

“Fool,” Lily muttered bitterly, taking her hands from her hair, although she couldn’t recall when she’d even started twisting it all over her shoulder like she was now. She took a whistling breath in through her nose, about ready to head up into the shop, maybe purchase a chocolate wand or three to eat alone that night before returning to Hogwarts, where no doubt she would be shamed the first moment one of those stupid idiot caught sight of her... And she just couldn’t make herself move. Her expression pulled into something uncharacteristically helpless as she imagined next seeing James or Sirius in the halls: their smugness, James’ wild hair and Black’s doggish grin. 

She was still standing there, quite frozen, when a noise to her right jolted her back to the immediate, that pressing cool of the cellar, and her wand was drawn before she had even entirely turned towards the source of that noise, defensive as ever. Even after recognizing it to be James, with that goofy, good-natured grin plastered all over his face, she didn’t feel like putting it away just yet.

[lilevens-blog]

HC + dancing!

send me hc + a word and i’ll write a headcanon about it

At parties: wildly, thrashing to the rhythm in an ungraceful yet entirely captivating manner. Her hair flying about her, curls slick with sweat at the nape of her neck, or else tied up in a lopsided bun at the top of her head, still falling looser with every swaying motion. Her long arms above her head, her hips low and rocking, the pale road of skin between her waistband and whatever shirt she’s got on glowing in the lowlight. Rocking with a beat that isn’t always precisely matched to the music that’s playing– which somehow makes it more interesting, more alluring, like she’s hearing music differently than everyone else but in a way that you wish you could, too. Her eyes usually closed, her lashes shadowing her cheeks; there’s an absence of sense of place when she dances, drunk or high, or both– she demands her own little world, tilting only for the music, entirely unconcerned about whether or not she’s graceful or practiced or even very good. Which somehow makes her incredible.

Also at parties: Up against James, her chest pressed against his, her hands all over his shoulders, his stomach, her fingers hooking in his belt loops. Her hips steady against his, grinding, openly sexual. Or maybe not facing him, but still pressed against him, commanding his hands on her waist, arching her neck every so often to half-look over her shoulder at him. Her eyes often closed here, too. The duality of contentment and need that springs forth in her, visibly, in the way she moves and stretches and molds herself to his body. It’s not long after this kind of dancing that they can be found, at any given place in the house, making out hard: against the back wall, in the bathroom without bothering to lock the door. A drunken, heated prelude to her hitching her ankles around his waist entirely, dragging her nails along his back and just letting him have her.

In the kitchen, 3 a.m.: The blue light of everything, everywhere. James’ flat looking practically submerged in it, like they’re somewhere underwater. Her arms loose around his neck, secured by the clasping of her left wrist with her right hand. Her cheek pressed into his thin white t-shirt, her eyes opening and closing, her breath soft. Her body soothed and electrified by the shift of his hands at her waist, gentle and all-encompassing. Her legs bare and her feet bare and her up on her tiptoes, the bottoms of her feet dirty. Their soft, slow rocking, the gentle circles they make, like whirlpools in the watery night. The radio in the kitchen low, playing some Dean Martin or The Beatles, maybe, on some muggle station, until its charmed back over to the wizarding airwaves, to the sleepless news and a fresh list of missing persons that pops intermittently with static, and then the moment is over and they’re pulling away, and James moves closer to the radio but Lily retreats back to his bed. 

Alone: any which way the music moves her. Thrashing to the radio, banging her head along, or twisting to something as serene as a music box. Bobbing to whatever song is in her head as she goes about her day, fixing tea and curling up on the couch, or maybe in her room, picking through the latticework of clothes on her bedroom floor. Rolling her shoulders to it, tilting her head back and forth, shaking her hips a little bit, humming out the chorus. Rarely does she lip-sync or even go for the belting-out, but sometimes a tune will catch her, maybe in the shower or when she thinks she’s truly alone, and she’ll just go for it. Always accompanying the outburst with a shimmy or a microphone fist. 

[lilevens-blog]

hc + PETUNIA

send me hc + a word and i’ll write a headcanon about it

Petunia and Lily. how common, how sweet, how homely, these sisters, growing up. Petunia holding Lily’s tiny hand when they crossed the street on their way to the park; Petunia placing a hand on Lily’s shoulder, absently protective, combing her long fingers through Lily’s mass of curls. Petunia and Lily eating dinner, kicking one another under the table fondly; Petunia and Lily with their faces pressed close to the television screen until 9 o’clock at night, their mother taking that tone, the static pulling their hair wayward, their shoulders pressed together in the commonplace reassurance that they would always be side by side, one leaning into the other, wordlessly in love. stretching summer days and lolling afternoons spent in the field behind their house, weaving daisy charms and flower crowns. Curled up like cats in the same bed in their room, Petunia a protective crescent moon around her younger sister, whispering into her ear as they fell asleep the sweet nothings of childhood ignorance. Matching smock dresses and matching bathing suits on trips to the coast, the salt wind lashing their soft faces, their hands clasped as they took the waves in childish strides. Lily and Petunia’s sisterhood was picturesque; it was a deep and vast well, and practically abnormal in its profoundness, especially in contrast to the plainness and understatedness of every other aspect of their tidy, contained lives. For a long time, Petunia dominated the narrative of their lives: the two of them getting married side-by-side; living next door to one another; raising their children together. Back then, Lily never stopped to consider whether or not those were things she wanted for herself– there was nothing but the round face of her sister and those promises to live by. 

The chasm inched its way open as both girls approached adolescence; Lily’s magic manifesting in subtle ways that she could never convince her sister of; a feeling of separateness imparted by Severus each day as she began favoring their time by the river. Lily couldn’t see what a blow this was to Petunia, to not be the center of gravity in Lily’s world anymore, and likewise couldn’t understand from what place Petunia’s sudden, awful anger came from. Her sister’s moodiness was unpredictable, and their relationship grew strained; softly at first– Petunia turning away abruptly at something Lily said, or walking too fast for Lily to keep up with, and then only an hour later sitting with her and braiding her hair, moving through the motions of their love for one another once more and so easily it seemed that whatever had been wrong before hadn’t happened at all. But Lily began to foster a sense of pride, too; at the least, she never invited to Petunia to join her and Severus as they stretched lazily on the pebbled shoreline, Lily wide-eyed and eager to drink up the world he spent hours detailing for her, and assuring her that she would soon enter into– and that made it all the worse. The more Petunia pushed for what they had been, the more she stuck her nose up at Lily, the more she threatened and pouted and ignored and petted her hair– the more Lily chaffed. As sadly and simply as it can be put: they outgrew the sisterhood that had defined them for so long. 

The turning point came not with Lily’s letter from Hogwarts, although for a long time Lily was sure that that was what had done it. It came even before that, in a particularly nasty fight in which Petunia called Lily a freak– unnatural, badly different, establishing a negative individuality from one another that neither of them had known before then. Never had Lily faced such malice from her sister, nor been placed at such a defined distance– always they had been a pair, considered only in relation to one another, and that coupled distinction had always been a safety net for the two of them– and she recoiled from the relationship entirely thereafter. And that was easy to do: she got her Hogwarts letter, her parents fawned over the ordeal, Petunia skulked like a cat about their house, and then Lily was gone. The summer months before her departure, she hardly saw Petunia at all, so much did her sister shy and skulk; she was so wrapped up in making plans with Severus for the coming school year that she hardly noticed, anyways. Still, for a long time Lily worked hard to draw Petunia back into her life, in some mimicry of the bond they had shared when they were younger. On holidays she brought her sister home whatever current wizard games or treats were popular at school that term, and tried to entice her in conversation over the classes she was in. (It didn’t help, in Petunia’s eyes, that Lily was not only being rewarding for being a freak, but actually excelling at it). An unnavigable bitterness sprawled between them all the same, and Lily’s waning but enthusiastic efforts only worsened the situation. As Lily came into her own at Hogwarts, sometime likely starting in her third or fourth year, she abandoned altogether the hope that Petunia would come to understand or appreciate her magic or the Wizarding World, and instead simply tried for any semblance of relationship at all. 

It still frustrates Lily in a peculiar way that she can’t put words to– the fact that, in her eyes, Petunia never even tried. It is hard to swallow; a bitter taste– why couldn’t they just have grown together? She hasn’t forgiven her sister, and so that bitterness is an inlaid foundation to the relationship they now maintain– which is, least to say, strained. When they see each other at holidays or family events, Petunia is curt and Lily is brash. Lily can’t stand Petunia’s husband, her drab wardrobe, her tight buns, and makes a point to criticize her sister for the normalities she’s adopted; Petunia, in turn, condescendingly points out Lily’s shortcomings and inconsistencies, her boyfriend’s faults (which are sometimes too infuriatingly clear and true, and which add tension and confusion surrounding Lily’s recent understanding of her relationship with James– and even if what Petunia says is true, it only infuriates Lily more to have someone else see it, and she feels a need to defend James in the pinched face of her sister) and this serves only to further drive the wedge between them. They are now tight-lipped smiles and sharing silent cups of tea in the kitchen; passing each other in and out of the bathroom, and clipped conversation, on the best of days. On the worst, they can’t stand sharing space in the same room. The loss Lily feels over her relationship with Petunia is one she refuses to face. Anger is a much easier substitute for grief. 

[lilevens-blog]

marlene mckinnon.:

Satisfaction entered her bloodstream as she watched Lily fall back next to her, nervous and content all in one fell swoop. Getting her way was easy; she knew exactly what to say, exactly how to look, a game she’d been playing since she was born and it was almost impossible to say no to her based upon the genetic code of the youngest child desperate for attention.

But attention from Lily she craved in a different way, she craved the gentle lick of flames that started in the pit of her stomach. It was like the ocean in all of its power but was a steady, slow lap of waves kissing the shorelines. Marlene was used to frantic and needy and heated, she’d never felt something as delicate as this and had quickly grown acquired to the flavor.

That didn’t stop her, however, from wanting more. 

“‘Course I am,” she said, her lips still curled in a smirk despite her heart hammering so hard in her chest she felt as though any moment she would stop breathing. Her confidence came from a third party, seeing as how deep within herself, Marlene was terrified. “I’m nothing if not relaxing.”

That smirk. If you could trademark Marlene, which would have been an impossible undertaking anyways, Lily would have said it would have to be through that smirk: Marlene wore it in such a way that it could mean a million things, all of them still somehow coming through clearly in the moment, and all of them having Lily’s own heart skipping a beat, despite herself, always despite herself. It was entirely unfamiliar, the way that stretching smile could cause such sudden reaction in her, even at moments when nothing was happening at all-- in the kitchen, for example, flashed across the counter; or once, when Lily was stooped over the coffee table tapping ash off a joint into a little bowl, looking back over her shoulder at Marlene on the couch. Strange moments like these; unimportant, daily motions that somehow became imparted with meaning with the flash of that smirk, the raise of those eyebrows.

Now, on her bed, the sheet a thin ruse between them, it was all but irresistible. Lily felt her breath hitch in her throat and hoped Marlene couldn’t hear it. Her green eyes all over that bright face, somehow now positioned above her, at an advantage Lily couldn’t recall giving up. Her grip on the hem of the blanket tightened, then loosened, then tightened again, absently anxious; but she didn’t have to feel around much for her face to pull into a mocking of that classic Marlene look, grin and all: a challenge that Lily wore well, albeit in her own way. 

“I don’t know if your record supports you making that sort of claim.” Lily scoffed, tilting her head back as she laughed, then lolling it to one side, her cheek pressed into the mattress, her eyes casting up towards that face hovering over her once more. “I don’t believe you’re oh so willing to put your money where your mouth is, McKinnon?” 

[lilevens-blog]

hc + the story of Those doc martens

send me hc + a word and i’ll write a headcanon about it

whaaaat a story. to preface, Lily has not always had such a strong air of strength + fortitude about her; she’s never been a weak girl, truthfully– but especially as a child she was particularly malleable, and often copy-catted Petunia, and, later, Severus at times, too. she wore mary janes and lofty dresses; turtleneck sweaters and straight-legged pants; matching aprons with Petunia when they played chef and spent hours baking and burning the tops of muffins, batches upon batches of ginger cookies and chocolate chip. as i’ve mentioned before, Hogwarts was really the time when Lily came into her own– and even then, it wasn’t through, or even much partly through, a change of personal style. it was much more to do with her attitude and presentation; the way she learned how to command the attention of a room with a flick of her wrist or the roll of her shoulders, by turn. 

always being a sucker for thrifting– something romantic about all these old things looking for a second chance, she’d told James once, in a particularly poetic affection– Lily’d spent her fair share of time in muggle secondhand shops. it was in one such shop in London, shortly after her graduation from Hogwarts, when Lily stumbled, quite literally, across those boots– she tripped over one of them sticking out into the aisle. already they were worn: the leather soft and cracking by the ankle, scuffed at the toes, a paler black than their probably original onyx colour. the laces old and frayed and only halfway laced up, anyways, the inside soles brown and faded, probably sweat-stained. she slipped one foot in and basically just never took it back out. treating herself to the secondhand docs as a personal graduation present, Lily bought them with the muggle money she had saved up still from her Christmas holiday and put them on outside the front of the store. 

she’ll exclaim all the time about the practicality of these docs: how they’re already perfectly broken in for her, how they’re really made to last, how they were probably enchanted to find her anyways, because what are the odds? James would, for awhile, make scathing but light-hearted jokes about the ugliness of those boots, in response to which Lily would stick out her lower lip dramatically and always defend their integrity. now, they’re as much a staple of her as her bright, thick hair. she’ll wear them anytime they go out, and once she even slept in them. they’ve also lent to her a particular toughness that she previously only embodied in tone: a certain quality that makes her somewhat, well, intimidating. there’s something all at once warm and also imposing about seeing Lily stomp towards you, clad in those Doc Martens. 

[lilevens-blog]

james potter.:

GIVING IT AWAY. FEBRUARY, 1980.

Lily shoved off so quickly, she was in danger of being swallowed by the falling dark. It closed in around them, sharpening the bare branches against the navy sky, the gleam of Lily’s copper hair as it tumbled in her wake. Even the long, broad strides she took as she marched through the frost seemed singularly designed to illuminate James’ scramble to keep up, the fact his scarf started falling off his shoulder, the cold bite in his lungs with each inhale. “Lily,” he tried, his voice steady despite the frustration that mounted within him. “Lily!” 

Fuel to the fire. It was a muggle saying he’d heard once, either from Remus or Lily herself. If Lily’s eyes were the tinder, their arguments were the catch, and the lick of flame and black, billowing, viscous smoke seemed all to resonant with the way Lily turned so abruptly from him, as if the wind had shifted and her patience was gone, tearing away into the night, leaving a trail James only sometimes felt qualified to pick through. Her hair flashed in the gloom; she didn’t look back.

That’s what scares me about you, James had admitted once, when they were supine in tangled sheets. He’d sensed the frisson of her attention: for all her adamant denial, Lily knew her worth. She was proud of it. There was a hard part inside her, buried beneath raised eyebrows and flirtatious, fuck-you smiles, that was greedy for these gold pieces James couldn’t help but deliver, open-hearted and wanting, into her embrace. It feels like you could leave me behind.

And here she was: leaving him behind. 

“Lily!” In a burst of speed, James managed to touch a hand to her shoulder. He knew better than to grab her: he’d done that once, in Seventh year, and his eyebrows had been hexed off from his trouble. Back then it’d been exciting, all that play-fighting. Pushing each other’s boundaries; testing the temperature of the water. But now, as they whipped around to face each other in a dirty, lonely muggle park, James’ shoulders sagged with the weight of it all.

He searched her face, his eyebrows knitting together. The silence drew tight like a fist. After a strangled beat, James threw up his hands. “I dunno what to say to you!” he exclaimed. “Can we not just –” As soon as he said it, he knew Lily would insert her own end to that sentence: forget about it? And her tart response was so well-worn, he could hear her voice in his head: No, James, we can’t fucking forget about it.

“Can we just have a good time?” James blurted instead. “At the –” He gestured towards the apartment building, feeling so bloody helpless, burned up. “Let’s just have a good time at the party. Alright? You can be angry at me later.”

The pale wetness of the world, the low press of the navy sky as it bedded the grass in the park, the jaundiced light of the nearby street lamp-- all of it only seemed to make James more startling, more beautiful set up against it. The only thing worth looking at. And for that reason alone, she forced her eyes to settle on the rusted jungle gym hulking like a beast beyond the broadness of his shoulders; on the wilting chain link and, above, the face of a star that peaked through the breach of clouds. Lily’s own shoulders, narrow and taut with cold, were still stiffened from his touch, which she had both ripped away from and spun to greet reflexively. How often they did this dance: it was muscle memory.

After the long, pointed show of her eyes cast on something distant and entirely separate, an extra fuck you that she couldn’t-- and rarely did-- resist making to him, Lily readjusted her avoidant gaze back to James’ face. The light didn’t wash him out, the way she knew it did her-- her freckles made starker on the alabaster of her face, all the same still ruddy with heat-- it made him glow. He was oddly radiant in the wake of his frustration with her, in the ugly yellow light, and she felt her skin prickle over suddenly with a different kind of fire. She’d be lying to herself-- which she was hardly in the business of-- if she were to say she didn’t want to kiss him, hard, right there next to the grimy muggle street, in a cold so severe her teeth were chattering. To close the gaping distance between them, which, momentarily, she couldn’t even remember who had placed there to begin with, and have her chapped mouth all over his. Better than that: she wanted to take him entirely. Up against the jungle gym, perhaps: her back pressed into the icy metal bars, the paint flaking into her skin, their breath and their closeness the only points of warmth in the entire world. 

It was a nice thought, but not strong enough to last. At his words, his pleading-- a desperation she didn’t want to know but felt hard like a rock inside herself, too-- she only clenched her jaw. Her eyes flickered across his face, critically, and she shook her head sharply a long moment later, brushing back the reddish baby curls that stuck in her eyelashes. 

“Yeah, let’s just forget about it, shall we?” Lily’s voice was disdainful, and she barked a laugh thereafter. “Let’s just go into the party and pretend that nothing’s wrong. Hell, I’m in such a bloody lush mood we can drink with Sirius for all I care. You’d like that? That sounds grand to me!” Her voice was pitching up an octave as she continued her speech, thickly sarcastic only, if for nothing else, to highlight exactly how ludicrous she took James to be right then. 

“Honestly, James, how can you even say that to me? Like I’m the fucking problem-- I’m not the fucking problem here! Sorry that my being angry fucks with your ability to have a good fucking time at the bloody fucking party-- honestly?” Lily took a step closer, like she wanted to be right in his face as she spoke-- and then, suddenly indecisive (or maybe that’s only how she seemed), she retreated two steps back instead, half turning her body away from James in a motion that suggested she was ready to resume her long, angry-strided walk towards the flat. Ready to leave him in the mounting cold. Her eyes glittered savagely in the wan light; her hair a soft mimicry of the fire within her, so bright it was practically its own, tangible presence, taking up between them as it had grown accustomed to doing these days. 

“I’m not a fucking dog, James. I’m not going to heel for you, like Sirius. I can’t believe you would even ask me to. What the fuck?” 

[univcrsefactory]

ships: jily

“She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes - her eyes are just like mine…but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy.”

for @jilys: may you have the sweetest sixteen love (11/05)

[lilevens-blog]

headspace 001.

01. What is your character’s headspace?

Lily has been particularly moody, as of late. The quiet amongst The Order has offered her no sense of peace or relief-- if anything, it’s actually probably denied her of it. Never having been a girl who can sit patiently for opportunity, Lily craves the stimulation of purpose and challenge; more simply than that, she’s not stupid. She feels the itch of something big about to happen, like a shadow in the periphery, and it frustrates her all the more, because she’s entirely unsure of how to prepare for this impending eventuality. Resultantly, a restlessness permeates all of her actions. 

She’s become mopey; skulking around the flat, avoiding her roommates at some times, brushing them off with a shrug of her narrow shoulders and a pointed glare, and at others (often only hours later) seeking them out, forcing them to talk to her or simply entertain her company (which can be exhausting in and of its own right, especially when she’s feeling insatiable). Her mood, as is most of the things Lily does, is infectious; it often affects those in her company, for better or worse. Perhaps this is why she has especially been avoiding James-- or perhaps it’s because, with nothing else to draw her mind, she is especially argumentative. And God knows they already spend enough of their time doing that. 

02. What is their current goal/focus?

It’s easier to answer this question backwards, so I will-- Lily’s current focus is not on the big picture. Generally speaking, Lily’s a naturally goal-oriented person, which certainly leads her to having a tendency to long-term assess situations-- but it’s all Lily can do right now to make it through a bloody day without losing her mind (or her cool). She can’t fathom the turn of the War; can’t fathom a “beyond” point-- not beyond this week, her current company, whatever. And so, although it took some heaving and hauling to accept, Lily has shifted her attention to the immediate. It’s the only thing she can tack down for certain, and she’s been clinging to that as a means of control and comfort in the silent turbulence of everything else about her. 

Despite her moodiness, and her particular emotional distance from James (and, by extension, the rest of the Marauders), Lily has remained (if nothing else) incredibly open to her friends. Especially with her flatmates and Hestia, Lily is still silently understood as an open ear to listen, and a freckly shoulder on which to cry; it is in these moments of honesty, where tension and pretense are dropped in the close quiet of a bedroom or a balcony, where she can say, without having to shame her pride, that, maybe, yeah, she’s a little scared-- these moments reinvigorate her, instill a purpose to keep fighting and acting and preparing for what’s next, for the sake of protecting her friends. It all comes back to her friends. That’s all she can think about-- their safety, and her role in securing that safety. She’s taken up to reading multiple DADA books as an outlet to do so; if she can’t actively insert herself into a situation in which she can feel as though she’s protecting her friends, then she’s going to bloody well prepare herself for it. 

03. What do you want to happen right now (short term development)?

What really needs to happen before anything else is a deepening of Lily’s interpersonal relationships. Whether they’re good, bad, or ugly-- Lily’s character growth requires first and foremost the establishing of these relationships in-game. While her biography outlines the generalities of where she’s at with each person right now, it’s really important to me that I feel these relationships out in-game in these first few weeks, to make sure that she’s coming from a true place, and to better understand the nuances present in every dynamic. Doing this will make clear Lily’s primary motivations and dominant emotions at this particular jumping-off point of the game, and set her up for the first mission-- whenever that comes. 

Give me the push and pull of Lily and James; the hexing and screaming, the cold shoulder, the distance and the passionate embrace that rounds that out, inevitable as ever; the gentle curling into one another, on the couch, on a back porch; murmuring softly, petting each other’s hair, placing soft kisses of comfort on exposed skin. Give me the relentless discomfort of Sirius and Lily in the same space, that impasse that can hardly be breached even in times of great struggle, even when they absolutely should be relying on each other; give me the defiant set of Lily’s jaw when she sees James and Sirius together, the way she claims her boyfriend thereafter, watching Sirius’s face the whole time; give me their petty need to outdo one another-- or better, give me a moment in which Lily and Sirius genuinely need to place their trust in one another. Give me the softness of Lily and Remus; their laughter, hushed sometimes, and raucous, on Lily’s part, at others; give me their long and profound glances, the brushing of hands, the moments close in a kitchen at dawn or dusk or the middle of the night, worry thick in their throats, and something else, too; the way they can read into those moments or not, depending on what they choose to do. Give me Lily and Peter-- Lily unable to figure out what angle, exactly, to approach him from; Lily’s irritation at Peter’s quietness, his lack of appreciation for the time she takes to notice him, however selfish a place that comes from within her. Give me Lily and Dorcas and Marlene, together and broken into pairs; smoking weed, looking into each other’s eyes, being more real with each other than anyone else. The eroticism that accompanies that kind of intimacy and vulnerability. Give me Hestia and Lily, the calmest of all; the cast of worry leaving Lily’s face when she’s in that soothing presence. Or give me none of that, but something else-- in whatever way, it’s incredibly important that relationship-building happen in the short-term to set up Lily’s dynamic in the group long-term. 

[xaedificare]

brashgirl1996:

suck on a guys fingers and watch his soul leave his body

[lilevens-blog]

development task 001.

FULL NAME. Lily Oteale Evans

NICKNAME. Lil, Evans

BIRTHDAY. 30 January, 1960

GENDER. Cisgender female

SEXUALITY. Polysexual (experiencing attraction to multiple genders); Polyamorous 

RELATIONSHIP STATUS. Dating James Fleamont Potter

SPOKEN LANGUAGES. English

ACCENT. West Country 

BIRTHPLACE. Cokeworth, England, Great Britain

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN. Aquarius 

EX-HOGWARTS HOUSE. Gryffindor

PATRONUS. Doe

BOGGART. confinement (more as a concept; but any small, dark space conjures the same sort of feeling); witnessing death; failing herself + failing others

BLOOD STATUS. Muggleborn

ALLIED WITH. the Order of the Phoenix

FACECLAIM. Jenna Thiam

002. PHYSICAL TRAITS.

HAIR COLOUR & STYLE. 

thick. coarse. curly, and a deep shade of orange-red. Lily’s hair is altogether unmanageable. especially now that she’s not taking good care of it, it tends to tumble as it pleases: down her back, so long that it gets caught under her while she sleeps (or worse, under James– waking him when this happens is always a chore beyond comparison, partly because he sleeps like a goddamned dead person, and partly just because she’ll find herself simply stuck in a position that isn’t the most opportune for kicking him into consciousness); it tangles in her eyelashes and knots up in the wind; it frizzes over the edge of unruly in the humid English summers. she only ever manages to work a comb through it in the shower, on the second round of conditioning– trying to brush it at any other point, wet or dry, is like combing a horse’s tail. luckily for her, she’s used to it. Lily grew up very mindful of the condition in which she kept her hair, but since she moved in with Dorcas and Marlene, and the War entered a darker place than she could have anticipated, it’s been altogether too high-maintenance for her. she had Marlene hack off a good five inches when it reached that unbearable length where she could sit on it. even so, it remains long, massive, and aggravatingly in her way. now, in her unconcern, she showers every couple of days, maybe twice a week. she’s taken tying it up into marvelously oversized buns on the top of her head while she sleeps, and pulling it lazily free in the mornings. her favored style changes every so often, but lately she’s been keeping it in a low ponytail, secured at the base of her neck. 

EYE COLOUR.Pale green

COMPLEXION. 

fair & extremely freckled. Lily’s skin looks positively polka-dotted in some places– her shoulders and upper back being exceptional examples. her entire face sports the soft orange pencil points of freckles: cheeks dotted; forehead, too, especially around her hairline; crowded thicker at her temples; traveling along her jawline and chin. growing up, she found it entirely atrocious. standing next to Petunia, who seemed to be the poster-child for fair skin, made her flushed and self-conscious. she would hardly even look in a mirror. but sometime during her years at Hogwarts– perhaps coincidentally (and perhaps not) close to around the beginning of James’ courting of her– she finally grew into them. or, at the least, into an appreciation of them. now, she remains pretty indifferent, but certainly no longer does she nurse any insecurities. 

ETHNICITY. English / French / Belgian / Senegalese 

HEIGHT. 1.7 M

PHYSIQUE. Willowy 

Lily is stretched out: long limbed and lilting in her walk. she’s tall and narrow, and, if she weren’t so self-assured, the surprising lack of grace in her movements would come across similar to that of a baby deer’s. she’ll knock things over in the sweeping gesture of her arm, or bump her hip into the edge of the table when she walks through the kitchen. even so, she’s got a self-assuredness that puts purpose in her oft’ clumsy or oafish movements; makes them distinctly her, and oddly charming. she’s got long fingers like a pianist, perfect for wedging a cigarette between; and a long neck which she often extends to one side to show she’s bored with what you’re saying. she has never been a particularly muscular girl, but her arms are beginning to flesh out a bit as her physical limits are tested during stake outs and missions.

TATTOOS. N/A

PIERCINGS. N/A

CLOTHING & STYLE

for all her pragmatism, Lily’s style is a bit… eclectic. she’s an impulsive buyer, and a firm believer in muggle fashion and the “one-of-a-kind” jumper, which leads to her thrifting a lot of clothing, and especially a lot of useless and dysfunctional pieces. you’ll find her in wooly jumpers paired with straight-legged trousers; leather jackets thrown haphazardly over long muggle dresses & flannels & bright orange nail polish; soft camisoles hidden beneath rumpled tweed blazers; James’ t-shirt worn as a dress, with his roaring lion jumper overtop like a jacket (she does favor that one, in particular). fingerless gloves and thick socks peeping out over the top of her ever-present, and faithfully loved Doc Martens. Lily would be nothing if not recognizable for her Docs alone– plain and scuffed at the toes, the leather worn soft, the laces loose and floppy and in various states of actually being tied. she is also not the most orderly person– so much of what she owns (which is too much to begin with) can be found strewn about her floor, wrinkled simply from sitting out to dry on her bed or over the back of a chair. perhaps it’s the fact that she’s often fairly unconcerned to start with about which matches what, or perhaps it’s because she’s just enamored with all her jumpers– each more colorful and ill-fitting than the last– but somehow, despite the wool socks and holey denim, Lily still manages to make everything she puts on appear as “a look.” and anyways, she thinks she’s the most fashionable person ever; everything she owns is comfortable, and therefore practical, and what looks smarter than a closet full of useful clothing? 

MANNERISMS. 

Lily’s got a way about her. she commands attention without any grand gestures; she can enter a room and shift everything therewithin towards the center of her gravity. it’s not that she’s particularly graceful, or boisterous, or overly charming; she isn’t. it’s more of a quality– the way the light settles on her hair, the steadiness of her hand when she raises her wand, the brightness of her voice when she speaks. there’s an effortless authenticity about her that’s absolutely compelling. Lily’s naturally a flame to which others find themselves drawn; her ingenuity, her confidence, and her kindness make her easy for almost anyone to talk to. she’s got a way of really making people feel heard, and she’s hugely sympathetic. she tends to loll her head to one side when she’s listening, furrow her eyebrows; little things that show she cares about what you’re saying to her. she’ll laugh the loudest at your jokes, but only if they’re really, actually funny, which somehow makes you want to make her laugh even more. Lily’s laugh is a praise most high. she’s passionate, and it shows in the flash of her eyes alone; Lily refuses for even one second to spend time talking about things that she finds boring, or to listen to people who think it is cool to talk about the things they dislike– she believes there’s nothing more interesting than having a conversation about things that are actually important to the person she’s talking to. it’s this inherent vivaciousness for life and conversation and expression; this unabashed honesty to be assertive about what she wants, that makes her so compelling. her compassion for others and her talent for encouraging vulnerability in her friends is an added draw.

HABITS

x; smoking in bed. initiating physical contact in conversation (brushing hands, nudging shoulders, etc.). grinding her teeth in her sleep. kicking all the covers off the bed at night. falling asleep reading. walking around the flat in various states of dress and undress; cooking/cleaning/lounging in the common spaces in these varied states. leaving her clothes everywhere. not making her bed. twisting her hair in her hands when she’s nervous. 

003. PERSONALITY TRAITS & TYPES.

POSITIVE. PRAGMATIC, PASSIONATE, JUST, RATIONAL, HEADSTRONG, OUTSPOKEN, RADIANT, HONEST

NEGATIVE. INDECISIVE, PETTY, CRITICAL, PARANOID, ENVIOUS, ARGUMENTATIVE, DISORGANIZED, BULLHEADED  

HOBBIES & INTERESTS. 

reading for hours, stretched out diagonally across the bed, the light traveling across the room until it fades into evening; Defense Against the Dark Arts books, lately, in specific. pawing through muggle thrift stores for catchy jumpers. spending time in the company of others, lighting up on the balcony or curled together on the couch under a patchwork of blankets. watching old muggle movies. creating potions out of necessity or boredom, or both. turning James on in inappropriate locations. talking about Quidditch (with James, in particular) for hours; arguing over strategy and reliving past games. arguing with Dorcas about anything. smoking with Hestia. visiting muggle diners with Remus. 

INSECURITIES.

These days, Lily worries little about the frizz and curl of her ridiculously wild hair; her uncountable freckles; her long, bony fingers, always blue from poor circulation; her towering height. If she hasn’t come to embrace these things, at the least, she’s come to accept them– as wholly as anyone can accept themselves, exactly for who they are. Yet Lily fosters deep anxieties and insecurities, inwardly: she fears that she is not capable enough to protect her friends, who not only mean everything in the world to her but indeed build the entire world that she lives in. She doesn’t always trust herself to know what is best for everyone, & especially those she most seeks to help and protect; she is oft’ times self-conscious when speaking to other members in the Order as a result (even though she’d never much let on). She also is experiencing a great insecurity in her relationship with James (some thanks to bloody Black, though she wouldn’t let on about that either)– for the first time, their stability is not only in question but shambles; she makes up for it sporadically, and in, perhaps, the least thorough or thought-out way she has ever done anything before in her life. 

MBTI TYPE. ESFJ

ENNEAGRAM TYPE. Type 2 (2w3): The Helper (wing: The Achiever) 

MORAL ALIGNMENT. Neutral Good

TEMPERAMENT (X). Sanguine

DEADLY SIN (X). Wrath

004. THIS OR THAT.

INTROVERT OR EXTROVERT?

OPTIMIST OR PESSIMIST?

LEADER OR FOLLOWER?

CONFIDENT OR SELF-CONSCIOUS?

CAUTIOUS OR CARELESS? (careless with herself; cautious with others)

PASSIONATE OR APATHETIC?

BOOK SMARTS OR STREET SMARTS?

COMPLIMENTS OR INSULTS? (back-handed compliments & loving insults, by turns)

COLD HANDS OR WARM HEART? 

005. ASSOCIATIONS.

COLOURS. the red underbelly of a sunset. the red of a bright nail polish. the soft red of a scab. the orange cast of autumn light. white fingers in black hair. the off-white of old sheets. the green of minty gum. the pink of a mouth. the pink of a rose petal. the soft, velvet tawny of a baby deer. multi-colored christmas lights. 

WORDS. fire, radiance, gloss, clamor, coruscate, dalliance, appetite, anymore, sexual, volatile, shoulder, front, milky, feverish, bloom, fuck.

SCENT. the soft, left-over smell of cigarette smoke clinging to fabric. ginger & clove & chai. clean laundry. woodsmoke. the sweetness of wildflowers. chocolate & cherry. 

TASTE. the salt of sweat. tobacco. cherry coke. warm, rich, chocolate cake with sticky icing. a shoulder in your mouth. 

SOUND. peals of laughter like a bell rising above a crowd. a door slamming. a quill scratching parchment. piano music. the rustle of grass in a field. the rustle of fabric being touched, rumpled, falling to the floor. a gasp for breath; a girlish moan. 

MAGIC. a hex to twist your ankle; a hex to tickle you. Lumos in the soft light of pre-dawn, to find clothes hastily discarded the night before. turning everything into teacups– even other kinds of glasses and mugs- with a lazy flick of the wrist. potions books collecting dust in towers alongside a mattress; big cauldrons doubling as laundry baskets. Colloportus!

WEATHER. the first, sudden warm day of spring, the sun spilling through the clouds onto the grass. the damp of pre-dawn, the sky solidly overcast, the light pale and washed. late, crisp, hot blue nights. a thunderstorm in the middle of summer. 

FEELING. the drop of your stomach at the top of a roller coaster. fingers tracing up and down your spine. the leftover wetness of a kiss pressed to your neck. the almost uncomfortable heat of the sun on your face on a hot day. the buzzing energy of being turned on. a love so powerful & consuming it only takes one look. the worn softness of your favorite t-shirt. pulling at a knot in your hair with a comb. finishing a good book. the exhilaration of learning a new spell; the dizziness of apparition. the narrowing of the world to one other person. 

MEMORY. the coolness of Hogwarts’ classrooms. the redness of cheeks and the fogging of breath as the entire school huddled in the stands watching a Quidditch match. the days lost to one long stretch of gray, overcast sky; cold winter water. the lurching of the train as it exits the station. waiting cross-armed and foot-tapping at the end of the corridor for the Marauders to come bustling out of class. a hand up her blouse in the Potions classroom; the pressing of hip bones. 

TOUCH. thick, itchy jumpers. the tenderness of a bruise. hands pulling hair. goosebumps. smooth wand wood. 

[enstorie]

send one to see how my muse reacts  /  soft edition.

[ trail ] for your muse to start a trail of kisses down my muses neck. 

[ shift ] for your muse to move hair off my muses face.

[ stroke] for your muse to gently stoke my muse’s face.

[ chin ] for your muse to gently grab my muses chin.

[ tuck ] to place a blanket on my muse.

[ wrap ] for your muse to walk into the room and say nothing before wrapping their arms around my muse. 

[ fidget ] for your muse to comfort mine during a bad dream.

[ braid ] for your muse to braid mines hair.

[ sponge ] for your muse to give my muse a sponge bath.

[ drape ] for your muse to help pull off / unzip my muses clothing