send ❛ ♡ ❜ to suddenly hug my muse ! / from lily!
a sudden hug meme + @ecllectics // lily
Fifth year’s KIND OF DRAMATIC, isn’t it?
Or it hadn’t really been before tonight, when during the middle of their first real party where, they spend time in Lily’s room, smudging cherry bomb red lipstick on their lips, and, holding clothes up against themselves to be judged, drawn, and quartered, the rolling of worn out sneakers and the endless rolling of fishnet stockings over faded bruises on their legs from all their rather ruckuous extra curriculars, laughter dissolving fizzy on their lips, all of them a little drunk from the first few sips of liquor that they’d stolen thanks to Lily’s potions and Marlene’s swagger, with Dorcus and Emmeline in the wings, sweeping in for the right distraction at the right time, as they all, together, convince Lily afterwards that this is going to be fun, and just for one night, so can she let go of the Prefect business for just one night?
Of course that was the START OF THE NIGHT, when things were still easily defined by that taste of sugar used to dull the taste of fire and liquor within their stomachs, not knowing yet that that was the kind of combination that would leave them retching by the end of the night. Instead they’re holding hands and running through the dark, into the deep woods, to places unknown, unseen, Marlene laughing, the sound echoing amongst the trees, as they rise up, specters, as terrifying as expected, an ode to the boredom of teenaged girls, ready to face the prospect of being women, knowing nothing of its burdens.
Lily’s palm sticky within her own, as they wind about bonfires burning bright, and, everything’s fun, the smell of smoke and weed in the air, and, Marlene finding fury when she catches the Seventh year that she’s been seeing making out with some Slytherin girl at the back of some tree where they feel that they won’t be caught, and while Emmeline tries holding her back, Mars manages to POP ONE OFF. Fist connecting to his face, bruising, feeling that split against her knuckles as she spits on him for good measure before she throws off the hands that attempt to grapple her still, disgust in every footstep that she stomps into the earth in what she would call her graceful retreat.
And it’s Lily still who finds her, arms looped about her knees as she wipes at the streaky black that muddies her cheeks, a scowl as she tries to say, “Must be happy, I knew you always hated him.” but the words are stuck, and she’s ashamed of the sob that’s crackling there instead, AS ARMS ENVELOP HER WHOLE, her own winding without hesitation to grasp onto her like a woman, drowning. And part of her feels aggravation, faint, knowing she’s staining the pretty white jumper that she’s leant her, and that she’s ruining the night, isn’t she, drunk, hiccuping, the mess of tears as they cling close, nose buried against the crook of her neck as she asks, quiet, soft now, “Can you help me get back to my room?” realizing, belatedly by morning, that it’s the first favour that she’s ever asked of her redheaded other half.