tiny barely five foot redheaded menace she has visible stretchmarks and is kinda on the chubby side. petunia used to call her a cherub which made her cry but now she’s like fuck yeah i’m awesome because fuck whatever her hate filled sister has to say
when she was fifteen she got an industrial piercing, and then she pierced her ears again a year later, and the day after her drunken boozy birthday bash she got her first tattoo
by the time she’s in her early twenties she has about 7 odd tats all over, some are watercolour, some are monochrome, they’re both hidden and out there for the world to see.
she owns about 50 different sundresses and she wears them all the time. fuck pants and fuck sitting like a lady. she paid good money for her underwear and they’re cute. the world deserves to see them.
she only wears chucks with them though. her wardrobe is bursting with dresses and skirts and the occasional romper, but she only owns like 3 pairs of shoes: some formal red bottom nude pumps that she saved up for years to buy, a pair of winter boots, and her banged up chucks.
james fucking trips over himself when he first sees her. she’s scary… but hot. it doesn’t help that it happens the first and last time she tries to dye her hair, so she’s sporting lilac streaks that clash something awful and guffawing loudly with sirius.
absolutely detests beer but will drink any kind of wine no matter how cheap or dry or disgusting it might be. she loves
rosé and has like ten different bottles in her flat at all times.
speaking of her flat, it’s one room open concept kind of thing the size of a shoebox. she calls it minimalistic, but it’s because she’s a poor uni student. you don’t even have a proper bed frame evans jesus.
hates driving unless it’s getting to take sirius’ motorbike out for a spin. they have matching leather jackets. it’s fun.
she’s either an instagram beauty queen or a fucking mess there’s no in between. she doesn’t do make up often but when it does her eyeliner could massacre any man who looks her way and her highlight is brighter than the fucking sun. but most times she’s in mismatched knee socks, a dress, no bra, chapped lips, flushed cheeks, and frizzy hair.
has had instagram since it’s inception but only has 13 posts up, nine of which are books and coffee that she gets at remus’ shop. she always tags his shop’s official account in them.
uses facebook only once a month but she fucking spams everyone within half an hour before logging off again. also tags remus’ bookshop on there too with literary puns. he is not impressed. (she likes to post pictures of loaves of bread that look like dicks on peter’s bakery’s page but he blocked her so she resorts to tagging his personal account instead.)
she’s kind of a stoner. just a little bit. it started at a party back in uni and she doesn’t do it often, but she knows how to roll a blunt like a pro and has 7 ‘not the weed guy’ contacts on her phone.
because she always wears dresses she never has actual functional pockets so she’s always lugging around hug handbags filled with snacks, extra water bottles, a first aid kit, a power bank, extra pads and tampons, at least 5 different shades of red lipstick, and pretty much anything you could think of.
she’s a meme queen, always up to date on the latest meme and always sharing them on the groupchat. peter was scared of the spongebob one at first.
mooches off of james’ netflix account. he’s changed the password a hundred times but she’s always finding her way back in so he just gives up and lets her even though all she watches is repeats of brooklyn nine nine, parks and rec, and those weird food network things that he never understands.
she eats like a toddler, he idea of cooking is just like microwaveable chicken nuggets or something. and she will eat anything once it’s covered in salt or ketchup. it drives sirius ‘food snob’ black crazy because ‘no lily you have chicken mcnuggets and stirfry mixed together what the fuck’
her bad eating habits also drive james ‘health conscious nerd’ potter up a wall because ‘what do you mean breakfast was five rice kripsy treats and a pack of thin mints oh my god you’re going to get diabetes before you’re thirty’
he starts buy her groceries after that and she would be upset but she’s a cheapskate so the money she would have spent goes towards her new phone fund because she’s been using a shitty little android for 3 years it’s time for an upgrade.
of course, she doesn’t know about half the shit james buys (what the fuck is chia seeds potter?’ ‘put them in your water and drink it’ ‘it’s disgusting’ ‘it’s healthy.’ ‘i rather eat a triple cheeseburger and die at the ripe old age of 32′)
she doesn’t know how to cook it either so that means he’s over cooking for her most nights. the two of them together. alone.
he grudgingly grows to like rosé
lily asks him out after a month or so very cool and casually like ‘oh hey you know if we were dating you could just stay over instead of taking the train back home we should do that it would solve a lot of problems.’
it makes him drop the rice he’s working on, but it doesn’t matter because dinner is cold as a dog’s nose by the time they’re ready for it if ya catch my drift.
When I first read that Sir Terry Pratchett had passed, I was an awkward 15 year old trying to make sense of her life - his books had helped me immensly (and still continue to do so) - and I shattered for a moment. Fell apart and tried to piece myself together in the few hours I spent crying and working on this tribute, on March 12th 2015. 5 years later, his absence is still terribly, achingly felt. He is a constant presence in my home through jokes and references to his work, a spirit of clever puns, literary genius and kindness. On bad days I let myself get lulled to sleep by audiobooks of witches shenanigans and I dream of magic and thieves guilds, and wake up feeling like there might still be some good in this world. GNU Sir Terry, I promise to continue speaking your name loudly and often.
One time I was really angry, so I stomped into the kitchen, trying to find something to eat and notice there were washed grapes on the counter my dad had got for me so I plucked one and just before poppin it into my mouth whispered “Grapes of Wrath…” in soliloquy and then I wasn’t mad anymore.
Self made literary food puns, 9/10 recommend for cheering up bad moods.
So today we went to a cupcake shop which had literary themed cupcakes. I had a “The Raven” cupcake (blackberry mousse filling, chocolate cupcake, port-ganache topping) and a “Jay Gatsby cupcake" the taste of which can only be described as light, rich, and lacking substance.