OFTENTIMES, HE WILL COPE WITH THE NOTION OF UNDESERVING. harry’s breath frosted against the staining chilled glass / where the clutch of death denied so many the once simple art. his eyes will stare blankly, void all charm in the witching hour, to the ceiling when he’s lying in bed every night. his throat will feel invisible grips handling tighter … [ SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU, BOY. YOUR SKIN IS CRAWLING, IT’S NOT GOING WELL, IS IT? ] while his body will tremour with the ghosts since past, and the ones still within. misery stains and aches, bleeding through pores: though lyra reed is there to mother him back to existence. every single time. just as he was to reel her back in upon the brinks of mental and physical devastation. how they connected. and how he loved her. if not for himself, harry lived for lyra, BECAUSE OF HER!
as the old saying goes: he is grinning from ear to ear. pawing at the long sleeves of a weathered sweater, [ mere tick in these cool months ], the laugh begins low in his throat before processing aloud, meeting the atmosphere and delicately melting into it. still an expression so unused, [ UNDESERVED ! ] that when it does manage to expel from the insides, harry’s often caught between graciousness and uncertainty. alas, homing himself with that mother of his was indeed such a grand decision, and not lacking the pleasantries both were denied for so long. ‘ i’m not normal “men”, miss lyra. and ‘sides that: i think you would be terribly lonely without me here, yes?’paused, contemplation riding; you always need to have the last word!‘ or should that be lady reed? madame reed? ’
all banter placed aside, [ only for now, sure to return far sooner than later! ] while melody allows moments peace. soothing rhythm before only the roar of their own pulses are caught in silence. harry is eyeing her close… the curve of her lips state encouragement while the hue in her gaze provides instructions to continue forth; never give up. not the first time she’s peppered his life with similar words and means. he’s nodding, a faint mhmm yeah rolling from the tongue so low that the air barely registers. sight focused evidently upon the keys, their momentarily interlocked fingers, now, paying attention solely to instruction. prompted to continue — he doesn’t linger there, but he sinks into those tips dancing ever lightly upon his back — following her word constantly invited into his chest, coming so easily.
stumbles at first, and to be exact, it takes the sum of three before the note is played correctly. sharp and unpracticed, but bettering; just as his soul was by her side. I KNOW IT’S BAD WHEN WE LOOK OUT THE WINDOW / BUT BAD, BAD PEOPLE DON’T LIVE IN OUR HOUSE. genuine glee drips from those soft features he bears, puddling and warming his entire body upon that final note of accomplishment. it may have sounded trivial, but importance was sought in the tiny things, these days. false security was constantly shadowing harry potter – it had become necessity to appreciate all. ‘ and there we go, ’he turns tone akin to a smug child, but that smile is oh-so genuine. ‘ somehow i doubt i’ll be out making rudding igloos anytime soon — you’re far too proud of me to let me out of your sight.’ tune not quite convincing as he offers her hand the tightest squeeze, a million thanks enveloped within. distraction, goals met, reasoning and accomplishment ( even in simplicity ) … just the little moments in life.
‘ before we start on the next sheet, some tea? ’
𝑷𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑪𝑬𝑫 𝑴𝑬𝑳𝑶𝑫𝒀 𝑪𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑺 𝑶𝑼𝑻 𝑨𝑮𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑺𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑨𝑰𝑹 𝑩𝑬𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑬 𝑰𝑻 𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺. clumsy infant weeping, then honed to adolescent speech / fingers shall tap upon ivory and upon black before at last they play. pride may indeed have swelled there, in the organ thundering out against her sparrow bones ( … ) but the sound of it coaxes something .. else. something that nips at the corners of her budding smile, and drags it away from her eyes. THE MUSIC COMES, AND IT IS BITTERSWEET IN ITS NIGHTSHADE SORROW! a skeleton finger reaching in and plucking upon slippery heartstrings. as quickly as she might blossom to his progress, she wilts beneath the sound ; it tempts her gaze into a middle distance where there is no end. into a memory of dark, abyssal irises. ( the air in the house shifts, and for a moment she can smell him as though he could indeed be found standing just there at her back..) but she won’t turn her head to it. there is more knowing in her than just that naïve and girlish yearning. instead, a hand feeds into the depths of her pocket .. she traces the intricate handle of the ebony wand within its depths, and tightens her jaw. there was once a time that this same sequence of keys had been played for another in this house. can you remember, dear heart? do you remember it?a better question : how could you ever forget?
it jolts her. the body nearly rocks to it, though the mind remains stagnant. maiden / matron / nurturer .. she hears the sound, and parts her lips : ❛ ── that’s the lad, well done. ❜ she utters in a cadence of praise, though in a voice that is not quite her own. used to it by now, she reckons, though lyra’s gaze shifts at last to find familiar striking green / and somewhere neatly folded within the grey, something of an apology can be found.
despite the sorrow’s desperate struggle to wrap her up and writhe to constrict her joints until they pop and slide out of place, the sight of beaming boy is enough to clasp her eagerly by her narrow wrists : enough to reel the gaze back, and resituate her feet upon the wood floor just beneath the piano bench. it resuscitates the heart. IT BREATHES AIR BACK INTO HER LUNGS! such is the impact of his company. she smiles to him. ❛ i’d say - and this is assuming i do indeed have a choice in the matter - that madame reed will suffice from the likes of you. ❜ and suddenly, the voice gathers the maiden back up and cradles her in open palms.. rolls her around, until the dust settles / until the pebble smooths, and in looking down, she can yet again see her face reflected back to her. ( the ghosts that haunt her house recognize her again .. she recognizes herself. )
a low hum from some shallow place in her fluttering chest, and the hand absently abandons the wand in her pocket. just for now, she thinks.. just for now. and she turns the soft of her cheek to her memories and to her yearning / to the pitiful howling of her aching heart. a moment’s restlessness coaxes her to finish out the bar, before the piano once more fades away to gentle quiet. ❛ a spot of tea sounds divine, actually. you pick the flavor, lad, i trust your intuition. .. against my better judgment, mind, but nonetheless ( … ) ❜ and in leaning back from the keys, she’ll offer a playful nudge to his shoulder.
❛ off you go, surprise me! ❜
❛ when did you become so wise? ❜ from robb stark / @hisrule
𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵 𝑱𝑼𝑺𝑻 𝑺𝑶, 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑭𝑬𝑨𝑺𝑻 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑬𝒀𝑬𝑺 𝑼𝑷𝑶𝑵
the way the daylight caresses the sudden amiable curve nipping upon the corners of maroon lips. ( the gods smile down at such a sight, ) for after all : this was the sole purpose of her. THE MOTHER, THE CARETAKER, THE HEALER ──── did the face not rise from sleep every early morning if not to simply smile? to breathe a melody of sweet laughter into the air! aye, it was doubtlessly so. take a single step toward her, and you could be certain of it / all without divine argument. airy giggle chimes from her chest, and reverberates fondly against ancient stone and marble. painted grin cracks, and reveals the brilliant teeth that lie beneath. take care not to be blinded by the beams of luminescence protruding from every nook and crevice of her .. bask instead in the warmth it provides. ❛ ── have you considered the possibility that perhaps - and just perhaps, mind - i have always been rather wise? ❜ she muses beneath an arched brow, with a flowery air of some girlish amusement.
❛ and furthermore, that maybe y’just haven’t been asking the proper questions?hmm? ❜
❛ ( sms ) : wanna do fake proposals at fancy restaurants for free food? ❜ from prof. edmure tully / @tridentrule
( sms ) : the fact that you felt obligated to even ask makes me wonder if you know me quite as well as i had thought? ( sms ) : as if you think i’d ever say no to this sort of thing… bloody hell. ( sms ) : in short though, the answer is yes. give me an hour to get ready.
❛ 01. is your muse a romantic? do they dream of marriage? 05. is your muse comfortable with public displays of affection? 09. is your muse attracted to any features in particular? ❜ from @marblecarved
01. lyra reed is fiercely romantic. she has always been all about love, even in her early adolescence ; particularly the fairytale aesthetic of it. the very notion is and has always been enchanting
──── flowers and kisses and tender caresses, lying with your beloved in the dark and watching the sunlight caress them with the coming dawn. as she matured, she became incredibly more interested in intimacy and in sex, but her sentiments remain : lyra loves the idea of love. in adulthood, she comes to appreciate the small things and learns very quickly that relationships are not the pretty dreams children picture in their heads, but she adores it anyway. she loves loving, and loves being loved.
as for marriage, she’s always been far more interested in the event of a wedding than in marriage as a concept. she gives herself entirely to her lovers as sort of a natural instinct, but does find the idea of marriage romantic and therefore yes, i’d say she dreams of marriage. that being said!! marriage to the right person, ( i.e. her soulmate, ) and only them.
05. one of lyra’s love languages is physical touch, she is VERY touch centered!! that being said, she is also respectful and works very hard to not only acknowledge, but to respect and support the boundaries of others. being an echo, she taught herself to be very careful with touch and methods of touch from a very young age to avoid intruding upon other people’s privacy unintentionally. in short: she is a huge fan of touch and, if her partner is also comfortable with it, she will literally hang off of her beloved whenever she gets the chance !! in the case that they are alternatively not comfortable with it, she’s quite okay keeping physical affection in private.
09. eyes and hands, baby. eyes and hands. also someone’s personal scent, given that she indeed finds it pleasing.
❛ 06. does your muse steal clothes from their partner? ❜ from @hrystallized
in short : yes, she absolutely does! in fact, its nearly her signature move when she’s involved with a partner, ( whether this be a committed relationship or something more casual, it doesn’t rightly matter ) and she does occasionally get into trouble for it because wardrobes very much become shared. lyra is a very involved companion, as well as materialistic by nature, so she gravitates to possessions as a form of sentiment. she is also very scent-sensitive, particularly after gaining lycanthropy, but also prior to her attack. she loves smells, and part of what attracts her to someone is absolutely their scent and whether or not she finds it pleasing.
all that aside, wearing something of her beloved’s is like carrying them around with her all the time, and that’s something that she really cherishes. if it were possible, she would remain in her lover’s arms always. alas, this isn’t conducive to any sort of life outside of girlish fantasy, so she resorts to “stealing” possessions, and wearing them around fondly.
HERE IS
THE MEETING OF
TWO WOULD - BE BEASTS
: a gnashing of
teeth and a
clashing of claws.
( igor bares
his teeth, all
rot ; he
never taught that
smile to reach
his eyes )
‘ it seems
you have taken
severus’ little stories
to heart. ’ IN HIS
VOICE THERE IS
NAUGHT BUT ICE
AND STONE : a primordial crack
that shatters a
friendly / fatherly
façade. she may
well be wielding a
knife, the way
her words cut
and hack ; he scowls
and snarls and
drags worried fingers
through the coarse
hair of his
own beard ( curling, twisting, grasping ———
no saviour’s hand
to take but
his own )
‘ yes, i
imagine he likes
to paint me
as a coward
and as a
traitor. ’ [
… ] he’s
painted himself a
villain in a tapestry of
villains [ … ]BLACK SHEEP,
OUTCAST : never hero. ‘ but i
implore you to
ask yourself, miss
reed ——— just
what is he
? ’
𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑮𝑶𝑫𝑺 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑫 𝑯𝑬𝑹
did not fashion these limbs for warring. the fury they’d dispelled from her form had fallen like smoldering ash into her heart, and sent it to thundering. ( it burned with a vibrant boldness that glimmered just behind the eyes, ) TAKE CARE IN CONSIDERING WHICH SIDE OF HER BURNED THE HOTTEST! being kissed by fire was never without consequence. whilst admittedly it was known well to her that snape be a man whom had never quite learned to rid his neck of the snapped noose dangling at his throat, she knows karkaroff in the same respect bears an empty coffin upon his back / all the while with the gall to call it carriage. reed’s dominant hand slips into the pocket of her robes, and her palm finds the handle of her wand as easily as popping a dislodged joint back into place. it makes her whole again. nevertheless : she makes no move to draw it upon him.
in a challenge’s stead, she’ll merely flare her nostrils beneath a heavy snort and arch an auburn brow to him ; never once faltering beneath their closeness. even rabid dogs seemed of little threat to lions, after all.❛ ── at the very least, i know him to be a man with more effective hygiene practices. ❜ and it prompts the dangerous curve to the corners of her mouth. alas, any hint of of a smile that it may very well be, ( like him, and much to her displeasure for it ) the gesture fails to reach her eyes. ❛ any painting of you that i may have interpreted, mister karkaroff, i assure you, is by your own hand. ❜
