𝑻𝑶 𝑩𝑳𝑶𝑶𝑴, 𝑻𝑶 𝑾𝑰𝑳𝑻

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.  )   

❛   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?   ❜

repost and fill in the words with what you most associate with your character.

animal.   lioness color.   yellow,   orange month.   june number.   03 day or night?   day plant.   aconite  ( wolfsbane )  smell.   lavender flowers season.   summer food.   lemon  cakes drink.   mead  ( honeyed wine )  astrological sign.   leo element.   fire

❛   ( 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   ?   ’ 

                           ❛❛       ᶤ'ᵐ           ᵃ           ᵐᵃᶰ           ᵒᶠ           ᵐᵃᶰʸ           ᵗᵃˡᵉᶰᵗˢ              ,              stealing           a           shoe           straight           off           your           foot           is           just           𝖔𝖓𝖊           of           them              .        ❜❜

@wlfcursed

​

❛   😘   (  on  the  cheek  )    ❜      from   andromeda  tonks    /    @bldtraitrs​​​​

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑴  𝑬𝑴𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑬  𝑶𝑭  𝑭𝑨𝑴𝑰𝑳𝑰𝑨𝑹  𝑷𝑬𝑻𝑨𝑳𝑺  𝑨𝑳𝑾𝑨𝒀𝑺  𝑾𝑬𝑳𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑬𝑫  𝑻𝑶  𝑻𝑯𝑬  𝑺𝑶𝑭𝑻  𝑶𝑭  𝑯𝑬𝑹  𝑪𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑲,       for  the  body  bears  some  giddy  eagerness  in  leaning  into  it.   reaching  out  with  open  palms  and  closing  them  upon  the  other’s  narrow  shoulder,   reed  is  avid  to  return  the  gesture.   her lips find the hollow of andromeda’s cheek, and brush fondly over it.       ❛    ──   'dromeda,    my  love!   chuffed  you  and  ted  could  make  it,   i’ve  just   been  tidying  the  place  a  bit  for  you.   ❜    and though the sky outside is greying,  the house within is a heaving breath of vibrancy and of warmth.  walls already far from bare :    they are decorated eloquently with loose shells, book-lined shelves and dried bouquets of flowers bundled in twine  ( ... )   frames embrace the photos of various others, ever-smiling and sometimes dancing.                                         the cottage reaches out to greet them with open arms, even as lyra pulls the door gently closed behind them. ❛   come  in,  make  yourselves  comfortable!   th’kettle’s  on  and  raring  as  well.   ❜    (  lacking of the sun as the sky may be just then,  the sea-weathered air suits the maiden still with the elegance of any tailored gown.  )   it plays upon the natural curl of auburn tresses,  and warms the shade of cheek to a delicate rose.   there’s a pause of word, though if only for a breath!   for  the blink of a moment’s eye, and she’s already bustling into the kitchen  :   peeking at the boiling kettle, fussing over the state of cups and saucers.   ❛   you’ll  forgive  that  severus  is  having  a  lie  down  at  the  moment.   he’s  on  the  sore  side  today  -  the  weather,   you  know.      ❜    another  pause,  before  she’ll whirl by the turn of her heel   /   and  meet the sight of the pair, beaming.    ❛   tea?   ❜

❛   😘    ❜      from   prof.  edmure  tully    /    @tridentrule​​

𝑹𝑬𝑬𝑫'𝑺  𝑬𝒀𝑬𝑺  𝑨𝑹𝑬  𝑲𝑵𝑶𝑾𝑰𝑵𝑮  𝑨𝑺  𝑻𝑯𝑬  𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑿𝑰𝑴𝑰𝑻𝒀  𝑰𝑺  𝑪𝑳𝑶𝑺𝑬𝑫,        space  between  mortal  outlines  faltering  only  a  breath  away  ...   (  a  woman  like  you  should  be  kissed  often,  and  by  someone  who  knows  how.  )   and as that same breath is closed, and maroon lips twitch until they are caressing another’s, her eyes are practiced in fluttering closed.  the skull tilts slightly upon slender neck,  and a lazy inhale flares nostrils.   TAKE GREAT CARE IN SUCCUMBING TO THE BRIDE OF SPRING!  floral scent is carefully crafted to bring men to their knees ;   cherry-wine tongue is flavored to  whirl minds   ( ... )   alas, despite the wicked thorns that decorate the stem of her, a maiden blossoms before him.  the moment this embrace is severed like an open throat, reed draws appropriately back, and arches an auburn brow.      ❛    ──   thank you    for  that,   ❜   she utters, in a delicate cadence that is smooth as the finest silk  /   yet  saccharine  and  oozing with honey.   still only parted by a phantom hair, slate grey pools reopen and settle upon his own  :    stones sinking slow into a bubbling river.    ❛   however,   you  ought  t’know  that  i  still  have  no  intention  whatsoever  to  scratch  you,   edmure.   doesn’t  rightly  matter  how  fine  a  kisser  you  are.   ❜

❛   look  at  me.   look  at  me.   ❜      from   igor  karkaroff    /    @webspin​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

𝑩𝑶𝑳𝑫𝑬𝑺𝑻  𝑨𝑹𝑬  𝑻𝑯𝑬  𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑬𝑺  𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑪𝑯  𝑴𝑨𝑲𝑬  𝑫𝑬𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑺  𝑭𝑹𝑶𝑴  𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺!         yet  by  all  her  aching,   cavernous  heart  and  wretched  nature,    it  is  he  that  is  perhaps  the  more  monstrous.   (  eyes are as grey as stones and equally so hard, )   for she peers up to him warmed by an air of defiance.  IN ANOTHER WORLD, SHE WOULD CURL HER LIPS TO HIM   ────    snap her wicked teeth at his eyes before she closed them around his throat. alas, the age was far more civilized, and it wrapped her sparrow bones in something far more elegant than savagery.  reed takes a single step forward, and tilts her chin to him. eyeing him beneath the arch of a single auburn brow, yet the nose has the faintest wrinkle of distaste :      ❛    ──   all  i   see  is    cowardice.   ❜  

`    ♡   .        PROMPT        ⅋        QUESTIONS  ¿

“  how  could  you  say  something  like  that ?  ”      @wlfcursed​

“ … ”     merely steering at the other behind large round frames,   sybill’s shoulders lift slightly,   blinking as she looks to the other.     “ because it’s your future,   dear.   it’s all right here in the leaves. ”     head drops,   brows pulling together in confusion as her sight fixated on lyra’s teacup.   WAS IT NOT OBVIOUS?   the tea leaves formed together all too clearly in sybill’s eyes,   flashes of the woman—what was yet to come.     “ it’s a flag.   mhm hmm,   you see right at the bottom of the cup.   oh,   you know what that means…   don’t you? ”     she’s not surprised.   lifting the cup,   eyes wide as she looks to lyra and points down at the tea leaves with her index finger.     “ it means that you have to be careful in the future,   my dear.   you may end up tainting your reputation…   especially if you’re not wary of bad influences or if you hang around with people that have a negative reputation—who might spoil your image. ”     gaze almost burning into lyra,   almost speaking unspoken words.