Fic: Lyra
Ugh, it has not been a productive week. RL really got in the way of writing. I'm going to be away over the weekend too, so tonight I really need to post something to fulfill this week's Taming the Muse prompt.
I'm not very good at just using the word in the fic, I've started trying to make it a central idea, a main concept in the story itself. And so, when I saw the fic this week, there was really only one fandom I could write in. Despite adoring them to pieces, I've never written in this fandom before, and to be honest I don't think this begins to do it justice. So maybe, sometime in the future, I will re-immerse myself in the canon and write something that does begin to express how I feel about these books. For now, there's just this.
Title: Lyra
Fandom:His Dark Materials
Pairing: Will/Lyra
Rating: PG13
Words: 529
Summary: A tiny thought snippit
Written for the tamingthemuse prompt "Window".
All Will’s life Lyra has been there.
Except she hasn’t been, of course. They only knew each other for a few frantic, frightening, wonderful months and then she was gone.
And yet, she’s somehow inside his head. He remembers her clearly as anything, her wide eyes and her mischievous smile, the sombre way she tilted her head when she was listening, the way she could sit still as a bird with only her hands moving, stroking, touching Pan.
In Will’s head she’s always still a child: a bright, intelligent child and when he thinks of her that’s how he sees himself too. He can’t imagine Lyra as an adult, although rationally he knows that by now she must be, and sometimes when he looks in the mirror, he’s shocked to see that he has wrinkles around his eyes and a dusting of grey in his hair.
As a teenager he thought about her sometimes, compared her to the other girls, tried to remember the exact shape of her eyes, the exact shade of her hair. Sometimes he thought about her when he touched himself, remembered her fleeting touches and her kiss-swollen lips. He tries hard not to imagine what it might have been like if they could have stayed together.
He grows up, gets a job, marries a lovely woman called Maria. And he does love her, she isn’t just a substitute: she’s beautiful, far more beautiful than Lyra will ever be, and she’s kind and gentle and there’s none of that ferocious anger that made Lyra burn so brightly. And Will knows that this is better, that he and Lyra would have torn each other apart whereas Maria can love him and heal him and keep him whole.
Sometimes, when he’s with his wife, he goes for days at a time without thinking of Lyra.
And then he’ll see something that reminds him of her, or of the things they shared. And he’ll open his mouth to speak to her, only to remember that she isn’t there. That it’s been years since she has been and that he really ought to know that by now.
He broke up with a girlfriend once, years ago, when he said the wrong name in bed - once, just once in all these many long years - and she’d pointed out that he didn’t even know anyone called Lyra.
What could he say to that? It was true: he didn’t.
He thinks of the knife sometimes, with its shining bright edge that could cut through any substance in the world. And its other edge, so sharp that it was invisible, that could cut through the fabric of the universe itself.
Sometimes, when he’s least expecting it, something shimmers in the edge of his vision, something he can’t quite see like a change in the light of the slightest of movements.
And he stands still, tries to focus. There is nothing there. Just like he knew there wouldn’t be.
Because he does know, really, that they closed all the windows. But there’s some part of him, deep down inside, that believes that maybe there’s still a way between her world and his.
I'm not very good at just using the word in the fic, I've started trying to make it a central idea, a main concept in the story itself. And so, when I saw the fic this week, there was really only one fandom I could write in. Despite adoring them to pieces, I've never written in this fandom before, and to be honest I don't think this begins to do it justice. So maybe, sometime in the future, I will re-immerse myself in the canon and write something that does begin to express how I feel about these books. For now, there's just this.
Title: Lyra
Fandom:His Dark Materials
Pairing: Will/Lyra
Rating: PG13
Words: 529
Summary: A tiny thought snippit
Written for the tamingthemuse prompt "Window".
All Will’s life Lyra has been there.
Except she hasn’t been, of course. They only knew each other for a few frantic, frightening, wonderful months and then she was gone.
And yet, she’s somehow inside his head. He remembers her clearly as anything, her wide eyes and her mischievous smile, the sombre way she tilted her head when she was listening, the way she could sit still as a bird with only her hands moving, stroking, touching Pan.
In Will’s head she’s always still a child: a bright, intelligent child and when he thinks of her that’s how he sees himself too. He can’t imagine Lyra as an adult, although rationally he knows that by now she must be, and sometimes when he looks in the mirror, he’s shocked to see that he has wrinkles around his eyes and a dusting of grey in his hair.
As a teenager he thought about her sometimes, compared her to the other girls, tried to remember the exact shape of her eyes, the exact shade of her hair. Sometimes he thought about her when he touched himself, remembered her fleeting touches and her kiss-swollen lips. He tries hard not to imagine what it might have been like if they could have stayed together.
He grows up, gets a job, marries a lovely woman called Maria. And he does love her, she isn’t just a substitute: she’s beautiful, far more beautiful than Lyra will ever be, and she’s kind and gentle and there’s none of that ferocious anger that made Lyra burn so brightly. And Will knows that this is better, that he and Lyra would have torn each other apart whereas Maria can love him and heal him and keep him whole.
Sometimes, when he’s with his wife, he goes for days at a time without thinking of Lyra.
And then he’ll see something that reminds him of her, or of the things they shared. And he’ll open his mouth to speak to her, only to remember that she isn’t there. That it’s been years since she has been and that he really ought to know that by now.
He broke up with a girlfriend once, years ago, when he said the wrong name in bed - once, just once in all these many long years - and she’d pointed out that he didn’t even know anyone called Lyra.
What could he say to that? It was true: he didn’t.
He thinks of the knife sometimes, with its shining bright edge that could cut through any substance in the world. And its other edge, so sharp that it was invisible, that could cut through the fabric of the universe itself.
Sometimes, when he’s least expecting it, something shimmers in the edge of his vision, something he can’t quite see like a change in the light of the slightest of movements.
And he stands still, tries to focus. There is nothing there. Just like he knew there wouldn’t be.
Because he does know, really, that they closed all the windows. But there’s some part of him, deep down inside, that believes that maybe there’s still a way between her world and his.