12-05-2023, 12:30 AM
To Cut Me
Your Tongue Must Be Sharper Than the Thick Skin You Made
Iron & Blood
|
|||
12-05-2023, 12:30 AM
To Cut Me
12-29-2023, 07:48 PM
12-29-2023, 08:10 PM
A WREATH OF THORNS ADORNS THE DOOR
Her thoughts were elsewhere, anywhere but here in the abysmal chill that nipped at her even through the thick furs that cloaked her shoulders. Her mind had wandered back to the ship that bore her here from across the sea, to the comforting creak and groan of the futtock as the waves brushed against the hull. It had been calming, a blissful ride, a paradise compared to living on the sand bitten streets. The days had been hot, miserable. The nights were frigid, yet without the lack of powdered white that dappled these ones. She thought she had been found, that she was returning home. That her ordeals and tribulations would be over. She could still recall the immense confusion she had felt as her mother had held her face within her hands and spoke to her in a language she could only barely understand a scattered word of. How she had smiled as the word home kept creeping across her tongue. Home. A place she couldn't remember but knew she longed for terribly. Home. A bittersweet sentiment now. One that felt more like a prison. It made her actually miss those filthy roads she sat at the side of. In comparison to this gilded cage and all its restrictive chains, that place offered whispers of freedom. Where her will could be her own, from the way she dressed and behaved to who it was she would spend the remainder of her life with. None would care there. She may have been nothing there, a worthless vagabond doomed to starvation and withering, but she would have been without what her mother had called familial duty. Death may have come, but it wouldn't find her an old woman, gray, aged and going blind from staring out a window all day. Watching the people unbound, becoming jealous of them. Telling the hours of the days forever by their comings and goings while she was kept under lock and key like her home was some ivory tower. Her heart began to skip - to race. What was keeping her here? She had already slipped the watch of Aethelos. A thing she assumed to be a brittle thread if only to keep the complacency of their father. Peace of mind he had said. What peace of mind to him would it be should she be murdered or not? Married or not? Present or not? It wouldn't be. The notion had her numbed fingers coiling into the dense fabric of the gown she'd donned, pulling her hooded shawl tighter. She would leave, a course of action she assumed she had taken before. There were no kidnappers, were there? No sickness. No, her body was far too healthy even after the weeks, perhaps even months of starvation she had faced in that coastal city to belong to some sickly frail wilting flower. She had run away. She had chosen to leave this life behind and be free. Something had happened though, something she could not recall. She would repeat it. She would vanish into the breaking day, but this time she would not be taken back into custody. “Afraid the shops don’t tend to open until about mid-morning. Might be a bit before anyone comes to set up.” She nearly swallowed her tongue as she gasped audibly, followed by a slight cough at the influx of frigid air. She whirled, boots nearly tripping over one another before she caught herself. Her face flushed as she looked upon the face of the one who had addressed her. A slight smile crossed her lips as her cheeks further burned, pale eyes turning downward. "F-forgive me. I-I must look f-foolish." Was it lost she looked? Lost, confused? Neither a wholly wrong description. “Were you trying to find something?” She bit the inside of her cheek slightly, vision returning to his face as she searched his countenance for a brief moment. "N-no. Not part-ticularly." She would pause, her mouth opening before closing, debating her next words somewhat carefully before simply settling on. "I'm just l-leaving." The words were just above a whisper regardless. NO ONE COMES HOME ANYMORE A WREATH OF THORNS ADORNS THE DOOR
Her thoughts were elsewhere, anywhere but here in the abysmal chill that nipped at her even through the thick furs that cloaked her shoulders. Her mind had wandered back to the ship that bore her here from across the sea, to the comforting creak and groan of the futtock as the waves brushed against the hull. It had been calming, a blissful ride, a paradise compared to living on the sand bitten streets. The days had been hot, miserable. The nights were frigid, yet without the lack of powdered white that dappled these ones. She thought she had been found, that she was returning home. That her ordeals and tribulations would be over. She could still recall the immense confusion she had felt as her mother had held her face within her hands and spoke to her in a language she could only barely understand a scattered word of. How she had smiled as the word home kept creeping across her tongue. Home. A place she couldn't remember but knew she longed for terribly. Home. A bittersweet sentiment now. One that felt more like a prison. It made her actually miss those filthy roads she sat at the side of. In comparison to this gilded cage and all its restrictive chains, that place offered whispers of freedom. Where her will could be her own, from the way she dressed and behaved to who it was she would spend the remainder of her life with. None would care there. She may have been nothing there, a worthless vagabond doomed to starvation and withering, but she would have been without what her mother had called familial duty. Death may have come, but it wouldn't find her an old woman, gray, aged and going blind from staring out a window all day. Watching the people unbound, becoming jealous of them. Telling the hours of the days forever by their comings and goings while she was kept under lock and key like her home was some ivory tower. Her heart began to skip - to race. What was keeping her here? She had already slipped the watch of Aethelos. A thing she assumed to be a brittle thread if only to keep the complacency of their father. Peace of mind he had said. What peace of mind to him would it be should she be murdered or not? Married or not? Present or not? It wouldn't be. The notion had her numbed fingers coiling into the dense fabric of the gown she'd donned, pulling her hooded shawl tighter. She would leave, a course of action she assumed she had taken before. There were no kidnappers, were there? No sickness. No, her body was far too healthy even after the weeks, perhaps even months of starvation she had faced in that coastal city to belong to some sickly frail wilting flower. She had run away. She had chosen to leave this life behind and be free. Something had happened though, something she could not recall. She would repeat it. She would vanish into the breaking day, but this time she would not be taken back into custody. “Afraid the shops don’t tend to open until about mid-morning. Might be a bit before anyone comes to set up.” She nearly swallowed her tongue as she gasped audibly, followed by a slight cough at the influx of frigid air. She whirled, boots nearly tripping over one another before she caught herself. Her face flushed as she looked upon the face of the one who had addressed her. A slight smile crossed her lips as her cheeks further burned, pale eyes turning downward. "F-forgive me. I-I must look f-foolish." Was it lost she looked? Lost, confused? Neither a wholly wrong description. “Were you trying to find something?” She bit the inside of her cheek slightly, vision returning to his face as she searched his countenance for a brief moment. "N-no. Not part-ticularly." She would pause, her mouth opening before closing, debating her next words somewhat carefully before simply settling on. "I'm just l-leaving." The words were just above a whisper regardless. NO ONE COMES HOME ANYMORE TO CUT ME
Her thoughts were elsewhere, anywhere but here in the abysmal chill that nipped at her even through the thick furs that cloaked her shoulders. Her mind had wandered back to the ship that bore her here from across the sea, to the comforting creak and groan of the futtock as the waves brushed against the hull. It had been calming, a blissful ride, a paradise compared to living on the sand bitten streets. The days had been hot, miserable. The nights were frigid, yet without the lack of powdered white that dappled these ones. She thought she had been found, that she was returning home. That her ordeals and tribulations would be over. She could still recall the immense confusion she had felt as her mother had held her face within her hands and spoke to her in a language she could only barely understand a scattered word of. How she had smiled as the word home kept creeping across her tongue. Home. A place she couldn't remember but knew she longed for terribly. Home. A bittersweet sentiment now. One that felt more like a prison. It made her actually miss those filthy roads she sat at the side of. In comparison to this gilded cage and all its restrictive chains, that place offered whispers of freedom. Where her will could be her own, from the way she dressed and behaved to who it was she would spend the remainder of her life with. None would care there. She may have been nothing there, a worthless vagabond doomed to starvation and withering, but she would have been without what her mother had called familial duty. Death may have come, but it wouldn't find her an old woman, gray, aged and going blind from staring out a window all day. Watching the people unbound, becoming jealous of them. Telling the hours of the days forever by their comings and goings while she was kept under lock and key like her home was some ivory tower. Her heart began to skip - to race. What was keeping her here? She had already slipped the watch of Aethelos. A thing she assumed to be a brittle thread if only to keep the complacency of their father. Peace of mind he had said. What peace of mind to him would it be should she be murdered or not? Married or not? Present or not? It wouldn't be. The notion had her numbed fingers coiling into the dense fabric of the gown she'd donned, pulling her hooded shawl tighter. She would leave, a course of action she assumed she had taken before. There were no kidnappers, were there? No sickness. No, her body was far too healthy even after the weeks, perhaps even months of starvation she had faced in that coastal city to belong to some sickly frail wilting flower. She had run away. She had chosen to leave this life behind and be free. Something had happened though, something she could not recall. She would repeat it. She would vanish into the breaking day, but this time she would not be taken back into custody. “Afraid the shops don’t tend to open until about mid-morning. Might be a bit before anyone comes to set up.” She nearly swallowed her tongue as she gasped audibly, followed by a slight cough at the influx of frigid air. She whirled, boots nearly tripping over one another before she caught herself. Her face flushed as she looked upon the face of the one who had addressed her. A slight smile crossed her lips as her cheeks further burned, pale eyes turning downward. "F-forgive me. I-I must look f-foolish." Was it lost she looked? Lost, confused? Neither a wholly wrong description. “Were you trying to find something?” She bit the inside of her cheek slightly, vision returning to his face as she searched his countenance for a brief moment. "N-no. Not part-ticularly." She would pause, her mouth opening before closing, debating her next words somewhat carefully before simply settling on. "I'm just l-leaving." The words were just above a whisper regardless. YOUR TONGUE MUST BE SHARPER THAN THE THICK SKIN YOU MADE TO CUT ME
Her thoughts were elsewhere, anywhere but here in the abysmal chill that nipped at her even through the thick furs that cloaked her shoulders. Her mind had wandered back to the ship that bore her here from across the sea, to the comforting creak and groan of the futtock as the waves brushed against the hull. It had been calming, a blissful ride, a paradise compared to living on the sand bitten streets. The days had been hot, miserable. The nights were frigid, yet without the lack of powdered white that dappled these ones. She thought she had been found, that she was returning home. That her ordeals and tribulations would be over. She could still recall the immense confusion she had felt as her mother had held her face within her hands and spoke to her in a language she could only barely understand a scattered word of. How she had smiled as the word home kept creeping across her tongue. Home. A place she couldn't remember but knew she longed for terribly. Home. A bittersweet sentiment now. One that felt more like a prison. It made her actually miss those filthy roads she sat at the side of. In comparison to this gilded cage and all its restrictive chains, that place offered whispers of freedom. Where her will could be her own, from the way she dressed and behaved to who it was she would spend the remainder of her life with. None would care there. She may have been nothing there, a worthless vagabond doomed to starvation and withering, but she would have been without what her mother had called familial duty. Death may have come, but it wouldn't find her an old woman, gray, aged and going blind from staring out a window all day. Watching the people unbound, becoming jealous of them. Telling the hours of the days forever by their comings and goings while she was kept under lock and key like her home was some ivory tower. Her heart began to skip - to race. What was keeping her here? She had already slipped the watch of Aethelos. A thing she assumed to be a brittle thread if only to keep the complacency of their father. Peace of mind he had said. What peace of mind to him would it be should she be murdered or not? Married or not? Present or not? It wouldn't be. The notion had her numbed fingers coiling into the dense fabric of the gown she'd donned, pulling her hooded shawl tighter. She would leave, a course of action she assumed she had taken before. There were no kidnappers, were there? No sickness. No, her body was far too healthy even after the weeks, perhaps even months of starvation she had faced in that coastal city to belong to some sickly frail wilting flower. She had run away. She had chosen to leave this life behind and be free. Something had happened though, something she could not recall. She would repeat it. She would vanish into the breaking day, but this time she would not be taken back into custody. “Afraid the shops don’t tend to open until about mid-morning. Might be a bit before anyone comes to set up.” She nearly swallowed her tongue as she gasped audibly, followed by a slight cough at the influx of frigid air. She whirled, boots nearly tripping over one another before she caught herself. Her face flushed as she looked upon the face of the one who had addressed her. A slight smile crossed her lips as her cheeks further burned, pale eyes turning downward. "F-forgive me. I-I must look f-foolish." Was it lost she looked? Lost, confused? Neither a wholly wrong description. “Were you trying to find something?” She bit the inside of her cheek slightly, vision returning to his face as she searched his countenance for a brief moment. "N-no. Not part-ticularly." She would pause, her mouth opening before closing, debating her next words somewhat carefully before simply settling on. "I'm just l-leaving." The words were just above a whisper regardless. YOUR TONGUE MUST BE SHARPER THAN THE THICK SKIN YOU MADE
12-31-2023, 03:20 AM
i was a heavy heart to carry
THE DREADED MAN DOG!!!!!! At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honor on their brooms (Aidan Lynch on the back of Confolly's, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a bemused sort of way), Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, "Quietus." "They'll be talking about this one for years," he said hoarsely, "a really unexpected twist, that. . . . shame it couldn't have lasted longer. . . . Ah yes... . yes, I owe you. . . how much?" For Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched. Don't tell your mother you've been gambling," Mr. Weasley implored Fred and George as they all made their way slowly down the purple-carpeted stairs. "Don't worry, Dad," said Fred gleefully, "we've got big plans for this money. We don't want it confiscated." Mr. Weasley looked for a moment as though he was going to ask what these big plans were, but seemed to decide, upon reflection, that he didn't want to know. They were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Raucous singing was borne toward them on the night air as they retraced their steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over their heads, cackling and waving their lanterns. When they finally reached the tents, nobody felt like sleeping at all, and given the level of noise around them, Mr. Weasley agreed that they could all have one last cup of cocoa together before turning in. They were soon arguing enjoyably about the match; Mr. Weasley got drawn into a disagreement about cobbing with Charlie, and it was only when Ginny fell asleep right at the tiny table and spilled hot chocolate all over the floor that Mr. Weasley called a halt to the verbal replays and insisted that everyone go to bed. Hermione and Ginny went into the next tent, and Harry and the rest of the Weasleys changed into pajamas and clambered into their bunks. From the other side of the campsite they could still hear much singing and the odd echoing bang. "Oh I am glad I'm not on duty," muttered Mr. Weasley sleepily. "I wouldn't fancy having to go and tell the Irish they've got to stop celebrating." Harry, who was on a top bunk above Ron, lay staring up at the canvas ceiling of the tent, watching the glow of an occasional leprechaun lantern flying overhead, and picturing again some of Krum's more spectacular moves. He was itching to get back on his own Firebolt and try out the Wronski Feint. . . . Somehow Oliver Wood had never managed to convey with all his wriggling diagrams what that move was supposed to look like.. . . Harry saw himself in robes that had his name on the back, and imagined the sensation of hearing a hundred-thousand-strong crowd roar, as Ludo Bagman's voice echoed throughout the stadium, "I give you. . . Potter!" Harry never knew whether or not he had actually dropped off to sleep - his fantasies of flying like Krum might well have slipped into actual dreams - all he knew was that, quite suddenly, Mr. Weasley was shouting. "Get up! Ron - Harry - come on now, get up, this is urgent!" Harry sat up quickly and the top of his head hit canvas.
12-31-2023, 09:06 AM
At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honor on their brooms (Aidan Lynch on the back of Confolly's, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a bemused sort of way), Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, "Quietus." "They'll be talking about this one for years," he said hoarsely, "a really unexpected twist, that. . . . shame it couldn't have lasted longer. . . . Ah yes... . yes, I owe you. . . how much?" For Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched. Don't tell your mother you've been gambling," Mr. Weasley implored Fred and George as they all made their way slowly down the purple-carpeted stairs. "Don't worry, Dad," said Fred gleefully, "we've got big plans for this money. We don't want it confiscated." Mr. Weasley looked for a moment as though he was going to ask what these big plans were, but seemed to decide, upon reflection, that he didn't want to know. They were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Raucous singing was borne toward them on the night air as they retraced their steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over their heads, cackling and waving their lanterns. When they finally reached the tents, nobody felt like sleeping at all, and given the level of noise around them, Mr. Weasley agreed that they could all have one last cup of cocoa together before turning in. They were soon arguing enjoyably about the match; Mr. Weasley got drawn into a disagreement about cobbing with Charlie, and it was only when Ginny fell asleep right at the tiny table and spilled hot chocolate all over the floor that Mr. Weasley called a halt to the verbal replays and insisted that everyone go to bed. Hermione and Ginny went into the next tent, and Harry and the rest of the Weasleys changed into pajamas and clambered into their bunks. From the other side of the campsite they could still hear much singing and the odd echoing bang. "Oh I am glad I'm not on duty," muttered Mr. Weasley sleepily. "I wouldn't fancy having to go and tell the Irish they've got to stop celebrating." Harry, who was on a top bunk above Ron, lay staring up at the canvas ceiling of the tent, watching the glow of an occasional leprechaun lantern flying overhead, and picturing again some of Krum's more spectacular moves. He was itching to get back on his own Firebolt and try out the Wronski Feint. . . . Somehow Oliver Wood had never managed to convey with all his wriggling diagrams what that move was supposed to look like.. . . Harry saw himself in robes that had his name on the back, and imagined the sensation of hearing a hundred-thousand-strong crowd roar, as Ludo Bagman's voice echoed throughout the stadium, "I give you. . . Potter!" Harry never knew whether or not he had actually dropped off to sleep - his fantasies of flying like Krum might well have slipped into actual dreams - all he knew was that, quite suddenly, Mr. Weasley was shouting. "Get up! Ron - Harry - come on now, get up, this is urgent!" Harry sat up quickly and the top of his head hit canvas.
01-29-2024, 11:55 PM
A WREATH OF THORNS ADORNS THE DOOR
"I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," said Charlie, grinning, as he hugged Ginny good-bye.
"Why?" said Fred keenly. "You'll see," said Charlie. "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it.. . it's 'classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it,' after all." "Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year," said Bill, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train. "Why?" said George impatiently. "You're going to have an interesting year," said Bill, his eyes twinkling. "I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it." "A bit of what?" said Ron. But at that moment, the whistle blew, and Mrs. Weasley chivvied them toward the train doors. "Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione as they climbed on board, closed the door, and leaned out of the window to talk to her. "Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry. "Oh it was my pleasure, dears," said Mrs. Weasley. "I'd invite you for Christmas, but...well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with. . . one thing and another." "Mum!" said Ron irritably. "What d'you three know that we don't?" "You'll find out this evening, I expect," said Mrs. Weasley, smiling. "It's going to be very exciting - mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules -" "What rules?" said Harry, Ron, Fred, and George together. The pistons hissed loudly and the train began to move. "Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts!" Fred bellowed out of the window as Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie sped away from them. "What rules are they changing?" But Mrs. Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill, and Charlie had Disapparated. Harry, Ron, and Hermione went back to their compartment. The thick rain splattering the windows made it very difficult to see out of them. Ron undid his trunk, pulled out his maroon dress robes, and flung them over Pigwidgeon's cage to muffle his hooting. "Bagman wanted to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts," he said grumpily, sitting down next to Harry. "At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what --" "Shh!" Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing toward the compartment next to theirs. Harry and Ron listened, and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door. Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy's voice. "So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?" she said angrily. "I wish he had gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with him." NO ONE COMES HOME ANYMORE A WREATH OF THORNS ADORNS THE DOOR
"I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," said Charlie, grinning, as he hugged Ginny good-bye.
"Why?" said Fred keenly. "You'll see," said Charlie. "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it.. . it's 'classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it,' after all." "Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year," said Bill, hands in his pockets, looking almost wistfully at the train. "Why?" said George impatiently. "You're going to have an interesting year," said Bill, his eyes twinkling. "I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it." "A bit of what?" said Ron. But at that moment, the whistle blew, and Mrs. Weasley chivvied them toward the train doors. "Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione as they climbed on board, closed the door, and leaned out of the window to talk to her. "Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry. "Oh it was my pleasure, dears," said Mrs. Weasley. "I'd invite you for Christmas, but...well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with. . . one thing and another." "Mum!" said Ron irritably. "What d'you three know that we don't?" "You'll find out this evening, I expect," said Mrs. Weasley, smiling. "It's going to be very exciting - mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules -" "What rules?" said Harry, Ron, Fred, and George together. The pistons hissed loudly and the train began to move. "Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts!" Fred bellowed out of the window as Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie sped away from them. "What rules are they changing?" But Mrs. Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill, and Charlie had Disapparated. Harry, Ron, and Hermione went back to their compartment. The thick rain splattering the windows made it very difficult to see out of them. Ron undid his trunk, pulled out his maroon dress robes, and flung them over Pigwidgeon's cage to muffle his hooting. "Bagman wanted to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts," he said grumpily, sitting down next to Harry. "At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what --" "Shh!" Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing toward the compartment next to theirs. Harry and Ron listened, and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door. Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy's voice. "So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?" she said angrily. "I wish he had gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with him." NO ONE COMES HOME ANYMORE | |||
« Next Oldest | Next Newest »
|