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19 July 2005 @ 10:46 pm
Title: Sail To The Moon (3/14 for Radiohead.)
Disclaimer: All mine.
Rating: PG-13
Note: This was thrown down while I cleaned my room. It's quite short, but, eh. At least it's original.
i spoke too soon.Collapse )
Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Suck The Moon- Radiohead
14 July 2005 @ 11:28 pm
Title: Sit Down Stand Up (2/14 for Radiohead.)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Pansy/Remus, mention of Remus/Sirius.
Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me, all of it belongs to JK Rowling.
Rating: PG-13
Note: I wrote this with a headache, now I am cranky. Boo. Last fic before HBP!!!! Eww, this is teh crap. NOT like I don't say that everytime.
Warnings: This is not too violent, but at the end I stopped just before it would have been. It's AU for character death.

look into the jaws of hellCollapse )
Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: Sit Down Stand Up - Radiohead
09 July 2005 @ 03:01 am
Title: 2+2=5 (1/14 for the Goo Goo Dolls.)
Fandom: Original Fiction
Pairing: N/A
Disclaimer: ALL MINE, BITCHES.
Rating: PG
Note: This is way short because I don't like this song and want it out of the way. I didn't really think about this as I wrote it, I just kind of did it.

It's not that he doesn't want to trust her.Collapse )
Current Mood: tiredtired
Current Music: nothing anymore
09 July 2005 @ 02:31 am
Title: Broadway(3/13 for the Goo Goo Dolls.)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing:Harry, Remus, mention of Remus/Sirius
Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me, all of it belongs to JK Rowling.
Rating: PG
Note: Ouch, late with this. But the next one is way soon. THIS IS SO ANGSTY! This piece is like angst central.

Voldemort is not going to just sit back on a throne made of your bones and have Bellatrix feed him grapes, Harry.Collapse )
Current Mood: boredbored
Current Music: Broadway- Goo Goo Dolls
29 June 2005 @ 11:23 am
She had often pondered the possibility that time could slip past its boundaries and become something other than just those hours one through twelve, repeated in an endless loop for all time. Sometimes people believe things to be so simply because they have been told that this is the way it is and that there are no alternatives. The mind can take over, and make one blind to other possibilities, but she knew better. She knew that sometimes the Witching Hour can stretch itself like sweet taffy, and wander on into hour thirteen. It is in that hour that true perception can begin.

She knew that she remembered nights after the candles had grown weary and extinguished themselves and she had fallen half asleep herself.... nights like this one where she hovered in between waking and sleeping and breathed air that was not air and heard sounds that were not sounds. Nights when he would materialize just beyond the grasp of her peripheral vision.... the dark angel that wasn't really an angel at all. She only thought of him as such because he had sweeping wings made of shadows that would stir the air from time to time as he spoke to her of many things.... of glass.... of the nature of being. It was the attempt of a limited human mind to make sense of the limitless.

It was right then when the last candle died, that she sensed he was present. She once more heard the sighing of the wings that were not of this world, and she heard him announce himself in his clarion voice. "My name is Malloreth. I am a reflection from beyond the pale. This night marks the conclusion of your education."

I knew my mind was still with me. I have only been growing navy blue wings and learning how to use them.

He went on to explain to her the nature of good and evil and how they are actually the same thing. They are simply two sides to the same coin.... mirror images of each other. Dark is merely light turned inside-out and upside-down so that you cannot see how bright it truly is. It takes a sharper intellect to see the beauty in darkness, but once you do, you never lose the ability. It is like learning to read a mirror language.... like learning to find your way in an alternate reality that simply follows the shadows of all the same rules. The day that you learn this, is the day that you find salvation and are able to become more than your shell.... to move on beyond the veil you wear each day of your mortal existence.

And my veil never really fit, did it. I never was able to stop myself from trying to see past the edges.

He spoke of how his name follows this same rule. Malloreth is actually "salvation" spelled backwards and translated into the language of the mirror realm. The otherworldly sighing of his wings is actually the rustling of earthly feathers heard in reverse. The aura of sticky-sweet darkness about him feels dark because it is an aura of light reversed, yet reversed only. He is an alternate view of salvation, yet salvation all the same, and he has come here this night to save her.

It's true. You are opium with teeth. You bite and devour, yet I feel no pain. Maybe pain itself is part of the lie. I can see my blood flowing out of my body and transforming itself. It is blood no longer.... it is cinnabar... and I feel so awake.

He is writing her name on the back of her heart. He is spelling it backward and transforming it into its mirror. She no longer remembers what it was when seen through the veil, but now it is Elaya Moria. She was Elaya on the day of her birth, and she is Elaya again now on the day of her mortal death. On some level, she was Elaya all along and she knew this somewhere hidden.... somewhere within.... miles behind her eyes.

"But they have always told me that dying would hurt. It would feel cold.... not warm like this. Like cherries. Like cinnabar," she says.

"I am so very sorry to tell you this," he replies, "but they have been lying to you your whole life. After all, dying is nothing more than being born in reverse."

Original piece written by Shannon Hilson (cat_the_knife) and inspired by the song "Sweet the Sting" from the album The Beekeeper by Tori Amos.
Current Mood: creative
24 June 2005 @ 02:33 am

From now on, ohruby is taking over for gracelessfatale. All entries under gracelessfatale are now to be regarded as the property of ohruby , who will be posting the rest of the Goo Goo Dolls and Cruel Intentions fic.

Sorry for the switch.

Current Mood: depresseddepressed
Current Music: Wild Horses- The Sundays (on repeat)
23 June 2005 @ 08:02 pm
Let me mention again that you:

MUST COMMENT ON THE FIRST ENTRY IN THIS COMMUNITY WITH THE CD YOU PLAN TO USE BEFORE YOU ASK TO JOIN. If you don't, your request will be denied. If you don't want to write but you do want to read, just friend the community.

Thank you.
23 June 2005 @ 02:46 am
Title: Slide (2/13 for the Goo Goo Dolls)
Fandom: N/A , original fiction
Rating: G
Note: It's Vail!fic, which I've actually never written before. YAY! This is actually slightly creepy, now that I think about it. But it's ok, 'cause it ain't at all in any way porny. But I really have no idea what goes on in Vail's head , so this is all basically just using Vail's name. What's interesting, to me, is how when I read back on it, I had worked my own bizarre little "EVERYONE HATES ME AND I HAVE NO FRIENDS." fears into the third paragraph. And ew, this is terrible. I hate this.

I wanna wake up where you are, I won't say anything at all.Collapse )
Current Mood: awake
Current Music: nothing
21 June 2005 @ 03:11 pm
The greys once had a beauty in their very variety, but they were still dead. They had no scent.... no breath.... no life force to sustain the hungry. They clung like damp mist, and choked like fine dust that collected a little at a time when he turned his back and lost himself. They colored all the world and its people. They hung in the sky in the winter time like spirit lies. They made him forget the song that was playing in his heart the day he was born and he could not allow that.

On the first day, the Day of the Moon, he gathered the emerald from the scales of snakes and the sapphire from the mighty Aegean and created green.... created blue. He painted an expanse of green that rolled on for miles.... a brook as blue as Phoebe's eyes. He painted the brook's voice with the laughter of sparrows and the soft of the grass with peach skins.

On the second day, the Day of Tears, he gathered the strength of fire ants and the courage of the innocent and used it to paint the barks and the boughs of the trees standing tall in the glade. He gave them the wisdom of stones and the eyes of the eagles with which to stand sentinel.

On the third day, the Day of the Wind, he painted the planets out of ground scarab's wings, which made them sparkle, and dragon's fire which made them ageless. He used his brush to tap out the stars in pearl and the Milky Way in cobwebs.

On the fourth day, the Day of Change, he painted aster flowers growing in the grass with pigment drawn from the footprints of fairies and the dreams of oysters just before they create their pearls. They smelled of peace and pure intentions, and filled the air with their sleepy, liquid fragrance.

On the fifth day, the Day of Knowledge, he grew lonely, and used the aster flowers of the day before to give breath to a creature of great beauty. He painted her hair with the silk of butterfly wings, and painted nine dew drops in it to make it shine in the sun. He painted her lips with the blood of poppies and her hands with the wings of doves. He seated her in the meadow, and in her left hand he placed a parasol to preserve her delicate features from the talons of the jealous sun so she could forever laugh in the face of time.

On the sixth day, the Day of the Circle, he painted his own image into the middle of his living creation. He painted his face with the understanding of the owl, and his heart with the patience of the crane. As he painted his own image, he began to disappear from the world of the greys and their smothering dusts one thought at a time. At last when his work was complete, he sat down in the meadow beside the woman made of aster flowers, and he knew safety when she shared the shade of her parasol with him.

On the seventh day, the Day of the Sun, he found he had regained memory of his origins, and he knew the sound of his voice again. He could once again recall the songs he had forgotten upon being born into the grey... because they were of a language that can only be sung in a world of swift and laughing color by one who has discovered he has the power to become his own god.

Original piece written by Shannon Hilson (cat_the_knife) and inspired by the song "Parasol" from the album The Beekeeper by Tori Amos.
Current Mood: creative
21 June 2005 @ 01:41 pm
Title: Politik
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/?, Harry/Sirius, Harry/Lucius, and references to Harry/Draco
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine (with one exception). They All belong to JK Rowling.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, Masturbation, Rimming, Character Death, Weirdness
Note: It was past 3 AM when I started writing this. It got to a point where I was giggling at everything. If something doesnt make sense or there are some obvious typos, just let me know. I'm sorry in advance.

PolitikCollapse )
Current Music: Politik ~ Coldplay