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Sep. 1st, 2004 10:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
klenaIt was my first day back.
What the hell is going on with my life? My English teacher was talking to both my mum and dad and said she wanted me to go to Oxford (bloody OXFORD?!) and would talk to me when I got back to school.
Now Ms. Tobin, god bless her, is slightly 'out there' and I assumed she would forget.
First thing she said to me once she came back? "I have the prospectus for you." She and Alisha (6th Form supervisor) stopped me in the corridor and questioned me about going. They both believe that if I get to the interview stage, I'll walk it because I'm unconventional and most people fail that part because they're conventional.
I sound entirely ungrateful and all but it's my first day back. Last night I cried in bed because of the *thought* of leaving home. (I'm such a pansy)
I had great fun otherwise. People complemented me on the hair, I shouted at fighting first-years and 4 people have agreed to come to America with me at the end of the year. ^_^
That was good.
Now, my first ever Harry Potter fic. Took 30 minutes to write and is all over the place. Ladles and jellyspoons, I give you....
"Blood And Amber"
Blood and Amber
Pairings: Sirius/Remus
Setting: Azkaban, pre-books
Rating: NC-17 (or 15 if you're British)
Warnings: Blood, angst, hints of sex, insanity, language -- all the typical things that make fics great. ^_~
Summary: Sirius becomes lucid within Azkaban's walls and realises just how much he's lost.
It's rather like waking up after being knocked out.
Deep heavy gasps filtering through my muddled mind that seems full of smoke and leaden confusion and poker-hot pain. Moonlight shines in through strips of grey - dark as my hair --- why does my heart beat faster? Feelings, unknown due to lack of use, scratch and nip and tear at my veins. Struggle through the haze to find names despite the fact I've forgotten my own.
Fear. Anxiety. Love. Anger.
A roaring hole full of nothing and everything at once - legs no longer there - reaching, gasping, clawing for air, for a hand, for support. I find stone walls damp against my raw palms.
Where am I? The walls...blood stains? Mighty Merlin, are those MY hands?! But why---
Mist parts from my mind and I feel my heart drop to my stomach and then rocket up to my throat. Drowning in air and the gap of things I once knew.
Years that twist into moments - just moments - like this and I beg anyone who
listens to allow me my sanity for just a while longer but all who hear me are Them who find my lucidity amusing...
They find my pain even more so.
Memories bridge the time from there to now - have I been here years? Nails so sharp they could slice the moon from the sky and I want to, I want to cut the moon down and never see the sun or the moon again but particularly the moon because it reminds me of memories that are like wisps of mist and hot breath against my skin
---Kisses against my neck, hot hands desperately roaming over flesh -'Amah, there! FUCK!' - White hot heat building in me ----
They (Dementors my mind supplies far too easily) rush to me, sensing my memories - hope (odd, I wonder, [deja vu tingling the realisation that this is not the first time I have thought this but I am empty of this memory] do Dementors hope? Nightmare wraiths that steal such goodness find they hope?) for joy to suck from my skull leaving me.
I know.
I am their marionette.
Theirs to play with as they will.
A doll to steal from.
A doll to scoop hollow.
Something about this image --- lustful eyes meeting mine --- I wish to hold. I take my claws and dig deep - pain - hot release - warm liquid over skin that I do not recognise as my own...
...The blood seals the memory into my skin and washes it away. A memory - faint - of parchment? paper? that washed away its secret until needed. The Dementors leave, disappointed at the lack of a meal
I stare at the wounds I caused for minutes - hours? days? - before really seeing them. The skin was so easy to puncture. Skin already raw - those were scars already. (Did I do that?)
No, one of the voices in my head that doesn't sound like my own answers. The voice, scholarly and wise and affectionate, admits they were the cause of those scars that taste like blood and magic and sex.
The voice continues to sooth me but I glance at the moon and it cries in pain - too loud, like knives in my ears, and I cry out too only to find I have no voice -
----Laughter like a dog barking, wistful eyes fill my vision, promises that I never meant to be broken, 'only for you', stolen kisses from lips already swollen from too many, 'I wish-', dead smell of despair sharp as winter morning breezes, '-y'know I'd rip it from the sky if you wanted me too' ----
With the voice silent, I hear the screams. A voice, half-familiar to a mind that knows nothing, screams but with laughter. She is alone in her laughter but louder cries, like a new born pup, screams like a baby that swallow light hit me --
--A baby.
...Someone...close
to me...
My charge...hazel eyes behind
large glasses...
worry I wouldn’t accept
--- lightning green eyes
under red locks...
I can't remember...
My wand? Where the fuck is my wand?!
"YOU KILLED THEM!"
Screams of a dirty rat - the reason I'm here.
The child is the reason I'm here.
The eyes...
New eyes - neither shocking green nor mischievous hazel - burn into my eyes although I think they've been with me forever. Amber, light as the sun, dark as my soul. Lips I remember. Lips I kissed a hundred thousand times. Elegant hands that fitted my own so perfectly.
So beautiful but he could never see it.
I made him, in the dark of the night, with kisses and feather touches and thrusts and screams of pleasure and words uttered for the joy to blossom on his face.
I loved him.
I just wish I could remember who he was.
What the hell is going on with my life? My English teacher was talking to both my mum and dad and said she wanted me to go to Oxford (bloody OXFORD?!) and would talk to me when I got back to school.
Now Ms. Tobin, god bless her, is slightly 'out there' and I assumed she would forget.
First thing she said to me once she came back? "I have the prospectus for you." She and Alisha (6th Form supervisor) stopped me in the corridor and questioned me about going. They both believe that if I get to the interview stage, I'll walk it because I'm unconventional and most people fail that part because they're conventional.
I sound entirely ungrateful and all but it's my first day back. Last night I cried in bed because of the *thought* of leaving home. (I'm such a pansy)
I had great fun otherwise. People complemented me on the hair, I shouted at fighting first-years and 4 people have agreed to come to America with me at the end of the year. ^_^
That was good.
Now, my first ever Harry Potter fic. Took 30 minutes to write and is all over the place. Ladles and jellyspoons, I give you....
"Blood And Amber"
Blood and Amber
Pairings: Sirius/Remus
Setting: Azkaban, pre-books
Rating: NC-17 (or 15 if you're British)
Warnings: Blood, angst, hints of sex, insanity, language -- all the typical things that make fics great. ^_~
Summary: Sirius becomes lucid within Azkaban's walls and realises just how much he's lost.
It's rather like waking up after being knocked out.
Deep heavy gasps filtering through my muddled mind that seems full of smoke and leaden confusion and poker-hot pain. Moonlight shines in through strips of grey - dark as my hair --- why does my heart beat faster? Feelings, unknown due to lack of use, scratch and nip and tear at my veins. Struggle through the haze to find names despite the fact I've forgotten my own.
Fear. Anxiety. Love. Anger.
A roaring hole full of nothing and everything at once - legs no longer there - reaching, gasping, clawing for air, for a hand, for support. I find stone walls damp against my raw palms.
Where am I? The walls...blood stains? Mighty Merlin, are those MY hands?! But why---
Mist parts from my mind and I feel my heart drop to my stomach and then rocket up to my throat. Drowning in air and the gap of things I once knew.
Years that twist into moments - just moments - like this and I beg anyone who
listens to allow me my sanity for just a while longer but all who hear me are Them who find my lucidity amusing...
They find my pain even more so.
Memories bridge the time from there to now - have I been here years? Nails so sharp they could slice the moon from the sky and I want to, I want to cut the moon down and never see the sun or the moon again but particularly the moon because it reminds me of memories that are like wisps of mist and hot breath against my skin
---Kisses against my neck, hot hands desperately roaming over flesh -'Amah, there! FUCK!' - White hot heat building in me ----
They (Dementors my mind supplies far too easily) rush to me, sensing my memories - hope (odd, I wonder, [deja vu tingling the realisation that this is not the first time I have thought this but I am empty of this memory] do Dementors hope? Nightmare wraiths that steal such goodness find they hope?) for joy to suck from my skull leaving me.
I know.
I am their marionette.
Theirs to play with as they will.
A doll to steal from.
A doll to scoop hollow.
Something about this image --- lustful eyes meeting mine --- I wish to hold. I take my claws and dig deep - pain - hot release - warm liquid over skin that I do not recognise as my own...
...The blood seals the memory into my skin and washes it away. A memory - faint - of parchment? paper? that washed away its secret until needed. The Dementors leave, disappointed at the lack of a meal
I stare at the wounds I caused for minutes - hours? days? - before really seeing them. The skin was so easy to puncture. Skin already raw - those were scars already. (Did I do that?)
No, one of the voices in my head that doesn't sound like my own answers. The voice, scholarly and wise and affectionate, admits they were the cause of those scars that taste like blood and magic and sex.
The voice continues to sooth me but I glance at the moon and it cries in pain - too loud, like knives in my ears, and I cry out too only to find I have no voice -
----Laughter like a dog barking, wistful eyes fill my vision, promises that I never meant to be broken, 'only for you', stolen kisses from lips already swollen from too many, 'I wish-', dead smell of despair sharp as winter morning breezes, '-y'know I'd rip it from the sky if you wanted me too' ----
With the voice silent, I hear the screams. A voice, half-familiar to a mind that knows nothing, screams but with laughter. She is alone in her laughter but louder cries, like a new born pup, screams like a baby that swallow light hit me --
--A baby.
...Someone...close
to me...
My charge...hazel eyes behind
large glasses...
worry I wouldn’t accept
--- lightning green eyes
under red locks...
I can't remember...
My wand? Where the fuck is my wand?!
"YOU KILLED THEM!"
Screams of a dirty rat - the reason I'm here.
The child is the reason I'm here.
The eyes...
New eyes - neither shocking green nor mischievous hazel - burn into my eyes although I think they've been with me forever. Amber, light as the sun, dark as my soul. Lips I remember. Lips I kissed a hundred thousand times. Elegant hands that fitted my own so perfectly.
So beautiful but he could never see it.
I made him, in the dark of the night, with kisses and feather touches and thrusts and screams of pleasure and words uttered for the joy to blossom on his face.
I loved him.
I just wish I could remember who he was.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-01 05:40 pm (UTC)And Oxford?? Holy shazzam, you go, girl.
You should come to America when there's a good anime con going on so we can all go together!
no subject
Date: 2004-09-02 12:20 pm (UTC)Oxford I know. ^_^ I'm getting slightly used to the idea.
We're thinking of being in Florida during the first 2 weeks of August. Any then? Yay, convention!
no subject
Date: 2004-09-02 01:34 pm (UTC)