Paying A DebtDr. Lawn painstakingly wiped down each tool with rubbing alcohol and a clean towel before quietly laying them back in the loops sewn into the piece of black felt. It had been one of the oddest births he had ever dealt with, no doubt about it.Paying A Debt4 years ago in Humor More Like This
Certainly the best attended by the public, at any rate, he told himself, listening to the murmur of voices and shuffle of boots out in the hall. And downstairs. If it weren’t bad enough that you had to wade through half the City Watch, there were even a few senior wizards milling around down there, too. Still, it had come in handy. He hadn’t had to peel the father up off the carpet by himself, he had sent one of the Lance-Constables back to Twinkle Street to prevent the turkey from turning into charcoal, a second snifter of extremely fine, extremely old brandy hadn’t exactly been hard to come by, most of the cleaning up had been done before he had even been required to nag about it and if he needed or wanted anything, all
CongratulationsIt was quite possibly the first time in his memory that he could recall Sybil being speechless. Actually speechless. At a complete loss for words, even if it was just for a second. She was a woman, though, who could accept a bunch of dead rats graciously. You didn't knock her off kilter for long. She blinked and recovered herself. "I'm sorry... you want to do what, exactly?"Congratulations4 years ago in Humor More Like This
There was some complicated gesturing and some soft "ook" noises. A couple of soulful dark eyes looked up earnestly from a soft innertube of a face that looked a size too big for the owner.
"Well... I suppose you can feel free to try. I can't guarantee anything will happen, though," Sybil admitted, putting down the empty punch cup and moving her arms back to her sides. A large, hairy hand with long fingers rested lightly on the prominent round swell of Sybil's belly and the Librarian's face settled into careful concentration and stillness. He had the serious air of a safe cracker. After nearly a minute, there was an
25th MayLettuce is green,25th May2 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Bacon is red,
She put some extra on his bread.
Lilacs are violet,
He sees them bloom.
Scenes from the past and a song start to loom:
…”How do they rise up?”…
All their lives have gone to waste.
His BLT now lost it’s taste.
With the song in his head he wanders away,
It’s always the same, on that one special day.
Bad Day Sam Vimes would be the first to admit that he was not exactly sensitive. Or perceptive, for that matter, at least when it came to being a husband. He had often counted himself lucky that, at least when all else failed, Sybil tended to just speak up plainly rather than fume and pout at him and expect him to figure it out. It didn't hurt that she generally got her way and he was usually glad to give it to her, but on the odd occasions where they didn't agree and both of them felt strongly enough about it to argue, it all still typically worked out in the end easily enough. Even if he did still put up a fight about things like dress uniforms and receptions, because if he didn't, he wouldn't be Sam Vimes, he actually saw why she put her foot down about such things. He would sooner die than actually admit it, and Sybil probably already knew that, but at least she wasn't smug about it.Bad Day5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Lucky for him, too, that she had an easy going and generous and forgiving na
drunken sinners1.drunken sinners2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the sky had bled introverted colors of
reds and purples,
like some drunken painter had decided to
declare his independence.
you kissed her pale pink lips,
and i thought about why you'd love such a
the liquor was golden and gleaming
in your rusty
and your voice after you drank a glass
was grunge and grey and
you were different afterwards.
like someone had lacerated out your heart
from your chest and left it beating in my
you were combing through the bible like
an unread diary,
and i could see jesus's disapproving face from your
you were sinning and
you were also adam and i was eve
and we were both damned to
BreatheYou inhaled herBreathe2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
And exhaled me
Taking in deap slow breathes
But breathing out fast
When she holds you
You breathe her in
With each moan
Every time you say her name
You exhale me
In time back I filled your lungs
I was spreading
I was in your cells
I traveled into your muscles
I made your heart beat
With each beat you took more of me
You could feel me
I was in your being
I was part of you
I didn't mind
Ocean,I'm pouring the lake at you again;Ocean,1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
to speak the river and swill the crick with you
where all waters flow to and they've crowned you
would find our what-if miracles in a far-off land
in empty bottles under swollen rocks
trickling caves, island curtains and lighthouses
with us so divided by the waves;
let's find our thrones and bind the world to our ankles
with roots and swim regardless
then spree hardship so
our eyes will be just foam in the grace of what they see
as the sun sets and we sing each others' worlds
to forget each others' names.
let go, little bird--hope is the tired little bird at the bottom of your heart, the one whose tiny wings are broken and bleeding, the one that won't stop flapping uselessly at the sky, like it's going to take off, take off dammit, even when it's fading by the second and dying in a heap of feathers, and it breaks your heart to see the optimistic flame still sparkling in such innocent eyes.let go, little bird--4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
i'm writing this to tell you that i don't know what i need. i'm writing this because i can't pull any fancy metaphors from the back of my throat to save my pride this time. i'm writing this to see the look on your face when you wake up and wonder why i keep running away.
hope is the thing with feathers, my broken baby bird. hope is the trust in those newborn eyes that makes you burst out sobbing although you never know why. it's the razor-sharp edge between happiness and pain, the line you try to fly on crippled wings, my little bird, just to save someone stronger from having to walk it for themselves.
blood typethere is something haunting about the way blood flows.blood type2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
just think - all that crimson coursing through you,
scribing calligraphy inside your gut.
through your arms, through your heart.
it paints promises across the canvas of your innards, saying:
i promise to take time, to give you as much as you need.
i promise to stay warm even when chills tickle your spinal cord.
when blades threaten to sharpen themselves like buffers across your skin,
i will flow slowly, giving them a chance to see the light in your bones.
i promise to stay powerful.
i promise to stay abundant.
i promise to stay holy.
i will weave through your veins,
craft myself into a villanelle to savor your breath,
so that if you ever decide to drain me by your own 2 hands,
you can read my words and know that you are not worthless.
The Road Not Taken - part 1Finding CiceroThe Road Not Taken - part 12 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
A/N: This is an AU of the Cicero Dragonborn AU, with spoilers for All Skyrim's Foes. Which started out as a plot bunny, except it was Cicero centred so it turned into a rabid bunny with big pointy teeth. So I wrote a summary on my journal and then Heiwako talked me into writing it properly. It's more of an ongoing open-ended project than a strict story so won't get updated terribly often, but it's here. Basically it's what happened if Kodlak had been a bit more persistent in finding Stelmaria, and starts when Cicero is a tiny wee four year old in the Imperial City who is already a little obsessed with sneaking, stabbing and the big dragon statue in Talos Plaza...
1st Frostfall, 165 4E, Tiber Septim Plaza, Imperial City, Cyrodiil
Go to Cyrodiil, Askar had said. Honour demands you at least try and find out what happened to her, Askar had said. The Imperials keep records of everything, and the Legion's even more pedantic, Askar had said. Try the b
Still-life.The best of my paintings:Still-life.2 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
the hum of
a sad piano,
a morning cigarette,
and a graveside angel;
all I ever wanted.
Feelings with no namesi.Feelings with no names2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The feeling you get the day after sending a letter, and you know there is no possible way that the recipient has received your message yet, let alone formulated time to write a reply, but you still get just a little hopeful when you hear the mailman drive by and rush out to the postbox a little too quickly and are disappointed by the pile of free coupons, bills, charity flyers, and a late Christmas card from Grandma Moses.
The noise of a faraway car driving late at night, or perhaps early in the morning, in that sleepy place somewhere between consciousness and dreaming where everything is warm and vaguely fuzzy. The remote sound of tires on asphalt speaks to a sense of curiosity – where are they going? Why so early? – but the blankets are so heavy, your eyes are so heavy, and before you can wonder anymore, the car is long gone and you are long gone, carving out a hollow place to rest in just a few hours more.
A sudden awareness that occurs during funerals that y
Don't Write While You're Highwhere the scenesDon't Write While You're High2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
blend too seamlessly
to the next glance:
our twoselves soon rising
up-through white fibers—
from the thick of reality:
oilslicks slipping up-along
when later looking back: the lost
incompatible with water but—
we sought fewer thoughts
An hourglass between his knucklesHe quit smoking because heAn hourglass between his knuckles1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
didn’t like the taste of his own
mortality; bitter, brackish, black
as his lungs. Didn’t like the pull
of nicotine, ashy fingers,
the way a cigarette looked like
an hourglass pinched between his knuckles.
The ashtray began
to fill up again after his wife
died. Every day at first; an entire
pack after her funeral; a box
every three days; one flicker
of light in the evenings spent leaning
on the balcony railing,
watching the city go by through
a veil of smoke and memories.
I bought a pack for him once, just
to use my ID for something.
It’s still sitting on his coffee
table, one cigarette short.
you lied the night you kissed me.there is a thick exhaustion in the pit of my stomach, spreading to my shouldersyou lied the night you kissed me.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
till they hang and to my knees until they buckle. and I will sleep for days on end,
and when I wake up I didn't really.
I hate you dear, I hate you so.
because there is so much to do, I could travel to the other side of the country and
paint a portrait of a stranger and I could sit on top of someone's roof and look at the
stars with a boy I don't want to know and I could fall asleep in his bed and listen to
him playing guitar without clothes and he'd take me out for diner and anywhere I'd
want to go and we'd have sex in his car and on the trampoline in my back yard and
we'd eat at my grandparents with Christmas and it would never be enough because
he's everything you weren't.
I think I lost myself, I think I fell out that time you ran away holding onto me and my
skin tore. I looked for her in that empty hole in your chest cavity, but all I found was
lost so long ago, and you wouldn't show me where it went b
End resultI've fought,End result2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
Tired of pain.
When all I ever did,
Was try to be,
But the world,
And they took,
How they think.
Never does my faith,
Of His plan.
Cold HeartedI'm tearing them down,Cold Hearted2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Piece by piece.
Let the walls fall,
Let the pain increase.
I stare my pain in the face,
Let it rip me a part.
Show what I've always feared,
In the depths of my cold heart.
I review my lack of care,
All the people that I've hurt.
When did I become so cold?
When did loved ones turn to dirt?
What happened to me?
Once so loving and kind.
When did it get so bad?
Did I suddenly lose my mind?
I want to trust again,
To love and to care,
But is the risk to high?
Is the cost of pain fair?
I realize that it's not.
I'm safe within my walls.
So much better to be cold,
Then to get hurt in the fall.
Note to SelfDate a librarian; they'll read you until your spine falls apart, and still love every page. They'll underline your highlights, your endless seas of profound poetry, as if they've mistaken your manatee appearance for a mermaid. They'll hang off the cliff of your chapter 15 and dive into the next page as if you're about to reveal what they've been looking for. And when they don't find it, they'll tear out your words letter by letter with a hush, asking you oh so sweetly to stay quiet. Finally, they'll bind your broken spine with tape and set you on the shelf for misplaced books until they forget you were ever there, but they won't be done with you. They'll never be done with you; even when it seems your pages, your rib cage and heart, is filled with nothing but dust.Note to Self7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
Flaking Photographs We see the greatnessFlaking Photographs2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
of faces belittled
in little boxes
revelation.we whisper our prayersrevelation.2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
in a cathedral of sheets
because we do not know
how to forgive
or be forgiven.
are made to a doctor
who keeps a record
of our wrongs
neatly tucked in her files
because she knows
become our altars,
our "hail mary"s
handed to pharmacists
in exchange for
of our souls.
to force ourselves
high and higher,
that we have been given
we have chosen
to be slaves,
to rebind ourselves
in our chains.
to turn the wine
i tell you
the body and brain
will not remain,
the eyes will lose their vision,
the hands their precision,
the ears the sound of earthly song,
the taste of indulgence on the tongue.
faith, at last, will begin to decay,
our hope revealed as the only way,
and we will
to the promise
Cross Stitch CloudsLike a counted cross stitch masterpiece,Cross Stitch Clouds6 months ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
threads of purple clouds unravel
across a flaming sunrise.