darkhairedgirl: ("Some days the body count will)
Title: Runs in the Family
Pairing: Justin Finch-Fletchley/Pansy Parkinson
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1000
Summary: “You waited two weeks to bring it in. How do I know this isn’t meant to throw us off your father’s trail?”
Author's Notes: 3/13. Title from Amanda Palmer. At some point I’ll need to do a big “what I’ve been up to” post, seeing as it's been....what, almost a whole year since? In the meantime, there’s this. :o)
I can't help where I come from )
darkhairedgirl: (not your year)
Title: Yesterday's Papers
Pairing: Justin/Pansy
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1000
Summary: "'Ogden's,' he says, 'Straight. And leave the bottle.'"
Author's Notes: Second in a series of thirteen prompts from the tables at [livejournal.com profile] rarepair_shorts. Title comes from the Rolling Stones song of the same name.

yesterday's papers are such bad news, same thing applies to me and you )
darkhairedgirl: ("Some days the body count will)
Traveler -- Heather Sommer

Your first time out of the country
of your own skin, I didn't bring a map.

You always hated that I'd been lucky
enough to pick my way through streets

I couldn't pronounce to find cathedrals,
graveyards. If you were a city, you said,

I'd only like to know your suburbs.

If you were a city, I said, I'd like to know
your poor neighborhoods, you inner parts.

Read your graffiti. Drink your tap water.
Feel your smog and dirt stick to my sweat.

Hear your orchestra of sirens and gunshots.
I'd know which of your streets to walk.

If you were a city, I'd expect to be robbed.

10 Honest Thoughts On Being Loved By A Skinny Boy -- Rachel Wiley

I say, 'I am fat.'
He says 'No, you are beautiful.'
I wonder why I cannot be both.
He kisses me

My college theater professor once told me
that despite my talent,
I would never be cast as a romantic lead.
We do plays that involve singing animals
and children with the ability to fly,
but apparently no one
has enough willing suspension of disbelief
to go with anyone loving a fat girl.
I daydream regularly
about fucking my boyfriend vigorously on his front lawn.

On the mornings I do not feel pretty,
while he is still asleep,
I sit on the floor and check the pockets of his skinny jeans for motive,
for a punchline,
for other girls' phone numbers.

When we hold hands in public,
I wonder if he notices the looks --
like he is handling a parade balloon on a crowded sidewalk;
if he notices that my hands are now made of rope.

Dear Cosmo: Fuck you.
I will not take sex tips from you
on how to please a man you think I do not deserve.

He tells me he loves me with the lights on.

I can cup his hip bone in my hand,
feel his ribs without pressing very hard at all.
He does not believe me when I tell him he is beautiful.
Sometimes I fear the day he does will be the day he leaves.

The cute hipster girl at the coffee shop
assumes we are just friends
and flirts over the counter.
I spend the next two weeks
mentally replacing myself with her
in all of our photographs.
When I admit this to him
we spend the evening taking new photos together.
He will not let me delete a single one of them.

The phrase "Big girls need love too" can die in a fire.
Fucking me does not require an asterisk.
Loving me is not a fetish.
Finding me beautiful is not a novelty.
I am not a fucking novelty.

I say, 'I am fat.'
He says, 'No. You are so much more,'
and kisses me

I the Woman -- Sandra Cisneros

the Thursday
the poor
I am she
I'm dark
in the veins
I'm hip
and good skin
and sharp tooth
the air
I'm lightbeam
no stopping me

I am
your temporary
your own
I am
a live
one earring
in the car
a finger-
on skin
the black smoke
in your
and in

Here's What Our Parents Never Taught Us -- Shinji Moon

Here's what our parents never taught us:

You will stay up on your rooftop until sunlight peels away the husk of the moon,
chainsmoking cigarettes and reading Baudelaire, and
you will learn that you only ever want to fall in love with someone
who will stay up to watch the sun rise with you.

You will fall in love with train rides, and sooner or later you will
realize that nowhere seems like home anymore.

A woman will kiss you and you'll think her lips are two petals
rubbing against your mouth.

You will not tell anyone that you liked it.
It's okay.
It is beautiful to love humans in a world where love is a metaphor for lust.

You can leave if you want, with only your skin as a carry-on.

All you need is a twenty in your pocket and a bus ticket.
All you need is someone on the other end of the map, thinking about the supple
curves of your body, to guide you to a home that stretches out for miles
and miles on end.

You will lie to everyone you love.
They will love you anyways.

One day you'll wake up and realize that you are too big for your own skin.

Don't be afraid.

Your body is a house where the shutters blow in and out
against the windowpane.

You are a hurricane-prone area.
The glass will break through often.

But it's okay. I promise.

a stranger once told you that the breeze
here is something worth writing poems about.
darkhairedgirl: (like magic)

Title: This Woman's Work
Pairing: Justin Finch-Fletchley/Pansy Parkinson
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1000
Summary: "Pansy knows she's fallen far, and after the day she's had, it shows."
Author's Notes: Title from Maxwell. First in a series of thirteen prompts from [livejournal.com profile] rarepair_shorts, and part of an ongoing effort to get my headcanon for these two down on paper once and for all. Really, anything that gets me writing is a good thing, right? :)

I know you have a little life in you yet )

darkhairedgirl: ("Some days the body count will)
fuck off.

realize that time machines
were built
for richstraightwhite men who have
never feared walking down
the street at night.

smoke cigarettes with the luxury
of knowing that
they'll kill you someday.

throw away your record players
and smash your vinyls into bits
and recognize
that the jagged edges are
nowhere near as rough as the past

(also, just fucking download spotify already).

get dressed how you want
and eat what you want
and marry who you want
and learn what you want
just because you can.

that whalebone corset looks
prettier tucked away
in the glass case of a museum
than it would wrapped around
your middle
squeezing the breath from your lungs
and the roses blooming in your cheeks.

swallow pills instead of
biting your tongue.
you won't be left in the gutter
or locked away in a tower,
I promise.

money was always
hard to come by.

if you're unhappy with where
you are,

we can fly, these days.

darkhairedgirl: (love love love)

Title: Right As Rain
Pairing: Charlie Weasley/Parvati Patil, background Charlie/Unidentified Lady Friend, Parvati/Anthony Goldstein
Rating: PG-15 (for sexual situations).
Word Count: 1400

Summary: It's not permanent. It's never been.
Author's Notes: The title is a line from the Adele song of the same name. Prompts are from a generator, and written for the Number Game Ficathon on [livejournal.com profile] rarepair_shorts.

no room in my bed, as far as I'm concerned, so wipe that dirty smile off )
darkhairedgirl: (mistake)

HP Rare-Pair Challenge
Author: [livejournal.com profile] darkhairedgirl
Pairing: Justin/Pansy
Progress: 5/13

1. the residue of Monday
2. slander
3. two weekends ago
4. fall to your knees
5. take your pick
6. family history
7. surprises
8. the opportunities you missed
9. for what it's worth
10. some people stay
11. pining for normalcy
12. degrees of freedom
13. and that is the sentiment of the hour
darkhairedgirl: (still waiting for that damn letter)

Title: Covet
Pairing: Regulus Black/Alecto Carrow
Rating: PG-13.
Word Count: 1000

Summary: They were Marked at the same ceremony. That has to mean something.
Author's Notes: Inspired in part by the song “Babel” by Mumford & Sons. Prompts are from a list I’d written down a year or so back from a generator that has (unfortunately) disappeared. My apologies in advance for the time jumps. Written for the Number Game Ficathon on [livejournal.com profile] rarepair_shorts.

press my nose up to the glass around your heart )

darkhairedgirl: (monster!!!)

Title: Eyes Wide Open

Pairing: Dominique Weasley/Igor Karkaroff

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 1727

Summary: It’s a phase. That’s all it is.

Author’s Notes: The title is a line borrowed from the Gotye song of the same name. Written for the Numbers Game Ficathon on [livejournal.com profile] rarepair_shorts.

we walk the plank with our eyes wide open )
darkhairedgirl: (JOY!)

I can’t think of anyone else I know who loves Batman more than my father. As a child I never read any comic books, but I knew the stories like the back of my hand, got to watch the movies as soon as we had enough money to buy a VCR. My bedtime stories weren’t fairy tales or something out of children’s books; Batman’s war on crime and continual struggle for justice was what I heard before going to sleep. I wanted to grow up to be Catwoman. I still do.

My dad loves Batman and passed that love on to me, so when I saw that the AMC near me was running not only midnight showings of The Dark Knight Rises, but were screening all three of the Nolanverse movies in succession, I made sure that I got tickets.

Spoilers ahead. I’m trying to be as vague as I can with some of these, but seriously: spoilers. )
darkhairedgirl: (Default)
On the personal blog of a girl I follow, but rarely look at, she's doing a “People I’ve Been With” meme-type-thing: trying to list as much detail from the person and/or the experience as she can. Seeing as how I’ve yet to “be with” someone, this version of the exercise has evolved into something more along the lines of “people I’ve kissed.”

They probably don’t completely count, but McBuff and McDanger are still included in this because of…reasons. Names haven’t been changed to protect the innocent, because we aren’t, are we?

Nine. I hate odd numbers. )

darkhairedgirl: (love love love)

Title: Shiola
Summary: 80 prompts, 100 words each, in no particular order
Characters/Pairing(s): Nick/Laurie, Bonnie, Kate, Hannah, others in the background.
Word Count: 8,000
Warning(s): Lots of implications: violence, sex, and language, oh my.
A/N: Title from the Murder By Death song of the same name, prompts are from tables available at [livejournal.com profile] infinite_muses. More (on other characters) will be coming soon.

with love and anger coiled into one )

darkhairedgirl: (book love)
Tessa's back from Potsdam until the 29th, and it's like living in an incredibly unfunny version of The Odd Couple. We've always gotten along better when we're far apart, her and I, and being shoved back into close quarters isn't helping things in the slightest. We're just too different, I guess.

Example: )
darkhairedgirl: (book love)
Oh you men who say that I am malevolent, stubborn
or misanthropic, how greatly do you wrong me. . . .

- The Heiligenstadt Testament

Three miles from my adopted city
lies a village where I came to peace.
The world there was a calm place,
even the great Danube no more
than a pale ribbon tossed onto the landscape
by a girl's careless hand. Into this stillness

I had been ordered to recover.
The hills were gold with late summer;
my rooms were two, plus a small kitchen,
situated upstairs in the back of a cottage
at the end of the Herrengasse.
From my window I could see onto the courtyard
where a linden tree twined skyward ---
leafy umbilicus canted toward light,
warped in the very act of yearning ---
and I would feed on the sun as if that alone
would dismantle the silence around me.

At first I raged. Then music raged in me,
rising so swiftly I could not write quickly enough
to ease the roiling. I would stop
to light a lamp, and whatever I missed ---
larks flying to nest, church bells, the shepherd's
home-toward-evening song --- rushed in, and I
would rage again.

I am by nature a conflagration;
I would rather leap
than sit and be looked at.
So when my proud city spread
her gypsy skirts, I reentered,
burning towards her greater, constant light.

Call me rough, ill-tempered, slovenly --- I tell you,
every tenderness I have ever known
has been nothing
but thwarted violence, an ache
so permanent and deep, the lightest touch
awakens it. . . . It is impossible

to care enough. I have returned
with a second Symphony
and 15 Piano Variations
which I've named Prometheus,
after the rogue Titan, the half-a-god
who knew the worst sin is to take
what cannot be given back.

I smile and bow, and the world is loud.
And though I dare not lean in to shout
Can't you see that I'm deaf? ---
I also cannot stop listening.

darkhairedgirl: (Default)

Case in point: I should've been doing more research for my American Labor History essay. Or sleeping. Something normal and healthy. Instead, I'm here. Doing more short writing nonsense. In a room. With a dog in my lap who keeps licking my elbow for no apparent reason.

Five 100-word drabbles. Prompts are from Set #5, same place as before. I fully realize that most of these will make sense only to me, but right now I am going to go to sleep, then wake up and finish this stupid paper before 11:55 PM if it kills me.

500 words: Lies, Kiss, Hurt, Money, Tease )

darkhairedgirl: (not your year)

Okay, so this is part-something new I've started, part-terrible attempt at mimicking [livejournal.com profile] nombrehetomado in her brilliance at short fiction/being incredibly direct in her writing and also, excellent. These probably won't ever go anywhere, like, actual story-wise, but here we are all the same: five drabbles, each 100 words long, and basically an attempt at keeping myself sane in the midst of all the end-of-semester madness I've got going on. Prompts are from Set #12 over on [livejournal.com profile] infinite_muses. I will be working through some of the other sets they have posted over the next few months, after I finish up papers and before/between starting my summer classes. Probably after all that, too.

500 words: Lightening, Failure, Trust, Dark, Home )

darkhairedgirl: (love love love)
Part of Eve's Discussion  -- Marie Howe

It was like the moment when a bird decides not to eat from your hand
and flies, just before it flies, the moment the rivers seem to still
and stop because a storm is coming, but there is no storm, as when
a hundred starlings lift and bank together before they wheel and drop,
very much like the moment, driving on bad ice, when it occurs to you
your car could spin, just before it slowly begins to spin, like
the moment just before you forgot what it was you were about to say,
it was like that, and after that, it was still like that, only
all the time.

Notes for My Future Biographer -- Courtney Queeney

The dark things I did started young, stayed.

Then I heard a cello and thought,
Oh. That's how you say it.

I could spell and count to a hundred
in several languages, but never learned the words
to help anyone to a church.

There were X number of men;
I couldn't solve for X.

With the chameleon as my model
I greened and glowed outside,
or rippled underwater.
Alone, I was translucent, I was

. . .

barely, but survived myself
those early years,

which prepared me
for the later ones,
when I felt like furniture

and never told the truth.

darkhairedgirl: (mistake)

SMASH is an exceedingly mediocre series on NBC right now about the creation and production of a Broadway musical about the life of Marilyn Monroe. We watch the show from the point of view of several different characters involved in this production, including Julia and Tom, who write the book and music, Eileen, who is trying to produce the show against insurmountable odds, Derek, the abrasive and demanding director and choreographer, and Ivy and Karen, both of whom are competing for the lead role.

It isn’t a good show…but it’s not bad, either. Think Hart of Dixie, but with more singing. Or Glee, if Glee had anything remotely resembling realism in its production values.

in which i waste too many words on a show i don't know how to feel about yet )

You can find all the episodes at hulu.com (linked above), or here at the show's website. I'm sure there are free downloads out there, too, but I wouldn't know about that. You'll have to do a little digging on your own if you want to find them.

And as per usual, my watching this trashy musical soap opera is entirely Harper’s fault…and also because The River, while awesome, has ended for the season and I was bored. But mostly, Harper’s fault.

darkhairedgirl: (not your year)

After a lot of thought, I’ve left the Treehouse.

Not because of any one person or any one thing, but because I can’t do this anymore. For the plans I have for my future, I need to focus more on school, on the outside parts of my life. I’m trying not to come off as shallow or make it seem like I’m flouncing away, because that’s not what any of this is. This is simply a change in priorities, a paradigm shift. When I first came to this community it had been almost two years since I’d written absolutely anything, and while I will always, always be grateful for the fact that this community gave that back to me – you gave me ideas, you got me writing, you put the pen back in my hand – I feel like right now, it’s time for me to go.

It’s time for me to write my own stories again.

I care very much for all of you, but if you feel that fandom was the only thing keeping us friends, then that’s okay, too. I want nothing but the best for everyone and I want you all to be happy.

If you need me, I’ll be around. You know where to find me.

Lights out.

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