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Writer's Block: AKA

Feb. 28th, 2009 | 08:21 am

What's the story behind your username?

Your love and pity doth the impression fill,
Which vulgar scandal stamped upon my brow;
For what care I who calls me well or ill,
So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow?
You are my all-the-world, and I must strive
To know my shames and praises from your tongue;
None else to me, nor I to none alive,
That my steeled sense or changes right or wrong.
In so profound abysm I throw all care
Of others' voices, that my adder's sense
To critic and to flatterer stopped are.
Mark how with my neglect I do dispense:
You are so strongly in my purpose bred,
That all the world besides methinks y'are dead.

Shakespeare's sonnet number 112, my favourite.

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Eyes on you..

Apr. 4th, 2007 | 09:55 pm

Another one. Again.
Ivy again. Backstory here.

Nc-17 for the badly written smut at the end.

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And I die just a little..

Mar. 29th, 2007 | 08:22 pm
mood: determinedFocused. On Flumpus.
music: Joshua Radin ;; What if You

So the last fic I wrote, I was trying to find Ivy. Found her! Somewhere between Bones and a rock.
Now, I'm writing cause I got tha Fevah, and need to write my characters mourning Casey. First draft, obv, and the final will be posted on BS once we get to it.
For now, feel free to enjoy Frank and Bryna commiserating their loss. Seems sort of wrong to say that.
No rating; there's absolutely nothing graphic here.

From the front door (open wide, she was greeted by his parents with somber kisses and shaken hands, ushered inside to mingle with people she didn't want to mingle with) to the carefully straightened sheets on his bed, all of the familiarity of the Mulcahy house had been burned away in her numbness.Collapse )
I'm not entirely sure how to end it.. Hopefully it'll come to me later.

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Mar. 24th, 2007 | 08:13 pm
music: Kate Havnevik ;; Unlike Me

HP Fic, set in the seventies/Marauders Era. Marauders are third years. But, since this is pretty standalone, and Definitely WIP, it doesn't matter much. Enjoy.

Uhm.. Discretion advised. Some mature content.




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I'd like to know if you'd be open to starting over from scratch..

Mar. 8th, 2007 | 10:00 pm
music: Keren Ann ;; Not Going Anywhere

So I like this. It makes me go "Oh Frank!". Frank, for anyone that doesn't know, is Francesca Duffy of Bellezza Scura coolness.

Some mature content implied. I own Frankie and Darren. But not Casey. Just his heart (Buahahahahahahaaaaaaa XD Iloveyoupleasedon'tkillme!)


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Sep. 24th, 2006 | 12:44 am
location: La-La Land
mood: contemplativeHrmm.
music: Stanley Climbfall - Lifehouse

I... Am inordinately bored. Which is nothing strange, considering the fact that I'm me and there's nowhere really to RP anymore. 
Kells and I are in the process of reopening Bellezza Scura, if that doesn't fall through. We might need to do a plot overhaul and clean up the canon list. To be completely honest I'm a bit apprehensive. I mean, stuff that Kelly does tends to go Whoosh with the success, but I have this whole jinx that makes RP sites tied to me crash and burn depressingly quickly.
So, yes. There will be an overhaul, and depending on the work we put into it, it may just succeed. This would make Kitty happy. Kitty likes to be happy. Kitty should drag other people into RPing, but really is not impressed by very many people except the people she already RPs with and doesn't want to go through the disappointment of playing with people that just plain suck.
Cue a big sigh and an ego the size of the sun.

In other news, D has a challenge going in Amethyst Manor to write a Tryptich for any character. I was going to do one for Morag, or maybe Bryna. But then I started writing and ended up with Willow. Willow, who was my first RP character ever in AK who moved to AME and became the Duchess' daughter. Willow who had three kids. Willow who went to sleep and never woke up. 
Willow, who was meant to stay dead but apparently doesn't want to. 
I'm torn between finishing it and seeing where she takes me, and just ignoring it until the urge goes away. Only thing is, I haven't had the urge to write in a long while now, and it feels good to just let the fingers do the walking. 

Aaaaaaaaand back to the non-fiction. At least, I THINK it's non-fiction. 
Wouldn't it be wierd if life was actually fiction, and the world we thought was real was actually just a dream. Or a story? Or a film even. My film is slightly boring. One of those Docudrama's where nothing DRAMATIC ever happens. Unless I get drunk.

The End.

P.S. Omigod I have to go to a Christening tomorrow.. In a Church.. ... I have to get up early and stuff >_< bugger.

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Thing's I'll never say...

Sep. 20th, 2006 | 10:02 pm
mood: apatheticBeh?
music: Busted -- Thunderbirds are go!

It's just not done, in society as a whole, to talk about certain things. There's a gathering gloom over a conversation that begins sneaking it's way across to subjects under this quiet curse; a curse that, on the whole, might not be too awful. 
I was always taught by my mother that a conversation turning to Money, Politics, or Religion was an invitation to a fight. These three subjects all seem to raise the hackles of the average person, to breed discomfort and discontent as much as they bring passionate discourse. People can wax lyrical about this or that area of the subject and still be no closer to a solid conclusion. 

But it's impossible to say "No, I shall have none of that." 
To entirely dismiss thought of Politics is to deny onesself the right to life. Politics govern everything, be it the Government themselves, or our daily life. It's a small matter to us, whether we choose to get the bus or drive a car to work (Those that have the option, that is, and for those that don't this is still relevant). To get the bus is to risk being late, or drastically early, thus affecting the balance of our entire day. The careful weighing of our choices and their consequences is a form of politics. 
Religion is easier. Forgo religion, and forgo the right to the useage of such common terms as "Oh, God!" And "Christ!", at the very least. In England, in Sunderland, this is so common it's not even noted as blasphemous anymore. I refrain from mentioning other religions due to my own ignorance; I have never taken the time nor courtesy to research religion beyond my school lessons some four or five years past. I know minimal information on Judaism, and pick up bits and pieces about Buddhism, Karma, Qabbala, etc from friends that follow said paths. Religion is so tightly woven into our lives that it's become something that we barely think about. 
Like Money, religion is just -there-. 

Like friends. Friends we take for granted until they do something, or until something clicks within our brain that makes us go "ooh". 

When I was little I moved around a lot. Dad was in the Army, so I was born in Hannover. I assume I had friends there, and I know I had them in Osnabruk, which is the next place I remember living in Germany. At Wellington School I remember playing kiss-chase at Fiona's insistence. I don't remember what she looked like, nor what she sounded like or her surname. I only know "Fiona", a pair of light brown plaits, and a feeling of warmth.
In Borden it was Daniel (whom I was sure I would marry, he having been there in my life forever.) and his sister Nicola. More acquaintances than friends, having been forced upon each other by our mothers. 
Hohne brought me Amy Dalzell. The one girl I shall never forget. There are childhood best friends that leave imprints, and those that leave gaping holes. The hole left by Amy when I was taken from Hohne to Sunderland has never fully healed. She was this Angel of a child with whom I would fight constantly. 

We met on Amy's first day at our school. It was breaktime, and as far as it has been relayed to me (By Amy herself, for I can't remember the day myself - something that I find horrifying, because it brought the most beautiful soul into my life) Amy was sitting on the edge of the small "forest" we had at the edge of the schoolyard. It wasn't a terribly dense wood, but we liked to disappear there during breaks and lunches to a small clearing where there was a circle of rocks we had made.
So here is Amy sitting on the raised kerb between tarmac playground and mossy grass (stained by the blood of war-tortured Jews) all on her own, and we have been let out for break. I, being the appointed leader of a small group of girls, make my way across to my usual hideaway and find this girl blocking the path. My introduction, I hear, was something like "My name's Catherine. Who're you?"

We were pretty solid friends from that moment. Mrs Page, our teacher, told us that we should record our arguments for their comedic value. 
They were that sort of heated, passionate thing that ends in a sulk forgotten by the next lesson subject. I remember that Amy and I sat with a boy named Carl (who I seem to remember had Dyslexia, or maybe he was just especially large. I forget. I do know that he had lovely brown eyes, and hers were grey-green), and we would do our maths with him between us, copying from each other and generally enjoying each others' company. 

I remember, too, that when my Mama was doing Ancilliary work at the school in Red class (Don't ask why it was a colour. It's the army, it doesn't need to make sense) I went down to show her my pride and joy, a self-illustrated story I had written about a Brownie that lived on a Island. My mam and the teacher read through the story, and I remember some mention being made of the word "Hysterical" with reference to me. Of course I broke into tears immediately, and panic and confusion broke out. Why is the eight year old crying, please?
Well, because her teacher called her Hysterical, and hysterical means that she's hilariously funny, but the story was meant to be a serious adventure. 

I can't remember what they told me then, but I know that they lied blatantly about what "Hysterical" was. I was eight, but I wasn't stupid. 

The point of all of this, is that I love my friends. I haven't had proper friends since Amy Dalzell in Hohne in Germany, and now I do and I want to thank them all. It's nice, to have that full, happy feeling when you speak to a person, to know that they don't mind how odd you are, or how crazy or quiet or loud. In fact, they quite enjoy your company (which is something I've found hard to believe since leaving Amy).

So thank you, to all of my friends. You know who you are, and if you don't then you're quite probably an idiot. I mean that affectionately of course. It would be crass to list all of the people that I crowd under this umbrella, but I shall say a special thank you to Ebony and Kelly, for their lovely comments and big-hearted wishes on my last LJ. Cause seriously, my girls rock.
And also thank you to Marc, for being a saint and clearing up my dire confusion. Boys no longer smell, and do not necessarily deserve to be stoned to death (:

(: x

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My Favourite Poem of all time.

Sep. 13th, 2006 | 11:54 pm
mood: sleepy*yawn*
music: Evanescence // Like You

Funeral Blues -- W.H.Auden (1907-73)

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling in the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, My South, My East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

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Recommended Roleplays

Sep. 12th, 2006 | 10:31 pm
location: Somewhere Quiet
mood: calmcalm

These may or may not be updated over time. But these are three recommended RPs for literate players.


Site Link - Main Admin - Basic Rundown.

Aéquitas|Veritas - Kelly - Based on the second (upcoming) move, All Saints Day, AV is set in Ireland to whence the Boys have returned to clear their names after the Brutal murder of a Catholic Bishop.
Starring: Conner & Murphy McManus; Il Duce; Iona, Bryna & Niall O'Callaghan.

RavenHill - KC - Based around "Vampire, the Masquerade" and World of Darkness in Victorian England, RavenHill is an estate near London around which long-established characters play out their lives.
Starring: Led Zamie; Sebastien Devereaux; Kestral Ennaiddraig; Mrs White.

Bellezza Scura - Kitty - Set in Harry Potter's sixth Summer, too soon after Albus Dumbledore's demise to be comfortable, the Trio are bound to find the Horcruxes (after the Wedding of course). But the world plots against the illustrious three, and hearts' tangled webs catch more than flies.
Starring: Harry Potter; Hermione Granger; The Weasleys; Morag MacDougal & Stephen Cornfoot; Bryna Mulcahy-Prewett; The Prewetts (Ft Baby Sian).

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Aug. 24th, 2006 | 08:53 pm
location: Hell
mood: thoughtfulStibbonsy
music: "Edge of the Ocean" ~ Ivy.

Fate. It twines its narrow fingers around us, pulling our strings as if we were puppets and makes us dance as if we wanted to do it all. A mockery of free will and choice.
Destiny winds its song into our hearts and we wonder: Is there such a thing as God? Is our doom predestined? In all of this free will, how much is planned for us already?

Those that do not choose for themselves gain nothing. Those that wallow in the idea of fate, that decide that "Fate will choose for me", end up cold and alone, empty. They fear choice and in desperation turn to solitude. They lock themselves in the darkest cupboard of the endless maze that is their mind and they are lost forever.
Those that laugh at fate and destiny find their end just the same. They giggle at coincidence and hide behind unsure smiles, wondering if it really was meant to be.

How can we go through life not knowing? Can we ever live in this world with a solid, black-and-white view on things? Can greyshades never introduce themselves into our mindsets?

Sometimes I wonder. And I wonder if some great storyteller is writing all of our stories as we live, storing them in a great hall like the Books in Death's Hourglass room. Everything that we do recorded in those great dusty tomes, never looked at, all interlinked. All corresponding to one another.

Does Fate or Destiny Rule us? Or do we rule ourselves?

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