Autumn Rains

a/n : old one. just thought i would put it up here as i found it in my bin.

Autumn Rain By : Elvira Licuanan

Fog upon the window and upon my life. The rest of humanity cowers within closed doors as the torrential march of rain frosted the bus’ windows. I etch the letters of your name into the frost of the cold pane, contemplating momentarily if I should add a heart to surround it. At the last minute, I pull my hand away, laughing at myself at such childish notions. Yes, I am in love with you still but I am not prepared to let the world know just yet. Or rather, I’d not want to affirm what the world already suspected months ago.

But oh, the rain falls cold and I am frozen and everything moves with such deliberate grace, and I cannot help but imagine your pale hands cupped together to catch raindrops. That I would wish to catch your tears instead, but of the rain I have caught in my hands, I let trickle away, leaving my fingers numb and slightly blue.

Later, at work, I make coffee and spend every break for the rest of the workday staring outside the window sipping the warm brew. I neither watch nor notice that flow of human souls below me, nor do the comings and goings of the trains in the station across the street bother me. In my mind’s tear-filled eye, I can see your voice amongst the clouds and I taste your laughter in my coffee. And I imagine the warmth between my hands to be our kisses, hidden but nevertheless cherished.

As I leave the office at the end of the day, I notice pale gray birds taking to flight and seeking shelter wherever they can and I remembered a summer torrent that we spent waiting outside while you and I wished we would go on waiting together for the rest of eternity. The rain fell on that day as it does now, and I remember the umbrella that we shared as I get drenched in the pouring rain.

By the time I get home, I am frozen, cold to my very soul as I step into the shower. I shiver as I realize first hand that we had run out of hot water again. My thoughts wander to the last shower I had taken in my old house, and remember with a smile that you were waiting for me outside on that day. And despite my house being devoid of life and being empty of all things other than boxes, you had never been so achingly lovely as you had on that day, sitting on the floor of the empty room, your back upon the wall with my peeling wallpaper, your eyes shining as you fought against your tears.

And changing my clothes, I shove my head into the tee shirt that you gave me. With a wistful smile, I remember those long weeks that I had refused to let it be washed, and with it lingered the scent of you. And when my father had thrown it into the wash, I had thrown a fit and sulked for days, especially when I found out afterwards that no scent of you stayed thereafter. But after taking to wearing it as much as I possibly could, especially when I sleep, I have assuaged my feelings by believing that I am wrapping myself up in you.

I realize that I am daunted by the amount of school work that I have left stagnating, and I thought of the day which was now rapidly fading into slow and cold night. This day has passed filled with you constantly and I realize that autumn rains reminded me so much of you and me.

I quickly realize that I am smiling as the weatherman says that these rains might last for the rest of the week.

The Frozen Weyr
Reflections : A Season from Thread Fall
A Pern Fanfiction by : Elvira Licuanan

It’s going to take some time, this time. Thought M’drel, looking across the stark grey sea of the Frozen Wasteland. Behind him, positioned smugly on the ledge, Tarath ‘hmph’-ed his agreement.

“Many things have happened, old friend” said the dark haired Weyrleader, as he reached to scratch his bronze’s eyeridges.

Yes indeed. And here we are replied Tarath before succumbing to a pleased rumble at his rider’s ministrations.

He smirked at his companion and abruptly left him on the ledge, making his way back to his weyr. His dragon gave him a displeased snort and turned to go to His weyr beside the Weyrleader’s quarters.

As M’drel walked down the carved halls of his new home, he ran a hand over the impossibly smooth walls carved out of the volcanic rock. Pressing harder, he could feel the warmth of the walls, knowing, if he went down to the lower levels, where the Queens’ hatching ground was, he would have to transfer his weight from one leg to another in an attempt to manage the heat.

Finding an apparently empty Weyr so far into the snowy wastes was an odd discovery to say the least. With the discoveries of strange new artifacts that sent the Mastersmith into fits of joy and curiosity and the need for the strange new metal found only in the mountains of the snowy wastes suddenly found need for the Weyr to be occupied once again. There was debate that Thread could not survive the fall into such cold conditions, but it was only a few months into the turn and then the Thread would fall and the mountain Holds of Melvar and Drall were particularly possessive of the forests of big trees that the records named as ‘pine’ trees.

Transferring from Benden Weyr was not his idea. But F’rekka had assigned him to be the new Weyrleader, an honor to him, a craftbred rider. Besides, the last mating flight of Mamoth, it was Lieth who had caught the Queen.

M’drel burst into his weyr, his face clouding up with emotion. Indeed, why stay? Liana was already taken up with E’jeth, Lieth’s quiet rider. Indeed, why stay, when one’s old Weyrmate, who promised that only his bronze would fly her queen, suddenly, irrevocably changed her mind. She had tried to talk to him, a day after the mating flight, but he cut her off quickly, saying that he had a sweep of Benden Hold and left her as quick as he could. He had seen her leaving E’jeth’s weyr and it only succeeded to polarize his then confused feelings.

He was Craftbred, making him much more conservative than Liana’s Weyrbred tendencies liked. But he had thought that promises were better than whatever exclusivity he lost with the notion of marriage thrown out the window. But he was as naïve as a weyrling.

So when his Weyrleader chose him, with a new queen and a wing of dragons to set up the new Weyr and to help the Holds that were Weyrbound to the newly christened Frozen Wastelands Weyr, he jumped at the chance. He didn’t even say goodbye to Liana then. He saw her slight, tall figure standing amongst the riders. But he had held his head high and jumped between without another look back.

And now, here is was, two mating flights after Yareth was flown by his Tarath, a season away from Threadfall, and still in the same tortured middle ground of being not whole. Seya, though an efficient Weyrwoman, was just as nubile and sensuous a woman as the fabled Kylara had been, save that Seya would never let Yareth be in such a condition as to die, killing another queen in the process. M’drel, his conservative Craft roots rejecting her, never took her into his weyr. She, being perceptive of her Weyrleader, did not push, and went gallivanting instead with the other riders. But it was Tarath, by far the largest and strongest of the Weyr’s bronzes that always caught Yareth.

No, M’drel thought darkly. I cannot imagine anyone else except Liana. I cannot take anyone except Liana.

There was a low rumble of concern from Tarath’s pit and M’drel spared his bronze a smile. Why didn’t you talk to her then? Queried his dragon, albeit sleepily.

M’drel sidestepped the question, asking the bronze where Yareth was. In the nesting ground of course answered the dragon good-naturedly, apparently sensing his rider’s need to avoid the topic. Brooding over her new clutch. She can be so fussy.

With that, Yareth sent a keening cry from the hatching ground, apparently conscious of her weyrmate’s thoughts. M’drel and his dragon chuckled together at her indignation. I have every reason to! There was the mental image of her preening and M’drel knew that she probably was doing so at that moment. Two queen eggs! Two! Lovely large ones too! Even the fabled Ramoth never had such ability.

“Aye, nor such vanity” Quipped M’drel as he chuckled again, anticipating her reaction. He didn’t fail him, as her indignant cry echoed in the mountain halls.

“If you must upset my queen, weyrleader” said Seya testily as she entered, carrying with her several skins. “Can you at least do it in the day time, as to not awaken the rest of Pern?”

“Pardons Weyrwoman.” Said M’drel a little stiffly, momentarily jealous of the Weyrleaders with personal relationships with their lead weyrwomen. “And what would you have me read instead of going to sleep tonight?”

She received his jibe with a roll of her green eyes and placed the skins on the table. “Reports of the tithing trains that came yesterday, only now arranged.” She shrugged. “I can assure you we are fully stocked and that the Holds were not skimping on anything this turn.”

He nodded “That is always good to hear.” An awkward silence fell and M’drel cleared his throat nervously.

“Weyrleader” she said by way of dismissal and bowed just before she left his weyr.

M’drel turned to the window, facing the sea and laid his forehead on the warm stone sill. He wondered if he would ever get a handle on his weyr at all.

We will be united come Threadfall. Soothed his dragon, drowsily. But as I need my sleep, so do you Weyrleader. You can please the woman tomorrow by signing those tomorrow.

M’drel smirked. “I am not as lazy as you. But I am tired. You go ahead Tarath. I want to wait for the moon.”

Because it reminds you of her?

M’drel closed his eyes. “Stop sticking your nose where it isn’t needed Tarath. Go to sleep if you will.”

Because it reminds you of her. The dragon repeated, with certainty and a soft chuckle. You can lie to everyone in this Weyr, in the Holds, and even to everyone in Pern. But the two you cannot lie to, is me, and yourself. You still love Liana.

“I know that”

He continued looking out to the sea, towards the direction he knew Benden Hall was. “I know.”

End

She opened the box and sat on her haunches, scowling darkly. Inside glittered a pair of golden handcuffs. The gold paint was chipping in places and the chains between the bracelets looked raw, as if rubbed against another metal. She let her eyes roam over the shape of the restraint, her fingers ghosting over the lock. Then, schooling her features into an impassive glance, locked the box again and stuffed it into the darkess corner of the attic.
How she hated going through the attics. How she feared and loathed the things she would find in the darkest corners of her soul.

He smelled of the beach on a rainy morning, sharp, clingy and salty interminling with the subtle suggestioin of sunkissed moondrops and the general damp, and because it was winter, cold touch that raised goosebumps and awakened dreams.

a/n : dunno where...wait i do. If you were in my head space, you would know who this is for. Since you're not, haha. SO there. I'm evil.

Jealousy is a burning sensation. And it is an inexhaustable fire that eats you alive from the inside.

I wish jealousy would eat you alive. I wish fire would devour you and erase you from the world.

But not before you tell me what is it about you that EVERYONE just loves.

more importantly, what made her love you more than she ever loved me.

You will tell me this, even if i have to manually extract the answers from your gray matter, like the way i most likely will extract your nails from your hands, one after another.

i'll probably wave them in front of your face too, just for spite.

So i am a spiteful person. Get over it. I want to kill you because people love you more than they had ever loved me. So get over it. Or i will MAKE you get over it. Slowly. Painfully. With a wicked grin on my face and darkness in my soul.

Is it your shy nature, being not naturally intrusive, instead of bursting into people's homes, you get invited in for tea, and then dinner and then maybe would you like to stay over the night?

is is because your laughter is so light, so unshadowed by pain and darkness and men with knobby hands running all over your skin leaving goosebumps that feel like pin needles and breath that came from the gutter and shattering pain and memories of that pain repeated like a steady beat all through your life until you cannot touch anyone without flinching and remembering the knobby hands and the whispered please please, no more please?

Is it because you have not gone through hell?

is it because you have no darkness in your heart?

BUt i will never know.

However much i may want to strangle and snatch the answers from your living essense, like a vampire feasting on souls, i will never ever know.

Because jealousy is a burning sensation because jealousy is a fire that devours you until you are erased from the world.

I burn.

A/n: partly inspired by the tag line for the new drama series here. "At the end of relationships, men crash and women burn."

A/N : Critique please! Oh and i do not own Harry Potter and all that jazz. That all belongs to J.K. Rowling! Don't sue! Also, the title is taken from Garbage song "Drive Me Home" not mine! please excuse any misspelling and bad grammar, MS Word is not working right now and i haven't the time to set it up yet. Enjoy!

The Last Sentence An HP Fanfiction by Athena

Chapter 1 : I Never Said I Was Perfect

.:::.

He tried not to think too much as he pushed his trolly alongside all the other people in the crowded Kingscross station. It was hard not to be jostled but still trying hard NOT to think about anything at all but somehow, he managed to reach platform 9 and 10 without incurring more than the usual bruises.

A young mother tried to keep hold of her small son whilst trying to make her way to the baggage compartment of the train along side Platform 9. Which was difficult, considering that her son was more interested in the gaggle of kids near the other train in plat from 10 and that the trolly was heaped to the brink with luggage and random other assorted stuff. He paused for a moment before amiably helping the gratified lady, who, after depositing her things, told him her thanks and hoped that God bless him and keep him. The man (for that was what he was now, a full fledged man. No longer a tiny boy, but a man) only smiled at her and with a twinkle of those green eyes, told her that it was a pleasure and bid her a good day before pushing off towards the general direction of the of the other side of the platform.

The precocious chick tugged at his mothers skirt and asked her rather loudly as to why that man had an owl, and was it his pet, and could he have an owl as a pet too? She shush her beloved son gently but started to look around the crowded platform for the man who helped her, just to see if he was alright, and maybe catch a glimpse of that so called owl.

Strangely enough, he seemed to have disappeared. Although he was of slight build and the platform a bit crowded, she still should have gotten a glimpse of his old fashioned glasses and an owl in his trolly. But there he was, or rather, wasn't.

Just like magic.

.:::.

A/N : Hehe. THis is born out of a game of chess with Pickles. (yes i completly steam rollered her again if you're curious). We were stupid and lovesongs were playing on the radio. So sue us. Oh wait don't. J.K. Rowling, bless her good soul, owns these boys. This really isn't slash although...uh just read. hehe. Oh OOC!Ron because i have no idea how to write him. So he's drunk. He'll regret this tomorrow. Oh, and if you call something 'Gay' one of the meanings is that it's screwed up. Pun pun pun. Heheh.

Harry looked at the battlefield and sighed, the air making the bits of his fringe float up for a moment, only to come crashing down. All this time, it had come down to THIS moment. And at that moment, Harry James Potter was soundly beaten. Even grovelling, though he wouldn't even THINK of doing that, he was Gryffindor after all, couldn't save him now. He sighed again, hoping to push back the bits of hair that drooped over his eyes like a reflection of his feelings. He only succeed in making them bounce slightly.

"Fine. If i move This, i'm dead. If i move This, you'll move THAT and THEN i'm dead. If i move This then you'll just chase me all over the goddamn board."

"Shamat(*) then?" Smug bastard thought Harry darkly.

"Obviously! What else can i do?!?"

Ron Weasley chuckled at his friend as his king started to do a victory dance. He was sorely tempted to follow suit had his friend been a little less touchy about losing. Very sorely tempted.

"Aw Harry, you're just a sore loser." He grinned, feeling little bit more cocky. Several bottles of butterbeer near his side of the table might account for this. But then again, there was the same amount of bottles on Harry's side of the table as well, probably the source of the fact that the Boy Who Lived was more crochety than usual.

"Oh sod off. I was drunk"

Ron snorted and crossed his arms. "You just can't get over the fact that Even though you're the bloody Boy Who Lived you can't even beat me in a simple game of chess."

Harry curled his lip in disgust and cross his arms as well, although the way he was doing it, it looked like he was trying to hug himself. "Stop that you sound like Malfoy." It was low but Ron got his goat with the 'boy who lived' crap.

Ron's eyes narrowed suddenly and for a fleeting moment of light through the butterbeer inspired fog, Harry regreted the comparison. "I do NOT sound like that...that...FERRET." A muscle in his cheek twitched. "You're just ashamed about losing constantly in a MANLY game."

Now it was Harry's turn to twitch. "JUST WHAT ARE YOU IMPLYING?"

There was definitly something like Malfoy in the smirk Ron had. "Well, Harry...you know what they say about guys with big swords..."

"Like you should talk!" exploded Harry, turning crimson. "You're in Gryfindor too, you Dork!"

Ron blinked, obviously realizing his gaffe. He hastily covered it up, or tried to anyway. "You're missing the point!"

"Are you implying that i am not man enough to play chess?"

"DUH! Do you need 'Mione to spell it out for you this time?"

"You don't need to be a man to play chess! Chess is Gay, Ron!" Harry was on a roll, never mind that he was mostly Butterbeer-powered. If he had been like this in the First Task, he wouldn't have needed his Firebolt. The Hungarian Horntail would have backed down the way his green eyes were flashing in contrast to his red cheeks.

Then again, Ron was Butterbeer-powered as well and his freckles stood out even more rather than disappearing under the red haze on his cheeks. "CHESS.IS.NOT.GAY." His voice had an odd growl at the end of it, and if it was even possible, the twitching in his cheek became positively hyper.

"Yes it iS!"

"PROVE IT." For a moment Harry was reminded of Lucius.

He instead just narrowed his eyes even further. Ron pushed down the observation that Harry looked like a cat. A big green-eyes pissed cat. "FINE!" Harry pointed towards the previously ignored board and very nearly jabbed the pawns that cowered under the angry digit. "Tell me then, what happens to this GUY when it gets to the final rank!"

Ron, taken by surprise, answered automatically. "He gets promoted. To a queen."

Harry didn't respond but let his face grow into a decidedly Slytherin smirk.

Crickets chirped outside. Harry's cheeks started to hurt after smirking for so long but he kept on smirking anyway.

Finally Ron got it.

"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! HARRY! YOU WANKER!"

The door swung open and the Wrath of Granger fell upon them. "RONALD WEASLEY!" She towered over him and both boys remembered their second year encounter with Molly Weasley's Howler. "What in the name of Merlin are you shouting about?" she then turned her Wrath to Harry. "And what were you doing to start this?"

"CHESS!" they chorused. Ron then pointed at Harry "He called it GAY! He said it was a gay game!"

"He implied I WAS GAY!" retorted Harry.

"shut up!" She held up a hand and adressed them quickly.

"Ron, of course Chess is a gay game. Over a dozen pieces of male oriented military positions and only 2 female pieces, with homosexual conotations as well. What else is it then? I would remind you of the saying that 'There are no straight me in the trenches.' when you try to imply that chess is otherwise. It is and always will be a military game." she then turned to Harry, her eyes twinkling with mad humor, "And Harry, you ARE gay, i've seen you Eyeing up Oliver and Draco lately and don't you deny it."

Jaws dropped, Ron's because he was trying to decipher just what she said to him and Harry because he simply couldn't find the words to deny it.

She grinned at them again. "Good night boys. Play nice."

"Harry."

"Yes Ron."

"Girls suck."

Harry nodded. "Chess is better than girls anyway."

"Or boys in your case."

"Oh shut up."

a/n : whoops i didn't plan to make Harry gay at the end. It just went that way. Anyway hope you enjoy. I rarely write humor these days.

(*)I forgot just WHERE Chess came from, but from that original game, "Shamat" was the equivalent of (and prolly the derivitive as well) of "Checkmate". See? I love my chess.

A/N : a good ol spot o angst. so sue me. heard this line from a song playing in the radio but didn't catch the name of the song. either way, it doesn't belong to me.

Love is a sort of light that shines on all but me. Because, as i hate all light, i hate love most of all. Like Nosferatu, i shy from the deceptive lulling throb of love. For while plants, animals, humans, they all drink in the nectar of the distant stars, i burn. It burns and i will die in the light that you live in.

But one cannot really shy away from light. Not for the rest of your life. Not if you want to keep up a charade of a normal life, like i do. Like i need do. So we make do. We make a compromise. For while i still venture forth into the sun, into a shadow of what real life is, but i sleep through most of the day. Because i seek to dismantle the sun.

i live in the night. I live in the embrace of darkness.

Because only the darkness can love the children of the night.

Only the darkness can even hope to understand people like me, who burn with the touch of love and shy from what is real and instead dive headfirst into dreams and fantasies.

Only the darkness can love us who only feel alive when we are bleeding.

Love, and light, cannot stand nor understand this depravity. Because light and love thrive on trust and awareness and senses, those who live in it(and upon it) cannot grasp our need for doubt and complete sensory deprivation.

The one thing that is giving us life is killing us oh so softly. Because at the end of the day, all things need light.