sharpeningthebones: (pic#7240536)
The Autumn Child ([personal profile] sharpeningthebones) wrote2021-08-24 07:02 pm

[Fiction, prompts and all that other fun stuff.]

AO3: [archiveofourown.org profile] lostinthefire

Fandoms I am into:
Dead Like Me, Doctor Who, Dollhouse, Dresden Files (books and TV), Eastwick, Firefly, Good Omens, Hannibal, Life on Mars, MCU (and a tiiiiny bit of comics), Musicals, Myth/Fairytales, Neverwhere, Newsflesh, October Daye, Rent, Sanctuary, Shakespeare, Sherlock, Slings and Arrows, Welcome To Night Vale, White Collar.

Policies:
If you want to remix, podfic, fanart or anything else any of my work, go for it! The only thing I ask is that you go ahead and let me know you're doing it first so I can glee-bounce over it.

On original fiction:
I create original fiction over at [community profile] rainbowfic under the authortag Mallory. I also do monthly prompt calls in which I throw out a theme, let you prompt me and write stuff off of those prompts for tips. Between those two things, I am an aspiring writer who is trying to get published.

What is the eternally open prompt post:
See this post here? See the comments? All of those are prompts my partner has thrown at me over the years that I keep meaning to write I try and keep them in one place so I recall to write them eventually. However, this is free for anyone to use and should be abused as often as one would like. I adore getting prompts and will do my best to answer them when I have the time and mental energy.
Note: I will

The tip jar:
If you like what I do with words and think it's worth paying for, even if it's just a couple of dollars, please feel free! Here's a link to my Paypal and you are more than welcome to throw money at me and then ask me to either continue something I've written or perhaps write something just for you!

the email is toomanytongues at gmail dot com
thelinesoflearning: ([Love] Wherever you go)

Hey, someone has to break it in.

[personal profile] thelinesoflearning 2012-08-29 03:00 pm (UTC)(link)
No one knows where the words come from and if someone tells you that they do, they're lying.


You will become whatever you want to become. Even if you don’t know what that is.
Be careful of what you want.


Everyone edits themselves here, and it makes me wonder whether you're ever actually connected to real people, or just the people they all wish they were.
thelinesoflearning: (Default)

[personal profile] thelinesoflearning 2012-10-06 09:59 pm (UTC)(link)
And I'm sorry I ever learned any words that make you cry.
I'm still doing my best to learn the ones that make you smile.


I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek,
That now are wild, and do not once remember


I'm going to be tender again


I'm now more than halfway to the grave,
but I'm not half the man I meant to become.


I am thinking of a fairy tale
that is not yet written,
for a teller not yet born,
for a listener not yet conceived,
for a world not yet won


Doesn’t everyone want to feel in the night
the beloved body, compass, polestar,
to hear the quiet breathing that says
I am alive, that means also
you are alive, because you hear me,
you are here with me.


He wants to say I love you, nothing can hurt you
but he thinks
this is a lie, so he says in the end
you’re dead, nothing can hurt you
which seems to him
a more promising beginning, more true


The fingers of
saints are still hot from miracles, but can they save themselves?


The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.


And you must love her, though she betrays you in a heartbeat --
you keep accepting the poisoned comb, the spinning wheel,
with open, pale hands.
thelinesoflearning: (Default)

[personal profile] thelinesoflearning 2012-10-21 11:32 pm (UTC)(link)
You and I both know, the dark doesn't make the bruises disappear.
It just makes them harder to see.


You tell them your story, or as much of your story
as time or a fair degree of prudence allows


They stand in unison shaking their heads and smiling—whatever leads
to joy, they always answer,
to more life and less worry.


a hymn for what we didn’t say but thought


There were signs and signals,
even if they couldn't read them yet.


And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.
thelinesoflearning: ([Misc] Collared)

[personal profile] thelinesoflearning 2012-11-08 12:42 am (UTC)(link)
Because I thought love was one thing and really it’s another. Because I thought I knew everything about everything and I didn’t know anything, not anything in the world.


and the old things go, not one lasts.


there is only one ending to every story:
We all fall down.


whatever cannot
be possessed is poison.


he wants your heart, bound
like feet, dancing only for him.


listen: there's a hell
of a good universe next door; let's go


Sufficient time for faith and miracles
We find we cannot fit into our days


My worry is that what you measure yourself with ends up defining you.


Yet you still value the things you've lost the most. Because the things you've lost are still perfect in your head.


o you are a city that walks on top of another city, a city of people dreaming, you put your foot down on dreams when you cross the street, your children play, on dreams.


And I wish you could hear the way your voices sing like I hear them, but you can't anymore than I can hear what my voice sounds like. None of us have accents inside our heads. Our voices and words are water and tasteless and colourless because of how much of them we drink.


I hope you remember all the people you still have time to be.
I hope the little things in your life inspire you to do big things with it.


Remember, you are part of a beautiful story that did not start when you were born.


The world is hard because you will have to fight for the things you love or worse, fight the things you love.
The world is hard because the things you love will kill you.
thelinesoflearning: (Default)

[personal profile] thelinesoflearning 2012-12-26 05:57 am (UTC)(link)
Cheiloproclitic - Being attracted to someones lips.


Tarantism - The urge to overcome melancholy by dancing.


Autolatry - The worship of one’s self.


Lalochezia - The use of abusive language to relieve stress or ease pain.


Basorexia - An overwhelming desire to kiss.


Agelast - A person who never laughs.


Anagapesis - The feeling when one no longer loves someone they once did.


Concilliabule - A secret meeting of people who are hatching a plot.


Strikhedonia - The pleasure of being able to say “to hell with it”.


Ayurnamat - The philosophy that there is no point in worrying about events that cannot be changed.


Sphallolalia - Flirtatious talk that leads no where.


Mamihlapinatapei - The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move.


Two people can keep each other
sane, can give support, conviction,
love, massage, hope, sex.


It goes on one at a time,
it starts when you care
to act, it starts when you do
it again after they said no,
it starts when you say We
and know who you mean, and each
day you mean one more.


Talking lips don’t grow cold;
babble and jabber.


Only a white-haired old man, who would be a prophet
Yet is not a prophet, for he's much too busy


Late at night, I no longer speak for effect.
I speak the truth without the niceties.


I am hundreds of years old but do not know how many hundreds.


The person I was does not know me.


I am possible.
I have in me the last unanswered question.


And yes, I grow colder as I write of the sun rising.


If I die here they will say I died writing.


This is the time to live quietly,
to build nothing and tell stories...


In their essence, phenomena get simpler:
wood burns, water freezes, all matter rots,
either you love me or you don't.


If they want me to be a mystic, fine. I'm a mystic.


On the first night of our honeymoon
we lie in bed, too exhausted for sex
or conversation. Instead, we listen
to the surf, wave after wave after wave.


In the darkness, her dark body grows darker
until I am making love to her and her shadow.
thelinesoflearning: (Default)

[personal profile] thelinesoflearning 2013-01-07 07:16 pm (UTC)(link)
The man of mercy comes again and talks of justice.


The very words that they had sung
Became their last communion
thelinesoflearning: (Default)

[personal profile] thelinesoflearning 2013-01-15 12:39 am (UTC)(link)
I would write your story, on you.


Sometimes the night is dark and stormy. Sometimes the ghosts of what you had run their fingers down a spine.


Your life will be remembered. You will be reborn on the lips of story tellers. A whispering around a fire. A telling of a tale.
You will become legend. Then myth. Then simply an idea.
Ask yourself "What do I want to be remembered for? What idea do I want to become?"


If you want to make someone cry, make them think of every person who hurt them.
If you want to destroy someone, make them think of every person who they have hurt.
thelinesoflearning: (Default)

[personal profile] thelinesoflearning 2013-02-24 06:57 am (UTC)(link)
"So what do you do when you realize all your dreams have come true?"
"Pay off old debts."
thelinesoflearning: ([ASW] if your wings are real)

[personal profile] thelinesoflearning 2013-03-07 03:44 am (UTC)(link)
You were just always talking about changing, changing
What if I was the same man, same man, the same I always was?


and you're looking at me like I'm something you own.


I can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the
hunger of my heart; I am trying to bribe you
with uncertainty, with danger, with defeat


I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.


to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you've held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.


There is no ground for those who have never landed.
But the touch of the world is so soft.


Trust my wings the way you now trust my eyes.
And fly away with me.


Offer the wolves your arm only from the elbow down. Leave tourniquet space. Do not offer them your calves. Do not offer them your side. Do not let them near your femoral artery, your jugular. Give them only your arm.


Don’t kiss trainwrecks. Don’t kiss knives. Don’t kiss.


This is not a story of return.


Burn all of your bridges
just so that you can build them again
with thicker ropes.
Hurt all the people you love
and then commit every felony to win them back.


Drown yourself in bleach until not even Heaven's light
can compare to how bright you can burn.


This is how I destroyed you. And this, is how
I kept you alive.
thelinesoflearning: (Default)

[personal profile] thelinesoflearning 2013-05-16 01:45 pm (UTC)(link)
And we saved the world together for a while.
thelinesoflearning: (Default)

[personal profile] thelinesoflearning 2013-05-16 02:11 pm (UTC)(link)
and this body,
transformed by love.


Which shouldn’t exist
in this world,
the one who forgets
or the one
who is forgotten?


He seemed all body, such
As normally you couldn’t touch,


Laughter and sadness eventually become the same song turning us
toward the nearest star


The wind has many eyes.
The wind has sharp, white teeth.
The wind will tell you lies


I ask the stars to dine.


At the last moment
I learned to believe in failure


I was asleep while you were dying.


Never say the words 'this is not my life'


Say every fever is a love note


God does not expect me to use my inside voice
God knows how goddamn hard I am working


You will never have a greater opportunity to learn to love your enemy than when your enemy is your own red blood


Remember, the universe only became the universe when it shattered into dust
And that shattering is the one thing you can always trust enough to tell you


Even the city carries ruins in its heart.
Longs to be touched in places
only it remembers.


Few buildings, few lives
are built so well
even their ruins are beautiful.


My fingers are getting tired from striking these keys, so I believe I shall stop now.
thelinesoflearning: (Default)

[personal profile] thelinesoflearning 2013-06-17 08:19 am (UTC)(link)
Father, in your city, are you listening.


The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.


Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:
Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!


This is not what the door’s for—slamming
you up against, opening
your legs with my knee. And it isn’t
leaving, the thing I keep doing
with my shoes still on, or in the car
in the driveway in broad
daylight after waving
goodbye to your neighbors
again.


To leave
I would have to put clothes on,
and they’d have to fit better
than all of this skin.


If seeing
is believing then why isn’t touching
knowing for sure?


I just want my nerves
to do the work for me, I don’t want
to have to decide.


There’s blood in my hands
for fight and blood in my legs
for flight and nowhere
a sign.


Believe me, I’ll leave if you just
let me touch you again for the last
last time.


At sixteen, I was illegal and brilliant,
my fingernails chewed to half-moons.


I opened my mouth
to swallow stars.


Some days I watch myself
in the third person, speak to her
in the second.


I will know you
by your stillness and your shaking.
By your second-hand gown.
By your bruises left by mouths
since forgotten.


This is not
an elegy because I cannot bear
for it to be.


My body is a dead language
and you pronounce
each word perfectly.


Each deliberate line of your body an invitation.


The day you fall in love, his mouth will spill your name. He will repeat and repeat. He will not touch you. He will watch your hips, study whatever ample you have, will ask to watch you dance. When you turn to leave, he will use your name like a choke chain.


He will call you miracle. Your face will unravel. This is his magic. When he begs you promise, say yes.


When you lose everyone at once,
your body is the first to react.


it will be short, it will not be simple


You are coming into us who cannot withstand you
you are coming into us who never wanted to withstand you


For last year's words belong to last year's language,
And next year's words await another voice.


If you let your thoughts wander you may discover things about yourself that you never imagined.


I am no longer unfulfilled and it's terrifying.


My typewriter is my shield. These words can be my weapons, but I'm not quite sure what I'm fighting for.
thelinesoflearning: (Default)

[personal profile] thelinesoflearning 2013-06-23 05:52 am (UTC)(link)
They say I escaped
as if by miracle, but I will tell you the miracle:
I cut my throat open.
I set myself free.


I am the storyteller at the end of time. I know how it ends. It ends like this.


Attend me, o Muses, for I am homesick.


I have tried to do something useful with all this history


It is in the mystery of priests to muddy what they say,
In the speech of statesmen to prove things their way,
In the way of engineers to twist nature's forces,
It is in the nature of poets to misuse their sources.


The entirety of this poem.


Love blurs your vision; but after it recedes, you can see more clearly than ever. It’s like the tide going out, revealing whatever’s been thrown away and sunk: broken bottles, old gloves, rusting pop cans, nibbled fishbodies, bones. This is the kind of thing you see if you sit in the darkness with open eyes, not knowing the future. The ruin you’ve made.


I know
you and I
are not about poems or
other sentimental bullshit
but I have to tell you
even the way
you drink your coffee
knocks me the fuck out.


Just take off my dress
Let's mess with everybody's mind


Oh God, let me save you
Life might change you, and I might change my mind


You think you know me, that's your trouble
Never fall in love with a body double


Never even scratched the surface,
Though you're picking through my bones


Though the names and dates are altered
The story's still my own


In a cast of many thousands
No one's essential to the plot


You came tumbling and I was sorry,
avoiding the knife and the guilt of a wound
thelinesoflearning: (Default)

[personal profile] thelinesoflearning 2013-08-13 09:47 pm (UTC)(link)
Then the angel asked her what her name was
She said, "I have none"


Don't you dare look out your window, darling
Everything's on fire


Hold onto this lullaby
Even when the music's gone


Run fast if you can, no one has to understand
Fly high across the sky from here to kingdom come
Fall back down to where you're from


Come away little lamb, come away to the water
Give yourself so we might live anew
Come away little lamb, come away to the slaughter


This blood keeps me alive, but what is it that runs through you?
Electricity and wires, dictating everything you do.


You might think she's Christ-like
But my lover is childlike


See these people, they lie,
And I don't know who to believe anymore.
But there comes you,
To keep me safe from harm


Words, which can make our terrors bravely clear,
Can also thus domesticate a fear


Our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came when we’d given up
on asking love to come. I think
that has to be part
of its miracle.


I will write a dictionary
of all the words I have used trying
to describe the way it feels to have finally,
finally found you.
And I will not be afraid
of your scars.


I will love you when you are a still day.
I will love you when you are a hurricane.


the sea’s behaving abominably,
seems never satisfied,
what it throws away it dashes down
then wants back, yanks back.


Oh what the
heck, I probably drove myself crazy,
thinks the sea, kissing all those strangers
thelinesoflearning: (Default)

[personal profile] thelinesoflearning 2013-09-03 03:21 pm (UTC)(link)
You learn the past tense of have, which is hunger.


Fucking endings, man, they weren't as easy as they looked.


Memories mist like the fairy dust
you once placed on my tongue.


God reverberates quietly inside you,
a psalm you sing as you dissolve


and a story sailors tell
about a man who slept through a man-killing storm