Title: Shakspearian Genocide
Author: Bunni-Chan
Disclaimer: I own naught but the books...the plays.....the movies...the posters..and the life-size cardboard cutouts. . Harry Potter and all that goes with it belong to the Goddess. The language of the english past belong to a young master William. I do, however, own my ideas, so please do not take the only thing truly worth a thing?
Rating: PG-13, Slash
Pairing: Ron/Draco, (slight R/H, but in a brotherly sense)
Summary: .' Prodigious birth of love it is he, that he must love a loathed enemy'.
Author's Note: Who hasn't read this most famous of Willie's plays. I have already written a story for Much Ado and The Tempest, I figured this was about time. But alas, I fear this story may be a bit odd and don't know if I should continue. Is it worth it? For I dearly love my Ronnikins and I'd hate to see him rot in a dead end story. -;
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"Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Hogwarts, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where magic blood makes magic hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows
Doth with their death bury their house's' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
And the continuance of their house's rage,
Which but their student's end naught could remove,
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
The which, if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend."
It's funny, you know? How one second everything is completely in your control and the world is your chocolate frog, and all you need to do to taste that sweet sugar is to hold tight- and then it all turns to ashes in your mouth when you realize that your staring at Malfoy's ass and Harry can see you. But then again I was never good at metaphors. Or similies. English in general should be left to the eloquent and brave. Left to pale white skin and moonlight hair who's hips move just a little too much as he flows through the- shit. It's like I can't go two seconds without thinking about it. I guess it's not so funny. Not funny at all.
"RON!" startled as hell Harry's screaming in my face and I notice his left earlob twitch like he does when he's irritated. It'd be rather cute.. if Harry wern't my best friend. My eyes, which are bluer then the sky but as shallow as my love for life, blink up into his emeralds. My mouth all agape.
"Blimy Harry, make a bloke go bloody deaf why don't you." I smile and he smiles. Hermoine rolls her eagle eyes.
"I had just asked if you fancied a quick match after lunch today, but if you rather 'deny thy father and refuse thy name I'll let you no longer be a capulet.' " This confused me, as most things do, but Hermoine had an answer, as she very often does, when I quirked my brow.
"It's Shakespeare Ron. Honestly, don't you read?"
"No." I answer honestly. "And neither does Harry." Now to my afformentioned friend. "When did you start" I shiver "reading." He chuckles, or giggles, but chuckles sounds more like a man, and he goes all aglitter with his silly little secret.
"It's for muggle studies tis' all. And methinks that lest mine eyes deceive me 'your love has sprung from your only hate, too early seen unknown, and known too late'." Now Hermoine giggled.
"Oh Harry.' Prodigious birth of love it is he, that he must love a loathed enemy'."And while they had their little game, I saw the last bit of light drown out of the room, so I could regain myself and put on my face of indignence.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" I lie, but my eyebrows shrink together, and I feel my hair burn as bright as my ears. Indiosyncricies very often lose effect after six long years, but be it habit or formality it's makes for convincing pretend.
...shall I continue?
Author: Bunni-Chan
Disclaimer: I own naught but the books...the plays.....the movies...the posters..and the life-size cardboard cutouts. . Harry Potter and all that goes with it belong to the Goddess. The language of the english past belong to a young master William. I do, however, own my ideas, so please do not take the only thing truly worth a thing?
Rating: PG-13, Slash
Pairing: Ron/Draco, (slight R/H, but in a brotherly sense)
Summary: .' Prodigious birth of love it is he, that he must love a loathed enemy'.
Author's Note: Who hasn't read this most famous of Willie's plays. I have already written a story for Much Ado and The Tempest, I figured this was about time. But alas, I fear this story may be a bit odd and don't know if I should continue. Is it worth it? For I dearly love my Ronnikins and I'd hate to see him rot in a dead end story. -;
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------
"Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Hogwarts, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where magic blood makes magic hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows
Doth with their death bury their house's' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
And the continuance of their house's rage,
Which but their student's end naught could remove,
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
The which, if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend."
It's funny, you know? How one second everything is completely in your control and the world is your chocolate frog, and all you need to do to taste that sweet sugar is to hold tight- and then it all turns to ashes in your mouth when you realize that your staring at Malfoy's ass and Harry can see you. But then again I was never good at metaphors. Or similies. English in general should be left to the eloquent and brave. Left to pale white skin and moonlight hair who's hips move just a little too much as he flows through the- shit. It's like I can't go two seconds without thinking about it. I guess it's not so funny. Not funny at all.
"RON!" startled as hell Harry's screaming in my face and I notice his left earlob twitch like he does when he's irritated. It'd be rather cute.. if Harry wern't my best friend. My eyes, which are bluer then the sky but as shallow as my love for life, blink up into his emeralds. My mouth all agape.
"Blimy Harry, make a bloke go bloody deaf why don't you." I smile and he smiles. Hermoine rolls her eagle eyes.
"I had just asked if you fancied a quick match after lunch today, but if you rather 'deny thy father and refuse thy name I'll let you no longer be a capulet.' " This confused me, as most things do, but Hermoine had an answer, as she very often does, when I quirked my brow.
"It's Shakespeare Ron. Honestly, don't you read?"
"No." I answer honestly. "And neither does Harry." Now to my afformentioned friend. "When did you start" I shiver "reading." He chuckles, or giggles, but chuckles sounds more like a man, and he goes all aglitter with his silly little secret.
"It's for muggle studies tis' all. And methinks that lest mine eyes deceive me 'your love has sprung from your only hate, too early seen unknown, and known too late'." Now Hermoine giggled.
"Oh Harry.' Prodigious birth of love it is he, that he must love a loathed enemy'."And while they had their little game, I saw the last bit of light drown out of the room, so I could regain myself and put on my face of indignence.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" I lie, but my eyebrows shrink together, and I feel my hair burn as bright as my ears. Indiosyncricies very often lose effect after six long years, but be it habit or formality it's makes for convincing pretend.
...shall I continue?