Quote Your Own Fic Day
Oct. 31st, 2006 12:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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cincoflex says it's quote your own fic day. I do not argue with The Cinc.“The darkness of Moria did not come from just a longing for the open sky,” Legolas said after a moment. “Though I could not see much beauty in it.”
“And if Lothlórien was burned and black, would you suddenly forget its beauty?”
“No.”
“Then do not say Moria is not beautiful,” Gimli said forcefully, letting go of the branch for just one moment to get a better grip.
The world went around and the beloved ground greeted him hard.
**
They haven't even undressed, and she feels her hitched up skirt rub against her stomach, the air chilly and his skin warm against her thighs. He pushes against her, she sinks into him and he's not Eddie and doesn't know her body and in the end, she pushes him down to do it the way she wants. Hard, fast, driven. She's always gone for what she wanted. Las Vegas. Men's attention. Eddie. Marriage. A better career than skin on display. Never look back, always eyes on the road ahead. It's the only way she knows not to crash.
Grissom just looks at her, hair dark and eyes darker, slightly withdrawn in the face of her passion, and that's always been him, and always been her. She doesn't know if he loves her, but she thinks not. He wants her, she knows, feels it in his gaze. She had a life once in making men want to fuck her and she knows all the signs. Perhaps it's become a habit. She doesn't sleep around, but she feels strength knowing she can.
**
It is going to be all right, she knows after a week. The noise is going to quiet, her mind will ease the punishment of herself and the scars will fade. The will to survive heals much, though not all. She will remember.
She sits on the patio with Warrick, listening to the crickets speak to each other in the language only they know. Sometimes, only the same species can understand each other, and Warrick is of her kind.
**
There were little changes everywhere. Slowly, her colours were starting to creep into his home, like the changes of leaves in a distant autumn of childhood. A blue toothbrush in his bathroom. A yellow-covered book on his coffee table. A black bra in his drawer. A red shoe in his hallway, seeking a mate.
It was becoming a home of two. Nowhere to hide from the storm now, nothing to do but weather the changes.
He cleared out drawers for her, got new toothpaste, removed his baseball books from the coffee table and spent half an hour trying to find her other shoe until she almost stumped over him in the hallway, trying to find the mate of the brown shoe under his bed.
When he pressed her against the wall and kissed her, the shoes were left mismatched together on the floor and somehow, that was right too.
**
He only grunts and tilts his head, aiming the screwdriver at the right shackle. With a light buzz, it finally comes open. The second is easier, and in a few steps, he's by her side, freeing her and kissing her in the same motion, leaving her slightly breathless.
"And for the grand finale, I'm gonna tamper with this ship's navigation system and send it back into space, get it lost and delete the coordinates to this planet!" he declares, and she laughs until he kisses her again, the taste of sonic screwdriver in his mouth. "Followed by a fantastic shag and amusing hand gestures in the bed of Rose Tyler."
**
Jack likes to watch.
Rose kisses the Doctor with her eyes open, head tilted upwards, fingers in close-cropped hair, the Doctor's hands on her hips, their bodies parallel lines, the space between them always skin. She tip-toes to reach until the Doctor curves into her shape, his face against her neck, and the shape changes, a half-circle of human and Gallifreyan halves. Dark and gold, but when their hands link, the skin is the same colour, shades of light meeting.
Rose kisses the Doctor and the Doctor kisses her, obeying the laws of attraction between two bodies, a constant of math that adapts, but never dies.
Jack never tells them he's watching and they never ask.
**
If he closes his eyes, he can remember kissing her, remember her lips tasting of salt and breath, remember the softness of her mouth and the hardness of her teeth, remember whispering her name with affection. Always the price. So he keeps his eyes open, staring at the glint of sunshine on the ocean.
The mind has a way of lingering on ideas, even the bad ones. Even the messy, painful, dark and complicated ones.
It's always a beautiful day, he thinks, even when it isn't. There's always a new one waiting beyond the horizon, waiting to start and waiting to end. Today never stays the same day.
It's still a beautiful morning. Still a beautiful life. Still so much wonderful trouble to seek.
He's just going to stand right here for a while, not remembering.
If you can name them I'll give you praise and biscuits.
And to add to it - preview of the ficathon pinch-hit I'm writing.
"... and Christmas lasts all the way to Easter."
- Norwegian saying.
II
Boxing Day, Rose wakes to find the Doctor in her room, watching the pink walls with a sort of fascination she thinks more appropriate for alien planet. Then again, this is his alien planet. It's easy to forget, especially when he's put his pink paper crown back on and looks so the part of silly human.
Maybe he's surveying his pink kingdom, she considers, and wanted the proper attire.
"Hey!" she says brightly, a little more brightly than intended and it sounds a little jarring in own ears. He doesn't seem to notice, or at least makes no point of it.
"Your mother signs Christmas carols when drunk," he replies, grinning. "Does 'Silent Night' really have a verse about Howard being a good shag, though?"
"I'm sorry. We can leave today," she offers, half tripping out of bed. She hopes he doesn't notice the pink underwear, or he might think to claim that too.
"It's still Christmas!" he says cheerfully, as if that explains everything. "Let's go boxing!"
So, give me some of your favourite fic quotes - of own work, but feel free to include others if you're really wanting to.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-10-31 12:37 pm (UTC)First slash I ever reasd in LotR.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-31 01:27 pm (UTC)First slash I wrote, ever.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-31 01:04 pm (UTC)Where's my biscuits?
no subject
Date: 2006-10-31 01:28 pm (UTC)And yes indeed.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-31 02:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-31 07:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-31 01:39 pm (UTC)"...if you’re a figment of my imagination, it won’t matter either, except maybe to prove that Irmo is having some serious fun in Feanorion-tormenting..."
and
Her arms are folded and she is looking him straight in the eye, as one would eye a target on a rifle range. "You think we can ignore this? Pretend it never happened? Look, I don't want any awkwardness to come about because of this--"
"Don't worry, it won't," he interrupts. "There's nothing to be awkward about." Every word like a scalpel blade, graceful in his mouth, perfectly poised to cut.
And now she drops her gaze. And now his glass desk is the great divide between them, crystal clear and hard as stone.
make me quietly happy.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-31 01:54 pm (UTC)It is something very good about a sentence or paragraph that just flows right, isn't it?
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Date: 2006-10-31 03:09 pm (UTC)Mmmm, yes.
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Date: 2006-10-31 07:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-01 03:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-31 02:37 pm (UTC)Song for Rose. The last-but-one section still makes me shiver.
I knew Observations on Geometry immediately. :P
And the third DW one is The Consequences of Kissing.
Favourite quotes? 'Favourite' is hard to define sometimes. I sort of like this:
Brutal, savage, the kiss continues. Desperation feeds him. She's alive. And her responses are no less savage. Her hands rip at his jumper, freeing it from his trousers. His hands pull at her T-shirt, tearing it in his urgency.
Death chases him.
He devours her as her T-shirt falls to the ground. She bites his tongue as his jumper joins it. He turns her and slams her against the console as she pulls at the zip of his fly. His teeth tear at her bra as his hands impatiently tug her jeans down.
Death surrounds him.
And this, from the fic written for me in the current ficathon:
It’s no surprise to her that she’ll be gone someday. She wonders at the how and when.
Old and grey or young and fighting.
And when she’s at her most desperate to hope for old age and fond memories, she remembers the words of the Beast and she thinks that she might not have it in her to survive this in silence after all.
It probably needs the whole thing to make sense: Worlds in Conjunction - absolutely beautiful and poignant.
Re: It's a really old one of mine, but since we were already discussing slash...Enjoy!
Date: 2006-10-31 07:08 pm (UTC)I want my ficathon entry. *envies*
It's a really old one of mine, but since we were already discussing slash...Enjoy!
Date: 2006-10-31 06:14 pm (UTC)They would just remember from time to time...with a private smirk...enduring Imam's silent censure...and the women's collective wariness of them, after the fact...
There are many theories on why something like this happens...Why several people of unrelated backgrounds, with opposing agendas, come together for one such event...
Who knows...
It had been a long night...and an even longer day...eery screams of those damned voracious creatures punctuating the blackness...
Fear skittered down everyone's spines...Fuses were short...everyone at thier limit...
And then there was Paris...
He had been whining about one thing or another the entire time since being freed from the cryosleep chamber he'd occupied...nasal voice droning on and on in the cramped storage area of thier doomed ship...Something about his 'precious and irreplaceable belongings having been damaged intolerably far beyond reasonable repair...and several bottles of expensive Shiraz having gone missing'...unacceptable loss...
The women slept, near the center of the reinforced forward chamber salvaged earlier...thier slim arms intuitively forming a protective circle around the children...
Imam sat, his noble presence leaning against the anterior wall facing the circle...almost like a sphynx, a guardian...as the rest of the men plotted wordlessly...
With a glance and a nearly imperceptable head jerk towards the rear cabin where Paris had secluded himself and was doing an all too verbal inventory of his many parcels, one of them...no one would ever be quite sure which one...motioned for the others to follow...
He was immersed in clucking and cooing over his possesions as strong stealthy hands locked, one across his mouth...effectively silencing him in mid rant about a broken something or other...another vice-like grip snaking around each limb, lifting his shocked slackness and taking him deeper into the anonymous bowels of the injured ship...
In the enveloping womb of inky black, he was divested of all he wore...including his shoes, leaving his pale pedicured toes to curl in terror as he was brought to sit...facing away on a finely scuplted, granite muscled, living, breathing chair...of sorts...
Re: It's a really old one of mine, but since we were already discussing slash...Enjoy!
Date: 2006-10-31 07:09 pm (UTC)This is Pitch Black fandom, innit?
Re: It's a really old one of mine, but since we were already discussing slash...Enjoy!
Date: 2006-10-31 11:37 pm (UTC);)
no subject
Date: 2006-11-01 12:34 pm (UTC)Sandwiched between layers of ancient catacombs, he endured in the darkness, rehearsing his lies.
It wasn't his fault they were the wrong ones.