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If you write fic, original or fanfic, share a favourite passage, scene, or bit of dialogue that you've written. It doesn't necessarily have to be from what might be your favourite story over all, just something you've written that stands out for you as something you thought really came out well, that made you laugh, made you cry, or that you just damn well like! (any genre or type) (slash/het/gen/or something in between) A bit about why you like it would be nice to, though not a requirement. And a link to the story would be lovely:) Yeah, I'm demanding!
You have your assignment! Now go!
(yes, I'll share mine at some point) (but I'm more interested in what you all come up with)
You have your assignment! Now go!
(yes, I'll share mine at some point) (but I'm more interested in what you all come up with)
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Date: 2006-08-08 11:18 pm (UTC)From:This is from the Russell Crowe fanfiction Ive been working on, when my OC and the Crowe character she is paired with, Cort (from TQATD) are preparing for a mission involving the movie "Gladiator" - the movie has affected Cort in a way that causes Rachel to reflect on her own concerns about the mission and her feelings for Cort. Actually, the two had just finished watching LOTR:TTT and Elrond's dialogue with Arwen had been words that Cort had overheard Rachel say of herself.
Bad thing about going back over stuff I wrote some time ago is I see loose threads of thought that need to be tied up. Hopefully this bit makes sense. I like this bit because of how Rachel is falling more in love with Cort.
*****
Rachel wasn’t sure what affected her more: the sight of his tears, or the pall of what was to come. She was glad Cort was coming along. It seemed right that he would, but she’d had anxiety about how they would find a way to comfort Maximus once he was brought. She knew she was starting to think too much when the threads of her thoughts started tangling with memories of Cort’s journey.
But the monkey brain wouldn’t stop chattering. She shifted to discover that Cort was dozing, so Rachel decided to just let her mind run with the flow of thought.
For Cort, it had been the collar, thrown down in the dust by someone else. Not him. He wasn’t the one who rejected it. But Herod had a point to make and could only do it by taking away the one thing that Cort had claimed for himself, on his own, without the manipulation of another agenda. All that he had become, his repentance, his blackened sorrow in the face of murder, his choice to turn and submit to the One who could annihilate him with a mere thought, and his subsequent walk through the desert back to God: all that symbolized in that dust-stained collar, torn away by another hand and defiled in the street. Or so Herod and the townspeople had thought.
For Maximus, it was his honor, his essence as a soldier, a defender of Rome. Commodus ripped it away from him and told Maximus he could never pick it up again.
Rachel stared up into the dark, beginning to see a light bloom in front of her. That’s why Cort is so moved to watch Gladiator over and over again: like Herod bearing down on Cort, the Roman emperor became accuser to Maximus when he refused to kill his defeated opponent.
Why don’t you just die?
In the still darkness of the room, Rachel could hear the words as if from someone else: maybe the struggle of the arena showed Cort that there is hope. He doesn’t have to accept the accusation, the collar in the dirt, any more than Maximus had accepted the stain of entertainment at the expense of another.
There is still hope, Arwen murmured against the damning words of Elrond.
“You are worth something,” she whispered to the soul in her arms, even though she knew he wouldn’t hear. “To me and to God.”
no subject
Date: 2006-08-09 02:13 am (UTC)From:And I'm the Queen of Brevity so you get this...
He caresses me with his fingertips.
He thinks that maybe I'm the solution to all his problems.
I know I'm not.
All I know is that I may be in pieces on this cloth yet I am more whole than he is right now.
This comes from Love Isn't Easy. A story I wrote about Horatio Caine using a unique POV. When I finished it, this bit just leapt out at me as the most powerful bit of the story. It describes a man on the edge; contemplating his demise as if that would stop the pain he was feeling and knowing ultimately it wouldn't.
The whole deal can be found here:
http://www.whispersofthemuse.org/Other%20FanFic/OtherLoveIsntEasy.htm
from "Not So Much a Flavor as a Color: Blue"
Date: 2006-08-09 03:16 am (UTC)From:He ran a hand through his hair, shaking loose a hail of glitter. He needed to spend some time on his hair. Tomorrow. Right now, undress and wind down and let sleep carry away the exhaustion and the ringing in his ears.
Blaine toed off his shoes, little blue boots with heels; they'd been a lot more comfortable when he'd left the house. Socks. Somewhere between Barricades and the first party after the show, he'd lost his socks.
He pulled his shirt off over his head. More times than he could remember, in the last few days: hands up and a tug and a faceful of sky-blue silk, and then someone or other looking really pleased. This time, himself, reflected in the slightly clouded full-length mirror that had been in these rooms since the rooms had been there: himself, pleased, sleepy, with a little of yesterday's eyeliner. That had always been a good look for him.
Blaine is sort of a strange character; for one thing, his looks and name came from a doll (see icon). He lives so far out in the fringes of the Star Wars galaxy that he might as well be in an original universe, if it weren't for his mother importing Kourt, a shapeshifting Jedi, to look after him. Kourt was
http://www.squidge.org/~foxsden/layna/laynasindex.html
Re: from "Not So Much a Flavor as a Color: Blue"
Date: 2006-08-09 04:18 am (UTC)From:I loved it !! Especially the Cort/Kourt reference!
I hope this wont offend you but I saw the name Blaine and the 80s girl in me went "Blaine?! That's not a name...that's a major appliance!"
Name that movie...
no subject
Date: 2006-08-09 04:19 am (UTC)From:Re: from "Not So Much a Flavor as a Color: Blue"
Date: 2006-08-09 06:15 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2006-08-09 10:20 am (UTC)From:The sharp tang in his mouth that accompanied the buzz of an approaching immortal broke through his sleep, and Methos scrambled for his sword under the bed, colliding with a startled Highlander who had also awoken with a start on the floor. With a howl, Methos nursed his nose as he continued to feel around under the bed with his left hand.
"It's probably just Amanda, you know," Duncan pointed out as the pounding in his head began to abate.
"Never hurts to be cautious," came the short reply as Methos curled his hand around the pommel of his sword.
BANG, BANG, BANG.
Duncan groaned as the din echoed through his still-tender noggin.
"Methos! Methos, I know you're in there, I could feel you from down the hall!"
"For crying out loud, doesn't that woman understand the concept of a secret identity? I'm surprised she doesn't just post my name on the net," Methos grumbled as he stumbled over Duncan to get to door.
"You know she only does it because it guarantees you'll answer the door. That paranoia of yours is way too easy to play upon."
Glaring down at the smug Highlander, Methos wrenched open the door and found himself with an armful of Amanda.
"Oh, Methos," she sobbed into his shoulder. "Thank God you're here, you've got to save him!"
A small smile tugged at the corners of Methos's mouth; nothing like a millennia of practice to perfect the little-girl-lost routine.
Re: from "Not So Much a Flavor as a Color: Blue"
Date: 2006-08-09 03:44 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2006-08-09 03:45 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2006-08-09 03:51 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2006-08-09 03:51 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2006-08-09 05:11 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2006-08-09 05:50 pm (UTC)From:That was most excellent!
no subject
Date: 2006-08-09 08:30 pm (UTC)From:***
"Ah, I see." He watched as Jethro spooned their eggs and hashbrowns onto three plates.He hated to admit it, but he was actually rather amused by his captor's clumsy antics. Jethro came into the living room, and set his plate down on the coffee table in front of him, before taking his own place in the other chair across the room. He looked down at his bound wrists, and then at his plate, and smirked. "How do you expect me to eat like this," he asked as they delved into their own food.
"Oh, uh," Jethro stammered, and looked at Paul.
"You'll t-try to run away," Paul accused, looking from one man to the next.
"No, I promise. That was a big mistake yesterday. I've learned my lesson," Methos promised in his best "Adam Pierson" voice.
"Ya promise?" Jethro asked uncertainly, setting his plate aside. "The police said we had to keep the noise down."
Methos snorted to himself as the big man rose to cross the room. "Promise. I'd cross my heart if my hands weren't tied," he lied.
A moment later, he was untied and running towards the door. He heard shouting behind him, as he swung it open, and ran down the steps to the concrete parking lot. They were close on his heels when he spotted a fence, and jumped over it to the yard next door. He was almost to the other side when he heard the growls, followed by threatening snarls and barks. He turned just in time to see two large Dobermans galloping towards him. "Shit," he yelled, as he scurried up the nearest tree, leaving the two angry dogs below. He barely had time to register the yell and curse, when he was joined on a neighboring branch by Jethro.
"Nice of you to visit," he said dryly, and once again cursed his luck. "So, what do we do now, Sherlock?"
"Who?"
"Never mind," he snorted.
They stayed like that for long moments while Methos contemplated his next move. He was pretty sure he could get down and fight off the mutts. Being sure he couldn't escape, his captors had let him strip off his wet clothes in the bathroom without them. While he didn't know where they had stashed his sword, they didn't know about the dagger he had hidden at his back under his waistband. He reached around,and withdrew it, ignoring the startled stare he received from the other man.
He climbed down silently, and approached the dogs. They crept up to him, and began to snarl. Methos faced them, his dagger in his hand, and crept closer as they growled a warning low in their throats. He made eye contact, staring them down with every step, and pressed them closer until they were backing away from the tree. He was peripherally aware that Jethro had climbed down the tree, and was making his way to the fence. He began backing away from the dogs, softly talking to them, while maintaining eye contact. They stood still, and watched him back away, until he reached the fence, and climbed over.
He turned to Jethro, his dagger still in his hand, and contemplated his next move. He didn't want to hurt the other man. He had actually been quite amused by the two men's antics as they attempted to hold him. Still, he had no intention of returning to the small apartment to be tied up once again.
"Sorry, but I've got to go now." He smiled at the other man.
"I d-don't t-think so," came the nervous voice behind him as the distinctive noise of a gun being cocked echoed in the still air.
"Wonderful," he moaned, as Jethro shrugged his shoulders, and took the dagger from his grip.
no subject
Date: 2006-08-09 11:58 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2006-08-10 12:01 am (UTC)From:http://www.taterville.com/romance.htm
no subject
Date: 2006-08-14 10:19 am (UTC)From:It was still two hours before sunrise when Natalie arrived back at her apartment. She found Vachon staring idly out the window, an empty glass in his hand.
"Hey, Vachon," she said pleasantly. "You doing okay?"
"Not dead yet," he said, and Natalie could hear the smile in his voice even though his back was still to her. "At least, not by some people's standards."
She ducked her head and grinned in spite of herself, then recomposed her expression. "Did you get rid of our overnight guest?"
He turned to face her. "No, I thought I'd leave the body in the tub to rot and annoy your neighbors," he said, eyes sparkling mischievously. "Of course I got rid of it."
"Good," she said, dropping wearily onto the sofa. "You owe me a new rug."
"I'll throw a few CDs into the deal," he replied cheerfully. "Do you realize how pathetic your collection is? The Phantom of the Opera soundtrack is about the only thing even marginally worth listening to, and that gets old after the second or third time." He flopped onto the other side of the couch.
She made a face at him. "Well, you'd better consult with Sidney before you expand the music collection, because he's the only one who's around here often enough to listen to it."
"The cat hates the sight of me," Vachon said affably, leaning back and crossing one leg over the other. "I keep telling him I don't *like* cat blood, but he doesn't seem convinced."
Natalie looked up at him, revulsion on her face. "You mean to tell me you've *tried*--? No, wait, don't answer that. I don't think I want to know."
"It might be better than the stuff you're feeding me now." He studied the glass in his hand. "You weren't kidding about these drinks tasting terrible."
"That seems to be the consensus," she retorted, "but you'd better learn to love 'em until we figure out what blood characteristics cause your problem. They'll keep you alive, at least." Suddenly realizing the irony of her words given her recent argument with Nick, she dropped her gaze uneasily.
"What?" Vachon said, noting her expression.
She pursed her lips, then shook her head slightly. "Vachon, I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you." She looked up at him, eyes nervously bright.
no subject
Date: 2006-08-14 10:21 am (UTC)From:He didn't change position, but his whole body suddenly came alert, like a rabbit that had heard the rustle of a nearby dog. He raised his eyebrows and tipped his head in expectation.
"I...I talked to Nick today," she said quietly. "He says..." She sighed and chewed her lower lip, then shook her head again. "Vachon, the other vampires want you dead."
He relaxed slightly. "This is news?" he said with an easy grin.
She looked at him, slightly disgusted. "Vachon, he specifically said there's a death sentence on your head. Now, I don't know how vampires go about arranging their executions, but I should think you'd have reason to be concerned."
He shrugged. "Did Knight ever tell you my story?" he asked. "Up until about a year ago, I'd spent my entire life--or unlife, I guess I should say--staying at least one step ahead of another vampire who wasn't exactly happy with me." He raised his brows and grinned at her, his expression beguiling. "Ever seen The Fugitive_? He's an amateur."
Natalie's countenance became even stonier; clearly, she was not appeased.
Vachon sat up straighter on the couch and set his glass on the coffee table, his expression changing somewhat. "I expect, though, that Knight is having a fit about *your* safety," he observed, "and I can't say that his fears are out of line. Maybe I'd better find a different place to stay until we've got a better grip on this thing."
Natalie was bolt upright in a second. "No," she said, very firmly. "That won't be necessary."
He stared at her for a moment, his entire body still as he studied her. Gradually, he leaned back against the couch again, his expression slightly puzzled. "I wouldn't be out of touch," he offered, "just out of your hair--and far enough away to avoid incriminating you if the Community's henchmen do come after me."
She shook her head emphatically. "That won't be necessary," she repeated.
Vachon continued to stare at her, and she could feel the beginning buzz of what she had begun to think of as her vampire sensor. Her ability to read its strange signals had increased markedly with their practice sessions; now, she could discern Vachon's thoughts better through this mysterious wordless communication than she could by studying his expressions, though it still reminded her of a phone line riddled with static. She wondered, a little nervously, if he could gain entry to her own thoughts that way. But she *wasn't* a vampire; surely that meant that the doorway to her mind was a little narrower, a little less accessible?
"There's something going on here besides a test of courage," he said finally, providing her with a somewhat unwelcome answer. "You've got a really big chip on your shoulder. The question is, who are you expecting to knock it off?"
no subject
Date: 2006-08-14 10:22 am (UTC)From:She stared back at him, put out at what she felt was an invasion of her privacy. "You know," she said crossly, "for somebody who looks like he's part drug-soaked flower child and part Gen-X grungemeister, you ask a lot of nosy questions." She got up from the couch and walked to the window, arms crossed over her chest.
"And *you* are avoiding answering them." The voice was right behind her, in her ear; she'd never heard him move. Catching her breath sharply, she whirled to face him. The brown eyes bored into hers, not hypnotic but demanding nonetheless.
"Did it ever occur to you that maybe my personal motives are none of your business?" she snapped, trying to breathe steadily despite her racing heart.
"Sure," he replied easily, "but in this case, I'm going to keep digging, because I can tell this all has something to do with Knight. He may be a weird one by our standards, but he's older and stronger than I am, plus he's got that short-tempered old Roman for a master, and I'm not especially anxious to add *him* to my list of enemies." When Natalie didn't respond, he began to pepper her with questions, his tone uncharacteristically businesslike.
"What exactly did he say to you, anyway? Does he want to help protect you from other vampires, or more likely, from me? I'll bet it's driving him nuts that I'm staying here, isn't it?"
"Do you think I'm crazy?" she cut in, her tone incredulous. "He doesn't know you're here!"
Vachon looked at her, clearly surprised, then his face slowly took on a dark seriousness that Natalie had never seen before; it made her uneasy. "Why not?" asked the vampire, his voice so changed she scarcely recognized it.
She didn't want to answer his question, but the vampiric sense was reverberating through her body, distracting her. Denying him the answer seemed almost like denying herself. Her own voice sounding strange in her ears, she said, "Because he's decided he has to help kill you."
Vachon stepped back abruptly, as if he'd received an electric shock. "Okay," he said, "that's it. I'm out of here." He turned his back on her, heading for the door.
"No!" she cried, almost involuntarily. "You can't leave!"
He stopped and looked at her. "Why not?" he asked, his voice flat and entirely devoid of its usual teasing tone.
"Well," she said shakily, "for one thing, it's almost sunrise." She smiled, trying very hard to be disarming.
"You're hedging," he said, advancing on her. "It's not cute anymore. Tell me: Why not?" His voice was stern.
"Because I--I need your help," she said uncertainly.