Drabbles and blatherings
Mar. 8th, 2006 09:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
winterLook! ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fyrie drew brilliant fanart for my Krolock and Lestat fic! Go and marvel and tell her how good she is!
And since I'm almost finished with the fake-title meme (and the two bits that are yet to be written will get their own post), here are the best bits from that and the blather-about-characters meme, the ones I want to put on my site sometime:
The Dark River: Obi-Wan and Dooku forimadra_blue
I still think I took the easy way out at the end there, though I’m rather proud of the scene where Obi-Wan watches through a one-way mirror as Dooku has Anakin tortured. And the clothes sequence, when Dooku makes Obi-Wan put on the Sith uniform for the first time...
Dooku didn’t touch him.
His own hands pulled on the black fabric. The undertunic had adhesive patches inside the long sleeves that allowed them to be tucked in and fastened to regulate length. The trousers slid like warm water over his flesh, and he shuddered as he felt Dooku’s eyes follow the movement. There was a frayed thread on the collar of the overtunic, weak enough to be snapped by teeth.
He cut his fingers on the buckles of the boots, and the leather gleamed where his blood fell upon it. Pain gives strength, he remembered: Dooku. Through death we reach for eternity: Qui-Gon.
The viewport made a poor mirror, but the only other available would be Dooku’s dark eyes, and he was tired of looking for meaning in them. The black cloak stood between him and the world. In the depths of the hood, he felt his lips twist, the airconditioned atmosphere of the ship drying his teeth in an instant as they were bared. Through hate and anger to victory, he remembered.
Maul.
Von Krolock and Dracula forciciaye
If that wasn’t a pointless exercise in muse torture, I don’t know what was. Well, that and gratuituous descriptions of violence, of course. The tavern scene’s a common favourite – the one where they get their hands on the spy sent by the sorcerer who organised the thefts from their respective castle libraries.
The drawn-out death rattle was punctuated by Dracula's frustrated snarl. The Wallachian vampire rose to his feet and gave the corpse a vicious kick.
"Then we're back where we started," von Krolock said.
"I didn't see you lending a hand." Dracula flexed his fingers as he unknotted the straps of freshly-flayed skin that he'd used to strangle the spy. "I should have made him eat his own flesh before I killed him."
Von Krolock's lips twitched in amusement. "How civilised."
The skin straps broke with a wet tearing sound. Dracula's eyes flashed blue with fury. With a hiss, he started forward, his hands curved into claws, reaching for von Krolock-
-who wasn't there, in a swirl of a cloak and a shifting of shadows sudden and silent as the onset of a nightmare.
Dracula changed directions without pause, hitting a wooden support beam hard enough to make the roof tremble. He hissed, baring his lengthened teeth. On the other side of the beam, von Krolock hissed back, his face pale and drawn tight with a sudden flash of hunger.
For a moment, all was still.
Slowly, oh so slowly, Dracula's fingers unclenched. The blood on them was still fresh.
It left uneven, dripping lines on von Krolock's cheek.
"Show off your magic and your science all you want," the Prince of Vampires whispered. "In the end, you're still a monster. You're still one of mine."
Sirius meta foramamiyarin
Sirius Black. Keyword: tragedy.
Sirius is the future that wasn't, the hope trampled and tainted by the brush of evil. He shone brightly, larger than life and letting life pass him by as he pursued fun and games and dreams unspoken. If things had been different, he would be the focus of dreams and fancy of a generation or three, and when his star faded he would return to the fold, haunting the hallways of Grimmauld Place and remembering the Marauder heyday. Maybe he would even defeat his own curse, find something worth fighting for, lend his name and his charm to a cause that would hold his head above the water and not let him lose himself.
Fighting against Voldemort seemed the perfect choice, but war is too dirty and painful and tainted for a bright star. Sirius wasn't built to weather the suspicion and the fear; under the easy charm his strings were pulled too tightly to withstand prolonged stress. It was killing him long before Azkaban finished the job.
Afterwards, what was left was that man-child, cut open and scooped out, and stitched back together with twine. Afraid and ignorant of what Sirius-in-his-thirties could be like, he retreated into the familiar rhythms of Sirius-at-Hogwarts, bluster and safety and recklessness, as it was in his fifteenth year before an act of thoughtlessness (Remus, looking at him with empty eyes: you hate Snape more than you love me?) started the process of growing up and brought the first darkness (shades of grey) into his life. But even that retreat was not to be: the circumstances called for an adult, patient and certain and at peace with himself.
Desperate to escape from that fate, Sirius fell through the Veil. And like many others on the spiral to self-destruction, in his selfish self-hate he paid no heed to the ones left behind.
The Sandman: Dream and Thessaly forselenak
They were so right and so wrong for each other.
Opposites attract, but that doesn't guarantee smooth sailing throughout. She stood firmly on the ground while he floated with his head in the clouds. She accepted less while he wanted all, as grand as possible. She had changed and moved, and he remained still.
In the end, that tore them apart: that for her, survival was paramount. For him, other things (love, duty, to thine own self be true) took precedence. What she truly hated him for was that he showed her one could live and die like that. But she'd gone too far on her own path to change it, and above that she was (is, will be) a woman. They (we) are the kind who cannot afford some dreams. Most of all we (she) can't afford to faint at the sight of blood.
She cried for him, and she didn't hate him for that; in that, she rose above the Furies. She cried for him, acknowledged the loss and the regret, and then she moved on.
And he? He was dead, and his thoughts were (are) his own.
In other news, I managed somehow to sign up for a multi-fandom Dracula essay for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
idol_reflection. Due May 3rd, and for source material I'll probably use Prince of Many Faces and Dracula: The Dark Prince for historical Vlad, Bram Stoker, Murnau's Nosferatu if I can get it (Herzog's if I can't), Dracula 2000 as an example of a BAD vampire movie, Van Helsing and The Historian. Anything else you think I should include in my ravings on why Dracula freaking rocks?
fyrie drew brilliant fanart for my Krolock and Lestat fic! Go and marvel and tell her how good she is!And since I'm almost finished with the fake-title meme (and the two bits that are yet to be written will get their own post), here are the best bits from that and the blather-about-characters meme, the ones I want to put on my site sometime:
The Dark River: Obi-Wan and Dooku for
imadra_blueI still think I took the easy way out at the end there, though I’m rather proud of the scene where Obi-Wan watches through a one-way mirror as Dooku has Anakin tortured. And the clothes sequence, when Dooku makes Obi-Wan put on the Sith uniform for the first time...
Dooku didn’t touch him.
His own hands pulled on the black fabric. The undertunic had adhesive patches inside the long sleeves that allowed them to be tucked in and fastened to regulate length. The trousers slid like warm water over his flesh, and he shuddered as he felt Dooku’s eyes follow the movement. There was a frayed thread on the collar of the overtunic, weak enough to be snapped by teeth.
He cut his fingers on the buckles of the boots, and the leather gleamed where his blood fell upon it. Pain gives strength, he remembered: Dooku. Through death we reach for eternity: Qui-Gon.
The viewport made a poor mirror, but the only other available would be Dooku’s dark eyes, and he was tired of looking for meaning in them. The black cloak stood between him and the world. In the depths of the hood, he felt his lips twist, the airconditioned atmosphere of the ship drying his teeth in an instant as they were bared. Through hate and anger to victory, he remembered.
Maul.
Von Krolock and Dracula for
ciciayeIf that wasn’t a pointless exercise in muse torture, I don’t know what was. Well, that and gratuituous descriptions of violence, of course. The tavern scene’s a common favourite – the one where they get their hands on the spy sent by the sorcerer who organised the thefts from their respective castle libraries.
The drawn-out death rattle was punctuated by Dracula's frustrated snarl. The Wallachian vampire rose to his feet and gave the corpse a vicious kick.
"Then we're back where we started," von Krolock said.
"I didn't see you lending a hand." Dracula flexed his fingers as he unknotted the straps of freshly-flayed skin that he'd used to strangle the spy. "I should have made him eat his own flesh before I killed him."
Von Krolock's lips twitched in amusement. "How civilised."
The skin straps broke with a wet tearing sound. Dracula's eyes flashed blue with fury. With a hiss, he started forward, his hands curved into claws, reaching for von Krolock-
-who wasn't there, in a swirl of a cloak and a shifting of shadows sudden and silent as the onset of a nightmare.
Dracula changed directions without pause, hitting a wooden support beam hard enough to make the roof tremble. He hissed, baring his lengthened teeth. On the other side of the beam, von Krolock hissed back, his face pale and drawn tight with a sudden flash of hunger.
For a moment, all was still.
Slowly, oh so slowly, Dracula's fingers unclenched. The blood on them was still fresh.
It left uneven, dripping lines on von Krolock's cheek.
"Show off your magic and your science all you want," the Prince of Vampires whispered. "In the end, you're still a monster. You're still one of mine."
Sirius meta for
amamiyarinSirius Black. Keyword: tragedy.
Sirius is the future that wasn't, the hope trampled and tainted by the brush of evil. He shone brightly, larger than life and letting life pass him by as he pursued fun and games and dreams unspoken. If things had been different, he would be the focus of dreams and fancy of a generation or three, and when his star faded he would return to the fold, haunting the hallways of Grimmauld Place and remembering the Marauder heyday. Maybe he would even defeat his own curse, find something worth fighting for, lend his name and his charm to a cause that would hold his head above the water and not let him lose himself.
Fighting against Voldemort seemed the perfect choice, but war is too dirty and painful and tainted for a bright star. Sirius wasn't built to weather the suspicion and the fear; under the easy charm his strings were pulled too tightly to withstand prolonged stress. It was killing him long before Azkaban finished the job.
Afterwards, what was left was that man-child, cut open and scooped out, and stitched back together with twine. Afraid and ignorant of what Sirius-in-his-thirties could be like, he retreated into the familiar rhythms of Sirius-at-Hogwarts, bluster and safety and recklessness, as it was in his fifteenth year before an act of thoughtlessness (Remus, looking at him with empty eyes: you hate Snape more than you love me?) started the process of growing up and brought the first darkness (shades of grey) into his life. But even that retreat was not to be: the circumstances called for an adult, patient and certain and at peace with himself.
Desperate to escape from that fate, Sirius fell through the Veil. And like many others on the spiral to self-destruction, in his selfish self-hate he paid no heed to the ones left behind.
The Sandman: Dream and Thessaly for
selenakThey were so right and so wrong for each other.
Opposites attract, but that doesn't guarantee smooth sailing throughout. She stood firmly on the ground while he floated with his head in the clouds. She accepted less while he wanted all, as grand as possible. She had changed and moved, and he remained still.
In the end, that tore them apart: that for her, survival was paramount. For him, other things (love, duty, to thine own self be true) took precedence. What she truly hated him for was that he showed her one could live and die like that. But she'd gone too far on her own path to change it, and above that she was (is, will be) a woman. They (we) are the kind who cannot afford some dreams. Most of all we (she) can't afford to faint at the sight of blood.
She cried for him, and she didn't hate him for that; in that, she rose above the Furies. She cried for him, acknowledged the loss and the regret, and then she moved on.
And he? He was dead, and his thoughts were (are) his own.
In other news, I managed somehow to sign up for a multi-fandom Dracula essay for
idol_reflection. Due May 3rd, and for source material I'll probably use Prince of Many Faces and Dracula: The Dark Prince for historical Vlad, Bram Stoker, Murnau's Nosferatu if I can get it (Herzog's if I can't), Dracula 2000 as an example of a BAD vampire movie, Van Helsing and The Historian. Anything else you think I should include in my ravings on why Dracula freaking rocks?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-08 12:31 pm (UTC)Oh, that is amazingly hot. I know I shouldn't be swooning on it, but oh. So. Hot.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-08 12:41 pm (UTC)I need to write a lemon with these two. As soon as I, you know, learn how to write lemons.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-08 12:42 pm (UTC)*smites Pat* I'm working on getting the silly sod through the gates now. He keeps on stopping and freaking slightly. Sharpe wants to smack him one.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-08 01:44 pm (UTC)Have Sharpe just grab him and drag him in?
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-08 03:08 pm (UTC)And finally got him in :D I don't think it helped that his hands are so numb with cold that he squeezed his crucifix until it sank into the skin and he felt blood oozing between his fingers. Silly Pat :D
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-08 10:00 pm (UTC)Aww, silly Pat indeed *shoves him at Herbert, who's sure to have a warm bed somewhere nearby*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-09 12:52 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-09 12:54 am (UTC)I'm just wondering what language they'd speak together. Spike might have to drag out his schoolboy French and Latin for an airing, since it's canon he doesn't speak German...
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-09 12:59 am (UTC)And it has Spike quoting either Keats or Milton, post coitus. I haven't decided which yet :D (What I love about joss is that from Spike's first episode, he was actually quoting Shakespeare and no one picked up on it :D)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-09 01:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-09 01:21 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-09 01:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-09 06:25 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-09 06:48 am (UTC)*also, evil laughter*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-09 06:50 am (UTC)Also, I always said I would never write in a fandom I hadn't seen with my own eyes. You made me lie! WOE!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-09 07:05 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-09 07:10 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-09 07:24 am (UTC)Btw, I'm not sure about Dru, but Spike's certainly not the kind to go around calling von Krolock Senior by his title, or gods forbid Excellenz - is he going to be just calling him "Krolock" (and inviting possible confusion)? The canon first name's Alfred, but since that just invites even more confusion, I usually go with Johannes...
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-08 01:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-08 01:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-08 06:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-08 09:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-08 10:28 pm (UTC)Or if you like, and think the post will be reliable enough, I'll send you Aa copy through Amazon, assuming they really have it.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-09 12:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-09 12:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-09 07:30 am (UTC)At the moment, it's just come to light that Graf really isn't a fan of Angelus ;D
It seemed strange that the trio that made up her family were not present, though Graf von Krolock was certainly grateful for small favours. While Darla could, on occasion, be charming, her creation and the Sire of the fragile bloom before him was a drunken, lecherous boor to whom manners were merely a word he chose to ignore.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-09 07:37 am (UTC)(Small stylistic note: I think in English titles like Graf and Count are usually preceded by a 'the'?)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-09 07:41 am (UTC)And I'll also have to decide exactly when this is. I'm guestimating around early 1900s, just after Angelus has skipped out and been all souled up and just after Darla chose to head back to her Sire. One day, I'll get the boxed sets and be able to check all details when I need them ;)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-09 07:53 am (UTC)The period choice sounds nice - all the turmoil and unrest in the Balkans right on Krolock's doorstep, cars staring to appear, ample opportunities to go "oh dear, times are changing, people will soon forget their gods and a Terrible Darkness Will Appear..." :>
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-09 08:52 am (UTC)for the multi-fandom Dracula essay...
Date: 2006-03-09 08:44 am (UTC)still-human DraculaMathias icon*.There's a spoiler-filled synopsis following the series in historical chronology at The Castlevania Dungeon and my friend Rahenna has an extensive image archive called Vampire Killer for image refferences.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-06 06:00 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-06 06:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-06 06:24 am (UTC)