I am pleased with this. Really and truly pleased, in a way where it might be one of those rare fics I can actually read again in the future (not like Q&P. Q&P already embarasses me). I'm a little leery because the first two paragraphs just got written the day of posting, whereas I've been playing with everything else for quite some time, but...I have a new stripe in my ficcing rainbow of fandoms!
Title: Close Your Eyes and See
Summary: Two scenes with Alex in the aftermath of Ben's near-execution (4.02). Because there needs to be way more Alex/Karl and/or Alex fic in general, darn it.
Word Count: 1065
And Alex is heartbreaking with her pleading, not least because both her mother (however loosely one uses that term) and her boyfriend don't even bat an eyelash when they try to pull her away and let Locke carry out his proposed execution. Methinks there will be a bit of a mini-rift (very mini) between Alex & Karl over that. Methinks it so much that I just wasted half an hour pouring the scene from my brain to a Word document. YAY! May even attempt to clean and post it later)
And so it was, eventually with the general picture & last line even remaining intact, although the aforementioned paragraphs and the second-to-last one were brand new additions much later on, and the rest got tweaked all over the place. If I have one qualm with it, it's that there isn't enough emphasis on the shippy, especially given how little A/K is out there in the first place. I wanted more! I did! But more felt forced and out of place, and so I left it subtle and understated, which seems to fit.
Anyway, originally that was all I had planned, but later on that night the second scene drifted to mind - the idea of Alex showing her concern without admitting to it, because of course she still has plenty of ingrained mistrust and anger towards him. I thought there might be something sort of neat and symbolic about the water washing things away, too, although I didn't do more than vaguely allude to it, if that. My theory that she did it later that night got jossed in the next episode, when he was still tramping through the woods as bloody as ever, so I had to rework the beginning a bit. But he is cleaned up the next time we see him, so while I may be sticking an extra day in there, timeline-wise...we're gonna go with it.
Actually, surprise, I have two new stripes!
Title: Lost in Austen
Summary: Bonding over an unexpected viewing choice: Tony, Sarah, sarcasm, and a cozy night on the couch. Set in the middle of season 14. Warning: may produce excess fuzzies.
Word Count: 650
Note #1: The viewing choice is not "Lost in Austen," the series. Let me just spoil that for you right now. However, I thought I was terribly clever in using that title because, well, they do. Get lost, in a drowsily-watching sort of way, in one of the remakes of Austen's novels. Whatever.
The idea came about when I was working on my original ER fic when I wrote the line she misses being tackled for the remote...curled up on the couch watching movies and then all of a sudden I felt an imperative need to spin that scene out in detail. The banter came immediately; the rest took a long, long time to beat into place. But it's done. And I'm happy. And I'm going to spend tomorrow reading for class and not getting lured back to said original and still-untitlted ER fic, RIGHT?
And now, making good on one DVD-style Fic Commentary request! I hope I did it right. I realized after posting the meme that I wasn't really sure how to go about it, so I looked up a few other examples to get me started.
Fable and Fantasy
[Although built out of scraps I’d been working on for a while, I actually put these three bits together, finished them off and posted it in one night (procrastinating against actual Creative Writing homework, as I recall). That being said, I have no idea where the title came from. All I can come up with is that I really like the word fable, which is (sort of) what the first drabble is about, and the other two are, well, fantasies. I like alliteration].
She hasn’t seen his smile in a while.
Once upon a time I had a Word document where I just kept scattered lines and phrases that had popped to mind. This sentence sat all by its lonesome for weeks, with me refusing to give up on the hope that I might use it somehow. Then this fic gave me an opening.
Oh, the corners of his mouth turn up, sometimes there’s even a flash of teeth, but it never quite reaches his eyes. Gone is any sight of the slow relaxation, the affectionate turning up of the lips and eyes crinkling with pleasure. It’s his nature to be stoic and silent; there was never a time when he wasn’t serious. This is a different kind of silence.
Season 3 made me inexplicably sad when I was watching it for the first time in my newfound fandom life, and it just seemed more weighted down than before
(probably because there was less H/Y flirting). I like to think that Yelina noticed it too, but didn’t really have an outlet to bring up her observations.
Also, I’m fond of that “crinkling with pleasure” description. I don’t think I have enough opportunities to say crinkling.
For a man who has always, always taken on everything harder than anyone else, felt each case personally, the violent death of a colleague was the blow that cracked a resolve stretched to capacity, and the private cemetery he carries within has begun to bleed through.
Ooh, I’d forgotten the private cemetery line. Despite the fact that this paragraph should probably contain more than one sentence, I still think that’s a very apt description of what he has locked up in his head.
Yelina thinks anyone else would have broken long before now under its weight. Instead he carries on with the burden, day after month after year, unceasing and unwavering. But somehow, every time she looks at him there is a little more torn away.
Atlas supported the world, but who kept Atlas from sinking?
That last line is where the entire drabble started – I think I was discussing a rerun of “From the Grave” and I mused something about how emotionally charged he was there, more than I’d ever before. I said “well, the weight of the world had to crush him eventually,” and with that spark was off and running.
Masters of Doublespeak
(possibly one of the most tightly cohesive bits of writing I’ve ever created – no wasted words)
They are the masters of doublespeak; they communicate in metaphors when discussion becomes personal and words are never what they mean. Metaphor keeps the world hypothetical, and they pretend it keeps them from hurting.
One of the first things I noticed, upon my dive back to fandom, was how they always skirted the issue. Deeply intrigued, I could only surmise it was a coping mechanism – can’t open yourself to hurt or attack if you’re technically speaking about cases all the time. (I know I had examples in mind when I wrote this, but it’s been over a year since I popped in an s.2/3 DVD or caught a rerun. Memory = fuzzy.)
Metaphorically speaking, family is a tricky world divided by lines into blood and marriage, lines that never cross but blur and so cannot be walked. [That’s a complicated sentence, but I’m not sure I can add anything by dissecting it.] You’re the knight and she’s the damsel but the dragon is already slain.
Because Horatio has Shiny White Knight armor and tends to respond to damsel-in-distress situations, but Yelina stands on her own two feet – gender is the only thing she has in common with said damsels. There’s no dragon to slay, and thus no catalyst to propel them together.
I think I also may have meant Raymond as a metaphorical slain-dragon. Somehow.
By the way, for weeks this one was just called “Drabble 3” and the first two paragraphs didn’t exist.
It’s the curls cascading halfway down her back. It’s the voice and its rounded edge that catches the ear across a crowded room. Skin that warms on contact, bodies that melt and minds that meld. A dance that ends in a smile and then laughter that breaks her into fragments of memory.
I always picture this dream starting out as a surreal party, where everyone else is blurred out and they’re the only two in focus. Maybe it gets fuzzy around the edges as scenes shift. I definitely take that “laughter breaks her” literally, like a mirror shattering, and just the echo remaining, right before he opens his eyes.
Another damn dream. He is furious with himself for being unable to stop them, and though not usually a man to curse, maybe condemnation will give them pause.
Every time I wince and think “I need to rewrite the cursing,” I get to the next sentence and go “oh yeah, that’s why it’s there.” I acknowledge it sounds out of character, but in the privacy of solitude – not even spoken aloud – I can see a slip.
In four hours he’ll have to walk into work and deal with her in person; she’ll perceive his distraction and he’ll lie to her again. He’s really gotten quite good at the false pleasantries that slide from his tongue like water droplets; one more won’t hurt anyone but himself.
“…like water droplets” is a slightly convoluted phrase, but I use it a lot in my journals and I wanted an excuse to make it more public. And I was always very impressed by his ability to lie at the drop of a hat whenever she approached him about something he didn’t want to say.
All he ever wanted was for her to be happy, so he told himself.
See? More lies.
It’s becoming increasingly apparent that he wants her to be happy with him. But she’s not and they’re nothing, [alliteration, I love it!] and he has no one but himself to blame for that. It’s not as if she hasn’t made advances; he just always draws back out of…respect for a ghost? The simplest answer is most convenient, for half-truths are easy to tell.
I should really have rethought the ellipses and added a paragraph break or something. *frowns* Anyway. “Half-truths are easy to tell” is one of my favorite lines in the whole piece.
Fear is the underlying motivation: she is all he ever wanted and most feared to lose.
That which we do not possess cannot be taken.
I must have found that quote on the internet somewhere, right? The general sentiment, at least, surely. But I think it’s a good way to describe how Horatio rationalizes his inaction.
Spoken by someone who never watched a setting sun disappear in the grip of night.
Horatio is also aware that his rationalization is crap. (I quite like my analogy, though)
Man, it is now 2 AM, and I'm torn between staying awake for 6 hours, working early, and then fitting in a 4-hour nap before class, or calling in to say I'll work tomorrow afternoon, and then sleep for a maximum of 11 hours. I mean, if I'm going to sleep, I should really stockpile it for tomorrow's proposed all-nighter, but I'm feeling pretty JAZZED UP right now and I think I could stay up and read for a while. But I don't know if I can go all night. Mumblety...maybe I'll read until I get tired, call in just in case, and set my alarm for 7:30 and see how I feel then.