All The World's A Stage-- I Make My Exit, Stage Right
Well... Back to school at last, and I must say I haven't yet fallen back into routine. It's hard to shake myself out of my spring break sleep, but I make do by zoning out constantly and reverting to fic-world. ...am beginning to believe that might not be healthy. Bah! Who needs real life anyway? Ahh, but on the real-life side of things, there is exciting news to report. Went to see "V for Vendetta" with Z on Sunday (his most magnificent self suggested it), and... was blown away. I must admit, I was expecting major blah-ness. Ooh, but it was SWEET. Or maybe I just like those kinds of things-- who knows? It was a world a bit like that of Orwell's 1984, only a bit less strict (and substantially less frightening). 1984 was FREAKY, but I am glad I read it. I finished it in English class after a test one day, and in the ensuing nappy-time (I do like my naps...) I thought of that decidedly strange "human is infinity" thing. I've decided that it would be the perfect belief for Titian, the ruthlessly brilliant villain from my beloved GCS. I'm really obsessed with that story; I work on it all the time, and hardly a day goes by when I'm not ranting about my dearest, darlingest "Titian and Hans". Ha-- got to rant to Z about it in Starbucks before the movie. My zealous description amused him greatly... Hee hee hee. I dearly love to make others laugh. Anyway! I have the strangest feeling I came here to write about fan-fiction-ish things...
Ahh! Royai smangst. I'm whiffing it already... *laughs at self* Well... something like that. I've been working on a two-part ficthing called "In the Midst of the Battle" (if indeed battles have "midsts"), and I decided that I ought to let the lovely people who randomly peruse my livejournal have a little taste of it. Of course, I'm perfectly aware that less than a few people read this, but let me indulge myself without censure. Thank you. Now, with no more undue ado, here is some brilliantly wonderful, magnificently sensual, dramatically emotional... bits of ILB's "In the Midst of the Battle" pt. 2-- more smutty than not, I'm afraid, but tasteful all the same.
(first part will eventually be up somewhere... not quite necessary to understand what's going on)
Riza was warm. Roy couldn’t help but notice that she was emitting heat like a furnace. It was beautiful. She shivered, and he pulled her closer. Their bodies were pressed together tight- like they were two puzzle pieces finally connected. He wondered, if only briefly, why- when they were sane- they had never pursued each other before. He was still mad, of course; his body still burned with a white-hot hatred: the only time in his miserable existence he could ever remember feeling such a true sense of self-loathing. He was still desperate, still crazy with pain.
He kissed her that much more fiercely, if only to forget.
If only to forget.
Riza couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t. Roy was her only universe. She was drowning inside him, drowning; she was burning, aching, falling. He was stronger than steel then, holding her and touching her and erasing all his sins in the line of her body. What a wonderfully painful realization...
"Why are we doing this?" Roy asked suddenly. "What are we doing? Is this--" he gently ran the back of his hand down her cheek "--going to help anything? Going to do anything other than satiate my deplorable appetite? I'm a dead man Riza-- would you still make love to a corpse?"
She stood up slowly, pulling away from him with promise and regard. Her clothes fell off her body like drops of acrid water, wetting the dry, desert ground with an ironically lifeless rain. She kissed him again, his hands finding her skin with new purpose. He pulled her down, the scratchy tent bottom rough on her knees. He spoke against her neck, his hand grabbing her shoulder firmly. But she couldn't hear a word he said.
He kissed her in return then, almost frightening her in his aggressive urgency. He shed his own impeding uniform, and concentrated on learning every inch of her. She forgot, for just a moment, how it was she was supposed to breathe.
"Do you want me to tell you that you're beautiful?" he asked. "That's what I usually would do-- shower you in compliments and kisses, assuring you, annointing you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of surrender." He put his arms around her, bringing goosebumps up on her back.
"I don't want words." Riza tried to pretend that she hadn't heard of his reputation-- hadn't heard of the other women the men spoke of only as conquests. "I know I'm not; I don't want delusions."
His breath caught as her hands traced a line down his torso. "You..." He leaned his head back and exhaled shakily. "This... This may be tainted, but you're beautiful enough to make me forget."
And...
THAT'S IT! I don't want to put anymore; this was just an experimental scene anyway, and I may go back and change it. I should be getting to bed now, but am rather hesitant to kick off the cat that has taken it over. He seems to have acquired a peculiar fondness for my bed, and as far as cats go, he isn't small. Oh well. Shall pester him incessantly, and then he'll leave on his own. La. I never did that english paper... about some modern literary movement in America. It does sound promisingly depressing, but as stated previously, I've yet to get back in the school-groove. Maybe Kimby will let me copy in history... *snorts* Yeah, like she even did it. Oh well-- I'll just face the consequences of my-- lazy!-- actions. I'd best be off (before I decide to start off on a new tangent). Ta, my duckies!
bye bye bye
the irrepressably irresponsible ILB
(off to consort with her half-inch of unpoetic blanket material)
Ahh! Royai smangst. I'm whiffing it already... *laughs at self* Well... something like that. I've been working on a two-part ficthing called "In the Midst of the Battle" (if indeed battles have "midsts"), and I decided that I ought to let the lovely people who randomly peruse my livejournal have a little taste of it. Of course, I'm perfectly aware that less than a few people read this, but let me indulge myself without censure. Thank you. Now, with no more undue ado, here is some brilliantly wonderful, magnificently sensual, dramatically emotional... bits of ILB's "In the Midst of the Battle" pt. 2-- more smutty than not, I'm afraid, but tasteful all the same.
(first part will eventually be up somewhere... not quite necessary to understand what's going on)
Riza was warm. Roy couldn’t help but notice that she was emitting heat like a furnace. It was beautiful. She shivered, and he pulled her closer. Their bodies were pressed together tight- like they were two puzzle pieces finally connected. He wondered, if only briefly, why- when they were sane- they had never pursued each other before. He was still mad, of course; his body still burned with a white-hot hatred: the only time in his miserable existence he could ever remember feeling such a true sense of self-loathing. He was still desperate, still crazy with pain.
He kissed her that much more fiercely, if only to forget.
If only to forget.
Riza couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t. Roy was her only universe. She was drowning inside him, drowning; she was burning, aching, falling. He was stronger than steel then, holding her and touching her and erasing all his sins in the line of her body. What a wonderfully painful realization...
"Why are we doing this?" Roy asked suddenly. "What are we doing? Is this--" he gently ran the back of his hand down her cheek "--going to help anything? Going to do anything other than satiate my deplorable appetite? I'm a dead man Riza-- would you still make love to a corpse?"
She stood up slowly, pulling away from him with promise and regard. Her clothes fell off her body like drops of acrid water, wetting the dry, desert ground with an ironically lifeless rain. She kissed him again, his hands finding her skin with new purpose. He pulled her down, the scratchy tent bottom rough on her knees. He spoke against her neck, his hand grabbing her shoulder firmly. But she couldn't hear a word he said.
He kissed her in return then, almost frightening her in his aggressive urgency. He shed his own impeding uniform, and concentrated on learning every inch of her. She forgot, for just a moment, how it was she was supposed to breathe.
"Do you want me to tell you that you're beautiful?" he asked. "That's what I usually would do-- shower you in compliments and kisses, assuring you, annointing you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of surrender." He put his arms around her, bringing goosebumps up on her back.
"I don't want words." Riza tried to pretend that she hadn't heard of his reputation-- hadn't heard of the other women the men spoke of only as conquests. "I know I'm not; I don't want delusions."
His breath caught as her hands traced a line down his torso. "You..." He leaned his head back and exhaled shakily. "This... This may be tainted, but you're beautiful enough to make me forget."
And...
THAT'S IT! I don't want to put anymore; this was just an experimental scene anyway, and I may go back and change it. I should be getting to bed now, but am rather hesitant to kick off the cat that has taken it over. He seems to have acquired a peculiar fondness for my bed, and as far as cats go, he isn't small. Oh well. Shall pester him incessantly, and then he'll leave on his own. La. I never did that english paper... about some modern literary movement in America. It does sound promisingly depressing, but as stated previously, I've yet to get back in the school-groove. Maybe Kimby will let me copy in history... *snorts* Yeah, like she even did it. Oh well-- I'll just face the consequences of my-- lazy!-- actions. I'd best be off (before I decide to start off on a new tangent). Ta, my duckies!
bye bye bye
the irrepressably irresponsible ILB
(off to consort with her half-inch of unpoetic blanket material)