FIC- Eastern Promises (Nikolai, Kirill) 1/1
It's gut-check time for NaNo. I spent all of last week wangsting about some life stuff and after careful consideration, decided that completely changing my life and cutting off all security was NOT a good idea, so I'm more or less back to sorts, but I got approximately 47 words written. So it's time to buckle up!
One song that's particularly inspirational in The Last Rose Of Summer (my NaNo title, did I ever tell you guys?) is Taylor Swift's cover of Run. This is the George Strait one, NOT the Snow Patrol song. Not exactly sure why, since my NaNo is about as far away from Dallas as you can get, and there's not really any couples who are separated by distance (physical distance anyway), but the mood really works well anyway.
Anyway, I love this version, for a few reasons. One, it's a fantastic live version. I very rarely like live versions of songs, because the crowd noise gets in the way, but when I do like a live version, I *love* it. Two...Taylor doesn't always do great live. She's gotten *a lot* better, but she used to be kind of rough. This is an older recording and she just sounds adorable. Anyway, thought I'd share with you guys...
Run- Taylor Swift (cover of George Strait)
As for the aforementioned fic, well it's come to my attention that I never posted OR recced the fic I wrote and received last year for Yuletide. I was going through my big Internet boycott at the time, but still no excuse.
Anyway, here's to rectifying that...
First, the fic I received, which was an absolutely fantastic Gone With The Wind fic, pretty much everything I'd ever wanted to read about Brent Tarleton and Will Benteen:
Hope Despite The Times (by edoraslass)
And as for my own...
Title: Both
Rating: r
Word Count: 1,006
Summary: There were once two boys. They were born in the same country, in the same year. They both had blue eyes…
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author's Note: From the 2007 movie starring Viggo Mortensen, Vincent Cassel and Naomi Watts. Really fucking cool movie. Watch the trailer.
There were once two boys...
They were born in the same country, in the same year. They both had blue eyes.
One was born in a very warm home, full of sisters, who waited under heavy quilts and giggled and sang songs like little girls do, and hugged and kissed each other when they were told, in the very late hours of the evening that they had a brother.
"He is very small," the little boy's father said, wrapping him more securely in his first blanket. "But he will grow." And he called his first and only son Kirill, which meant 'lord'. For his father was a very ambitious man, and meant to create an empire which he would pass to this son.
The other was born in a very small home, with cracks under the doors that let in howling winds. The house was filled with nothing. Everything was bare and less than it should be. Except the blue-eyed baby boy, born in the very early hours of the morning.
"He is so large," the little boy's father said, blocking his ears from his new son's first strong, lusty wail. "It will take much to feed him." And the boy's mother named him Mikhail, for the archangel.
***
When Kirill was very young, his mother died, and his father took their family away from the country which bore them. He told all of Kirill's sisters that they were going to a city where a queen lived, and they would all be princesses.
"And you will be a man, my son," his father said to Kirill, the hand on his shoulder almost too heavy. "And I will teach you all you need to know."
"Yes, Papa," Kirill answered.
Days after Mikhail was born, his mother died, and his father brought him to a woman in the village who had also recently had a child, a baby girl, so that she could nurse the baby.
Mikhail's father worked for the postal service and he had a little money, and so he brought this woman extra potatoes in payment, and when he could, a little meat.
"He is so slow in growing," his father said, one day as he was leaving thewoman's house. "I need him to grow up, tall and straight and strong so that he can help me in my work, not fat like he is now."
"He will grow in his own time," the woman answered. Her eyes were kind and soft but her voice was tired and her shoulders slumped. "In his own time, he will be a man." She shushed her own daughter, fussing against her covered breast, and went back into her house.
***
Both boys were raised to record their lives in pictures on their skin, as all men from their part of the world did. When Mikhail was fifteen, he was stealing from his father's business, taking parts of cars and motorbikes that he was meant to repair and selling them. When he was found out by authorities, he was beaten with sticks and pipes and his father wouldn't look him in the eye. He went to prison and marked himself as a thief.
When Kirill was seventeen, in great ceremony and pomp and circumstance, his father presented him with his first picture, his first story to tell. A star. Across shoulders and knees. He was, after all, a prince.
"Lord by birth," his father muttered, standing over him, his voice betraying the shame he felt as Kirill wiped away the tears from his clear blue eyes. "Lord by birth, do not fucking cry over the sting of honor."
***
In their own time, both boys became men.
Mikhail spent years in darkness. He had no one to talk to but God. God never spoke to him, though. And when he emerged from the darkness, Mikhail spoke to no one. And he stopped calling himself Mikhail. He became Nikolai, son of no one, and it was Nikolai's story drawn on his skin.
Kirill spent years in fog. The city was full of fog, never quite cold like the country which bore him, never quite warm like he always wished for. And as Kirill grew, and his secret began to eat him from the inside out, he still told no one.
By this time, Kirill's father was a very famous boss. By this time, he had lost all use for his first and only son. Kirill longed to be of use. He loved and hated his father.
Nikolai had come to know of Kirill's father too, as he had moved from the country which bore him (and killed him) to the far away city of fog. Like Kirill, he longed to be of use to the Boss. Unlike Kirill, he only hated him.
***
While Kirill continued to be of no use, Nikolai's usefulness became quite apparent. He was quiet in front of the Boss, which led him to believe that the big, blonde ox was stupid, and he paid him no mind. But away from the
Boss, away from Papa, Nikolai was...lightning.
And as thunder always followed lightning, Kirill followed Nikolai everywhere. But as a lord by birth, he could never let on that it was he who was the follower.
"Where are you going, Nikolai?"
"To the other side of town, to pick something up."
"I need to go too. You fucking drive me."
"Okay, Kirill."
And as lightning comes before thunder, Nikolai began to come before Kirill to the Boss.
Kirill was useless. But Nikolai needed a partner who would always follow him.
***
The Boss studied them both, unconcealed anger directed at Kirill, his first and only son, lord by birth, and with restrained curiosity directed at the big, blond, stupid ox. He felt it was the first time he had looked at him. "If you are so well informed, you will know Soyka has brothers."
The man called Nikolai smiled, and the smile did not reach his blue eyes. "That's okay. Kirill has got me."
***
Oh! And also, a neat meme, that I snagged from summerstorm:
I think it would be fun to talk about stories, but the usual memes are like, "What happens next?" "Tell me about Character A?" What isn't so much talking about stories as it is writing more of a story. But you know how sometimes you read something and you're like, "I got ___ out of this story, I wonder if that was right?" or "What on earth was ____ supposed to be?" and it's too awkward to ask the author? Now you could totally ask!
I've heard people say that writing is hard because you have to make decisions, but we never really talk about the decisions we make with stories or why we make them. We talk about plot bunnies, but not about how we actually turn them into a story.
And it seems like a lot more fun to do that than to do working.
So, if you wanted, ask me questions! Or ask your flist to ask you questions.
What were you trying to do [here]? Why did you decide to ____? This is what I thought about xyz, is that what you were going for? What made you write ____? And so on.
(Fic can be found using the fic for... tag...)
One song that's particularly inspirational in The Last Rose Of Summer (my NaNo title, did I ever tell you guys?) is Taylor Swift's cover of Run. This is the George Strait one, NOT the Snow Patrol song. Not exactly sure why, since my NaNo is about as far away from Dallas as you can get, and there's not really any couples who are separated by distance (physical distance anyway), but the mood really works well anyway.
Anyway, I love this version, for a few reasons. One, it's a fantastic live version. I very rarely like live versions of songs, because the crowd noise gets in the way, but when I do like a live version, I *love* it. Two...Taylor doesn't always do great live. She's gotten *a lot* better, but she used to be kind of rough. This is an older recording and she just sounds adorable. Anyway, thought I'd share with you guys...
Run- Taylor Swift (cover of George Strait)
As for the aforementioned fic, well it's come to my attention that I never posted OR recced the fic I wrote and received last year for Yuletide. I was going through my big Internet boycott at the time, but still no excuse.
Anyway, here's to rectifying that...
First, the fic I received, which was an absolutely fantastic Gone With The Wind fic, pretty much everything I'd ever wanted to read about Brent Tarleton and Will Benteen:
Hope Despite The Times (by edoraslass)
And as for my own...
Title: Both
Rating: r
Word Count: 1,006
Summary: There were once two boys. They were born in the same country, in the same year. They both had blue eyes…
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author's Note: From the 2007 movie starring Viggo Mortensen, Vincent Cassel and Naomi Watts. Really fucking cool movie. Watch the trailer.
There were once two boys...
They were born in the same country, in the same year. They both had blue eyes.
One was born in a very warm home, full of sisters, who waited under heavy quilts and giggled and sang songs like little girls do, and hugged and kissed each other when they were told, in the very late hours of the evening that they had a brother.
"He is very small," the little boy's father said, wrapping him more securely in his first blanket. "But he will grow." And he called his first and only son Kirill, which meant 'lord'. For his father was a very ambitious man, and meant to create an empire which he would pass to this son.
The other was born in a very small home, with cracks under the doors that let in howling winds. The house was filled with nothing. Everything was bare and less than it should be. Except the blue-eyed baby boy, born in the very early hours of the morning.
"He is so large," the little boy's father said, blocking his ears from his new son's first strong, lusty wail. "It will take much to feed him." And the boy's mother named him Mikhail, for the archangel.
***
When Kirill was very young, his mother died, and his father took their family away from the country which bore them. He told all of Kirill's sisters that they were going to a city where a queen lived, and they would all be princesses.
"And you will be a man, my son," his father said to Kirill, the hand on his shoulder almost too heavy. "And I will teach you all you need to know."
"Yes, Papa," Kirill answered.
Days after Mikhail was born, his mother died, and his father brought him to a woman in the village who had also recently had a child, a baby girl, so that she could nurse the baby.
Mikhail's father worked for the postal service and he had a little money, and so he brought this woman extra potatoes in payment, and when he could, a little meat.
"He is so slow in growing," his father said, one day as he was leaving thewoman's house. "I need him to grow up, tall and straight and strong so that he can help me in my work, not fat like he is now."
"He will grow in his own time," the woman answered. Her eyes were kind and soft but her voice was tired and her shoulders slumped. "In his own time, he will be a man." She shushed her own daughter, fussing against her covered breast, and went back into her house.
***
Both boys were raised to record their lives in pictures on their skin, as all men from their part of the world did. When Mikhail was fifteen, he was stealing from his father's business, taking parts of cars and motorbikes that he was meant to repair and selling them. When he was found out by authorities, he was beaten with sticks and pipes and his father wouldn't look him in the eye. He went to prison and marked himself as a thief.
When Kirill was seventeen, in great ceremony and pomp and circumstance, his father presented him with his first picture, his first story to tell. A star. Across shoulders and knees. He was, after all, a prince.
"Lord by birth," his father muttered, standing over him, his voice betraying the shame he felt as Kirill wiped away the tears from his clear blue eyes. "Lord by birth, do not fucking cry over the sting of honor."
***
In their own time, both boys became men.
Mikhail spent years in darkness. He had no one to talk to but God. God never spoke to him, though. And when he emerged from the darkness, Mikhail spoke to no one. And he stopped calling himself Mikhail. He became Nikolai, son of no one, and it was Nikolai's story drawn on his skin.
Kirill spent years in fog. The city was full of fog, never quite cold like the country which bore him, never quite warm like he always wished for. And as Kirill grew, and his secret began to eat him from the inside out, he still told no one.
By this time, Kirill's father was a very famous boss. By this time, he had lost all use for his first and only son. Kirill longed to be of use. He loved and hated his father.
Nikolai had come to know of Kirill's father too, as he had moved from the country which bore him (and killed him) to the far away city of fog. Like Kirill, he longed to be of use to the Boss. Unlike Kirill, he only hated him.
***
While Kirill continued to be of no use, Nikolai's usefulness became quite apparent. He was quiet in front of the Boss, which led him to believe that the big, blonde ox was stupid, and he paid him no mind. But away from the
Boss, away from Papa, Nikolai was...lightning.
And as thunder always followed lightning, Kirill followed Nikolai everywhere. But as a lord by birth, he could never let on that it was he who was the follower.
"Where are you going, Nikolai?"
"To the other side of town, to pick something up."
"I need to go too. You fucking drive me."
"Okay, Kirill."
And as lightning comes before thunder, Nikolai began to come before Kirill to the Boss.
Kirill was useless. But Nikolai needed a partner who would always follow him.
***
The Boss studied them both, unconcealed anger directed at Kirill, his first and only son, lord by birth, and with restrained curiosity directed at the big, blond, stupid ox. He felt it was the first time he had looked at him. "If you are so well informed, you will know Soyka has brothers."
The man called Nikolai smiled, and the smile did not reach his blue eyes. "That's okay. Kirill has got me."
***
Oh! And also, a neat meme, that I snagged from summerstorm:
I think it would be fun to talk about stories, but the usual memes are like, "What happens next?" "Tell me about Character A?" What isn't so much talking about stories as it is writing more of a story. But you know how sometimes you read something and you're like, "I got ___ out of this story, I wonder if that was right?" or "What on earth was ____ supposed to be?" and it's too awkward to ask the author? Now you could totally ask!
I've heard people say that writing is hard because you have to make decisions, but we never really talk about the decisions we make with stories or why we make them. We talk about plot bunnies, but not about how we actually turn them into a story.
And it seems like a lot more fun to do that than to do working.
So, if you wanted, ask me questions! Or ask your flist to ask you questions.
What were you trying to do [here]? Why did you decide to ____? This is what I thought about xyz, is that what you were going for? What made you write ____? And so on.
(Fic can be found using the fic for... tag...)