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fellowshippers2004-03-21 04:36 pm
donnadevane.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-03-21 04:36 pm
As The Icon Says, Teenies Are Evil
Hola. New to the community. Been a fan for ages, and have written fic for the fandom before, but never finished anything until now.
Enjoy.
Title: Essentially One Nothing
Author: Duh
Fandom: LotRips
Pairing: Viggo/Lij, Viggo/Dom, mention of Viggo/Billy and Viggo/Orli
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Three 100 word drabbles concerning Viggo's non-life, or something like it.
Dedication: To Ash for being my brilliant companion in crime, to The Twins for inspiring me to become a better writer, to Peter Jackson and everyone who worked on bringing Tolkien's work to life, and to The Man himself, without whose writing this would not have been possible.
Disclaimer: Dead broke, and this ain't helping.
Archive: If you wish. I'd be flattered.
It started with Elijah.
Not just the movies and the parties and the Oscars, the drinking and the laughing and the headaches, but all of it. The whirlwind death trap that would become his life; the hiding and the dodging and the smiling when all he really wanted to do was tear the world apart with his work worn hands.
Actually, it started with a photo.
Nothing personal at first; just eyes. Then on, to hands and lips and everything in between. Somewhere around the cheekbones, it came.
“When are you going to stop playing the artist and just live?”
*
Dominic was third.
Not in his heart or in his head or in his work; just in everyone else’s concept of time. Dominic was always third in time, always three seconds too late. Two behind Elijah, one in front of Billy. Number two didn’t matter, because Orlando never stayed long enough to make something out of nothing anyway.
“When are you going to stop living through your art and start creating the rest of your life?”
Three seconds too late, or so he thought, snapping a close up of a solid gold watch. Looked at his own.
It was fast.
*
It ended with a note.
Or rather five.
That, in itself, was nothing extraordinary. Not until Billy picked his up and read it silently, then headed off to the nearest pub to get plastered, and Dom let out a startling, keening cry and collapsed against his kitchen table, and Orlando bit his lip and looked as sultry as ever, and Elijah defied all public stereotype and took it like a man.
And somewhere in the darkness of the sweet New Zealand night, Viggo read his own answer to what was essentially one question.
When you all stop living for me.
Enjoy.
Title: Essentially One Nothing
Author: Duh
Fandom: LotRips
Pairing: Viggo/Lij, Viggo/Dom, mention of Viggo/Billy and Viggo/Orli
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Three 100 word drabbles concerning Viggo's non-life, or something like it.
Dedication: To Ash for being my brilliant companion in crime, to The Twins for inspiring me to become a better writer, to Peter Jackson and everyone who worked on bringing Tolkien's work to life, and to The Man himself, without whose writing this would not have been possible.
Disclaimer: Dead broke, and this ain't helping.
Archive: If you wish. I'd be flattered.
It started with Elijah.
Not just the movies and the parties and the Oscars, the drinking and the laughing and the headaches, but all of it. The whirlwind death trap that would become his life; the hiding and the dodging and the smiling when all he really wanted to do was tear the world apart with his work worn hands.
Actually, it started with a photo.
Nothing personal at first; just eyes. Then on, to hands and lips and everything in between. Somewhere around the cheekbones, it came.
“When are you going to stop playing the artist and just live?”
*
Dominic was third.
Not in his heart or in his head or in his work; just in everyone else’s concept of time. Dominic was always third in time, always three seconds too late. Two behind Elijah, one in front of Billy. Number two didn’t matter, because Orlando never stayed long enough to make something out of nothing anyway.
“When are you going to stop living through your art and start creating the rest of your life?”
Three seconds too late, or so he thought, snapping a close up of a solid gold watch. Looked at his own.
It was fast.
*
It ended with a note.
Or rather five.
That, in itself, was nothing extraordinary. Not until Billy picked his up and read it silently, then headed off to the nearest pub to get plastered, and Dom let out a startling, keening cry and collapsed against his kitchen table, and Orlando bit his lip and looked as sultry as ever, and Elijah defied all public stereotype and took it like a man.
And somewhere in the darkness of the sweet New Zealand night, Viggo read his own answer to what was essentially one question.
When you all stop living for me.