hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-06-09 11:27 am
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-06-09 11:27 am
Abandon hope all ye who enter here! j/k
Administrative Notices
1. I understand that my e-mail account has been jacked up for the last 24 hours. If you've been trying to mail me and it's kicking back that's The Man's fault, not mine. Please try again. ETN: Apparently now my LJ's gone wonky as well, so, um, yeah. I would fix it, if I could, but I can't because I dunno what's wrong, so bear with me and maybe it'll stop pissing on my head soon. *puts up umbrella*
2. Anybody who thinks that I’m returning to writing Harry/Draco is sadly mistaken. That was a one-off. I am back to my Get Neville Laid! Programme forthwith.
Okay, now that the administrative business has been attended to, it appears that the adorably fabulous![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
edigo had a birthday and I didn't have anything for her. This is bad. Especially considering her affinity for Linus' blanket. My bad, sweetie.
Happy Belated Birthday!!
LOTRips
DM/BB; DM/VM
Identity Crisis
Dom is. At least he thinks he is.
Sometimes he pinches himself to make certain of his permanence, but it’s pretty much an irrefutable fact that he is running around, taking up space. At least it’s irrefutable considering all the washing up sitting in the corner of his bedroom. Somebody had to have worn all those clothes, but that’s not really what concerns Dom. His issue is much more psychological. Clearly he’s been in too many books because of Ian and they’re messing with his head, because every time Dom tries to think about all the other things he is, he overloads on tags.
Son. Brother. Mate. Actor. Bisexual male. Not a half-bad singer.
Er spricht Deutsch. Er spricht Englisch. Er spricht Mancunian -- which is not the same as speaking the Queen’s English.
Dom is an environmentalist and a lover of aerosols. He loves to meditate and thrives on stress.
Dom is a walking contradiction.
He’s a hypocrite.
Dom just is.
What he really is, is anybody’s guess.
*
Viggo calls him ‘little brother.’
He says to Dom You are not your job. He tells Dom You are not what you do, but that’s a load of bollocks because Viggo’s a method actor and all he does is become his job. Viggo didn’t start calling Dom ‘little brother’ until after Hidalgo wrapped, and if Viggo had to actually be himself for more than three seconds out of every day, Dom thinks he would have a nervous breakdown. That’s why Viggo paints, and takes photographs and makes music and smokes so much ganja, because Viggo doesn’t know who he is -- or he doesn’t like who he is.
There’s every possibility that Viggo’s just as lost as Dom is.
He just hides it better.
*
Billy used to call him ‘his Dommie.’ Billy used to ring him at four in the morning without a second thought. Billy used to do a lot of things that he doesn’t do anymore. Billy not doing the things that make him Billy makes it hard for Dom to do the things that make him Dom, because Dom used to have Billy, but now Billy has Ali.
And Dom used to have Elijah, but now Elijah has Charlie and Hannah and the journalist he shagged in the lift at the Four Seasons.
Dom used to have Orli, but now Orli has Kate and his adoring masses.
Dom never quite had Viggo, but no one ever really has Viggo.
Even Viggo never has Viggo.
*
Elijah doesn’t call him much of anything anymore.
*
Billy has this red wool blanket, knitted by his gran, that he always travels with. It’s unraveling at the corners and the red has faded into an almost pink colour, but Billy always has that sodding blanket with him. It smells like soap and hope and Billy, and the first time Dom saw Billy with his blanket he laughed and pointed and made the obligatory smart-arse remarks, but Billy flipped him off and went back to sleep on the sofa. And Dom – Dom watched. He studied the way Billy wrapped himself in his blanket as though it could protect him and keep him safe. It was as though the blanket were a part of Billy, as though it defined who he was in some way.
At the end of the day, after shooting had wrapped, when Dom was picking glue from his feet, Billy would wrap himself in his blanket and do likewise.
Dom never had a blanket like that.
All he’s ever had is Billy.
*
Dom and Billy fight like brothers -- except for when they fight like lovers. It's confusing. They're confusing. What they are -- what they're not. They fight at awards shows about who sits where and who’s going home with whom. They fight at premieres about who was walking in alone and who was supposed to leave who at home. Billy and Dom fight about big things and little things but never about the pink elephant in the middle of the room.
Dom says he doesn't want anything from Billy, but he can't help his possessiveness. He can't help wishing Ali would take a long walk off of Blackpool Pier. True, it's not fair to her, but her mere existence isn't fair to Dom.
He was there before her.
He built his world around Billy first.
*
What Dom is... is in love.
When he tells Viggo this, Viggo just laughs.
He says Everybody has to be something.
When Dom points out that Billy already has somebody to love, Viggo reminds him that It doesn’t matter who loves you first. What’s important is who loves you best.
So forty-eight minutes later when Dom knocks on the door of Billy’s hotel room at the Roosevelt, and he finds Billy with his hair sticking up on one side and lines on his face, holding his red blanket in his hand, all these things want to spill out of Dom’s mouth about who he is. Dom wants to talk about the trees by the hotel pool and the horrible state of L.A.’s air. He wants to tell Billy about all the hope he has that Lost will save his career. He wants to tell Billy everything Viggo told him. He wants to apologise for losing sight of what really matters to him, which is them.
What he says is I'm nothing without you.
-end-
1. I understand that my e-mail account has been jacked up for the last 24 hours. If you've been trying to mail me and it's kicking back that's The Man's fault, not mine. Please try again. ETN: Apparently now my LJ's gone wonky as well, so, um, yeah. I would fix it, if I could, but I can't because I dunno what's wrong, so bear with me and maybe it'll stop pissing on my head soon. *puts up umbrella*
2. Anybody who thinks that I’m returning to writing Harry/Draco is sadly mistaken. That was a one-off. I am back to my Get Neville Laid! Programme forthwith.
Okay, now that the administrative business has been attended to, it appears that the adorably fabulous
edigo had a birthday and I didn't have anything for her. This is bad. Especially considering her affinity for Linus' blanket. My bad, sweetie. Happy Belated Birthday!!
LOTRips
DM/BB; DM/VM
Dom is. At least he thinks he is.
Sometimes he pinches himself to make certain of his permanence, but it’s pretty much an irrefutable fact that he is running around, taking up space. At least it’s irrefutable considering all the washing up sitting in the corner of his bedroom. Somebody had to have worn all those clothes, but that’s not really what concerns Dom. His issue is much more psychological. Clearly he’s been in too many books because of Ian and they’re messing with his head, because every time Dom tries to think about all the other things he is, he overloads on tags.
Son. Brother. Mate. Actor. Bisexual male. Not a half-bad singer.
Er spricht Deutsch. Er spricht Englisch. Er spricht Mancunian -- which is not the same as speaking the Queen’s English.
Dom is an environmentalist and a lover of aerosols. He loves to meditate and thrives on stress.
Dom is a walking contradiction.
He’s a hypocrite.
Dom just is.
What he really is, is anybody’s guess.
Viggo calls him ‘little brother.’
He says to Dom You are not your job. He tells Dom You are not what you do, but that’s a load of bollocks because Viggo’s a method actor and all he does is become his job. Viggo didn’t start calling Dom ‘little brother’ until after Hidalgo wrapped, and if Viggo had to actually be himself for more than three seconds out of every day, Dom thinks he would have a nervous breakdown. That’s why Viggo paints, and takes photographs and makes music and smokes so much ganja, because Viggo doesn’t know who he is -- or he doesn’t like who he is.
There’s every possibility that Viggo’s just as lost as Dom is.
He just hides it better.
Billy used to call him ‘his Dommie.’ Billy used to ring him at four in the morning without a second thought. Billy used to do a lot of things that he doesn’t do anymore. Billy not doing the things that make him Billy makes it hard for Dom to do the things that make him Dom, because Dom used to have Billy, but now Billy has Ali.
And Dom used to have Elijah, but now Elijah has Charlie and Hannah and the journalist he shagged in the lift at the Four Seasons.
Dom used to have Orli, but now Orli has Kate and his adoring masses.
Dom never quite had Viggo, but no one ever really has Viggo.
Even Viggo never has Viggo.
Elijah doesn’t call him much of anything anymore.
Billy has this red wool blanket, knitted by his gran, that he always travels with. It’s unraveling at the corners and the red has faded into an almost pink colour, but Billy always has that sodding blanket with him. It smells like soap and hope and Billy, and the first time Dom saw Billy with his blanket he laughed and pointed and made the obligatory smart-arse remarks, but Billy flipped him off and went back to sleep on the sofa. And Dom – Dom watched. He studied the way Billy wrapped himself in his blanket as though it could protect him and keep him safe. It was as though the blanket were a part of Billy, as though it defined who he was in some way.
At the end of the day, after shooting had wrapped, when Dom was picking glue from his feet, Billy would wrap himself in his blanket and do likewise.
Dom never had a blanket like that.
All he’s ever had is Billy.
Dom and Billy fight like brothers -- except for when they fight like lovers. It's confusing. They're confusing. What they are -- what they're not. They fight at awards shows about who sits where and who’s going home with whom. They fight at premieres about who was walking in alone and who was supposed to leave who at home. Billy and Dom fight about big things and little things but never about the pink elephant in the middle of the room.
Dom says he doesn't want anything from Billy, but he can't help his possessiveness. He can't help wishing Ali would take a long walk off of Blackpool Pier. True, it's not fair to her, but her mere existence isn't fair to Dom.
He was there before her.
He built his world around Billy first.
What Dom is... is in love.
When he tells Viggo this, Viggo just laughs.
He says Everybody has to be something.
When Dom points out that Billy already has somebody to love, Viggo reminds him that It doesn’t matter who loves you first. What’s important is who loves you best.
So forty-eight minutes later when Dom knocks on the door of Billy’s hotel room at the Roosevelt, and he finds Billy with his hair sticking up on one side and lines on his face, holding his red blanket in his hand, all these things want to spill out of Dom’s mouth about who he is. Dom wants to talk about the trees by the hotel pool and the horrible state of L.A.’s air. He wants to tell Billy about all the hope he has that Lost will save his career. He wants to tell Billy everything Viggo told him. He wants to apologise for losing sight of what really matters to him, which is them.
What he says is I'm nothing without you.
-end-
I'm in charge here, goddamnit!
Re: I'm in charge here, goddamnit!
So there should be a point where Ron's brain clicks back on and Malfoy stops being fascinating and Ron will finally be able to sleep at night. But now is not that time, and Malfoy is bent over Ron's lap like nothing else had ever happened at all, and his mouth is around Ron's cock like Ron had never touched him, and Ron's hips are moving like they'd never thought of doing anything else, and Ron is clenching his fists to keep them out of Malfoy's hair.
When Ron comes, Malfoy swallows, and licks his lips, and looks at Ron from under his fringe and raises his eyebrows.
"Money?" he says, and holds out his hand, like it's just another transaction, like Ron is just another guy, like nothing else ever happened between them or ever will again. And Ron pays him, counts pound notes into his hand, and looks away when Malfoy gets out of the car.
Malfoy's not even hard. Ron could go again. Ron could go all night. Ron could give Darla a call and see if she'll forgive him for calling her Carla -- or was that the other way around? Ron could drive away right now, instead of watching Malfoy walk down the path. Ron could jerk himself off onto the bushes, or do anything. Ron could do anything he wanted. He didn't need Malfoy.
He just wanted him. Ron wanted Malfoy and Malfoy didn't even notice. Or maybe -- maybe. Maybe he noticed and just didn't care, and Ron thinks that's much much worse.
Re: I'm in charge here, goddamnit!
That's what I'm talking about.
Re: I'm in charge here, goddamnit!