My intention when I set up this account -- aside from being able to show my face when I post in other people's LJs, and be friended so I can get into all the cool private clubs -- was to have a place to post my stories and rant about writing. I imagine most of my stories will be fanfiction, since that's what has my attention right now, but if I get back to working on original stuff I'll post that too, if only for completeness' sake.
I originally wandered over here through Harry Potter fandom. I was Googling for something completely unrelated and for some reason got an HP fanfic website. Luckily it was one of the really good ones and I was hooked. I ran into isiscolo when I responded to one of her writing essays, and she told me about LiveJournal and patiently answered my questions about setting up an account. Isis gets a cookie and a hug, 'cause without her I wouldn't be here.
Anyway, while cruising around looking for more HP fic sites I ran into a site which also had Lord of the Rings fiction. I thought that might be interesting so I poked my head in and was once again hooked. I've been running around LOTR fandom for the last week or three and having a grand old time. What's proved particularly intriguing is a phenomenon I've never seen in any other fanfic fandom, and that's Real Person Fiction (RPF). (It's usually Real Person Slash (RPS), but anyway....) This is fiction written about the actors as opposed to the fictional characters they portray. I'll admit that I was boggled and rather dubious when I first encountered it; it seemed kind of creepy to be writing about real people. After running into more and more of it, though, I tried two or three stories out of curiosity and found that it was actually pretty cool. After a few stories, the characters become simply characters, just as fictional for all practical purposes as the ones in a book or movie. Fanon pretty much rules here, although real-world references and quotes are often used. The first story I'm going to post is an RPF, as is another story I'm in the middle of. I'll get back to regular fanfiction, including HP, eventually, but right now I'm having way too much fun with Orli and Viggo. :)
OK, here's my first story. I wrote it in response to jenlynn820's challenge in the carefullykissed community. This is my first RPF, my first challenge, and my first short-short story (it's about 400 words; my usual length is novel-sized, although occasionally I can reign myself in and do a short story in the ten-thousand-word-plus range). I hope you enjoy it.
Title: The Next Morning
Summary: Orlando wakes up alone.
Disclaimer: I don't own either Orlando or Viggo. I don't know anything about their social lives or sexual activities, more's the pity. This is done as a labor of love and I make no money from it.
You were gone when I woke up this morning. It means nothing, really. You had an early call, while I wasn’t needed until this afternoon. Letting me sleep – rising, dressing, leaving, all as silently done as a ranger stalking the shyest doe – was a sweet thing to do. A considerate thing. A nice thing. And you’re always nice, aren’t you?
Driving back to my place for clothes, and then back across town to make my appointment with leggings and hairpins and ear glue, through what Wellington calls noontime traffic, everything along the familiar route was different. It all felt insignificant, false, superficial; the world felt like a movie set, and I was an actor who hadn’t read the script. I had a scene coming up, an important one, with you, and I had no idea what to do or say. I didn’t even know the setting. Would it be a casual encounter as we passed on the lot? An earnest talk over coffee? A long, rambling conversation full of "what if?" and "some day?" back at your place over the remains of dinner?
Or maybe the whole scene’s been cut and I didn’t get the word.
There was no sign of you in our trailer, nothing that isn’t always there. I looked around for anything out of place –- a note, a scrap of poetry, a scribbled drawing, some indication of what’s going to happen and when and where, and what my lines will be. Everything was in its place, though, and the clutter had never looked so sterile.
I stepped out of makeup feeling hollow, wondering if maybe you had left me a message after all, back at your house, early this morning. Thank you for auditioning but we’ve cast someone else. We’ll contact your agent if we have any questions. Don’t call us, we’ll call you.
Then on the way to the set I turn a corner to take a shortcut between two trailers and there you are. I hear in my mind the director call "Action!" but I still don’t know my lines and all I can do is look at you, watching for a sign, a hint, a cue. You step closer and take my face in your hands and then you’re smiling and leaning nearer and gently, tenderly, carefully kissing me, and you whisper against my lips, "I love you, angel."
That’s my cue. And now I remember my lines.