yiling matriarch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
marginalia) wrote2004-03-31 10:45 pm
marginalia) wrote2004-03-31 10:45 pm
Entry tags:
fic: Five things that never happened to Orlando Bloom
for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
oneangrykate's challenge. why i opted to do him, no fuckin' clue. if you know all the 'verses, uh, marry me? thanks to steph and melinda for looking over the first bits.
i.
The road was icy, it's true. But Dolores was a good and careful driver, so Orlando never really knew how it happened, the ice and the lake and the screaming.
He didn't know. But he watched everything carefully. He watched the lawyer and the families, and he spread out his fingers and felt the pulse of his village. When he had to, he lied.
It didn't matter. The children would never come back. They were all gone and he was left alone, the lame boy in the story.
He'd never be a star, never be a star for daddy. Instead he'd shine and save them.
ii.
Orlando's star shot up so fucking fast it made you dizzy to watch it. The movies and the magazines and the cameras and the drugs. It shot up so high, so fast, but the thing about heights like that is when you fall you fall so very far.
He crashed into a small apartment, and the drugs fell down around him. His family came to pick up the pieces, but the way they had fallen was beauty, and he kicked and swore when they disturbed his kaleidescope.
He sat on the floor of his bedroom, jeans too tight around hips too thin, hair falling in his eyes, smoke curling up to Lennon.
The sun came out for a moment and he walked with his father. They lay under the overpass, worlds apart in the long grass, strawberry fields forever.
iii.
He's been home, and that was weird, his mother collecting Christmas memories in a desperate attempt to cling to a past that never really happened. He's been to see Dom, and that was even weirder. He gave half a thought to saying yes, though. Dom would have made it good for him, but having sex with his best friend wasn't exactly on his list of things to do today. The last day.
The streets are strange, sometimes quiet, sometimes chaos, and when he meets Miranda, swearing at her upside-down car, it seems right somehow for her to join him.
Everywhere they go the radios sing Guantanamera. She says, Tell me something to make me love you. Orlando leans in, and the world goes white.
iv.
He thought she had killed him, her little pearl-handled gun sitting there on the desk like a signed confession. Marty sat there so still, blood dripping. Orlando tried to mop up the blood with his blue windbreaker, but it kept coming. There was blood everywhere. So much blood from one weasel of a guy, from one bullet.
The music blasted from inside the bar as he drug Marty out of the back rooms and into the car. It was hot, even after dark, and Orlando's blood pounded in his ears. He threw the windbreaker in the incinerator as he sped away.
He's cleaning up the blood for her.
v.
The floor is cool and rough under Orlando's knees. Perhaps Theo could have insisted on a better location. Perhaps she likes it hard under her back, bruises on her shoulder blades. Perhaps. It is, after all, about what they want. He's given up hope that he has any influence, he just drifts with them, floating, grateful that he fits somewhere. Here and now he fits like a dream.
When he reaches down, his fingers come back coated with blood. He stares, unfocused, disbelief. She rises and they kiss, copper and salt, fingerprints on skin.
::
universes listed here
oneangrykate's challenge. why i opted to do him, no fuckin' clue. if you know all the 'verses, uh, marry me? thanks to steph and melinda for looking over the first bits.i.
The road was icy, it's true. But Dolores was a good and careful driver, so Orlando never really knew how it happened, the ice and the lake and the screaming.
He didn't know. But he watched everything carefully. He watched the lawyer and the families, and he spread out his fingers and felt the pulse of his village. When he had to, he lied.
It didn't matter. The children would never come back. They were all gone and he was left alone, the lame boy in the story.
He'd never be a star, never be a star for daddy. Instead he'd shine and save them.
ii.
Orlando's star shot up so fucking fast it made you dizzy to watch it. The movies and the magazines and the cameras and the drugs. It shot up so high, so fast, but the thing about heights like that is when you fall you fall so very far.
He crashed into a small apartment, and the drugs fell down around him. His family came to pick up the pieces, but the way they had fallen was beauty, and he kicked and swore when they disturbed his kaleidescope.
He sat on the floor of his bedroom, jeans too tight around hips too thin, hair falling in his eyes, smoke curling up to Lennon.
The sun came out for a moment and he walked with his father. They lay under the overpass, worlds apart in the long grass, strawberry fields forever.
iii.
He's been home, and that was weird, his mother collecting Christmas memories in a desperate attempt to cling to a past that never really happened. He's been to see Dom, and that was even weirder. He gave half a thought to saying yes, though. Dom would have made it good for him, but having sex with his best friend wasn't exactly on his list of things to do today. The last day.
The streets are strange, sometimes quiet, sometimes chaos, and when he meets Miranda, swearing at her upside-down car, it seems right somehow for her to join him.
Everywhere they go the radios sing Guantanamera. She says, Tell me something to make me love you. Orlando leans in, and the world goes white.
iv.
He thought she had killed him, her little pearl-handled gun sitting there on the desk like a signed confession. Marty sat there so still, blood dripping. Orlando tried to mop up the blood with his blue windbreaker, but it kept coming. There was blood everywhere. So much blood from one weasel of a guy, from one bullet.
The music blasted from inside the bar as he drug Marty out of the back rooms and into the car. It was hot, even after dark, and Orlando's blood pounded in his ears. He threw the windbreaker in the incinerator as he sped away.
He's cleaning up the blood for her.
v.
The floor is cool and rough under Orlando's knees. Perhaps Theo could have insisted on a better location. Perhaps she likes it hard under her back, bruises on her shoulder blades. Perhaps. It is, after all, about what they want. He's given up hope that he has any influence, he just drifts with them, floating, grateful that he fits somewhere. Here and now he fits like a dream.
When he reaches down, his fingers come back coated with blood. He stares, unfocused, disbelief. She rises and they kiss, copper and salt, fingerprints on skin.
::
universes listed here
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And I feel like I should know ii and iv. And v. But my brain is mush right now.
Lovely.
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Sadly, the only other one I recognize is Sweet Hereafter.
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which i have splattered all over lj before, and thus i spare you.
i was a little obscure. too much time looking through film festival catalogs lately :)
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i was so afraid that it would just -crash- for people who didn't know the source. but they're all gorgeous films and they just -fit- in my brain. and so i'm very glad it worked. thank you :D