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Meme: DVD Commentary

You guys all seem to be having a lot of fun with this from what I've noticed as I scroll through the flist, so I figured I'd post it as well. I don't have huge amounts of free time to spend on LJ right now, but I'm curious if anyone's curious about any of my fics. :-)

Pick a paragraph (or any passage of reasonable size) from any fanfic I've written, and comment to this post with that selection. I will then give you a DVD commentary on that snippet: what I was thinking when I wrote it, why I wrote it in the first place, what's going on in the character's heads, why I chose certain words, what this moment means in the context of the rest of the fic, lots of awful puns, and anything else that you'd expect to find on a DVD commentary track.


( 1 comments — leave a comment )
Nov. 2nd, 2009 05:09 am (UTC)
Oh, wow - where to start, with you? I think Triangles, don't you? ;)

Touch returns again, as Rose strokes his hair once. A telepathic burst of concern and fear for him splashes across his mind, sent by the TARDIS but including the emotions of his companions as well. Despite all the foggy confusion, he keenly feels his own desperate need for communication, an unshakable feeling that if he could only just answer Rose’s question everything would be alright. The extra impetus of the short telepathic burst gives him the energy to take a deep breath and try to concentrate everything that had run across his mind in response to Rose’s query. When he feels like he is going to burst from the agonized confusion of it all, he opens his eyes again.

He and Rose lock gazes. He wants to say something, anything, everything. But speech has gone on strike, leaving him helpless. So he puts every wild hope into their eye contact, and just lets himself feel it all. He doesn’t have the energy or the will power left to do anything else. So it washes over him again, just as strongly as it had when it had first hit all at once and caused him to stumble in the console room.

All the physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion, the memory of the events that had caused them, the left over worry and fear and pain. His confusion, his vulnerability, and his maddening new fascination with rhomboids in the face of complete mental breakdown. All laced with the only answer he could succinctly give to Rose’s question, if he ever again located his ability to give verbal answers.

I don’t know, help me!

Miraculously, it somehow seems to work. Rose actually nods, and Jack sits up for a moment, also registering understanding. Then it’s two sets of warm human hands and two concerned human voices all over again, only this time the only thought he can hold onto is that it’s Rose and Jack, and they understand. They’re his entire existence, a surrounding presence warming him, whispering soothing words, and ensuring that any input that crosses his senses is full of their support and, yes, love.

He’s still not sure he deserves it. But there it is, unmistakable in the way they’ve included him in the formation of a triangle of infinite structural stability despite how weak, achy, and battered his corner currently feels.

His throat finally comes unstuck, but speech still declines his invitation to return. He’s too tired to stop himself from using the only form of expression left to him by the crushing weight of exhaustion, of whichever kind. The omnipresent smug voice of logic stubbornly informs him that, technically, he isn’t actually crying since he isn’t actually shedding tears. But the voice is splitting hairs, and he’s way too tired to care either way. He ignores it in favor of more important mental pursuits, like the blessed release of tension the technically-not-crying is affording him.

He is eternally grateful for the two sets of warm human hands, arms, and entire bodies that hold him tightly in their embrace as his shivering turns into stronger trembles and he helplessly and breathlessly sobs. He suspects that he actually just doesn’t have the energy to cry properly.

He is also eternally grateful for the two concerned human voices that continue to wash over him, their exact words still impossible to focus on but their mere existence another priceless reminder that Rose and Jack are here, and he is not alone. It is safe to let the exhaustion take hold and simply ride the tidal wave as every tremor and every hitched breath seem to physically force their way out of him. All he can do is let go, safe in the knowledge that Rose and Jack are holding on.

The thought about triangles makes sense again, his mind numbly recognizes some time later. Rhomboids hazily cross his thoughts in one last strafing run on the much beleaguered and still softly grumbling voice of logic, causing the slightest of sleepy smiles to appear on his face. His human companions see it and notice that he is quieting and the trembling has stopped.

He has the presence of mind, barely, to coordinate his own arms to return their embrace just before blissful unconsciousness finally reaches him.
( 1 comments — leave a comment )


Adalia Zandra


This is adaliazandra's fic journal, which she hadn't planned to use very often. That plan has since been defenestrated in favor of posting fic update notices and rambles about DW and TW.

If you note the spiffy paid-account layout, that's because nightrider101 is simply the most wonderful person ever! :-)

If I seem to have disappeared off the face of the Internet, it's because I probably did. I don't actually *like* suddenly ignoring my LJ friends and leaving my stories hanging, though, so odds are I'll be back eventually.