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alinewrites.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2005-01-10 04:19 pm
alinewrites.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2005-01-10 04:19 pm
Chrysalis by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
geneticallydead
Fandom:Oz
Pairing: Beecher/Keller
Author on LJ: Geneticallydead
Author Website:
Why this must be read: Err... Because it's good? Nah, I'm kidding. Well no, I'm not, not really. It's a great fic. An AU believable fic; very well written, the dialogues are dead on, Beecher's characterization is perfect. Our Aussie might be one of the best Oz writer around here!
So Toby's out of Oz and ... Guess what happens?geneticallydead's fic are dark; this one is both dark and not so dark. The author creates a strange oneiric mood. Everything's real but seen through Beecher's eyes nothing is and he needs, he craves something, someone -besides secretaries, delivery boys and cheap fucks- to come and make it look like it's *life* and not just a parenthesis between week-ends when he's with his kids. Will Beecher's mind ever leave Oz? Will Oz ever leave Beecher alone?
Toby walks Jo home, and they talk and laugh like normal people. He kisses her goodnight at the door, chaste and tender. He walks home, it is a nice night, as nice as you can get in the city with its serenade of sirens. He skirts dark alleyways and does not let his gaze linger (corners and shadows and needles, oh my), and his keys are already in his hand by the time he reaches the third floor landing of his building.
Same shitty landing, same flickering light. His reflexes are slow, dulled by complacency. He hears the scuff of a boot on the cracked linoleum, the rustle of clothing, tries to swing around but is too late. He’s slammed against his own apartment door, tasting the paint-steeped wood, his forehead hitting hard. He tries to buck, to lash out with his fists, but is caught and pinned well, too well. The hard weight of another body pressing him in place.
Like a bug to a board.
Panic rises, gorge in his throat, his mind regressing to darker places and darker times, waiting for a crunch or a crack or the hot feel of his own blood. Money, he thinks, I have some money in my pocket, maybe enough to buy a junkie, but not any other mugger.
Wanna know more??
Chrysalis
Pairing: Beecher/Keller
Author on LJ: Geneticallydead
Author Website:
Why this must be read: Err... Because it's good? Nah, I'm kidding. Well no, I'm not, not really. It's a great fic. An AU believable fic; very well written, the dialogues are dead on, Beecher's characterization is perfect. Our Aussie might be one of the best Oz writer around here!
So Toby's out of Oz and ... Guess what happens?
geneticallydead's fic are dark; this one is both dark and not so dark. The author creates a strange oneiric mood. Everything's real but seen through Beecher's eyes nothing is and he needs, he craves something, someone -besides secretaries, delivery boys and cheap fucks- to come and make it look like it's *life* and not just a parenthesis between week-ends when he's with his kids. Will Beecher's mind ever leave Oz? Will Oz ever leave Beecher alone?Toby walks Jo home, and they talk and laugh like normal people. He kisses her goodnight at the door, chaste and tender. He walks home, it is a nice night, as nice as you can get in the city with its serenade of sirens. He skirts dark alleyways and does not let his gaze linger (corners and shadows and needles, oh my), and his keys are already in his hand by the time he reaches the third floor landing of his building.
Same shitty landing, same flickering light. His reflexes are slow, dulled by complacency. He hears the scuff of a boot on the cracked linoleum, the rustle of clothing, tries to swing around but is too late. He’s slammed against his own apartment door, tasting the paint-steeped wood, his forehead hitting hard. He tries to buck, to lash out with his fists, but is caught and pinned well, too well. The hard weight of another body pressing him in place.
Like a bug to a board.
Panic rises, gorge in his throat, his mind regressing to darker places and darker times, waiting for a crunch or a crack or the hot feel of his own blood. Money, he thinks, I have some money in my pocket, maybe enough to buy a junkie, but not any other mugger.
Wanna know more??
Chrysalis