Flucht of Rhi

Once upon a time there a was a bird.
But the bird was born into a skin that didn't feel right.
Wasn't shaped right.
Didn't look anything like it should, in fact.

Bird spent decades listening to others denigrate the shape and look of the skin that didn't feel right. It was too fat, it was too thin, it was too pale, it didn't have enough shape. Was too many hard planes and solid muscle to fit in over there, missing too many pieces to fit in over here.

Finally, Bird drew a picture on its ill-fitting skin so that everyone would be able to see what Bird truly was. To end the confusion. 

It didn't change the fact that nothing about Bird's body looked right. Not to Bird's eyes. And when Bird tried, all that resulted were accusations of ill health, or drug use.

Bird gave up.

Resigned with the fact that the skin would never look the way it was supposed to, would never reflect who Bird truly was.

"I am Bird, I am Dragon, I am Unicorn. I am neutral, I am who I wish to be. I am bigger than my body, don't stand too close. One day soon it will rip, no longer able to contain me."

Rebirth is a bloodbath, dirty and violent and vicious. Bird would stop if it were possible, the repetition gets tiring. Over and over, rebuilding from the ashes, reforming self identity after shedding the viscous sludge others call labels. But still the skin was always there, the same ill-fitting wrong-looking horrid thing.

 Bird stared in the mirror at all the ugly lines that didn't portray what they should. The bit of ink that whispered the truth.
"I guess this is what I'm stuck with."

Brian’s Impressions

When I was a boy, didn’t care about a thing It was me and this world and a broken dream I was blaming myself for all that was going wrong ~ Papa Roach, “Lifeline”

 “Bring him up, Toretto.” I keep my voice level and even, despite the adrenaline that’s dumping into my bloodstream, despite the pulse suddenly hammering in my temple. My gun dips down toward the floor, the muscles in my arms going lax. It figures he would be able to ferret out the same leads as me, in less time.

I can’t believe he’s dangling the man out the window, holding his full weight like that.

Shit, he looks thinner. Harder. Dominic Toretto, distilled and concentrated. That’s not a good thing. Not in anyone’s world.

( Read more... )

All the usual disclaimers: don't own them, not making any money. I consider this to be largely canon, although this is of the off-screen nature.

( Chapter 9. )

The usual disclaimers, plus an angst warning. This is the first of two non-canon interim chapters, bridging the two movies. Light on plot, heavy on literary interpretation.

This one's been a long time coming, as I've been spending so much of my time and writing effort on my Nano-count. I'm going to try and follow this up with the next chapter too, but I need to look and see if it needs some polishing first. Might be worthless tripeness, but I still have standards and all *lol*

( Chapter 6. )

A/N: Don't own them, not making money. No content alerts for slash.

But! I do come bearing gifts of YouTube playlist. Music I listen to while getting into their heads. I'd posted it in the comments on a previous entry but thought others might enjoy it also. Expanded and reordered a bit.
Embedded here:




URL: http://www.youtube.com/view_play_list?p=13950069643A851B

And... here's Brian's second part:
( Brian's Impressions. )

As always, any and all comments and crits are welcomed. And won't be subjected to harsh retaliation. Been writing too long to bother with drama. :)

Dom, Part 1.
Genre: definitely slash, but later. Much later.
A/N: I don't own them, obviously. Brian has enjoyed being uncooperative, so I hope this part works well. Song lyrics are included at the beginning because his character has always struck me as one that feels music as an emotive outlet even if he doesn't consciously acknowledge it. Hope you like. Comments/crits are always welcome.

( Brian Remembers. )