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2001-12-28 - 10:24 a.m.
The Mighty Plant Killer
I really don't mind this new V train [which they named after me, by the way... and yes, my egoism knows *no* bounds], because it's usually empty at West 4th and I get a seat.
However, I *hate* that three F trains pass and I know the E is upstairs before the damn V comes.
That just pisses me off.
My poinsettia is on its last legs. Leaves. Whatever. It looks like a poinsettia as drawn by John Kricfalusi or something. Stimpy would own a plant that looks like this. And that's not a compliment. Plus, my plant-killing powers have expanded, apparently, since the plants surrounding the poinsettia [they're set into the tops of the file cabinets, if you can believe it. And yes, there is a little gnat problem. At least I think they're gnats. I dunno. They're fairly easy to kill though, so I don't worry about it] are wilting now.
And the plant guy watered them yesterday.
I am Vicificus the Mighty Plant-Killer, all green and growing things tremble before me.
Okay, I might be a little short on sleep or hyped on caffeine.
Or not.
So last night I dreamt that Lee, Jessica and I were going to Hoboken, yet we somehow ended up in Havana, on the run from Lilah of Wolfram & Hart. Apparently, we knew/saw something we weren't supposed to. There were also these darling little purses with bamboo handles, a freak snowstorm, and an Irishman with a prosthetic hand, who wanted to get high with us on the beach in Havana.
If anyone's got a good explanation of that one, I'm just dying to hear it.
On the fashion tip, yeah, I get that Burberry is the new black. Jesus. How do these trends get started. One minute, Burberry plaid is the province of older men who work in banking, and then suddenly, wham! it's everywhere.
I want me a Burberry tote bag. I'm not usually a trendoid, but even I succumb occasionally.
Last night I was looking for inspiration in the soundtrack to Hedwig and the Angry Inch.
Should this worry me?
Wicked Little Town is an awesome song, though. I also like the wig song. "Put on my makeup, turn on the eight track..."
Also thinking "Bad Reputation" might heavily influence my amnesiac Rogue fic, if I ever write it. "I know I got a bad reputation / and it isn't just talk, talk, talk / but still I want to give you everything / you know I haven't got / I couldn't have one conversation / if it wasn't for the lies, lies, lies / but still I want to tell you everything / until I close my eyes / suddenly I'm on the street / seven years disappeared before my feet / suddenly I'm down in Herald Square / looking through the crowd your face is everywhere / Time to break it down / do you want me now? / do you want me now?"
Quoting song lyrics: the sad refuge of someone who has nothing to say but can't stop talking. Sigh.
Story of my life.
Gonna do a little filing, and try to write some fic.
~victoria
[current mood: ]
[current music: ]
[random quote: ]
~*~
2001-12-27 - 3:42 p.m.
Third Time's the Charm
I'm addicted to this thing. It's quite pathetic. Work is deadly quiet. I mean, yeah, filing, but like that's going to happen. *snort*
I'm doing the dance of joy and victory right now, as I got the last glazed donut from the deli.
Happiness is a glazed donut and a cup of iced coffee, black.
You know how hard it is to get a glazed donut in the afternoon? It's like trying to find a payphone that works in the subway!
Of course, my happy mood is dampened by the fact that *some* people were apparently raised in a barn, particularly those people using the ladies room here in my office. What's so hard about acually, you know, flushing when you're done? Twice, even, if necessary? No one's going to report you to the water commission if you do. And what's up with not wiping down the seat? Use a toilet bib - they're in every stall!
Sheesh.
Forget all that.
Donut.
Glazed donut.
Iced Coffee.
Bruce on the radio...
And smutfic.
Yes, I've finished the L/R/S smutfic I've only been working on since June. *snerk*
Everything is just ducky, love.
Here it is in all its unbetaed porno glory:
Title: Third Time's the Charm
Author: Victoria P. [victoria_p@att.net]
Summary: Rogue discovers Scott and Logan's little secret.
Series: Counting Down
Rating: NC-17, PWP -- m/m, m/f, m/m/f
Disclaimer: All X-Men characters belong to Marvel and Fox; this piece of fan-written fiction intends no infringement on any copyrights.
Archive: list archive, Muse's Fool, anyone who has the first two in the series.
Feedback: Please? Don't make me use my EVIL HAND!
Notes: Thanks to Dot, Meg, Jen, and Pete. Special thanks to jenn, who, all unknowing, said something in an email that allowed me to figure out how this would work. Someday I may write a romantic, well-plotted slash fic. This is not that day.
< > indicates thoughts
Third Time's the Charm
Rogue sat restlessly in the living room, channel-surfing mindlessly while contemplating the situation in which she found herself.
She couldn't sleep, she was bored, and her boyfriend of two years had recently left her for another woman. Kitty and Jubilee had tired of her never-ending whine about Remy's faithlessness -- they'd gone out dancing, leaving her to her misery. Jean and Storm were in Washington with the Professor, and Scott had never liked Remy, so he wouldn't be a sympathetic ear. There was only one person left.
Logan.
She had avoided taking her Remy troubles to him. She knew he'd get all bent out of shape over the perception of Remy treating her badly, so even though the relationship had been troubled for months, she'd grinned and lied whenever Logan asked. She knew he didn't believe her, but he wouldn't push if she wasn't ready to talk. It was one of the great things about their friendship.
But now, at two thirty am on Friday night (or should that be Saturday morning?) with nothing to do and no one to talk to, it was time.
And if she chickened out at the last minute, she could always ask what was up with him. In the past few weeks, he'd been remarkably compliant on missions, barely taunting Scott at all, and taking orders almost willingly. It was odd. She wondered if he'd finally realized Scott was a good leader, and was only looking out for all of them when he made plans that seemed too conservative to Logan.
She made her way quietly up to his room. The door was slightly ajar, and she could hear grunting sounds. Was he sleeping? she wondered. Was he lost in the throes of one of those terrible nightmares? She knew what that was like.
Pushing the door open, ready to offer comfort, her jaw dropped in shock at what she saw.
She closed her eyes and reopened them, just in case she was hallucinating, but there it was, right in front of her.
Logan was on his knees between Scott's legs, sucking him off, while his own hands were busy jacking himself.
<*Oh, my,*> thought Rogue, feeling her nipples harden and a sudden dampness between her legs. They were really into it, too, because neither noticed her presence. She licked her lips and her breathing sped up.
Unconsciously, she began running her hands over her body, one hand stopping to tease at her already-erect nipples as the other dipped below the waist of her pajama pants to seek the heat of her sex. Eyes locked on the two oblivious men, who were close to coming soon, if their muttered comments were anything to go by, she stroked her folds roughly, finding her clit with her forefinger and rubbing circles over it.
Her knees got weak and she leaned against the still slightly open door. Her weight shut it with a click that sounded like a gunshot over the heated murmurings from Scott and Logan.
The two men bolted up, wild-eyed.
Logan was faster. It was amazing how quickly he moved, considering he had a hundred pounds of adamantium weighing him down. "Not so fast, darlin'," he drawled, a fierce grin creasing his face.
She gulped, trying to keep her eyes on his face. It was hard. Yes, yes it was very hard, she noticed, dragging her eyes back up to his. She held his gaze and waited. She didn't think she could speak, anyway.
Scott was behind her suddenly. He was hard, too, she was willing to bet. She could just shift her hips slightly, and she'd be brushing against his cock. Action followed thought, and she was rewarded with a gasp from the fearless leader of the X-Men.
"You like what you see?" Logan asked, eyebrow arched.
She swallowed again, and nodded. His eyes moved past her and he and Scott shared some sort of silent communication. Then he reached out for her hand and placed it on his penis. Scott stepped away. She turned and saw the grim smile on his face as he reached for his pants.
She gripped Logan's hard, hot length in her silk-covered hand as her eyes darted between the two men. "What-- what are you doing?" she asked breathlessly.
"I'll leave you two--"
"Get back on the bed, Cyke," Logan growled. "Nobody's going anywhere 'til I say so."
"Logan--" Scott's voice was hard, urgent.
Rogue's hand tightened around Logan's cock as she realized she'd stepped into the middle of some sort of power play.
"What was our agreement?" Logan demanded. Scott looked anguished, and not just because they'd been interrupted before he finished.
"Agreement?" she asked.
"He takes my orders in the field if I take his in here," Scott ground out, sitting on the bed.
Rogue blinked. "So you two have been doing this for a couple weeks, huh?"
"Logan gets to feel dominant--" Scott started.
"And Scott gets fucked like he's only ever dreamed about," Logan finished.
Rogue licked her lips. This was weird. And to top it all off, she was still holding Logan's erect penis in her hand. She would have pulled away, but his hand suddenly covered hers.
"Come on, darlin'," he said, grinning wickedly. "It'll be fun. Make you forget that loser ex-boyfriend of yours."
She swallowed hard. "I -- uh -- Scott?" This last came out as a squeak.
Scott looked to Logan. "I can't. It's bad enough to cheat on Jean with Logan, but somehow I managed to convince myself it's not really cheating to sleep with a *man*. Especially since it's so good for the team.
"But this -- this would be wrong. More wrong." He shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know what I was thinking. But I can't lose Jean. I just can't."
"For the team, eh?" Logan growled, swooping down onto the bed, Rogue in tow, and kissing Scott hard on the lips. "You know you want to."
"For the team," Scott agreed weakly.
Logan reached into his night table drawer and pulled out two pairs of gloves, one leather and one a very sheer nylon. He tossed the leather ones to Scott and pulled on the sheer gloves himself.
Rogue raised an eyebrow. "Those look like--"
"Gumbo's. Yeah," Logan replied. "Since he doesn't need 'em anymore, I took 'em off his hands." He was still scrounging around in the drawer, coming up with a box of condoms and a large, sheer scarf. Rogue's eyebrows were now up at her hairline. He had the grace to look sheepish. "Hey, a guy can hope, right?"
She laughed. "That's so sweet, Logan."
Scott groaned. "If this gets any mushier, I'm going to be sick."
"Don't worry, Cyke. I'm not forgetting about you," Logan assured him.
Rogue looked from one to the other, still not quite sure what she was doing sitting on Logan's bed at two am with two naked men. Two naked, very aroused men. It was more than a little surreal. She was going to say something and then get up and walk out. She really was. At least, that's what she was telling herself when Logan's hand wound its way into her hair and turned her toward him. He wafted the scarf over the lower half of her face and kissed her gently.
At first, it was a very chaste kiss, considering the situation, but soon he demanded access to her mouth and she opened her lips to his invading tongue.
With his other hand, he took one of Scott's hands and drew it around her body and up under her t-shirt to cup her breast. Her head fell back against Scott's chest as the sensation jolted from her nipple to her groin, increasing her already heightened desire.
Keeping the scarf wrapped around her, Logan nuzzled at her neck as Scott's hands became more active, cupping and kneading her breasts, teasing her nipples, until she was squirming against them, feeling the novelty of having one hard cock pressed against her belly and another snug against her ass.
Logan worked his way down her neck, stopping to nip and lick at her clavicle through the scarf, as Scott took her lips in a fierce kiss, his tongue thrusting against hers through the scarf as his hands wandered down her body to tangle in the damp curls at the juncture of her thighs.
He found her clit easily enough, circling it with his thumb as his fingers slid slowly into her tight, wet heat. Logan, meanwhile, laved at her nipples through the thin cotton of her t-shirt, first the right, then the left, licking and sucking in time with Scott's thrusting fingers. He raised his head and pulled Scott's mouth to his; Rogue licked her lips as she watched their tongues entwine.
She cried out when Logan pulled Scott's hand away from her sex, but he replaced it with his own as he drew Scott's slick fingers into his mouth and sucked hard. Scott moaned and moved his hips against her.
She realized that she could so something for them, so she reached out and grasped each of their cocks, both jutting proudly against her pajama bottoms. She began stroking them, matching the Logan's rhythm as he thrust his fingers into her sex. Scott's hand tightened on her shoulder, and his lips found her neck as he came closer to his climax.
When he pulled his hand from Logan's mouth and his fingers joined Logan's, entering when Logan pulled out, she went over the edge, coming with surprising force, and gasping, "Oh, God. Oh. Oh. Oh! Uhh-- right *there*, sugar!"
She went limp, forgetting to continue stroking them. Scott growled in frustration and Logan grinned.
He reached behind him and pulled out a condom. "Put this on," he ordered, and Scott complied immediately. "I hope you don't mind," he then said to Rogue as he released an inch of adamantium and cut a slit in the crotch of her pajama bottoms. She just blinked and shook her head. His smile was ferocious.
Scott wore a matching grin as he said, "All fours, Rogue." Still dazed, she did as told her, rearranging herself on the bed so her face was practically in Logan's lap. She licked her lips at the sight of his erect penis, glistening with pre-come. And then she felt Scott's cock at her entrance. "This okay?" he asked through gritted teeth.
"Yeah," she breathed, so turned on by the whole experience she couldn't form sentences.
He moved oh-so-slowly, wrenching a moan from her as he sheathed himself in her slick passage.
Logan was looking at them, eyes heavy-lidded with desire. He covered his lap with the scarf and said, "Come on, darlin'. Do this for me."
She ran her hands over his thighs, and then licked at the sensitive skin where his thigh joined his groin. He growled, but didn't protest as she ran her tongue all over, everywhere except where he needed her to be.
She squeezed his balls, rolling them gently between her fingers as Scott continued to slowly pump in and out of her. She jacked him slowly, and his hand covered hers, increasing the pace and tightening her grip. She swallowed hard as Scott gripped her hips and slid one hand around to finger her clit.
She needed to concentrate, to give Logan what he wanted, what they both wanted. She kissed the head of his cock, dusky with blood and slick with pre-come that she could taste through the sheer silk. She heard a moan and realized it was her own voice. She swirled her tongue over the slit, then took him slowly into her mouth. His hands tangled in her hair, just holding her, not pushing or forcing at all.
Scott was still torturing her, bringing her to the edge but not letting her go over. She squirmed, slamming her hips back against him, trying to get him to increase his pace, but he just chuckled and whispered, "I'm in charge here."
"He likes to think so," Logan managed, "but we know who the real boss is."
She grinned wickedly and swallowed as much of him as she could, working her throat muscles.
"God!" he shouted in surprise.
"She showed you," Scott said hoarsely.
Rogue laughed, and Logan's hips came off the bed. He was fucking her mouth and then he roared, and she could taste the warm spurt of his come through the silk. He pulled out and she whimpered, licking her lips.
Scott leaned over and kissed her, pulling Logan in close, so their tongues tangled with each other through the silk. She came hard for the second time, muscles convulsing around Scott, trying to draw him all the way inside her as the world shattered into bright lights behind her eyes. He followed her over the edge, losing all sense of rhythm as he reached his climax.
They fell into a sweat-soaked heap on the bed, arranging themselves so Rogue was cuddled between her two lovers. Scott pushed his damp hair off his forehead and nuzzled her neck sleepily. Logan's hands continued to explore her body as she rested her head on his chest. Both he and Scott threw one leg over hers, and she was more comfortable and warm than she could ever remember being.
She had so many questions to ask, but was so drowsy, blissful and sated, she couldn't think coherently..
"We need to talk," she mumbled.
"In the morning," Logan whispered, stroking her hair gently. "Sleep now."
And they did.
End
~*~
Comments are always welcome. If you laughed as much as I did, well... that's probably not the reaction I'm actually going for, but I'll take it. *g* I mean, I wrote 7 pages of PWP. It should evoke *some* reaction.
Ah, me. What are you gonna do? I'm trying to get back in the smut groove, but I'm not sure it's working.
Ooh, now they're playing "Melt with You." Gotta love that!
~victoria
[current mood: ]
[current music: ]
[random quote: ]
~*~
2001-12-27 - 10:15 a.m.
random musings on fanon
I had some vague random things I was going to share, but now I can't remember any of 'em.
I will say this: I learned that a couple of people were modded for that little dustup on ClarkLex. That makes me uncomfortable, since, as far as I know, I was not. I've not heard from either of the listowners, even though I sent them both email about the sitch.
I also don't like the fact that there is defintely the appearance of two sets of rules - one for the friends of the listowners and one for the rest of us.
I know they disclaimed any such thing, but still, I don't think I'll lose that perception easily.
I miss newsgroups. Untrammelled, easily managed with a handy killfile, and too big and sprawling for most politics to matter after a week or two.
So I have another idea for a fic, which I have to speak to someone about, since it borrows the basic idea of their fic, the underlying premise, though I'd take it in another direction completely.
Which reminds me of Jenn's discussion of fanon, which can be found here - scroll down to the 12/20/01 entry. Yes, past the little Lex and the kidlets fic. *g*
She compares fanon to a communal wardrobe, where one person writes something and if enough other writers like it, it sort of gets unconsciously incorporated into the "canon" of the fandom [as opposed to the official canon of the show/movie/whatever], or fanon.
It's an apt metaphor. Though you could also compare fanon to the spice rack and any particular fic is a dish that's being cooked. I can take a little from Jenn and a little from Sarah T. and a little from Nico to flavor my own creation, and they're not really going to fuss about it, because it's become just another spice in the rack, or, to mix metaphors, another tool in the author's toolkit for that particular fandom.
I'm willing to take certain things from fanon and run with them - the whole kissing through scarves and sex through sheets thing, for example. Though really, anyone who *didn't* eventually think of that for someone in Rogue's sitch would have to be dumb as a box of rocks [yes, Marvel, this means you].
I like to think I reject most fanon when it comes to characterization, but I'm a liar if I say that. My Logan is incredibly informed by early movieverse fic fanon, i.e., Elizabeth, Molly and Diebin. Plus a hearty helping of Pete's version of Logan. I still have the email in which Pete detailed his history/personality. All of that, mixed in with my vague recollections of the old cartoon, and the new memories of the movie, formed the Logan I write, and he doesn't vary often, at base.
He's an asshole with a heart of gold. He's noble and conflicted and angry and *smart*. He doesn't have much use for people, and he's a little scared of letting them get close. He's got his own moral code, which may not match up with society's mores, but there are lines he's drawn that he won't cross.
He's the classic anti-hero.
Yeah, it's a stereotype if it's not handled well, but I like to think he's got layers when I write him.
On the other hand, I have *consciously* rejected a *great deal* of fanon in the characterization of Rogue. What we see of her in the movie is so limited, and under such extreme conditions that I don't think you can really go wrong with her characterization - as long as you back it up in your fic.
That's where I think most people screw up.
I admit that I dislike stories where the characters stray too far from my own personal interpretation of them. I'm going to take a wild guess and generalize that most people are the same way. So unless a story *shows* me how Rogue [or Jean or Clark or Wesley] became that way, I'm not going to buy the characterization.
There are certain stories where the author has deliberately left a character's motivations shrouded, and to an extent, I can accept that. I do it sometimes, especially when writing from a first person POV. I mean, Rogue *can't* know why Logan behaves the way he does in "Best-Laid Plans," though I do, and I think it's clear from his actions in the story, even filtered through Rogue's perceptions. I think I was successful there.
Anyhow, it's an interesting phenomenon, but not really a new one. Though with the rise of the novel, a premium was placed on orginality. I mean, if you look at everything back before the 1700s, you're going to see stories that borrowed heavily from each other and from the whole of the Western canon as it existed up until that point.
Homer, Virgil, Dante, Herodotus, Ovid, Petrarch -- all fair game for a writer looking to tell a story. Even today, we see books/movies that easily conform to the story of the Odyssey or the Inferno. These stories are so ingrained in us, that even not having read them, I'm willing to bet that there are many authors who use those tropes - the descent into hell, the journey home, the search for a father...
These are stories that go back to the earliest tales humans told. Look at Gilgamesh, and other tales of the Babylonians. Look at the myths of Isis and Osiris and Horus v. Set. These are the prototypes for Orpheus and Lot's wife and later, Jesus.
Whew, I've sort of wandered all over the map here, haven't I? Well, it is my diary. It doesn't necessarily have to make sense, now, does it?
My point, and I did have one, is that there are no new stories, and if we'd all just *accept* that, we'd be happier. I have trouble with it myself. Jen and Dot keep hammering away at me with it, and I think it might be starting to sink in.
It's all about the execution and the little individual flourishes we bring to the basic plot that makes something interesting.
Otherwise, how could I have possibly remained interested enough to write 100 stories that all basically have the same plot at heart: Rogue and Logan fall in love. Stuff happens. The end.?
Anyhow, this all started with me having an idea last night. I can't tell you how happy that makes me. See, I've been feeling very uncreative lately, and stuck in a rut. I love Logan/Rogue and I like Clark/Lex a lot [though I'm nowhere near as emotionally invested in it as a pairing. And despite what Meg thinks, I'm not really *that* obsessed with them, not like I still am with L/R], but damn I was feeling blocked. Just -- unmotivated and unhappy and lots of other un words, and not the good kind of UN [hi Un, if you're reading this *g*] - and those of you in Limbo and the Cafe will know what I mean. So having this idea, even having the NotDL idea, gives me hope that this is just a fallow phase. That being tired and busy and run off my feet [as well as buried under a ton of email and feeling the demands of fandom as never before] was all it was, and now that things are settling down, I'll get back to some semblance of productivity.
And possibly finish Consumption. Though I'm incredibly disturbed at the news that there's talk of nuclear whatnot going down in Times Square. And not just on the "Oh god, we're all going to die" level, but also on the "I'm writing Magneto using his machine during New Year's Eve while the ball is dropping and I don't want to be accused of bandwagon jumping or exploiting tragedy."
A pox on Al-Qaeda, may they rot in hell with recalcitrant camels.
I need to work on my curses. *g*
~victoria
[current mood: ]
[current music: ]
[random quote: ]
~*~
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The painting is "Boreas" by John William Waterhouse. Again, not a muse, but I like her. She suits the color scheme.
The quote is from Sir Philip Sidney.
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