a fool's musings

Fool, said my muse to me, look in thy heart and write...

Warning: Adult Content achromatic unfinished fic graveyard recs journal new stuff recent stuff my back pages January 2004 December 2003 November 2003 October 2003 September 2003 August 2003 July 2003 June 2003 May 2003 April 2003 March 2003 February 2003 January 2003 December 2002 November 2002 October 2002 September 2002 August 2002 July 2002 June 2002 May 2002 April 2002 March 2002 February 2002 January 2002 December 2001 November 2001 the five Ws, or, all about me profile e-mail victoria my livejournal the original P&R comments current mood: "pathological and unbalanced" Items of Interest People LiveJournal folks Baraita bishclone claritylit Jintian Kat Allison Kit Mason metablog mix-tapes Neil Gaiman Nestra Sarah T. Seema Shrift Sundry Mourning zendom Music Walk On - U2 Thunder Road - Bruce Springsteen If I Can't Change Your Mind - Sugar Sick of Myself - Matthew Sweet Town Called Malice - The Jam One - U2 The Space Between - DMB Books Lord of the Rings Catch-22 The Neely Trilogy Absalom! Absalom! Possession: A Romance Foucault's Pendulum Dreamhouse LA Confidential I Capture the Castle Sandman Waking the Moon Shows Angel Buffy the Vampire Slayer (in reruns) Alias West Wing The Simpsons webrings < ? fanfiction ! > < ? writers ! > diaryreviews.diaryland.com NYC Bloggers Comments by Haloscan.com all links, if I haven't screwed up somehow, should open in a new browser window

2002-01-24 - 12:26 p.m. LotR fic rant I haven't read any LotR fic, and I don't plan to, since for me the books/movie are a complete story in and of themselves and I don't need to fill anything in, but cara chapel gives good rant about the shortcomings of the rapidly growing fandom. Or it could be I just enjoy reading a good rant. Would that writers in other fandoms would also take note. edited at 4:50 pm to add this: Nine Men and a Little Lady by Kielle. Mary Sue comes to Middle Earth, and the results ain't pretty. Thank Pete for the link. *g* ~victoria [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 2002-01-24 - 9:46 a.m. Three fics, no waiting Ack. I am a dumbass. I wrote this whole long introduction to the three fics I'm about to share here, and then I screwed up and deleted the entry. ::thwack:: <-- the sound of me hitting my head on the desk Let me just say that I think the L/R piece is the weakest of the three, as it turned out to be a light PWP and doesn't have the same poignancy or emotional resonance as the other two pieces. For me, it's far less interesting to write about an established, happy relationship than it is to write about one that's just starting [X/W] or that's fallen apart [CLex]. Since there's no real conflict, there's nothing to hang a story on. Some of the imagery is pretty though. Sigh. Anyhow, here they are, all three, in the order they should be read. Unbeta'd, but edited for typos. Since a vague disclaimer is nobody's friend, let me state once again that I own none of the characters contained in these vignettes. I don't own the song, either. And, just so you know, the W/X piece is G-rated, but the other two are NC-17, and the CLex piece contains m/m slash, so if that's not your thing, or you're not old enough to read it, leave now. Nightswimming Three fandoms, three couples, one scenario. Based on Nightswimming by REM, but not songfic in the traditional sense. ~*~ Not Like Years Ago Willow stared at the full moon through the windshield. Her hands clutched the steering wheel of the rental car, and she noticed the tiny lines on her knuckles, which even her tight grip couldn't erase. She didn't like to drive; hadn't since the accident with Dawn, all those years ago; avoided it whenever she could, even now. She shook her head. She was no longer that young woman. Ten years and half a dozen lifetimes had passed. Yet here she was, back in Sunnydale. She'd left soon after the accident, unable to take being around so much supernatural power and not being allowed to use it. She'd needed to get out, get away. She'd needed to be Willow again -- pre-Buffy Willow, if that were possible. She'd learned it wasn't. Now, she felt the need to go back to the beginning, when things had been simple and there was nothing in her world more important than Xander. Xander, who looked stern and handsome with his rapidly graying hair. Raising two young daughters alone could do that to a man, even one who didn't live on the Hellmouth. She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened whenever she thought about Xander. She reached into her purse and pulled out a photograph of the two of them, taken back when they were in eighth grade, the night of their cotillion. Xander's goofy smile and clip-on tie made her smile, always, even after they'd had the final argument before she'd left, the argument that had ended over fifteen years of friendship. She laid the picture on the dashboard, and, putting the car in drive, eased out of the hotel parking lot. Giles was staying there. He'd called them all together for one last go round at saving the world. He'd looked terrible, though they'd all lied and told him they hadn't noticed what the chemo was doing to him. She didn't consciously choose her destination. She just wound up at the old swimming hole -- the lake just outside of town where she and Xander had used to come after their fall from grace, after they'd stopped being invited to pool parties in the warm summers of their childhood. The moon was low and full, and the soft gray light spilled from it as if it overflowed, silvering the water and throwing everything into sharp relief. She stopped the car and got out, already pulling her t-shirt over her head and throwing it on the seat. She had never been one for baptism -- it's not big in the Jewish faith -- but being skyclad under a full moon was familiar, comforting, even long after she'd left most of the trappings of Wicca behind. Nude in the humid August night, she picked her way through the grass to the water. "Nice night for a swim." Somehow, she'd known he'd be here. "Yeah." "Well, come on in. The water's fine." And Xander kicked out and floated on his back, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back on his head, making him look years younger. She dipped a toe in and shivered. She wondered idly why she wasn't more embarrassed about her nudity, her body exposed to eyes that hadn't seen her , clothed or otherwise, in ten years. "Come on, Will," he said again, his voice mild and holding none of the anger she'd expected when she'd arrived that afternoon at the Scooby Reunion, as he'd called it. Well, it was a reunion of those Scoobies who were left. Anya was dead, and Tara -- gone. And *God* , it *still* hurt to think about Tara, because in the end, it had been her fault Maybe not directly, and certainly not intentionally, but there it was. Tara was -- gone and Willow was here, learning that running from the past never works. The thoughts tumbled over themselves in her mind as she inched her way into the water, hesitant not because of the cool waves lapping at her thighs, but from her own insecurity that she could ever be forgiven, ever forgive herself. She began to shake as feelings she'd pushed down for years surfaced and she could no longer deny them an outlet. And then Xander was there, pulling her into his arms as she cried. "It's not your fault, Willow. It was never your fault," he whispered, stroking her hair and letting his warm solidity anchor her in the here and now when the past threatened to overwhelm her. "I -- I," she stuttered, unable to form words, let alone a coherent thought. He gathered her in and she wrapped her legs around him as he walked deeper into the water, letting its coolness wash away her grief. Finally, she went limp, her crying exhausted, and he carried her onto the warm grass that lined the man-made lake. "It's not safe," she whispered as he arranged them comfortably, her head on his chest, his legs tangled with hers. "Shh, I got it covered, Will." He jerked his head and she saw within arm's reach a cross and a stake. "Father Willis blesses the lake monthly. I don't know if it actually works, but it makes me feel better." "Who's got the girls?" "Cordelia. She's really good with kids, which I never in a million years expected. I guess working with Deadboy has been a good thing for her." "Yeah." After a few more minutes of silence, she said, "Xander, I -- thank you." "Hey, it's what we do, right?" She nodded and he dropped a kiss on her drying hair. "I love you, Will. Never doubt that, please. I always have. Always will." "I love you, too, Xander." "So you'll stay?" "In Sunnydale?" "With me. Wherever." She gave a small, quiet laugh. "Yeah. Wherever you go, Xander." "I'm so glad you came home." "Me, too." She closed her eyes and inhaled, the scent of lake water and Xander filling her nostrils and permeating to the marrow of her bones. The sound of his heart beating beneath her ear reassured her that she wasn't alone. She had come home to Xander and she would never be alone again. The crickets played their lonesome serenade as Xander and Willow slept beneath the moon, which seemed to smile its benediction upon them. *** Side By Side In Orbit It was a simple routine, but one that had taken hold in Logan's life, and he clung to it in the face of all the horrible things he'd done and seen. The Blackbird landed and he and the other battle-weary X-Men disembarked, not even the desire to shower and change out of blood-stained and smoky uniforms encouraging them to move faster than a snail's pace. Logan pushed past them once they were in the hangar. He knew Rogue would know they were home. Xavier always kept the inactive spouses informed as to a mission's progress. Which meant she would be ready and waiting for him at their special place. The memories of their first time together there made him smile, even through the residual grimness of the night's work. He carelessly stripped off his torn leather uniform, replacing it with a pair of sweatpants. He stopped upstairs for a quick check on the kids, sleeping soundly in Kitty's care, before heading out to the lake. The moon was bright and full, though with his hunter's vision he didn't need the light. He was grateful for it though, as it gilded Marie's floating form, transforming her from flesh and blood to alabaster and platinum. Her body was a chiaroscuro of love and desire, each curve limned by the silvery light, the white streaks in her hair beacons calling him to her embrace. He quickly shucked the sweats and joined her, his touch once again transforming her from cold, untouchable stone to warm, welcoming flesh. Gone were the days of worrying about her skin; a second dose of Magneto a few years after the Statue of Liberty incident had taught her the secret of control. Gone too were the days when he believed he might have loved another woman, or felt guilty for loving a girl. She'd grown and changed, become confident -- a leader, a woman. He remembered the night she'd seduced him, a siren clad only in moonlight and adamantium tags, offering love and the comfort of her body after a particularly bad mission. That was before she'd learned control, but he hadn't cared, hadn't feared her lethal touch. He'd only wanted to drown himself in her, the symbol of all that was good and right in his world. And then, after her first failure, the night Carol Danvers had locked on and not let go until she'd overwhelmed Rogue's mind with her own -- he had brought her here, calmed her and held her until he was sure that she was in charge of herself and the intruder had been pushed back far enough to allow Jean and the Professor to help her sort through it all. Ever since, for Logan and Rogue, every mission ended at the lake. Since the advent of their children, they didn't work as a team anymore -- even though Logan hated being left behind, he understood the need to make sure that James and Rose had one parent safe, in case -- and that was as far as he ever allowed the thought to go. Now, Rogue swam languidly around him, all long-limbed grace, a mermaid making her home on his metal-tempered reef. She circled closer and closer, until he reached out and slipped his hands around her waist. He kissed her hungrily, drinking in the lake water mingled with the fine wine of her taste, drunk on her and always needing more to feel satisfied. She clung to his shoulders, her legs wrapping around his hips as he caressed her back. He slid one hand into her wet hair, cradling her head; with the other he repositioned her so he was poised at her entrance. She broke the kiss, gasping, "Logan, please." His answering grin was wicked and he slid home into the tight grasp of her warmth, filling her completely. They paused for an endless moment, two halves made whole in love, gazes locked and foreheads pressed together. Then she leaned in for another kiss, her grip on his shoulders tightening as she used them for leverage to begin moving. He stood still, a rock, as she pumped her hips, sliding his cock in and out of her sex. Finally, he took control, walking them out to the bank. He laid her down in the shallows, the soft mud molding to her body as the speed of his thrusts increased. She slipped her hand down between them to circle her clit; he groaned at the sight of himself sliding in and out of her as she pleasured herself. He felt her go tense, breathing in short, sharp pants, and then she grunted his name as her body convulsed around him. Shuddering, he let himself come, bracing himself on his elbows so he could cry his release into her mouth. He rolled them onto their sides so he didn't have to rest his weight on her and yet they still remained joined. She draped one leg over his and brushed her hands down his chest, making the muscles ripple in response. "Oh, what you do to me, Marie," he murmured, the name on his lips used only in the throes of passion. "I'd like to do it again, if you're ready," she teased, earning a thrust from his hips, his cock hardening already. "I'm always ready, darlin'." "I love your healing factor," she managed as he slid all the way out, then plunged deep, lengthening and slowing his strokes to prolong their pleasure. "I know you do. Think I might be worth keeping around for a while?" "Uh huh. God, Logan. A very long while," she whispered, nipping at his neck, then laving the already disappearing mark with her tongue. "That's good, kid, 'cause I'm not planning on going anywhere." A thrust. "I like it right here." She closed her eyes and met his hips with her own. He came first that time, and she followed, with a longer, deeper orgasm that made her purr in sleepy contentment. "I love you, Logan." "Love you, too, Marie." She drifted off to sleep in his arms, and he watched over her. Later, he'd carry her back to their room, but for now he was content to lie side by side, beneath the luminous moon. *** You I Cannot Judge Lex stared at the numbers on the page in front of him, not listening as two of his executive vice presidents argued over the merits of their latest ad campaign. He was sick of this shit. He needed out, and he needed it now. He rose abruptly and they all scrambled to stand with him. "Saunders, Grant, just -- settle this." His disgust was evident in his tone, and their eyes widened. They knew that if the issue wasn't settled by the time he next raised it, one or both of them would be out of a job. Lex rushed from the boardroom to his office. "Shelly, have them bring the Porsche around. I'm leaving." "But Mr. Luthor-- The Governor is coming for dinner. With the RNC Chairman. You can't just walk out on them and expect them to support your candidacy " Shelly was the only one who questioned him, the only one of thousands of employees who didn't fear him. He supposed there might be another handful out amongst the various workforces scattered around the globe, but here in Metropolis, Shelly was the only one who wouldn't put up with his moods. It was why she got a six-figure salary that would have stunned most of his management team, had they known of it. "Fuck that, Shelly." "Mr. Luthor, I don't allow my children to speak to me that way, and I certainly won't allow you to do so." He placed a quick kiss on her cheek. "Sorry, Shel. I have to get out of here before I kill someone. Clear my calendar for the rest of the evening -- and for tomorrow, too. Tell the Governor I had a family emergency, but that he and Rodrigo can still eat at The Villa on me. I'll meet with them on Thursday, when I get back." "Where are you going?" Her voice held a note of concern. He did this sometimes, always after Superman had somehow foiled his plans. She understood his need to escape from the smothering existence the head of LuthorCorp led. He had always been too sensitive, according to his father, and that hadn't changed over the years, though he'd learned to hide it from all but a few who knew him. He picked up his briefcase and said, "I don't know, Shelly. I don't know." But that was a lie. He knew it almost as soon as he said it. "Call when you get there. Just to let me know you're safe." "What are you, my mother?" She smiled. "No, but I'm old enough to be, so you listen, or no more chicken soup for you." "Okay, Shelly," he said in mock resignation. He had brought her from Smallville with him when his father died, the only person he had left from those heady days when he and Clark... And he wasn't going to think about Clark. He slipped into the Porsche, still not-thinking about Clark and their argument the night before. He could no longer separate his ex-lover from the do-gooding superhero he'd become, and he found he no longer wanted to. He hated Clark for leaving him, and he hated Superman for never leaving him alone. It was just easier to hate the whole package now. Forty-five minutes and a great deal of not-thinking later, he found himself in the woods outside the Smallville estate. He hadn't been here in ages, not since the final break-up with Clark, which had sprung from a court battle over the _Daily Planet_'s series on LuthorCorp's alleged toxic waste dumping. He opened the glove compartment for a flashlight -- the night was dark out here, away from all the lights of the city -- and something fluttered out, brushing his hand. A picture of him and Clark from happier days. He felt the lump rise in his throat. He was engaged to one of the most powerful women in the Senate, and was planning on making his own Senate run himself in two years, and yet... and yet, he still missed Clark. Missed his openness and his smoky green eyes, and those lips that were even softer than they appeared, which he hadn't believed possible until the day he'd finally kissed them, felt them run along the skin of his skull, his neck, his back. He was sweating. He had to get out of this damned suit. Stripping off jacket and tie, he left them on the seat of the car as he walked toward the lake. The night was deathly quiet, except for the hum of the generator and the singing of the katydids. The moon shone down, and he was grateful for the light as it danced across the water, rendering his flashlight redundant. He remembered the first summer he'd spent here, swimming with Clark. Convincing him to skinnydip on one fateful night, which had led to that first kiss, and so much more. Shuddering, Lex shucked his clothes and rushed into the water, trying to outrun his memories, to wash away his one and only failure. When he surfaced, he felt eyes upon him. Turning toward the bank, he saw Clark, sitting, arms wrapped around his knees. "You always come here," Clark said. Lex opened his mouth to make a scathing retort when Clark rose in one fluid motion and divested himself of his clothing. It never ceased to amaze Lex how fast Clark could move; he recalled sun-glazed summer days spent pushing Clark to his limits, which, Kryptonite notwithstanding, they'd never even come close to finding. The scientist in him warred with the man, and, as always where Clark was concerned, the man won out. He felt himself get hard, even in the cool water, as Clark approached him, that untamed mop of hair now slicked back and trailing water down that tanned skin and over those kissable lips. With one large hand, Clark reached out to him. After the barest hesitation, Lex took it and allowed himself to be pulled into Clark's embrace, their earlier battle lost in the flare of desire he felt, saw reflected in Clark's eyes. The kiss was desperate, as though he were trying to imprint the taste of Clark's lips on his own, the feel of his tongue sliding against the roof of his mouth, the soft sighing sounds they made as the kiss deepened. The kiss lasted forever and ended far too soon. Clark pulled back and Lex followed, aching for more of his beautiful lover. Clark led him out of the water and lowered them gently to the grass. Lex lay down, letting Clark take control, something he'd rarely done in the days they were together. But now, he needed it. Needed to know that Clark wanted it as much as he did, so much that he was willing to initiate and follow through on it. He waited, and then Clark's lips were on his, softly, drifting up to taste his eyelids and then over and down the curve of his jaw, always, always stopping briefly to worship at the bare skin of his scalp. "Clark." "Shh." Those strong, warm hands stroked Lex's body and Lex just grabbed Clark's shoulders and held on, shuddering as he feathered kisses along his chest, throwing his head back and exposing the column of his throat to Clark's thoughtful progress of kisses. When Clark finally reached down and stroked Lex's erect cock, he thought he was going come just from the sheer joy of it, the way Clark slid his thumb over the slit and then jacked him in long, firm strokes from base to tip. Lex bit his lip, trying to contain the moans as the tension inside built up to almost unbearable levels. When the friction stopped, he cried out at its loss, but then Clark's mouth was engulfing him, warm and wet and better than any lover before or since. Clark squeezed his balls as he opened his throat, taking everything Lex gave him, hips bucking up as he came, Clark's name on his lips, the white lights behind his eyes brighter than even the million billion stars overhead. "I'm sorry about yesterday," Clark whispered against his ear before kissing him senseless. "No, you're not," Lex answered when his breath returned. "No, I'm not." "How dare you judge me?" "I don't," Clark said, and Lex could hear the pain in his voice. "I can't. I love you, Lex. But I'm not going to let you hurt people. Not while I can stop it." "I thought you knew me. I thought you trusted me." Clark shook his head sadly. They'd had this discussion too many times, and the answers were always the same. "'Hold your tongue and let me love,'" he quoted, but there was no heat in his voice as he curled his body around Lex. Warm and sated, safe in a way he never felt anywhere else, Lex fell asleep. When he woke, he was alone in his bed, in the house. Only the scents of grass, water and Clark clinging to his bare skin proved the whole thing hadn't been a dream. End *** Nightswimming by REM Nightswimming deserves a quiet night. I'm not sure all these people understand. It's not like years ago, The fear of getting caught, of recklessness and water. They cannot see me naked. These things, they go away, replaced by everyday. Nightswimming, remembering that night. September's coming soon. I'm pining for the moon. And what if there were two Side by side in orbit Around the fairest sun? That bright, tight forever drum could not describe nightswimming. You, I thought I knew you. You I cannot judge. You, I thought you knew me, this one laughing quietly underneath my breath. Nightswimming. The photograph reflects, every streetlight a reminder. Nightswimming deserves a quiet night, deserves a quiet night. [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ previous - next DiaryLand Disclaimer: Reading this diary is not required by law. If you do not like or agree with the contents herein, or find them to be offensive on more than one occasion, please go elsewhere and don't come back. Management is not responsible for any adverse reactions to content within. 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. This site is best viewed with IE4+ | 1024x768 | true color | verdana | tables