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

2002-02-18 - 11:15 p.m. rekindling the L/R flame Finally managed to update the recommendations page at Unfit, so I at least feel like I accomplished *something* today. I mean, yeah, I helped clean out the basement, so I accomplished *two* things, which is two more than I usually manage on my days off. Random gripe #1: I didn't know Angel was on tonight. I thought, because of the Olympics, it was going to be a repeat. So I missed the first 1/2 hour, and didn't tape. And the sad part is, I really don't think I missed much. Groo looked good in Angel's clothes, I must say, and he's actually much cuter than Angel. Also, I really liked noble Angel and clueless Cordy. That's how it should be. Poor Wesley. I'll comfort him. He'll forget all about that silly Fred in no time. Random Gripe #2: Those damn ads on the Yahoo!Groups archive pages. I don't want to have to click through ads to read messages. It just pisses me off. Grr. Anyhow, I decided to watch X-Men again, to see if I can't at least rekindle the passion, and again I say, anyone who doesn't think that the scene on top of the Statue of Liberty is framed as a *romantic* scene is just, you know, nuts. Listen to the way the music swells. Look at the look on Logan's face as he cradles Marie's limp body in his arms. Dear god, do they have to draw you a diagram? Possibly it wasn't *supposed* to be that way, according to the script, but it's on the screen now, chere, so they have to deal with it. Of course, as far as I'm concerned, it's probably better all around if they just leave it subtexty and let the fic writers handle the romance. Because I have my doubts about it being handled well. Maybe in the third movie. *g* And I'm planning on rereading some of my favorite *early* fics, and seeing if I can't recapture some of that less jaded characterization and adherence to fanon. It can't hurt, right? ~victoria [current mood: hopeful] [current music: Touch, Peel & Stand - Days of the New] [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 2002-02-18 - 7:37 p.m. Call me Tisiphone I took the What Mythological Creature Are you? test by peacefulchaos! I'm one of the Furies. Not surprising at all. But must stop being distracted by pretty online quizzes and get back to updating recs, since I can't seem to do anything else useful lately, like write. Grr. How much does it annoy me when d'land inserts paragraph tags into the code and I have to edit it again? ~victoria [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 2002-02-18 - 5:12 p.m. digging through the past Was over at the parents' earlier. Marguerite and Anthony were in, with the kids, to help clean out the basement. And, of course, to divvy up the spoils. *snerk* We looked through a ton of old pictures - some of which came over from Italy - and it's amazing to have so much family history just moldering down in the basement. Unfortunately, Daddy doesn't know who a lot of the people in the pictures are, and they don't have names written on the backs. We're hoping Aunt Joan can clear up some of the mysteries. I spent my time throwing out old books, which really breaks my heart. Not that I wanted any of them (well, okay, I would have taken Harriet the Spy if it had been in any shape to take), but it's so wasteful to throw out so many, many books. Except, of course, that they were moldy and sticky and I itch just thinking about it. We were all wearing latex gloves to handle them (and everything else down there), so I'm thinking it's doubtful that any library or hospital would have wanted them, unless there's some way to steam clean books? We also found my whole collection of Trixie Beldens, but they were ruined, as well. Which is almost more upsetting than the fact that I'd thought Mommy had given them all away years ago - to find them and not be able to keep them. Sigh. Little Anthony went home with Daddy's K of C sabre and his old Lone Ranger cap gun [they don't make toy guns like that anymore, and I'm glad on the one hand, but on the other, it's a pretty freaking fabulous toy], so he's armed for bear now, *g* while Alyssa took my old china tea set, and my miniature china tea set (that Aunt Elizabeth bought me up in Apple Valley many, many years ago). They found my old box of papers, which I'm going to have to go through at some point. Is it really sad that I'm dreading looking at some of my old college papers? Especially the one on Comus with the scathing comments on how I could do better? I read those comments once, put the paper away, and haven't looked at it since, though I bet I could still quote most of the comments verbatim. Grades junkie, remember? Academic grind. That's me. I got a B- on that paper and panicked about it, how it would ruin my GPA. He dropped the mark, based on my midterm, final and final paper grades, so I ended up with an A in the class (thus not ruining my 4.0 in my major, and 3.8 overall), but gah... just thinking about that little conversation still makes me queasy. I need to get over that, I suppose. The fear and loathing of authority figures - and the need to please them whilst simultaneously flouting their authority - that still impinges on my life, even now that I'm an adult. I don't feel like an adult. I think that's part of my problem. When do you start feeling like a grown up? ::shakes head:: I have things to do. I can't worry about this now. ~victoria [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 2002-02-18 - 10:49 a.m. blocked? Where's your corner of the Twilight Zone? Take the Twilight Zone test! Heh. So I've been having trouble writing lately. Or, rather, I've been having trouble making myself sit down and write. I don't know why that is. Is it the fandom crap sucking away my soul? Is it the lack of once-abundant L/R fic that's leaving me stalled out? Or is it that I just need some rest and time *gasp* away from the computer and the characters? I dunno. Whatever it is, I hope it passes soon, because I have a couple of long-time works in progress I'd like to finally finish off. At least I'm getting close with Time's Fool. I muddle along, a few lines every day. Sigh. I remember when I couldn't *stop* writing, when I'd be up 'til four in the morning, typing away, because I just couldn't get it down on "paper" fast enough. Or when a story would wake me up and I'd have to write it down [pre-laptop days], even if it meant losing sleep and being late to work. Maybe it's just this 'real life' anxiety that's finding an outlet by not letting me practice my typical coping mechanism. Hmm... ~victoria [current mood: anxious] [current music: Groove Is In the Heart - Deee-Lite] [current mood: ] [current music: ] [random quote: ] ~*~ 2002-02-17 - 6:13 p.m. Gothy! Waste 5 minutes of your life with the QuasiGoth Dead Person Test! Heh. Actually, that gives me an idea for the title of this little ficlet I whipped up this after... I'm currently calling it 'Wordless', though 'Desperate Measures' is in the running, and now, thanks to the cheesy goth quiz, 'Your Silent Face'. *g* Disclaimer: I own nothing. NC-17 warning. Kiddies, look away. < snerk > Wordless I slip down the hall to his room. I always sleep there when he's away, but tonight, I won't be sleeping. I have a new plan now, a new way to get his attention. He won't let me into his heart, won't admit that he wants me. At first, I thought he really didn't, that all his love was simply brotherly, despite the thoughts I'd absorbed from him the two times we'd touched. Now I know it's more than that -- it's guilt twisted up with pain and longing and fear. Fear that he's not good enough, fear that I'll find out what I already know -- about that night. I take off the pajamas I wore to walk from my room to his, and slide in between the soft cotton sheets of his bed. I know my scent will torment him -- I hope it will finally push him over the edge, out of denial and into the truth. His scent overwhelms me as I pull a pillow over my face to muffle the sounds I know I'll be making in a few minutes. He smells of leather and sweat, tobacco and pine and a hint of hair gel. I breathe it in and feel myself get wet, nipples hardening against my palms. I close my eyes, even though I'm already blinded by the pillow; it's easier to call up the memories of his surprisingly smooth hands, the feel of his firm muscles under taut olive skin against the pads of my fingers. He doesn't know I have these memories -- these are the things he's been trying to hide from me the past few months, the reason he can't look me in the eye, and Jean leaves the room when he enters. But that night... I had been the one who'd given Jean the news. It had been into *my* arms that Jean had fallen, limp with joy and relief -- and guilt -- that Scott was alive. The touch had lasted only seconds, barely long enough to knock Jean out, but enough time for the maelstrom of love and relief and guilt to imprint itself on my mind. Her memories of the night they'd lost Scott -- the night Logan had comforted Jean, holding her and making love to her as she'd cried for her vanished husband, whom we'd all feared dead. They don't think I'd understand, but I do. I have many memories of loss and grief, and I would never begrudge anyone comfort under those circumstances. I know that's all it was. I'm sure Scott would feel the same. And those memories have given me something I didn't have before. Memories of what it's like to be touched by Logan. My hand moves between my legs, fingers sliding against the slick folds of my sex as I imagine him above me. Surrounded by his scent, Jean's memories of his clever hands and mouth guiding me, it doesn't take long for me to come, my hips bucking off the bed as I bite down on the pillow to keep from crying out his name. When I'm finished, I rub my sticky fingers on the sheets and pull the other pillow between my legs. I'm marking my territory, in a language he will understand. Then I dress and hurry back to my room, where I curl up and fall asleep, sated. As I drift off, I can only hope these desperate measures work, because my patience with his dithering is beginning to wear thin. ~*~ He can smell it before he even enters the room. He closes his eyes and growls, but this menace can't be scared off with a show of force. He leans his head against the closed door to his room and inhales. He can feel his body respond, groin tightening, limbs growing heavy with desire, and he knows that eventually he'll either give in or run away. He knows he doesn't deserve her, doesn't deserve this. He's betrayed her, betrayed himself and Scott and Jean, all in an act of comfort. Sex had never meant much to him before he'd gotten involved with the X-Men; now, every look and touch is fraught with meaning, and the act itself become a signifier of feelings he'd never thought he'd have. He is guilty, and in his shame, he is punishing himself. He forces himself to enter the bedroom, where the sharp scent of Marie's desire hits him like a blow to the gut. He strips the sheets from the bed with startling ferocity, stopping once in a while to press them to his nose, to imprint her on his brain the way he'd like imprint himself on her body. He's almost vibrating from suppressed emotion when he hears footsteps in the hall, and then she's there in the doorway. ~*~ I waited. I thought he'd come to me, but he hasn't. I know he's back. I heard him growling in the hall, and it woke me. I'm attuned to him. I was even before he touched me -- I know what he's feeling, and I know how to make it better. So I walk back down the hall, dressed and gloved, and open the door to his room. He's standing there, the sheets pressed to his nose, his body coiled and ready to strike. I know he knows it's me. We stare at each other for a moment, and then he says, "I can't. We can't." I move closer, slowly, one hand outstretched to cup his cheek. "You can," I answer. "I know about -- that night. It's okay." "It's not. It's not fair to you. I'm not--" "You are. And don't you think I can judge what's fair and what's not, Logan?" I bring my other hand up and his nostrils flare. I can see his pupils dilate with desire even in the darkness of the room. I pull his face down to mine, brushing his lips ever so briefly. "I wish I could let you feel how I feel," I whisper, running my hands through his hair. "I wish I could touch you and push all these feelings into you, so you could see how much I want you, how much I love you." "Marie--" he groans, his voice barely louder than mine. "You shouldn't say these things." "Why not? They're true. I wish I could feel you inside of me, physically, not just the way you're inside my head. I wish I could feel your skin sliding against mine. I want to taste every inch of you, Logan--" "Marie, please--" Almost against his will, it seems, he drops the sheets and his hands begin stroking me, rubbing my shoulders and arms, bringing me against his body, which is drawn tight as a bow. "Yes, Logan," I say. "Whatever you want." We're so close now I can feel the growl vibrate through him, and I answer with a wordless purr. He presses my head to his chest and rains kisses down on my hair as his hands roam down my body. I know that he's understood my wordless message as he walks me back to the bed and lays me down gently. We're in tune with each other, and we don't need to speak, now that he's finally let me in. I know his heart, and he knows mine. He's still afraid he'll end up hurting me, and I'm afraid his fear will somehow take him from me, but for now, we're together, and I am content. *** I don't know yet if I'm ever going to post this. I think it needs work; it's happier than I expected - the ending was not what I planned. Oh well, it's going to the betas now, and we'll see what they have to say about it. And you know, feel free to let me know what you think. ~victoria [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