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

2002-06-07 - 11:37 p.m. Ewan and fluff... or Ewan in fluff... mmm... mmm...Ewan.... I have nothing of value to share. I'm sitting here ignoring my email and looking at pictures of Ewan McGregor. I managed to wrest Logan back from the edge of sap. Dialogue still needs a little work, but now he's more rakish than mushy, I think. Which is 10000 times better. So I don't feel like a total waste of life, here's a good thing: Teague on fluff. I'm with her. I hate the way the term "fluff" is tossed around with such disdain. Writing good fluff, stories that are sweet/funny/happy and making it look effortless is *hard*, people. Trust me on this. I don't, as many other people appear to, think fluff is useless romance crap. I think it's a term coined to denigrate stories with happy endings by people who prefer to think that angst or darkness is the only "good" writing. And well, you know how I feel about *that*. ~*~ Tomorrow is Tricia's first birthday party, and also, Anthony goes for his blackbelt test. If he makes it, they're going to have a little surprise party for him on Sunday. I hope he does well. If he doesn't make it, he's got to wait a whole 'nother year to take it again. Speaking from experience, I know how failing something that first time can sour you on the whole experience, so I hope that doesn't happen to him. Oh well, back to scouting out Ewan pics... ~victoria [current mood: fluffy *g*] [current music: Saint James Infirmary Blues - Pete Fountain] [random quote: I'd pay a dollar to see that. ~various] ~*~ 2002-06-07 - 3:24 p.m. very first lie Sigh. Logan's being all sappy. He's ready to burst into song: I'd like to wake up with you early in the morning or stay up late just playin' records on your phonograph. I'd like to get to know your mother and your father, Maybe just once pretend to be somebody's better half. And I would like to tell the very first lie. I'd like to ignore all my friends and spend my time with you, maybe shake your tambourine. I'd like to do the sorts of things that you and I could do, We could do most anything. And I would like to tell the very first lie. Eep! Must stop. Sappy!Logan is the hardest thing to avoid. My penchant for big emotional revelations is my undoing. I need him to say something loving yet Logan-y, not quote lyrics to songs I have no doubt he's never heard. Sigh. And now I'm wondering where my Material Issue tape is... ~victoria [current mood: mushy and frustrated about it] [current music: Very First Lie - Material Issue - in my head] [random quote: and I would like to tell the very first lie...] ~*~ 2002-06-07 - 11:30 a.m. stuff Poetry up in the LJ. (Not mine. Actual *good* poetry. *g*) And, for your amusement, or DD's and mine anyway, The Continuing Adventures of Han Solo and Wolverine. This weekend I'm going to make a page for it. ~victoria [current mood: still good] [current music: Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd] [random quote: We're just two lost souls living in a fish bowl year after year] ~*~ 2002-06-07 - 10:20 a.m. my exciting life. *snerk* I can't believe I forgot to list The Sexy yesterday, so I edited slightly to add him and a couple other boys I forgot. *g* My plans last night got cancelled due to inclement weather, so after my dr's appt. I went home. Got soaked walking from the train to the house, so I took a shower, and since there was a huge-ass thunderstorm raging, I decided to take a nap until it stopped and I could get online. (I totally forgot about the MTV Movie awards, which normally I wouldn't care about but... Jack Black! And I heard Ewan looked great. Sigh. Oh well. It's MTV. They'll play it another 8000 times this weekend. *g*) I changed the time on my alarm to 9:30 pm, and cuddled up with the AC on, since it was raining so hard I couldn't keep the windows open. And didn't wake up until midnight. I never actually *set* the alarm. At that point, I got up, took my lenses out, brushed my teeth, and went back to bed for the night. It was amazing to sleep that long, and that well. It's been a while. Such an exciting life I lead, eh? *g* Anyhow, I've been trying to explain the whole public/private nature of online diaries to my gusys (sic) and I think if you're not involved in it, if you don't have one yourself, it's sort of hard to comprehend. For the most part, I know that this is not private. I have yet to friends-lock an entry, either here or in LJ. I know that people I don't know and people who will never comment or say a word sometimes read this. But I've gotten to the point where when I write, I feel as if I'm only speaking to other bloggers - to the people on my LJ friends list, or people who have me linked. I *know* that that's not the case, but that's how it *feels*. Every once in a while, I'm brought up short by concrete evidence of the fact that other people *are* reading this (including, occasionally, one or two of my "real life" friends, which wigs me, so I try to repress *g* I'm good at repressing.), but for the most part, I can sort of forget about it. The thing is, nothing I'm saying is private, really. I don't share much about my life because, really, my life is pretty boring. I have a boring job that I love because it allows me time to write, with bosses who are damn cool about letting me do my own thing; I have a family I love and hang out with, with kids and such, and I have friends I don't get to see often enough. This diary - and the LJ (though the LJ is more for random one-off things like quizzes and goofing off) - is mostly about my fannish interests and writing. That's why when I'm asked for a description of it, I say it's "the foolish musings of one fan - random fandom thoughts and fiction." These are things I think about in writing, in reading, in watching television and movies, and listening to music. Some of it I think other people who watch the same shows, read the same fics or books etc. might be interested in. Some of it is strictly for me and if that bothers other people, *shrug* that's not my problem. This is me, warts and all, in my fannish persona. I'm not inflicting myself on anybody. I'm not making anybody click the link to get here. I take responsibility for my words, yes, but well, read my disclaimer there at the bottom. No one's making you read this. It's not *all* of me, by any means, but it's pretty much in keeping with the me that most people who've met me online know. And personality-wise, it's not really any different from me in "real life". LaT has some good thoughts on the netiquette thing I talked about yesterday. I agree - I don't think the blog phenomenon has worsened or lessened courtesy online. I just think it makes it *more visible* that there are more and more people for whom netiquette is a foreign term. And it also, to my delight, reveals how common such bad behavior is across fandom lines, proving once again that people are people, which, in Vicspeak, translates into: people en masse are stupid and I hate them. I mean, think of how much nicer fandom would be without all the *fans*. *g* ~victoria pulling out the old-curmudgeon schtick... link [current mood: good] [current music: Stop Your Sobbing - The Pretenders] [random quote: \"The Sicilians have an old saying: Make friends of your enemies, or kill them.\" ~ Al Giardello, H:LotS] ~*~ 2002-06-06 - 5:05 p.m. men and women Sarah T. and Jenn both have good things to add to the netiquette discussion. And now for something completely different. or at least more lighthearted, though possibly more thought-provoking. *g* As seen in Kielle's LJ: The list of women who could make me switch sides: Charisma Carpenter Natalie Portman Anna Paquin Eliza Dushku Gillian Anderson Jodie Foster Amber Benson Angela Bassett Allison Janney Kate Winslet The list of men who make me glad I like men: Hugh Jackman Johnny Depp Ewan McGregor Nick Brendon Orlando Bloom Viggo Mortensen James Marsden Reed Diamond Chris Cornell Eddie Vedder Kyle Secor Robin Ventura Keanu Reeves (bite me. I have a thing for him. Always have.) Anthony Stewart Head Alexis Denisof Matt Dillon Michael Vartan Nick Lea Sean Bean Joseph Fiennes Michael Rosenbaum Clive Owen Liam Neeson *g* ~victoria link [current mood: appreciative] [current music: Hit Me With Your Best Shot - Pat Benatar] [random quote: I do not want people to be agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them. ~Jane Austen] ~*~ 2002-06-06 - 12:30 p.m. on netiquette, and the trend toward rudeness In what strikes me as a marvelous coincidence of timing, Black Rose writes about the decline of netiquette and how LJ/blogs etc, as well as the ease of Yahoogroups, and the proliferation of cheap and easy webware have contributed to that decline. Her point is a good one, and can be summed up thusly: We've sacrificed the common everyday politeness we'd use in face to face encounters with other people for the freedom and immediacy of stating whatever we want, whenever we want it. In her comments, I wrote: I think a lot of people feel free to let their inner bully out on the internet, and say things they'd *never* say in person (I was going to add, or in private email, but since I've seen that's not the case...). We [yes, we, as in everyone who participates in the internet, though I've been accused of having pretensions of godhood *g*] have created a culture where the quick and cutting wit is valued above cordial agreeing to disagree. Very often, newsgroups and mailing lists - and now blogs - become proving grounds for people to show how much cleverer/meaner/more sarcastic they are, as if that provides the status and validation they're looking for. And yes, again, *we* have done it, because well, even if we don't actively participate, we've done nothing to stop it, and basically, we *are* Fandom, right? (that was the end of my comments. The rest is me expanding from that.) I also think that with more and more people having access to the internet these days [and no, I'm not going to get into the whole AOL/WebTV thing, though it *is* always September somewhere, apparently *g*], and new fandoms springing up all the time, there are a *lot* of people who just don't have any background in netiquette, and they don't take kindly to being instructed. Usually because the older folk [in terms of having been online longer, regardless of age] come off like grumpy old bastards who long for the old days and don't always take the time to mentor newbies. You get a brusque "Read the FAQ" and that's it. Now, for some people, that's fine. They don't want - or need - a lot of handholding. But for others, that's not enough. They see people snarking at each other - people who may have known each other for years and across various fandoms, and think that that behavior is okay, even though they don't know anyone and haven't been there long enough for the regulars to have become accustomed to them. Of course, this is mostly me speaking about discussion newsgroups, where I saw this dynamic play out various times on alt.tv.homicide and alt.tv.buffy-v-slayer, where the newbies accuse the regulars of being in a cabal, and the regulars respond that There Is No Cabal (TM) (TINC). Newbies and veterans alike need to learn patience. To use an analogy - a friend of yours asks you to tag along to a party she's going to - a party thrown by a group of friends of hers you don't know. You don't walk in and intrude on the already ongoing conversations, do you? No, you hang around and listen for a bit, take the tone of the room, and decide if this is the place for you. If it is, you ease your way into one of the conversational clusters and you offer an opinion - usually nothing too controversial at first. Generally speaking, you'll end up being accepted on your own merits. If it's not the group for you, you hang out by the keg in the kitchen or cling to your friend until it's time to go home and tell her that next time, you don't want to hang out with her loser friends. *g* You don't slam out of the party announcing how everyone there is a loser because they didn't all jump to welcome you, especially if you didn't take the time get to know them and instead jumped in with a big old pronouncement on something that offended half of them and made the other half look at you like you were on crack. Hmm... I'm not sure that's clear enough. Let me try again. If you see two people snarking at each other, make sure that you know the full story. If you went by some of the posts Pete, Meg, Jen and I make at each other, you'd think we hated each other. Nothing could be further from the truth. We're good friends and we take the piss a lot. On the other hand, there are people in online fandom who really don't like each other, and if you see *them* snarking at each other, chances are, they're deadly serious. The thing is, you don't know who's who until you've hung around for a while, and jumping into *either* conversation without knowing the background isn't going to get you in good in either instance. Old friends can josh with each other and that's fine. New people - not so much. I always rein in my sarcasm and my sense of humor until I've taken the temperature of the room (metaphorically speaking). I don't want to offend anyone. And I don't like it when people I don't know presume to treat me like my old friends or family do. You see what I'm saying now? LuckyKitty and Kemayo (two people I don't know from Adam, but I'm linking their LJs anyway, 'cause I followed the links from Rose's, with whom I'm also not very familiar) also have interesting thoughts on this phenomenon. I mean, as a whole, society has become less friendly and more rude (pre-9/11 this is. I'd say post-9/11 courtesy suddenly became popular again, I think only because it's evidence of how we're all in this together and existence is much nicer if we're all at least polite than it is if we're cursing each other out repeatedly). It's only reasonable to extrapolate that this would affect the Internet. I mean, yes, I definitely see people trying to score off each other, both on the newsgroups I used to frequent, and on lists devoted to fic/discussion that I'm involved with now. Add to this trend that the fic end of Fandom has a heavily female slant, and take into account women's love for behind-the-scenes shenanigans and power struggles, and well, I'm sure you can see where a lot of this public spewing of venom is coming from. It's an electronic facsimile of women sitting around a kitchen table gossiping about their neighbors, or the popular girls doing the same in the high school caf. In other news - *no one* has a preference as to title for the CLex fic? I'm feeling so unloved. *sniff* Edited to note: The lovely Jennifus has just weighed in with a title comment. *G* ~victoria link [current mood: interested] [current music: Annie Get Your Gun - Squeeze] [random quote: Tim: You never say please. You never say thank you. Frank: Please don't be an idiot. Thank you. ~H:LotS] ~*~ 2002-06-06 - 10:32 a.m. spam Why is the theme to Hawaii Five-0 in my head? ~victoria More nutritious content later. Promise. *g* [current mood: odd] [current music: Fat Bottomed Girls - Queen] [random quote: Fat bottomed girls you make my rocking world go round...] ~*~ 2002-06-05 - 10:13 p.m. CLex fic in need of a title... Okay, I was all onboard with Jenn's Value System until she brought math into it. Math and I are no longer on speaking terms. Especially not math where there are things like variables and little letters in parentheses. Sorry. No can do. Instead, I'll bore you all with my CLex fic and my title musings. Here's the ficlet: *** The cold tile of the kitchen floor was biting into his knees when he felt Clark breathe out sharply. He grabbed for the counter at the first shock of fingers against his ass. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the focused look on Clark's face. It made him so hard he ached. "Clark," he hissed as Clark's hands kneaded his ass. Not gently, no. This was anger and raw need. Need was the one thing neither of them had ever been able to escape. If he hadn't been so turned on, he might have laughed. Was this how it was supposed to be? Lex wondered. Angry fucking in secret and two lovers with no love between them, just the lies and betrayals digging deep and leaving scabs that never fully healed? He pushed away the glimpse of truth. He loved Clark, and Clark loved him, and if they came together more in anger and pain these days than in love... He couldn't think about that now. And then he was beyond thought as Clark's long, strong fingers slid into him, slick and cool with lube, preparing the way for his cock. Lex felt himself quivering -- wanting -- needing this. This was the only true thing left. Yes. And then Clark was moving in him, one large hand covering his mouth, muffling his cries of pleasure as Clark pushed in and in, and he was drowning in the pleasure of it all, the amazing feeling of Clark covering him like a blanket, fucking him so hard he'd probably be walking funny later. But he didn't care, didn't think of that now. The world had telescoped to nothing but him and Clark -- Clark's cock buried deep inside him, Clark's hand stroking him hard from base to tip, the two of them moving in a perfect rhythm that even their current anger couldn't diminish. He felt Clark shudder and come, spilling deep inside his body, and then he felt himself come as well, spurting over his belly, Clark's warm hand and the cool kitchen tile. They collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily. "What was that about?" Lex said, regaining his equilibrium first. "Do you know what that could have cost me -- us?" "That was to remind you who you are, and who you belong with," Clark said, already cleaning himself up. "If this is about Lilith--" he stopped. It was always about Lilith. Clark could forgive him anything -- his dreams of dominion, his shady business dealings, even the chasm separating him from his beloved parents, but he would never forgive him for Lilith, Lex's wife. The wife whose political connections were paving his way into the White House. Along with Luthor money, of course. Fucking Clark Kent, mild-mannered reporter, would never get him there, even if he'd have preferred to have Clark at his side, openly. The country isn't ready for a gay president, he thought, but he didn't say the words. He didn't have to. He said some variation of them to Clark each day, every day when they parted, sneaking around like they used to back in Smallville. Only now, it wasn't simply fear of Jonathan Kent's shotgun, or being ostracized by the football team that kept them in the closet. It was everything Lex had ever worked for, his shot at national politics. "They're going to put me on the ticket, Clark." Vice President Luthor. He turned it over in his mind. Yes. It was the next best thing, and in eight years, it would be President Luthor, and nothing would stand in his way. Not Superman. Not even Clark. "I know." Defeated, shoulders slumped, Clark finally looked at him. He rubbed his thumb over Clark's lower lip, amazed as always at how beautiful he was, and how much he still resembled the sixteen-year-old boy who'd saved his life all those years ago. "Clark--" "I said, I know. That doesn't mean I like it." "Don't sulk." Clark didn't respond to the rebuke. "You know I love you, Clark." "Empty words," Clark said bitterly. "If you really loved me --" "What?" Lex challenged, rising and wetting a towel so he could clean himself up. The kitchen staff were waiting impatiently to get back to work in here, he knew. Banishing them for a quick fuck during a fundraiser wasn't the brightest thing he could have done, but he and Clark had been together long enough for him to know when he could be cajoled out of his anger, and this had not been one of those times. He'd been implacable. And God, just the thought was turning him on again. Publicly, they were the worst of enemies, Lex Luthor, billionaire businessman and politician, and Clark Kent, righteous journalist looking out for the little guy. Not to mention Clark's secret identity as Superman, defender of all that was just and good. He almost laughed again. The public had so bought into the myth of enmity they'd created that no one ever believed the occasional odd story about their weekend getaways to the Vineyard or their vacations together in Bali. He just worried sometimes that Clark had bought into it, too, and would leave him someday. And while Lex had conquered every other obstacle in his path, the mere thought of being without Clark nauseated him. He turned, his pants still around his ankles, a wet towel in his hand. Clark rose up on his knees, grabbing Lex's hips and easily capturing his half-erect cock in his mouth. Lex dropped his head back, closing his eyes, as Clark's lips and tongue and, God, teeth, slid up and down his shaft. He was getting too old for this, he thought, opening his eyes and imagining Lilith bursting through the doors to find out where the hell he was. It wasn't like she didn't know, but somewhere deep inside, he needed to twist the knife, to make sure she knew that while she might have his name and status, she'd never have his heart. "Clark," he groaned, hips bucking spasmodically as he came again. Clark was up on his feet in a blur, his mouth on Lex's, and Lex could taste his own come. It added a salty tang to the sweetness of Clark's mouth, and he knew that Clark's anger had blown over. Clark was tempestuous, but Lex was strong enough to weather his storms. He just had to keep believing it was true. The lies we tell ourselves to keep from falling out of love are all that keep us together, he thought, vaguely discomfited. Clark washed him clean and he redressed, tucking his lilac silk shirt back into his trousers, once again the debonair captain of industry and soon-to-be Vice President of the United States. He walked back into the dining room, signaling the kitchen staff that they could begin their clean up. Clark had disappeared, faster than a speeding bullet. He pasted the smile on his face and slid an arm around Lilith's waist as she chatted up the DNC chairman. He threw himself into his role as devoted husband and concerned public servant, and he could almost believe the interlude in the kitchen had never happened at all. His earlier thoughts echoed in his head, but he pushed them aside. They'd all come too far, and he wasn't going to be stopped now. Clark would deal with Lilith, and Lilith would never have to deal with Clark. Lex's life, built on lies, would never come crashing down. So he told himself, and he almost believed. end *** I can't decide 1. if it's any good, and 2. what to call it. The Lies We Tell Ourselves is the frontrunner, but I also like Almost Believe and Balancing Act. Not to mention Debonair, which was the impetus for the fic, only 5 months after Jenn gave me the first line. *g* I'm a little slow. I can't write on demand necessarily. The combination of words just has to *hit* me, and listening to Debonair and thinking of the concept for this ficlet, it did. The story is *nothing* like what I imagined. I mean, the basics are there. Clark and Lex have angry sex at a political fundraiser with Lex's wife in the next room. But I'm very unsure of my Lex voice, and well, I rewrote it a couple of times this afternoon, since Lex was all wussy and Clark was even bitchier than he is here. I do like using Lilith as Lex's wife's name, though. *g* Feel free to weigh in on the title question, or anything else that pops out at you [though if you're going to totally redline me, do it via email, okay? I may not have much of an ego, but what I do have has been fragile the past couple of weeks]. Oh well, I'm on AIM if you're looking for me, and I'm still clearing out the backlog of email. Also possibly editing Object of His Affections. God, I feel so prolific again. I like it! *g* ~victoria link [current mood: productive] [current music: Saint James Infirmary Blues - Pete Fountain] [random quote: I'm not the man my actions would suggest] ~*~ 2002-06-05 - 5:32 p.m. Get yer ya-yas out My Ya-Ya Sisterhood name is: Countess Weeping Willow. Heh. Actually, I have to say, I really, really liked Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. Definitely my kind of novel. And I think the CLex is working out now. It might be a little sketchy, might need some details filled in, but at least the frame is done, and I think it's pretty sturdy. The lies we tell ourselves, to keep from falling out of love... Huh. Time to go home... ~victoria [current mood: chatty] [current music: Dazed and Confused - Led Zepplin] [random quote: There's no such thing as too much information - Lex Luthor] ~*~ 2002-06-05 - 3:33 p.m. Wolverine, the Sex Machine Creeping up on 30,000 visitors (obviously it includes repeat visitors, but they only get counted once a day by the stats, afaik) to this diary. Scary, considering my website hasn't had 30,000 *hits* and it's been up for 15 months, and this has only been around since the end of November. Jenn is discussing categorizing fanfic. I have to think this over when I'm less muzzy-headed, though I like her categories. Devil Doll is discussing her new sports bra. Bethy's got new Expectations up in her LJ. Find out who The Blonde is and if Sparky makes it to the wedding. Life is good. *g* I'm just trying to write fic here. Foofy, driving fic. I posted a snip of this way back in... April, maybe, or maybe even earlier. No, it was definitely April. On Secretaries' Day. It's changed a bit since then, but I'm not going to rehash. I'm just going to give you a different snip. Now I just have to wrap up the car conversation, and it'll be done. Woohoo! After almost a year of having it sit around as a WIP. Then maybe I can finish Cruciato and write Debonair and feel like I'm making a contribution to Smallville fandom. Anyhow... Fic snip. DD, cover your eyes! *G* (she doesn't like spoilers or WIPs.) *** Rogue hung up the phone and looked at Kitty. Jubilee was off flirting with the gas jockey. "How can she take him seriously in those coveralls?" Kitty said. "I don't mind the coveralls, but you'd think he could learn not to bathe in the Paco Rabanne," Rogue replied, shielding her eyes and looking over to where Jubilee was animatedly conversing with said wage slave. Kitty laughed and Rogue continued, "Maybe she can talk him into buying us some food. I am *starving*." Kitty looked abashed at that. It was her fault the credit card was over the limit. She'd just *had* to have that first edition of "Newton's Optical Lectures." She *knew* both Hank and Professor Xavier would be thrilled to add it to the school's collection, and the nine thousand, five hundred dollar price was a good one, she was sure. Of course, their credit limit was only ten thousand dollars, and they'd spent a few hundred over the weekend, which meant they had been unable to stay in a motel the night before, or get the car fixed. Jubilee had run the battery down on the cell phone and they couldn't find a pay phone. Which is a very long way of saying that the three young women spent the night in their un-air-conditioned, nineteen-ninety-eight Dodge Neon. Having only enough cash between them to afford one super-sized Big Mac meal from the McDonald's across the way, they were now hot, hungry and heartily sick of each other's company. "So, what'd Logan have to say?" "He's coming to get us." "Whew." Kitty smiled. They were far less likely to get a lecture from Logan than Scott, a fact not lost on any of them, which was why Rogue had been the one making the call. She had Logan wrapped around her little finger, even if he wouldn't admit it, though she probably could have gotten Scott to do anything she wanted either. Kitty sighed. The power of a pair of deep brown, puppy dog eyes never ceased to amaze her. Even over the phone. "Yeah. He sounded weird, though. Worried." "Well, we were supposed to get home yesterday, Rogue." "Yeah. But it was more than that. He called me, 'Marie.' You know he never does that unless he's really worried or upset." "He doesn't like it when you go off without him. He's afraid Sabretooth is going to get you," Kitty said. "Nah, he's afraid you're going to find a boyfriend or something and you won't be his Marie anymore," Jubilee cracked. "Overalls-boy is going to buy us some food. What do you want?" "Eggs and pancakes and --" Kitty began when Rogue interrupted. "Hold on a second. What do you mean, he's afraid I'm going to find a boyfriend? I've had boyfriends. I brought Chad home--" "And he pissed his pants when Wolvie growled at him," Jubilee answered. "He liked Luke--" "Luke was gay," Kitty said bluntly. "The only reason Logan let him get near you was because he knew Luke would never get you into bed." "He was not gay!" Kitty and Jubilee exchanged an exasperated look. "Okay, sure," Jubilee said, obviously humoring her. "That's why he dumped you and ended up in the sack with Pietro." "He did not dump me! It was mutual! And -- What? Pietro?" Kitty and Jubilee nodded. "Queer as a three-dollar bill," Jubilee said. "But, but--" "Admit it, Rogue. You're a fag hag. Which is fine, you know, if you never want to actually get laid by someone who knows what he's doing. But if you want to get Logan between the sheets, you're going to have to bring home some real competition." "Jubes?" Rogue asked when this extraordinary speech was finished. "Yeah?" "Shut the fuck up." Jubilee and Kitty exchanged glances again. "If that's what you want, Rogue," Jubilee said, affecting a wounded expression. "It took me a long time to get over Logan. I don't want to go through that again, okay? I know he sees me as his little sister or something." Jubilee snickered. "Yeah, that's why he gets so upset when you go out on dates and stuff." "That's his big brother act," Rogue protested. "You know, 'hurt my sister and I'll kill you.' He does it for you guys, too." "He does Big Brother Wolvie for me and Jubilee," Kitty agreed, "but with you, he's all big bad Wolverine, the Sex Machine. The way he flirts with you--" Rogue laughed so hard she choked. "Flirts? With me? Logan?" She had to lean against the car to remain upright, her arms clasped across her belly. "He doesn't pull either of us onto his lap for tickle fights," Kitty pointed out. "Or let us snuggle up under the quilt on the couch with him during the playoffs." "And he never stares at *my* ass when I'm walking away," Jubilee said. "Or touch me all the time, even when he doesn't have to." "But he's always been like that," Rogue protested. "He knows how important physical contact is for me, and for the longest time, he was the only one not afraid to touch me." She stopped, then, to think about his behavior. He *had* changed. He'd always been touchy, yes. He'd hugged her and let her rest her head on his shoulder when they watched television, but that was it. He'd always known about her crush on him. She knew that. They'd had an awkward, oblique conversation about it upon his return from Canada three years ago, where he'd basically told her she was too young for him and he was in love with Jean. He'd always been careful not to lead her on, to make her think he was interested in more from her. He kept his behavior friendly, never crossing the line to lover-like. Until recently. "He's been flirting with me," she repeated weakly. Her friends nodded in agreement. She continued to lean against the car, afraid her suddenly-wobbly legs wouldn't hold her. "Oh God." *** There you have it. The middle of "The Object of His Affections," formerly known as "Breakdowns and Wake Up Calls," except that title struck me as unwieldy. If you can't tell, it's meant to be a bit comedic. I hope it works. I took the "Which Ewan Are You?" test and came up as Moulin Rogue Ewan, which tells me nothing, since I haven't seen it, dammit. That, Velvet Goldmine and Pillow Book are on my must-see list. Sigh. Ewan... I'm *so* hoping he does get cast as Lupin in Prisoner of Azkaban. How cool would that be? Though yeah, it would make Snape look way old before his time, since they're allegedly conteomporaries... Hmm... I dl'ed a couple of Obi-Wan pics. Maybe I'll make some LJ icons. I also downloaded a *lovely* Allison Janney pic that I'm definitely making an icon out of. I already have the quote picked out. *g* ::off to contemplate the glories of Ewan:: ~victoria link [current mood: tired yet amused] [current music: (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction - Stones] [random quote: He can't be a man 'cause he doesn't smoke the same cigarettes as me] ~*~ 2002-06-05 - 11:37 a.m. *just right* Couple of weeks ago, I did a thing where I posted a couple of passages from a couple of my fics that I thought I had gotten "exactly right." (I'm now contemplating how many more times I can use the word "couple" in that sentence, but I think I hit the max. *g*) I said I'd be doing it sporadically, and since I'm still mulling over a couple [hee! there it is again] ideas for long entries (one on the storytelling v. fantasy thing, another riffing on Celtling's entry on drawing the line between fanfic and original fiction), and I haven't written enough of anything to post a fic snip, I figured this'd be as a good a time as any to post a couple more snips I think go above and beyond my usual writing to embody the exact rightness of my vision for the moment, or are in some other way just right. So, to begin: From A Thousand Words A thousand random thoughts flit through her mind. She worries about the mole above her heart, the scars on her knees from a clumsy childhood, spent falling and scraping, before her mutation manifested and she gained freedom from mere matter. She exhales loudly, thankful that she's shaved her legs. She wishes she'd let her hair grow long -- it would provide the coverage she finds herself longing for, even as she repudiates it. His hands, large and yet so graceful, dance over the canvas. Suddenly, she sees herself in the charcoal lines as he sees her -- curves and angles, planes and hollows, shadow and light. She is beautiful. For the moment, she believes it. I think this captures both the anxiety a young woman who's posing nude for the guy she likes, and her own ambivalence toward her body, especially in relation to her apparently more desirable friends (which is discussed earlier in the ficlet). Also points to the power of the artist to shape belief into reality. From Root Beer Reverie He inserts his money into the vending machine and presses a button. Nothing comes out. He presses a little harder, vision blurred from the tears and the way they fog his glasses. Still nothing He begins pounding on the machine, which makes a hollow sound, mocking him. He's lost his son, and possibly his wife. He will not lose his dollar, too. Ah, I like this because it's taking such a little everyday annoyance that everyone's experienced and letting it stand in for the huge thing - their baby being stillborn - that he can't do anything about. Poor Scott. From Day of Beauty, an otherwise unmemorable PWP. He admired the perfection of her back as he poured the almond-scented massage oil into his hands. She was all smooth, porcelain skin, lightly dusted with ginger freckles, the arch of her spine calling for his touch like a siren. He slid his hands over her shoulders and felt her sigh deeply. Her breathing was even as he touched her. At first he was impersonal, working the knots out of her shoulders and back expertly, knowing exactly how much pressure to apply to ease the tension that hard workouts and too many long nights saving the world had made almost a permanent fixture in the set of her shoulders. But as his hands moved over her neck and massaged her scalp, he could hear her heart race and the hitch in her breathing. Both of them were breathing raggedly as he motioned for her to turn over so he could work on her legs. He held the towel for her as she turned over, and it was only through a Herculean effort of will that he averted his eyes from her nakedness. She smiled a small, secret smile at that, one seen on women's faces since time immemorial. But Logan had never expected to see it on Marie's. He covered her with the towel, but she flicked it off, exposing herself to his hungry eyes. Her body was flush with arousal and the dim light cast her partly in shadow, a chiaroscuro of love and desire, glistening with almond-scented oil. I like the description of Marie here, and how the description and the action mesh. Especially since I usually suck at physical description, and I'm never thrilled with my sex scenes. And just one more for now, so I don't get too swelled a head (*snicker* "She said, 'head.' Heheheheheheheheh." Okay, Beavis moment over.) From Things Change, a little L/R/S/J thing: Jean stood. "This isn't about me, and you know it." "You're right. It's not. He took her. He took what's mine, what I was told I couldn't have." I was shocked. I leaned back against the wall, trying to control my breathing. They were so wound up I don't think they knew I was there, but I didn't want Logan to notice me. "Over and over you people told me, 'she's too young, it's just a crush, you're no good for her, you'll break her.' And like an asshole, I listened. I agreed. I'm too old. I'm a fucking animal. She deserves better than someone who doesn't even know his own name. I wanted her to be happy. "Does she look fucking happy to you? She needs me and I need her, and you can all go to hell. I am an asshole for listening, for not knowing that loving her would be enough. For not taking her with me when I left that first time. For being led around by my dick and hurting her by being with you." His voice was full of self-loathing. And also, from the same story: I knew I belonged with him, and he with me, despite what other people might say. They don't understand what it's like to live with someone in your head, to know him so well that you can forgive what seem like the biggest betrayals, because he tried so hard to do the right thing, even if it turned out to not be the right thing at all. I like this take on the L/R/S/J mess - that Logan and Jean get together out of lust, that Logan's trying to do the right thing by Rogue and listen to what the others are telling him, that really, there are no bad guys, just bad decisions by both Logan and Jean and that Scott and Rogue are forgiving enough to understand and yet adult enough to move on if necessary. Hmm... I think that's it for now. Time to work, or at least to shuffle some papers around before going to work on Cruciato or Object of His Affections. Or possibly Debonair... ~victoria link [current mood: tired - I think this is my natural state] [current music: Dance the Night Away - Van Halen] [random quote: Love isn't always on time] ~*~ 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