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

2002-07-09 - 5:22 p.m. New Yorkers: Thursday, Barnes & Noble, Signor Gaiman? Anyone going to the Neil Gaiman signing on Thursday at Union Square and want to get together afterward for coffee/beer/key lime pie/whatever? Leave a comment or drop me a line. Am still contemplating my relationship with canon, but would like to leave work before the skies open, so... later. This duplicate post brought to you by my failing mind. ~victoria link [current mood: organizing. also, queasy.] [current music: Brass in Pocket - Pretenders] [random quote: \"In a free society, you don't need a reason to make something legal, you need a reason to make something illegal.\" Donna] ~*~ 2002-07-09 - 11:07 a.m. ravishing Before the discussion degenerated, the question of rape fic was raised on zendom (jeez, I should pay them royalties or something. They're feeding me topics left and right *g*), and I've been thinking about it. A lot. The difference between the way I write het sex and the way I write slash sex (and possibly why I don't write much f/f sex, though I have on occasion, but only in the sex-romp way, never as a serious thing), the question of how I view the characters and what is "in character" as opposed to "out of character." The fantasy of being overwhelmed with desire and submitting versus the very real, hard, unromantic truths of rape, which is not sexual but about anger and power. I don't know. I definitely think that slash is a way for me personally to remove myself from the story, just as I tend to write het sex from the male POV. Even when I consciously say, "I'm going to write Rogue's POV of the sex in this," when the time comes (ahem), I almost *automatically* switch over to Logan's POV. It's... weird. Anyhow, as for rapefic, I wrote Long Hard Road Out of Hell simply because I wanted to see what would happen with Rogue in the situation. Rogue is, by nature, untouchable. That would seem to protect her from being raped. And yet, the guy in the parking lot with a grudge against women -- and a knife -- doesn't know that. When he grabs her and rapes her - handy condom and all (he was just looking not to leave DNA evidence) - he eventually touches her skin and is knocked out. So she's now got him *in her head*. That was the interesting part for me, which is why I wrote the story. I've seen a lot of stories in the Logan/Rogue genre that strike *me* as rape, or at the least, non-con (and not in a playing way), but which get rave reviews. The premise is usually "Wolverine knows his mate, and Rogue must submit." Personally, I'm disturbed, not only as a woman, but in defense of Logan, who would (if he were real), be *horrified* to have such behavior attributed to him. However, I can see the attraction. And I mean that literally. This idea that there's something so primal and deep that it can't even be articulated, but that these two people are "meant to be," so of course, even though Rogue doesn't know it at the outset, she'll know it when he throws her down and ravishes her. Note the word, ravish. 1 a : to seize and take away by violence b : to overcome with emotion (as joy or delight) <*ravished by the scenic beauty*> c : RAPE 2 : PLUNDER, ROB To rape and also to be swept away by emotion. Interesting, no? I don't have an answer. I've read more than my share of romance novels where the protag (I refuse to call a rapist a hero) "tames" the woman, and that taming includes sexual assault. I don't like it. I tend to stop reading as soon as I realize that there isn't a real hero who's going to step in and help the woman realize that a loving man wouldn't do that. And yet, I can totally see -- and have had -- the "I was totally overcome and forced to submit" fantasy. Somehow, though, it loses something in translation when the act is more violent than loving. That, I think is the key. If no one says no, does that mean they've said yes? If the female character submits for fear of her life, it's obviously rape. It gets cloudy when she doesn't have that fear, that she really does "want it" which would mean writing it from her POV, which might be a little too close for some writers. (And I'm not excusing those writers of Logan fic where he can smell that the character he's raping "wants it", because the body responds to stimuli, often regardless of whether the person actually wants to have sex or not, so that's no damned excuse, to me.) Hmm. I don't know that I've cleared anything up, for myself or anyone else. Honestly, I tend to steer clear of rapefic for these reasons. It's usually badly written, with no clear understanding of what effect the rape has on the person living through it. I was lucky enough to receive feedback from a couple of rape survivors who said I did a good job with it, so I was pleased. However, I really am wary of it as a topic for romantic fiction (pro or fan) because of the above reasons. Now, pondering canon. Stuff on fluff over in the LJ. Comments? ~victoria link [current mood: scarily perky] [current music: Black Dog - Led Zeppelin] [random quote: \"Things used to be pretty simple. A hundred years, just hanging out, feeling guilty. Really honed my brooding skills.\" - Angel] ~*~ 2002-07-08 - 10:52 p.m. I want my two dollars!*** First off, got the paper in the mail: I passed the test, and with that, $60 to the State of New York, and a black ink pen (required by law, no less), I will be a notary public. But not, it must be noted, a notario publico.* Yay me! Secondly, I finally was able to connect to Unfit, so Crave is up. Rogue has needs, and the wanting never stops.** Thirdly, a meme... The Works In Progress meme, that is. Wherein I list the first paragraph(s) of some of my WsIP. Heh. I wasn't sure if I should do ones you've seen bits of already, but eh, what the hell. Those are the ones most likely to get finished. Maybe if youse badger me, I'll work faster. Who knows? Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My! - Smallville: Clark was lazing the day away in the Fortress of Solitude. It was good. The typical humidity of the Kansas summer had abated somewhat after last night's big thunderstorms, and he felt comfortable in the warmth of the barn, hidden from direct sunlight. All was well with the world. "Clark! Clark, I have the most wonderful news!" Except that his mother was interrupting the golden silence. Maybe if he pretended not to hear, she'd go away. "I know you heard me, Clark." He sighed and sat up. "Yes, Mom?" She stood at the bottom of the stairs, her hair gleaming in the dull light. "Aunt Katherine's babysitter cancelled, and you know we have Cousin Millie's baby shower this afternoon. So I told her you'd look after Jimmy." *** All That You Can't Leave Behind-XMM: “Rogue! Rogue, can you hear me?” Logan shouted into the comm. He got nothing but static in return. “Piece of shit,” he muttered. “Storm, can you get a visual on Rogue?” “She’s down in the lower levels, Wolverine,” Jean answered before Storm was able. “She’s helping the wounded.” “I’m going in,” he said. “This place is gonna blow any second.” As if detonated by his words, the building the X-Men were attacking -- one that housed levels and levels of laboratories in which mutants had been held and experimented on -- exploded into a fiery ball of concrete and steel. Wolverine was hurled back twenty feet by the blast. Storm went tumbling out of the air from the heat wave, barely righting herself in time to prevent a calamitous impact with the ground. “Pull out! Pull out! Pull out!” Cyclops shouted, “Retreat to the jet! Now!” “Marie!” Wolverine roared, running into the fire, ignoring the orders. “Wolverine!” He wasn’t sure if that was Storm or Jean; he wasn’t paying attention. All his energy was focused on getting to Rogue and saving her. *** Time and Tide - XMM: She held the piece of paper tightly, as if it were the only thing keeping her tied to the ground. And, in a way, it was. "Your name is Marie Boudreaux. You're from Mississippi. You're a mutant with life-absorbing skin. Don't touch anyone and you'll be all right. You might want to dye your hair." She pushed a hank of hair behind one ear and chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. "Marie," she said aloud. "My name is Marie." It sounded good. Right. She read the rest of the letter. She had a feeling she'd written it herself. The handwriting was familiar, even if nothing else in the world was at the moment. She couldn't remember her own name or whereabouts, but she could still read. "Thank God for small mercies," she muttered, finally laying the letter on the desk and looking out the window. (And thanks to Renee for letting me borrow her plot and run with it) *** The Day's Hard Light - XMM: Prologue Rogue was trying on her brand spanking new X-Men uniform when the door swung open and Logan barged in without knocking. She turned, startled, and then smiled. Spreading her arms wide, she said, "How's it look, Logan?" He didn't smile in return. His expression was grim. He'd been in a bad mood ever since his return from his last trip to Canada, but this was something more. "Take it off, Marie." She blinked. Over the four years she'd known him, she'd often hoped he'd one day open his eyes and see her as a woman he could love, but she'd never expected such a brusque, unloving command. "Excuse me?" she asked, confusion evident in her face. "Take. It. Off." He emphasized each word as if she were stupid. "I don't want you joining the team." *** With This Ring - Smallville: Clark looked around the room. Nothing of him was left in the apartment he and Lex had shared for four long years. Long, wonderful years. But he couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't lie about himself anymore. Not to Lex, not to the world, and most of all, not to himself. He wasn't sure when it had all started to go wrong. He looked down at the ring on his finger. (Thanks to Wendi for letting me run with *her* idea *g*) *** Coming Around Again - XMM: Her head was bent over the desk in rapt concentration. The white locks that usually framed her face were pulled back, woven into braids that circled her head like a crown. Her skin glowed with good health -- she was even more luminous than he'd remembered. He breathed in her scent and after the first few moments, when its familiarity eased his tension at this long-over-due reunion, he realized there was something different about it. He couldn't put his finger on it, and that bothered him. He ought to have been here. He'd made a promise, and even if he'd never loved her in the way she’d wanted, he had at least owed her his friendship. She pushed her chair back from the desk and rose, one hand rubbing the small of her back, the other, splayed gently over her rounded belly. "Christ," he breathed. *That* was what had changed. She was pregnant. He suddenly noticed the ring on her left hand, and thought, <*At least I don't have to beat some bastard up.*> *** Secret Garden - XMM: That first year, Rogue settled in at the mansion. She made a few close friends, but spent most of her time dreaming of the day Logan would return for her. Oh, he'd said it was his dog tags he'd be coming back for, but she'd known what he'd meant, even if he hadn't. It was in every thought of his she had in her head. He came back, and he ruffled her hair and gave her the gifts he'd picked up along the way. She smiled and laughed, but in her room that night, she cried desperately. He'd bought her dolls and moccasins, presents to placate a child, not win the heart of a woman. She learned to hold back the tears and hide the traces when she couldn't. She had to, or she'd have been in tears that whole second year, watching him chase Jean, who refused to be caught. She sometimes thought it would be better if Jean would just give in and prove to be a bitch. Then maybe her feelings of betrayal and anger could be directed toward the other woman. But Jean just smiled and refused him, time and again. Flirting, but never going beyond the bounds of friendship. Everyone was relieved when Logan left the second time. *** Consumption - XMM (yes, it really does exist!): Jean had been volunteering at the clinic for a month the first time she saw him. The girl -- dark-haired, dark-eyed -- wouldn't leave his side. His eyes were covered with duct tape; she led him around like a guide dog. Her eyes were about the only part of her body left uncovered. Jean knew immediately that they were mutants. Half the kids she treated in this place were -- runaways who, in addition to the typical teenage horror stories, had to deal with a whole new layer of terror and hate. She came out of the small examining room and Consuelo pointed at the couple, huddled in a corner, away from the young mothers with their squalling infants and the older women with their Medicaid cards. "I'm Jean," she said softly, offering a hand. The girl ignored it completely, but he found it unerringly. His grip was warm, sure, and even through the threadbare cotton of his gloves she could feel something more -- almost a shock of recognition. "Scott," he answered with a small grin. *** Dreams in Red-XMM: People make choices and have to live with the consequences. Sometimes they make the wrong choices, and they get stuck with results you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. I remember the day Steve came to the school. Just arrived out of nowhere, claiming to be a mutant in need of a safe place to live. We took him in, of course. He was older than most of the kids we get -- in his early twenties at least. He was tall and lanky, with his head shaved bald and a wispy goatee covering his chin. He was a cocky bastard, sure of himself in a way that most of the kids who end up here don't achieve until they've been through years of training. Needless to say, he was popular with the young women, giving Remy a run for his money in the skirt-chasing department. The competition between them heated up between them considerably when Steve turned his attention to Rogue, the only female Remy seemed interested in for more than a quick roll in the sheets. *** Paperback Writer- XMM: Rogue realized something was up the day she found Logan in the library. It wasn’t that he didn’t read, because she knew he did. His bookshelf was filled with everything from the latest Tom Clancy thriller to an old, dog-eared copy of an Abe Lincoln biography. But he preferred owning his books, marking them as his by folding down the pages and scribbling notes in the margins, and anyway, the library had always been Scott’s terrain. Like two alpha males in the wild, they’d marked their territories early on and came to an understanding about what areas were to be considered “shared” and which were off-limits. So, finding him huddled at a table in a corner, just out of the shaft of bright light in which millions of tiny dust motes danced, was strange. The fact that there were about a hundred scraps of crumpled up paper littering the table and the floor was even stranger. And he was mumbling to himself. That was strangest of all. She was a self-talker. She chattered incessantly to herself when she was alone, and he’d always made fun of her for it. But here he was, muttering things like, “If he turns the lights on, he’ll see her too soon. If he doesn’t turn the lights on, he’s an idiot.” “Whatcha doin’?” *** Gardening at Night - XMM: "Doesn't it bother you," Rogue began, "that so recently, Scott was engaged to Jean?" Ororo smiled serenely. "Doesn't it bother you, that even more recently, Logan was sleeping with Jean?" "Yes, it does. It always has." Rogue tugged ferociously at the weeds which had sprung up, seemingly overnight, in the garden. "Didn't we just do this?" she asked in exasperation, indicating the rows of flowerbeds they had yet to work on. Another smile from the weather goddess. "A garden needs constant loving attention, or it becomes a tangled mess which only a great deal of effort will straighten out." Her eyes gleamed with mischief. Rogue pushed damp strands of white hair off her flushed face. "Way to be heavy-handed with the metaphors, 'Ro." Ororo grinned impishly. Rogue loved seeing this too-often hidden side of her friend. *** The Prodigal - XMM: As I rang the bell at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, a little shiver of fear moved down my spine. It had been almost ten years since I'd been a student there, the sad, untouchable girl known to everyone only as Rogue, even the one or two close friends I'd made before I left. But the X-Man life wasn't for me. I stayed long enough to get my GED and then headed out for music school in Boston. Nothing was going to stop me from achieving my dreams -- not my poisoned skin, not Rachmaninoff, and certainly not some stupid people with a bug up their asses about mutants. Ten years in the real world has left me a little less proud. I'd come back to take a job as a teacher, my dreams of greatness on the concert circuit dashed when, about three years into my tenure with the New York Philharmonic, the conductor accidentally touched my bare hand during rehearsal, and I put him in a coma for a month. *** Untitled XMM semi-epistolary fic (does anyone actually like episotlary fiction? I don't. Why the hell was I trying to write one? I bogged down hard and never got out.): Logan sorted through the envelopes as he sat at the bar. One caught his eye immediately. It was addressed directly to this location. That sent a red flag up right away. He had PO boxes all across the country, all with forwarding orders to this address -- The Bay House in Stewart, Alberta. He was part owner of the bar with a guy named Jack, whom he'd known for almost as many years as he could remember. The mail would be the usual stuff -- correspondence related to the jobs he did (both legal and not) and the occasional note from a woman who'd managed to keep him in one place long enough to get a scribbled PO box number before he lit out. He threw those away without opening them. He stared at it, weighed it in his hand, as if that could tell him something before he opened it. He sniffed experimentally. The scent was familiar -- young, pure, sweet -- like nothing he'd ever come across, before or since. He looked at the postmark and congratulated himself on guessing correctly. Westchester, New York, USA. It was dated two weeks ago, about three days after he'd left Xavier's, promising the kid he'd return someday, and not looking back. He'd yet to make it up to Alkali Lake. Part of him was scared of what he might find. Part was scared he might not find anything at all. And the rest of him wondered why it was so damned important anymore. At the mansion, he'd found a place he might actually be able to call home for more than a week, people he might actually learn to care about, and he'd walked out after two days. *** Eyes That Lied-XMM: When the state trooper pulled her over, Marie cursed vehemently. She didn't need this. She didn't need this at all. She had finals to grade, as well as her own thesis to work on, and she had to be in Westchester in the morning for the baptism of Scott and Jean's little girl. "Marie Masterson?" the trooper asked, all mirrored glasses and polished leather boots. She blinked. But the manners drilled into her by her mother, way back when she was a little girl in Mississippi were stronger than her suspicions. "Yes, officer?" Sunlight glinted off the mirrored lenses of his glasses. He held out a picture. "Do you know this woman?" She took the picture, puzzled. It was a blonde woman, possibly her age, maybe a little older, but not more than twenty-five or twenty-six. Her hair hung in wild curls around her bare shoulders and her blue eyes twinkled with a spark of mischief. Marie blinked. If she looked at it a certain way... "This could be Kimmie Westwood. She was my best friend until we were fourteen, when her family moved to Atlanta." "Yes. I'm sorry to inform you that Miss Westwood is dead, and we think you might be able to help us solve her murder." "Murder?" Every nerve, every muscle, every instinct in her -- hers, Logan's, Erik's -- screamed at her to run. She knew nothing -- hadn't even seen the girl in ten years, let alone recently enough to help with a murder investigation. She had to get home. But her damnable curiosity required satisfaction. Kimmie didn't know she was a mutant, and news from her past was rare. *** A Game of You-XMM (yes, the title is unashamedly swiped from Neil Gaiman with a *G*): Professor Xavier sat impassively behind his desk, hands steepled. Rogue fidgeted under his regard. She had received more than one lecture about her sometimes reckless behavior, and didn't really want to sit through another. The door opened and Scott and Jean entered and settled onto the couch. Rogue frowned, dredging her memory for recent transgressions and coming up empty. Since she had been banned from missions a month ago, she had done nothing to incur the wrath of any of the more staid members of the team, nor the Professor. As far as she knew, anyway. Xavier gave a half-smile, and she realized she must be projecting her thoughts. "You're not in trouble, Rogue," he said. The smile grew as she relaxed into her chair. "I'd like you to accompany Jean and me on a -- mission of mercy." Scott opened his mouth and snapped it shut as the Professor continued, "Today is my weekly visit to Sing Sing. As you may know, I counsel several of the inmates there, mutants who, for one reason or another, have run afoul of the law and are in need of ... special handling." Scott snorted, but a look from Xavier kept him from saying more. "However, I have one -- client who is not a mutant. At least, I have been unable to detect any sign of mutation in his brainwaves. He has asked repeatedly to be tested for the X-gene and he has requested that Jean be his doctor. After wading through thickets of red tape and bureaucratic double-talk, I have been granted leave to have Jean take some blood and run some tests on him. "I'd like you to accompany us, Rogue. You have excellent observational skills, and I believe this is as good a time as any for you to begin reintegrating to the team after your -- enforced absence." She dropped her eyes at the reminder that she'd been grounded for recklessness after her last mission. But Xavier didn't harp on it. "Scott, because of his visor, is not allowed into the prison, so you will be somewhat in the nature of a back-up for Jean and me." She nodded. "When do we leave?" "Half an hour." She got up to go and he said, "Rogue, this is serious, but not dangerous. Please be on guard. I don't think I need to remind you to keep a close rein on your temper." *** I think that's enough. Christ. I scare myself sometimes. Some of these haven't been opened in almost a year. It's entirely possible they won't get finished, but I'm hoping... Let me know if there's something you particularly want to see done. Or not. I can be influenced. Or bribed. ~victoria *Notario Publico apparently means "lawyer" in Mexico and Central/South America, and notaries are not lawyers, though lawyers may be notaries. They don't have to take the test. They can just pay the fee. **Is that false advertising? I may have to write an entry on that... ***I just keep saying that, after the notary news, 'cause that's the fee. $2US. I'm so dorky. ****Eeep! Is Naomi's footnotes habit contagious? link [current mood: dorky/happy] [current music: I Will Buy You a New Life - Everclear] [random quote: Bend me, break me, anyway you need me, as long as I want you, baby, it's all right.] ~*~ 2002-07-08 - 4:03 p.m. Links for all and sundry. Especially sundry. I swear, Netscape is trying to drive me insane. Grrr... Links for fans of all shapes, sizes and interests... From yesterday's Times Magazine, for the fan-shaped fan, and anyone who has ever struggled with their weight: "What if it's all been a big fat lie?" Also from the Times (today's), for the sports fan: Robin Ventura makes it back to the All-Star Game for the first time in 10 years I heart Robin. For X-Men fans: More X2 rumors from AICN. For the Hugh Jackman fan in all of us (and thanks to Khaki for the link): Hugh news, including the fact that he's apparently signed for Van Helsing, *and* (and I thought this rumor had been squashed, but it'd be cool if it were true), he may be playing an "unnamed character" in SW3. Ewan, Sam *and* Hugh in the same movie... *swoon* Maybe he could play the father of a certain Corellian smuggler we all know and love. For the politically aware among us: Frodo Baggins Charged with War Crimes. Film at 11. And last, and maybe least, for the Pat Sajak fans or Republicans out there: Pat Sajak makes some good points amidst the left-bashing about the way the media kowtows to Hollywood and vice versa. (Thank Pete for this one.) Go. Read. Laugh. Learn. Send me money. What? That last was a joke. Sheesh. ~victoria aka Soupy Sales, and if someone gets that reference, man, I'll write you a fic. link [current mood: silly] [current music: Love Reign O'er Me - The Who] [random quote: \"Hey, when was the last time this thing was defrosted? You poor, poor ice cubes. Daddy's here...\" Bobby Drake] ~*~ 2002-07-08 - 11:00 a.m. fiction and morality Stupid server wouldn't let me FTP last night, so Crave is not up at the site yet, though I did stay up late to htmlize it. Grrr... And I don't have it with me, so I can't FTP from the web. Grrr... ~*~ Me, talking about civility and the stifling of online discussion, in the LJ. The discussion that this grew out of was one that began with a "what do we owe fandom" question. And while some people take umbrage at the use of the word "owe", I think it's a fair question. I mean, we can't all be consumers all the time. Ideally, we should be giving something back, whether it's fic, art, feedback, our skills as archivists, betas or list mods, etc. But then the quesion took a little different turn, and was cast in the light of "what does fiction owe society?" That's not what was asked, but that's how it came across to me, as in, "What resposibility does an author have to provide moral guidance or show what is 'right' and 'good' (by his or her particular society's mores) in fiction?" which can be extrapolated out to "Must good triumph over evil? Must bad behavior always be punished?" And I think these are valid questions to ask, especially in today's highly censorious environment, where people think videogames and heavy metal are responsible for their children's disaffection and anomie instead of their own (lack of) parenting skills. But I digress. My response to the question as asked is as follows: What writers owe fandom in the way of fanfiction is this: A good, well-written, well-characterized story that fulfills a need in the reader, whether it's for a happy ending, sad ending, violence, sex, the end of the world, saving the world, kink, death or schmoop or anything else. Maybe the reader didn't even know she needed it until she opened the story, or maybe the reader went in specifically looking for a certain type of fic. Whichever. A writer should be accountable to only one thing - the story s/he's telling. I don't think art needs to have any "social value" whatsoever, but it should strike at some truth or be beautiful or beautifully crafted, or it should provide enjoyment/pleasure/amusement or be thought-provoking. It needn't be all at once, but it damn well better be at least one of the above, or it's a waste of time. So yeah, I'm definitely not of the "all art is political" or "all art should be useful" school of thought. Because really, if something is beautiful or joyful or pleasurable or painful, isn't that *enough*? Think I'm right? Think I'm full of shit? Let me know. ~victoria link [current mood: cold] [current music: Let Me Stand Next to Your Fire - Jimi] [random quote: \"There's nothing I won't do, but some things are gonna cost you extra.\" Mike Kellerman, HLotS] ~*~ 2002-07-07 - 7:07 p.m. Crave Have you read Because by Te? I only ask because I'm blaming this on her. Well, and other things, as well, but more afterwards... ~*~ Crave She smiles as she slides onto the barstool, all liquid grace and soft curves. They can't see the muscle beneath, but she can feel it pulling taut. Years of hard work have paid off in a body that men would die to touch and women would die to have. Literally. It's not enough, though. She doesn't crave the sex -- nameless, faceless men or women in backrooms and parking lots and alleys. That drive has been lost along with most of the others. But she doesn't say no, either. Not if it gets her more of what she wants. The bartender puts the shot in front of her and she licks her lips. The first taste, acrid and smoky, the burn as the bourbon hits her chest and spreads its warmth. Manna from heaven. This is what she lives for now. A second, third, fourth shot follow in quick succession, rolling the glass along her lower lip, reveling in its smooth coolness. But she doesn't feel the burn. All she feels now is happy. She can focus, concentrate, be *herself* now, away from the mansion, away from the sympathetic eyes and the helping hands. They think they know, but they can't ever understand. No past, no future. Just the ever-present, everlasting *now*, and *God* it used to only take two or three shots, but now she needs three quarters of a bottle before everything clicks into place and the world is right again. And that means it's tequila time. Tonight is a good night. She gets up and dances on the bar, and the man who helps her when she stumbles is cute. He smells of leather and bourbon and smoke, and if she squints she can almost imagine-- But no. That's what she's here to forget. She lets him lead her to his car and she can't feel a thing now. Funny how that works. She drinks to feel and then she drinks to stop the feelings. She hands him the condom and he slides inside her; it's over almost before she's had a chance to realize it was starting. Disappointing. She pulls her skirt down over her ruined tights and as she heads back into the bar, she contemplates the numbness. It's what she wants. Numbness. Silence. The absence of want. Nirvana, the Buddhists call it. Sheer bloody impossible hell for her. When she can't feel, she wants to, and when she can, she runs screaming back into the arms of sweet mother scotch. But she always wants. She is the pure essence of wanting, and that's why, she's decided, she can never turn her skin off, never be safe. Because the wanting never stops. She would devour the world and everything in it and it *still* wouldn't be enough. To quiet that craving, she drinks and fucks and fights her way through the FoH and the Brotherhood and anyone else who gets in her way. She manages to get home somehow, her focus on the white line to her right and the steady stream of streetlights passing through her peripheral vision. She stumbles up the stairs to their room and peels off her gloves. So easy, she thinks. He doesn't even need to know. It's routine now. He knows what she is, but he refuses to see it, refuses to believe it's not something he can fix. So, he pretends to fix it, and she lets him. Denial works for him, for them. It always has. He knows it's his fault. Blames himself as much as she does. It's why he stays. She never would have pegged him for a martyr all those years ago, but he wears the crown of thorns she's picked for him. Wears it like a badge. She's the ball and chain keeping him here; she takes a bitter pleasure in their mutual regret, the constant litany of "if-onlys" that permeates their whole acquaintance. She weaves her way to the bed, muttering to herself that she's sorry, she's so sorry, but she has to, just this one more time. She reaches out and he's not there. Not. There. It takes a moment to penetrate, but when it does, she crashes into action. Drawers are jerked open, closet doors flung wide. He hasn't left her. He can't leave her. He can't. She chants it over and over, reassuring herself that they're locked into this pact of mutually assured destruction. His clothes are still there, and she grabs one flannel shirt as she trips over the small step and tumbles to the floor of the bathroom. Wrapping herself in his scent, she sobs until she falls asleep, there on the tile. She wakes to the dim light of dawn filtering through the blinds, sees him towering over her. "Rough night?" he asks. She puts a hand to her pounding head, squints up at him. "Nah." He nods, leans over and grabs her hand to pull her up. "I'm just gonna--" She jerks her head at the shower and he nods again. "Whatever you want, Rogue," he says, and it's her turn to nod. All she knows now, all she is, is wanting, and he can never give her what she craves. fin ~*~ Okay, see... addict!Rogue has been hanging around my brain since... god, it must be at least since November of 2000. But I cannibalized the story that was going there to write Long Hard Road and then Keep It Like a Secret. And then, well, Chasing the Blast, but that didn't really do the job, did it? It had the *idea*, and I'm still mulling a full-on addict!Rogue fic as a sequel to that, but... Fall Into the Sky by Shana does a good job with it, and since I've already got junkie!Scott in Consumption, I didn't want to repeat myself. But Jenn mentioned last night that Te was writing Dark!Rogue fic, and I said, yeah, I've got addict!Rogue floating around and have for a while. Edited to add: I also was just talking to Khaki about Addict!Rogue. I *knew* there was someone I was forgetting. Sorry, chica. And then I read Because earlier this evening, and when I lay down to take a nap, *this* just coalesced. I am somewhat appropriating Te's distinctive style. Not much, but a flourish here or there. *snerk* You should be grateful that's the most of my stylistic tricks on this one. It was almost written in second person, but I kept getting confused. I think it works better in third. Feel free to comment or suggest. I'll probably post it sometime later tonight or tomorrow, depending on my mood. I've never been one to hide even the least of my efforts. I suppose I should get back to the zoo fic, now, eh? ~victoria link [current mood: dark] [current music: silence] [random quote: the world is full of suffering, suffering is caused by desire, suffering can be avoided through an extinguishing of desire] ~*~ 2002-07-07 - 5:20 p.m. Clark, Lex and Chloe You know, I find it interesting to listen to people discuss and deconstruct a particular fanfic, but ... hmm... I can meta with the best of 'em, obviously, but I guess that unless I take a story really to heart, I just don't internalize it that much. I read it, I enjoy it, I move on to the next thing. So while I think everyone's making interesting (and valid) points on Hope's "In a Season of Calm Weather" over in Jenn's diary, and I lurved the story - the whole series, actually, because I can envision this future for Clark, Lex and poor, poor Chloe - it never occurred to me to be defensive on Clark's behalf. Yes, Chloe and Lex were wrong. However, my take so closely resembles Wendi's, that I'll just send you over there and you can pretend I'm nodding as she's talking. Having seen too many couples bog down in "I cheated on you, absolve me!", I'm of the school of thought that telling only makes things worse. Should Lex have broken up with Clark, or at least tried to explain to him *why* he was so dissatisfied with their relationship? Yes. Of course. Do I understand why he didn't? Again, yes. Of course. That doesn't make me any less sympathetic to either Chloe or Lex when the shit hits the fan and she turns up in his office with... her announcement. Yes, I feel for Clark, too. No one should ever have to deal with their lover and their best friend screwing around behind their backs. But it wasn't like they'd been carrying on an affair. It was the sort of bad choice that hurt people make. Much like Clark made the bad choice to put Superman over his lover and his friends. They all acted immaturely, and well, Clark comes out with the fuzzy end of the lollypop, but I don't feel the need to excoriate the other two. Huh. It never would have occurred to me to discuss this at all. The situation is very close to home in some ways (having been a spectator for similar events) that it just struck me as all very *real* and if I were Chloe's friend, or Lex's, or Clark's, I'm sure, well, I'm sure I'd tell Clark he was better off without either of them. And I'd tell Chloe that she made the right decision, and Lex that he did, too. Of course, I've never hated Clark with the passion that other people have, so... *g* Interesting. I wasn't planning an entry on this at all. I don't even know what I was going to talk about. MIB2 spoilers are up in the LJ. Comments are always welcome. ~victoria link [current mood: puzzled] [current music: Midnight Rider - Allman Brothers] [random quote: \"Revenge is like you taking poison, and hoping the other guy dies.\" Tim Bayliss, HLotS] ~*~ 2002-07-07 - 11:43 a.m. Crazy, not stupid Since it got cut off last night in the "random quote" section: "Grown-ups never understand anything for themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them." ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry Well, really, wouldn't you rather read him than me? Going to try to see MIB2 in a bit. Tommy Lee Jones! Will Smith! Alien pugs singing "I Will Survive!" What is NOT to like about this movie? Speaking of movies... I am a sad bastard. I walked into the bathroom last night and heard one line from the television in the living room: "We're leaking gas!?" And I said, "You're watching Speed?" Oy. I can't begin to count how many times I've watched that movie. Love it. Love. It. "They're cans! Miss, they're cans!" "Mac, we're boned!" "Crazy, not stupid." Harry: "All right, pop quiz. Airport. Gunman with one hostage. He's using her for cover; he's almost to a plane. You're a hundred feet away. Jack?" Jack: "Shoot the hostage." Hee! That's Joss dialogue at its best, even if he technically doesn't get credited for it. And yeah, I love Keanu. You can bite me. I've loved him since... god, that horrid tv movie where he played the football player. Since Bill & Ted, since River's Edge. Not always much of an actor, but always pretty to look at. Gotta go now, and watch Tommy and Will save the universe. Later, taters. ~victoria [current mood: geeky] [current music: I Will Survive - in my head] [random quote: First I was afraid, I was petrified, just thinking I could never live without you by my side...] ~*~ 2002-07-06 - 10:59 p.m. The Little Prince "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye." ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry ~victoria link [current mood: creative] [current music: It's Been A While - Staind] [random quote: Grown-ups never understand anything for themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things t] ~*~ 2002-07-06 - 5:22 p.m. Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My! The beginning of the thrice-damned zoo fic: Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My! Clark was lazing the day away in the Fortress of Solitude. It was good. The typical humidity of the Kansas summer had abated somewhat after last night's big thunderstorms, and he felt comfortable in the warmth of the barn, hidden from direct sunlight. All was well with the world. "Clark! Clark, I have the most wonderful news!" Except that his mother was interrupting the golden silence. Maybe if he pretended not to hear, she'd go away. "I know you heard me, Clark." He sighed and sat up. "Yes, Mom?" She stood at the bottom of the stairs, her hair gleaming in the dull light. "Aunt Katherine's babysitter cancelled, and you know we have Cousin Millie's baby shower this afternoon. So I told her you'd look after Jimmy." So much for his lazy day. Clark liked his cousin Jimmy. He did. But he had planned to drop in on Lex later on, and see if he could convince him to go swimming. And if one or both of them should happen to wind up naked and covered in baby oil, well, stranger things had happened. This was Smallville, after all. A six-year-old would be an impediment to those plans. A huge impediment. "But Mom! I had plans--" She grinned wickedly. "Maybe Lex would like to help you," she said, and then walked away. He pouted for a while, and whined about it some more when he went back to the house for a mid-morning snack, but his mother just ignored him. His father, just come back from the fields, smirked. "Come on, son. You're going to tell me that you can't handle one six-year-old? I don't believe it." "Hmph." Then, "Hey Dad, you're going to be home. I have some, uh, errands to run. Why don't you watch Jimmy while I do that, and then when I get back we can play Nintendo." "That's a great idea, Clark--" "Your father is coming to the shower, Clark," his mother interrupted. "Now, Martha--" "It's a co-ed shower, Jonathan. And you said you wanted to do more things together. This is the perfect opportunity." "Er," was all Jonathan managed. Clark shared a commiserating look with his father. "I think you're getting the worst of it," he whispered. Jonathan nodded glumly. Three hours later, Aunt Katherine arrived, little Jimmy in tow. A large woman, and one used to being the center of attention, Katherine hugged Clark until he thought he would pass out from the cloud of perfume enveloping her. Jimmy was behind her, an angelic smile on his face as Martha oohed and ahhed over how big he'd gotten. Aunt Katherine did the same to Clark, pinching his cheek mercilessly as she cooed, "You've grown so tall!" Considering he was the same height he'd been last time he'd seen her, he had no response. Jimmy caught his eye and smirked. At six, the kid already knew how annoying adults could be. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, after all. Clark had forgotten that six-year-olds tend to have the attention span of caffeinated gnats. After two episodes of "Rocket Power," three rounds of SuperMario, and a wild search for the perfect shade of blue in Clark's old box of Crayolas in order to color Blue's spots, Jimmy was bored and Clark was ready to strangle him. He looked at the clock. One pm. He was never going to survive until six. "I'm bored," Jimmy said. Clark gritted his teeth. "I heard you the first six hundred times." "I take it you gentlemen are bored," Lex said, letting the screen door bang closed behind him. It was all Clark could do not to fling himself at Lex in thanks and praise. "Yeah," Jimmy answered. "You're bald." Clark gasped. "Jimmy!" he hissed in mortification, clamping a hand over the boy's mouth and offering Lex an embarrassed smile. "He's six," he said, as if that was explanation enough. Lex ran elegant fingers over his scalp. "That's right. I am." He met Jimmy's eyes squarely. "Cool," Jimmy said, but it was muffled by Clark's hand. Lex jiggled his head and Clark let the boy go. Jimmy ran to the screen door and looked out into the yard at Lex's Ferrari. "Is that your car?" Lex laughed. "Yeah, it is. Wanna go for a ride?" "Lex!" Lex smiled and spread his hands wide, in a "what can I do?" gesture. "He's bored. We may as well take him for a ride." "Please, Clark?" Jimmy wheedled. "I'll be really good." Clark sighed. He wanted to go for a ride in Lex's Ferrari. He just had visions of *something* going wrong and then who would be to blame? That's right, he would. Though, of course, his father would blame Lex no matter what. In the grand scheme of things, the only things Jonathan Kent didn't seem to blame Lex for were the Titanic and the JFK assassination. "Come on, Clark," Lex said, adding his own voice to Jimmy's pleas. "Fine. All right. But we have to be back here before six." "Clark, what are you worried about?" Lex teased. "That's five hours away." *** See, Jenn. I can stop torturing myself - and you all - now if you like. Just say the word. Comments? Suggestions? Orders to stop? ~victoria link [current mood: okay] [current music: Pachelbel's Canon] [random quote: There's no place like home] ~*~ previous - next DiaryLand Disclaimer: Reading this diary is not required by law. 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