Take her out behind the barn, pa.
Dec. 1st, 2006 12:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lukon_ideinGod, I've been so fucking depressed lately! Pissing me off. Can't get anything done, and don't really care. I know some is PMS-related, but not all of it. Just went out to the northwest (got to be there for all the snow! Way cool.) And I was surprised to find that far from my interest being stimulated from being someplace new, I was more depressed. Guess I might be somewhat envious of my dad and step-mom having that old, comfy relationship that I will never have when I'm their age. I don't have to deal with that when I visit my mom - she usually is happy to console me that there are many benefits to being single. Her oft-spoken adage 'I want a man in my life but not in my house' always makes me smile. But at least she has kids. Not that I realistically want kids, cuz I hate the thought of being responsible for bringing someone else into the world just so that they, too, can be miserable, but there is still that stupid biological clock prodding me, telling me something's missing. Fucking hormones.
I can't even deal with writing, which I was enjoying there for a while. Everything I write seems emotionally shallow and full of cliches. Posted something last night and then took it down the next morning because I was paranoid that it sucked too much. Pathetic. And I find myself agonizing over whether I'll get any feedback or not, and if I don't then I'm completely disappointed and basically just too emotionally dependent on whether people bother to tell me if they liked a stupid 600-word story. It's so pathetic. It doesn't help that I finally broke down over the holiday and cracked open the second book of the Lymond Chronicles that has been tempting me since the beginning of the semester. FUCK, Dorothy Dunnett is an amazing writer!! Just reading one chapter of hers makes me ashamed to even consider picking up the proverbial pen ever again. Behold the brilliance:
"It was one of those occasions when Lymond asleep wrecked the peace of mind of more people than Lymond awake."
and
"It was difficult not to like him, and few tried."
Sigh. Such command of her universe!! Such clarity of thought and image! Such concise delivery! I am in paroxysms of delight and envy. It has finally become clear to me that my imagination is limited to the hackneyed plots I grew up with on television, and that my emotional perception is severely hampered by the fact that I'm a bitter, misanthropic old crone. Even in the GW fandom there are so many writers that just wipe the floor with me, it makes me sick. Especially when I am already feeling morose and incompetent.
On the upside - at least I took a few pictures in Washington that I liked. Would have been better with an SLR, but still, a couple were decent. And Newcastle was on sale at the grocery store. Woohoo. They recently jacked the price up to $9.fucking49! Jesus Christ on a stick! What's in this stuff? Titanium? Putting it on sale is the only way they are going to move any stock in this town. No one here is going to pay 9.50 for a sixpack! Hell, I can go to MH's during happy hour and get four pints for practically the same price. Huh, rant much? And about beer. The road to alcoholism is a subtle one, my dear.
So I guess I'll post my yanked story here, because I still like the last line, even if the rest of it is seriously flawed. And this is the only repository I have for all my fics. Except for one or two I posted on Pervy_Werewolf way back when. One was pretty nasty, as I recall. Maybe I should try that again. I keep coming up with silly comedy vignettes when I really want pain, blood, angst and misery - with an eventual happy ending, of course. Sigh. I'm really whining alot tonight. But then, that's kinda what this journal is for - no one really reads it but me, so I could just write shit down in a book, but somehow I can't bring myself to do that, but *this* I can do. Weird. Maybe it's the pitiable hope that someone will read it and sympathize. My friend Matt thinks it's completely pathetic that people do that, and I agree that it's totally egotistical (and probably somehow passive-aggressive), but I'm nothing if not shallow and self-obsessed, so I guess it's perfect for me. : P
Damn, life is a crappy place. And without any further ado (and with one brief rewrite)....
Title: Everything Nice
Author: Lukoni
Characters/Pairing: Quatre/Trowa, mention of Heero/Duo
Word Count: 668
Summary: Quatre’s sick of being the cute one.
Rating: R
Warnings: Fluff, smooching, mild suggestions of bdsm, garnish abuse.
Notes: As mentioned above, written for GW500 challenge #149: Sugar, but pulled for general suckiness.
Everything Nice
Quatre returned from the bar with a scowl. “Another sugar,” he muttered, slowly placing his carefully balanced handful of drinks down on the table and flopping down into the seat next to the braided man.
“What?” asked Duo, thinking he’d mis-heard his friend over the loud music.
“Sugar,” sneered the blond executive, taking a sip from his alcohol-free juice concoction. “Another hit,” he glared briefly at a tall man in cowboy boots and checked shirt. “It’s always sugar, sweetie, baby, darling. Why do they always hit on me like I’m a girl??”
Duo, finally understanding the problem, was about to respond concerning his friend’s choice of beverage, when Quatre cut him off. “I’m just as tall as Trowa now. I’ve got broad shoulders. I’m manly.”
Duo snorted. “Yes, Quatre, you’re very manly.”
“Oh piss off! Trowa gets Hot Stuff, and Killer and Babe...”
“You just complained about babe....”
“No, that was babY,” Quatre explained to his clearly mentally-challenged companion. “Baby implies something soft and cuddly, while babe denotes something hot and sexy.”
“Obviously.”
“Hell, some kid out of the blue once called him Master and then dropped to his knees and started licking his boots!”
“No shit?! What did he do?” Quatre was not to be deterred from his subject, however.
“And what do I get? Honey. Muffin. Lamb.”
“Sorry, buddy, but with my hair I’ve gotten everything from Girlie to Little Lady. No sympathy here at all.” Duo smugly took a swig of his beer and turned to check out the swirling bodies on the dance floor.
“I just want to be hot and sexy! Not cute and adorable. Is that too much to ask??”
Duo took one look at the disgruntled blond, sulking in his rumpled charcoal suit, glaring daggers between his disheveled golden locks and smiled. Picture postcard for cute. “’Fraid so. Guess you’d better suck it up and move on.”
“You’re such a help,” Quatre complained, thwacking his friend in the head with his garnish.
“Hey, Tiger,” a silky voice purred in his ear. “Did I miss much?” Quatre let his head fall back with a grin, looking up at his boyfriend standing over him. The balm of Trowa’s appellation had worked its magic once more. Quatre’s empathy sensed the ever-present sincerity behind his lover’s words. Never patronizing or condescending. One man, at least, always saw Quatre as strong, dangerous and sexy.
“Only Duo being an asshole.” To punctuate the point, a soggy celery leaf landed squarely on Quatre’s nose.
“Your boyfriend’s whining. Make him stop.” Trowa licked the invading vegetation from his lover’s nose, swallowing it with a smile.
“Another Baby?”
“Sugar. If I didn’t have to keep up the Winner image, I’d show him just how sweet I can be.”
“Mmmm, I love it when you talk dirty.” He bent down and began kissing Quatre’s upturned face. He broke away reluctantly when a slice of citrus hit the back of his neck.
“Can you rub in MORE the fact that Heero is out of town, guys?”
“Sorry, Duo,” Quatre muttered as Trowa slid in next him.
“I say fuck the Winner Image. If you don’t want to be seen as Cute then bring Tro here on a leash next time and give anyone who looks at him a nice big Zero glare.” A low rumble of approval emanated from Trowa’s throat.
“I...” Quatre’s cheeks warmed happily at the image. “I couldn’t...” With every attempt to get his cock to behave, it simply rebelled further. “It wouldn’t be... oh hell. You did it again, Duo! You’re determined to turn me into a complete sex maniac.” Duo tried to look innocent, but failed entirely.
“C’mon,” Quatre said, snagging Trowa’s wrist, images of leather collars dancing in his head. “We gotta go. NOW.”
“Yes, sir!” said Trowa, tossing a wink to Duo. “I owe you one,” he said as he passed the American.
“Just tell Heero the boot-licking story when he gets back and we’re even!” Duo called at his retreating back. “Well, sweetie,” Duo sighed, looking sadly at his beer bottle, “looks like the only thing I’ll be getting my lips on tonight is you. Nice curves. You come here often?”
~fin~
I can't even deal with writing, which I was enjoying there for a while. Everything I write seems emotionally shallow and full of cliches. Posted something last night and then took it down the next morning because I was paranoid that it sucked too much. Pathetic. And I find myself agonizing over whether I'll get any feedback or not, and if I don't then I'm completely disappointed and basically just too emotionally dependent on whether people bother to tell me if they liked a stupid 600-word story. It's so pathetic. It doesn't help that I finally broke down over the holiday and cracked open the second book of the Lymond Chronicles that has been tempting me since the beginning of the semester. FUCK, Dorothy Dunnett is an amazing writer!! Just reading one chapter of hers makes me ashamed to even consider picking up the proverbial pen ever again. Behold the brilliance:
"It was one of those occasions when Lymond asleep wrecked the peace of mind of more people than Lymond awake."
and
"It was difficult not to like him, and few tried."
Sigh. Such command of her universe!! Such clarity of thought and image! Such concise delivery! I am in paroxysms of delight and envy. It has finally become clear to me that my imagination is limited to the hackneyed plots I grew up with on television, and that my emotional perception is severely hampered by the fact that I'm a bitter, misanthropic old crone. Even in the GW fandom there are so many writers that just wipe the floor with me, it makes me sick. Especially when I am already feeling morose and incompetent.
On the upside - at least I took a few pictures in Washington that I liked. Would have been better with an SLR, but still, a couple were decent. And Newcastle was on sale at the grocery store. Woohoo. They recently jacked the price up to $9.fucking49! Jesus Christ on a stick! What's in this stuff? Titanium? Putting it on sale is the only way they are going to move any stock in this town. No one here is going to pay 9.50 for a sixpack! Hell, I can go to MH's during happy hour and get four pints for practically the same price. Huh, rant much? And about beer. The road to alcoholism is a subtle one, my dear.
So I guess I'll post my yanked story here, because I still like the last line, even if the rest of it is seriously flawed. And this is the only repository I have for all my fics. Except for one or two I posted on Pervy_Werewolf way back when. One was pretty nasty, as I recall. Maybe I should try that again. I keep coming up with silly comedy vignettes when I really want pain, blood, angst and misery - with an eventual happy ending, of course. Sigh. I'm really whining alot tonight. But then, that's kinda what this journal is for - no one really reads it but me, so I could just write shit down in a book, but somehow I can't bring myself to do that, but *this* I can do. Weird. Maybe it's the pitiable hope that someone will read it and sympathize. My friend Matt thinks it's completely pathetic that people do that, and I agree that it's totally egotistical (and probably somehow passive-aggressive), but I'm nothing if not shallow and self-obsessed, so I guess it's perfect for me. : P
Damn, life is a crappy place. And without any further ado (and with one brief rewrite)....
Title: Everything Nice
Author: Lukoni
Characters/Pairing: Quatre/Trowa, mention of Heero/Duo
Word Count: 668
Summary: Quatre’s sick of being the cute one.
Rating: R
Warnings: Fluff, smooching, mild suggestions of bdsm, garnish abuse.
Notes: As mentioned above, written for GW500 challenge #149: Sugar, but pulled for general suckiness.
Everything Nice
Quatre returned from the bar with a scowl. “Another sugar,” he muttered, slowly placing his carefully balanced handful of drinks down on the table and flopping down into the seat next to the braided man.
“What?” asked Duo, thinking he’d mis-heard his friend over the loud music.
“Sugar,” sneered the blond executive, taking a sip from his alcohol-free juice concoction. “Another hit,” he glared briefly at a tall man in cowboy boots and checked shirt. “It’s always sugar, sweetie, baby, darling. Why do they always hit on me like I’m a girl??”
Duo, finally understanding the problem, was about to respond concerning his friend’s choice of beverage, when Quatre cut him off. “I’m just as tall as Trowa now. I’ve got broad shoulders. I’m manly.”
Duo snorted. “Yes, Quatre, you’re very manly.”
“Oh piss off! Trowa gets Hot Stuff, and Killer and Babe...”
“You just complained about babe....”
“No, that was babY,” Quatre explained to his clearly mentally-challenged companion. “Baby implies something soft and cuddly, while babe denotes something hot and sexy.”
“Obviously.”
“Hell, some kid out of the blue once called him Master and then dropped to his knees and started licking his boots!”
“No shit?! What did he do?” Quatre was not to be deterred from his subject, however.
“And what do I get? Honey. Muffin. Lamb.”
“Sorry, buddy, but with my hair I’ve gotten everything from Girlie to Little Lady. No sympathy here at all.” Duo smugly took a swig of his beer and turned to check out the swirling bodies on the dance floor.
“I just want to be hot and sexy! Not cute and adorable. Is that too much to ask??”
Duo took one look at the disgruntled blond, sulking in his rumpled charcoal suit, glaring daggers between his disheveled golden locks and smiled. Picture postcard for cute. “’Fraid so. Guess you’d better suck it up and move on.”
“You’re such a help,” Quatre complained, thwacking his friend in the head with his garnish.
“Hey, Tiger,” a silky voice purred in his ear. “Did I miss much?” Quatre let his head fall back with a grin, looking up at his boyfriend standing over him. The balm of Trowa’s appellation had worked its magic once more. Quatre’s empathy sensed the ever-present sincerity behind his lover’s words. Never patronizing or condescending. One man, at least, always saw Quatre as strong, dangerous and sexy.
“Only Duo being an asshole.” To punctuate the point, a soggy celery leaf landed squarely on Quatre’s nose.
“Your boyfriend’s whining. Make him stop.” Trowa licked the invading vegetation from his lover’s nose, swallowing it with a smile.
“Another Baby?”
“Sugar. If I didn’t have to keep up the Winner image, I’d show him just how sweet I can be.”
“Mmmm, I love it when you talk dirty.” He bent down and began kissing Quatre’s upturned face. He broke away reluctantly when a slice of citrus hit the back of his neck.
“Can you rub in MORE the fact that Heero is out of town, guys?”
“Sorry, Duo,” Quatre muttered as Trowa slid in next him.
“I say fuck the Winner Image. If you don’t want to be seen as Cute then bring Tro here on a leash next time and give anyone who looks at him a nice big Zero glare.” A low rumble of approval emanated from Trowa’s throat.
“I...” Quatre’s cheeks warmed happily at the image. “I couldn’t...” With every attempt to get his cock to behave, it simply rebelled further. “It wouldn’t be... oh hell. You did it again, Duo! You’re determined to turn me into a complete sex maniac.” Duo tried to look innocent, but failed entirely.
“C’mon,” Quatre said, snagging Trowa’s wrist, images of leather collars dancing in his head. “We gotta go. NOW.”
“Yes, sir!” said Trowa, tossing a wink to Duo. “I owe you one,” he said as he passed the American.
“Just tell Heero the boot-licking story when he gets back and we’re even!” Duo called at his retreating back. “Well, sweetie,” Duo sighed, looking sadly at his beer bottle, “looks like the only thing I’ll be getting my lips on tonight is you. Nice curves. You come here often?”
~fin~
