i know what you want. the magpies have come.
1. Oh emquilxy, you find the best things: Arnold Schwartzenegger Does a Cooking Show
2. The socks went insane last night, and it was lovely. I had to put my ass on tumble dry after 11 pm, but I hope the party continued on.
3. I feel bleaugh about everything this week. I try to read Erdrich's book, and I know that I should fucking love it, because she's lush and poignant and I already had like, three moments in which I sucked in my breath and realised that I am shit compared to her and I'm only on page12 or something. This is not why I'm uninterested in reading, because I cannot read Burroughs either, and that NEVER happens to me most of the time.
4. Am bored with my fic. All of it. Like, I was writing porn last night, Jack/Alice Guppy in an alien sex ring slave trade investigation in which dom!Alice is leading Jack about and then la la la la it flips in private and it's all dom!Jack, and la la la sexor5. Then I was like, Meh. "But Amand-r! You referenced the Wreck of the Goddamn Hesperus! Alice isn't wearing knickers! Jack is in a collar and loincloth! They just got alien restraining cuffs from the guard outside the playroom? What could be bad about that?"
"Well, what if you made it different? Dom Jack right out of the box and ….oh, no. Dom Alice and super subservient Jack and then….oh. What if…what if Jack and Alice were dommy and Emily was their pet and they had too much Romulan ale and then in front of everyone Alice and Jack let Emily top them and all three of them get taken captive by the leaders of the slave ring because they blow their cover and then they're all sold into sex slavery?"
Meh (also, WTF that last bit? Anne Rice? Is that you, you one-handed typist?).
So there we are. I am bored with porn, like that bouncer at the strip club that has seen so many titties that they don't excite him anymore. I'm like Stella, and I need to get my groove back.
I was thinking that I'd like to write about disembowelment, or something insane and fuckalicious, and then guess what happened?
Meh.
"But Amand-r! Remember the time you ripped the arms and legs off that dude and then sewed them back on with thin catheter tubing and a whip stitch? Let's do that again!"
Meh.
So I present, what I wrote last night. Poly fluff. It's part of a bigger story. But here you go:
***
LISA
It's the flowers that bother her the most, she realises when she's staring at the wallpaper in the loo. If they owned this place, it'd be gone already. Hell, if she could reach the upper walls with a steamer, it'd be gone regardless.
Lisa finds that in the day to day of her life in Cardiff, the futility of the flowered wallpaper in the loo is endemic to her entire situation. Flowers, bright and red and meant to weave together in a happy pattern, meant to subconsciously cheer her up as she lathers up or washes her hands, or uses the Peristeen. Instead, she often finds that she lavishes quite a bit of animosity at them in their insistence toward cheer.
She hasn't mentioned this to Ianto, because he would rip them all down for her in an instant, and that's not exactly what she wants.
But they are there every day, and as she cleans her catheter in the sink and listens to the chiming of her instant messenger program pinging repeatedly (she tells them that she'll be back in fifteen minutes, but they never seem to notice. UNIT is full of people who only read the lines they themselves have written in any given chat room.), they begin to seem less and less like a nuisance and more like a mockery. The more they want her to be happy, the more irritated she gets.
She wheels out into the hallway and bangs the chair on the doorjamb, because no matter how many times she does it, she always misjudges this turn.
By the time she's back at her workstation in her office, a bottle of Perrier, bag of carrots and a sausage roll wedged in between her legs and the side of the chair, there are fifteen new emails and about fifty lines of chat text, none of it pertinent to her. She deletes the mails with her mouse, saying, 'click' as she erases each one. She has several emails in her inbox from Torchwood, which means that she's either finally managed to get a hold of Toshiko Sato, or Ianto has a rare moment at a borrowed terminal.
From: Jones, Ianto.
Subject: An Unexpected Outing?
Lis-- I have a few minutes to spare and I wanted to mail and ask if you had any plans for dinner. Jack has given me the evening free, and I intend to not be near any form of communicative device in that space of time. Do you have anything in particular you might fancy? I might be able to persuade Tosh to hack a reservation for us if somewhere you like is full up, and bugger the consequences. We deserve nice flatware once in a while. Love you tragically hip, Ianto
Lisa smiles and hits Reply.
Babe-I don't have anything that I'm thinking I need desperately, actually, and you're the one who knows the Food section, so pick something that has those little snail forks and a fish knife and maybe pate or something that still has a head on it. All those posh places leave the heads on. What did you have to do to get the night off? Blow Mount Harkness? Haahhha. Love you tonnes and tonnes and rubber nuns, Lis.
Lisa looks at the dress that has just come back from the dry cleaners and which has been hanging in its plastic bag on the doorknob of the office closet since it had been delivered this afternoon. It is gold and sparkles in the right places and it is low cut in the front and high cut on the legs, and she wants to wear it when Ianto makes love her, but he won't let her, so she'll settle for wearing it tonight.
From: Harkness, Jack.
Subject: Re: A Request, please sir!
Ms. Hallet-Jones,
Fine, you sly minx. He's all yours for the evening. Just let him return in one piece; he's the only one who knows how to run that fancy coffee machine we bought last month.
J.
p.s. Fwd pictures. :)
Lisa smiles. She has never met Captain Harkness, but that doesn't mean that she has issues emailing him and demanding that he give Ianto an evening without distraction in which he can sex up his wife right and proper. She might have even mentioned that in her initial email; just because she hasn't met the man doesn't mean that she doesn't know the man.
'Click. Click. Click.'
NEW From: Jones, Ianto.
Subject: Re: Re: An Unexpected Outing?
O_o. If I knew I'd tell you. Let's not look a gift horse, eh?
Seven at La Tagliatelle. They have breadsticks for fencing. XO -Ianto
Lisa hits "Archive" instead.
***
Fucking poly.
5. While we're here, let's all examine the following song lyrics from Regina and wonder what the fuck she's talking about. Science fiction? Suicide? Made of Win? Y/Y?
The Genius Next Door
Some said the local lake had been enchanted
Others said it must have been the weather
The neighbors were trying to keep it quiet
But I swear that I could hear the laughter
So they joke, and they nicknamed it "the porridge"
Cause over night that lake had turned as thick as butter
But the local kids would still go swimming, drinking
Saying that to them it doesn't matter
If you just hold in your breath
'Til you come back up in full
Hold in your breath
'Til you've thought it through
You fool
The genius next door was bussing tables
Wiping clean the ketchup bottle labels
Getting high and mumbling German fables
Didn't care as long as he was able
To strip his clothes off by the dumpsters
At night while every one was sleeping
And wade midway into that porridge
Just him and the secret he was keeping
If you just hold in your breath
'Til you come back up in full
Hold in your breath
'Til you thought it through
You foolish child
In the morning the film crews start arriving
With donuts, coffee and reporters
The kids were waking up, hung over
The neighbors were starting up their cars
The garbage men were emptying the dumpsters
Atheists were praying full of sarcasm
And the genius next door was sleeping
Dreaming that the antidote is orgasm
If you just hold in your breath
'Til you come back up in full
Hold in your breath
'Til you thought it through
You foolish child
…….
Ohkaaay, Reggie baby. Love you!
2. The socks went insane last night, and it was lovely. I had to put my ass on tumble dry after 11 pm, but I hope the party continued on.
3. I feel bleaugh about everything this week. I try to read Erdrich's book, and I know that I should fucking love it, because she's lush and poignant and I already had like, three moments in which I sucked in my breath and realised that I am shit compared to her and I'm only on page12 or something. This is not why I'm uninterested in reading, because I cannot read Burroughs either, and that NEVER happens to me most of the time.
4. Am bored with my fic. All of it. Like, I was writing porn last night, Jack/Alice Guppy in an alien sex ring slave trade investigation in which dom!Alice is leading Jack about and then la la la la it flips in private and it's all dom!Jack, and la la la sexor5. Then I was like, Meh. "But Amand-r! You referenced the Wreck of the Goddamn Hesperus! Alice isn't wearing knickers! Jack is in a collar and loincloth! They just got alien restraining cuffs from the guard outside the playroom? What could be bad about that?"
"Well, what if you made it different? Dom Jack right out of the box and ….oh, no. Dom Alice and super subservient Jack and then….oh. What if…what if Jack and Alice were dommy and Emily was their pet and they had too much Romulan ale and then in front of everyone Alice and Jack let Emily top them and all three of them get taken captive by the leaders of the slave ring because they blow their cover and then they're all sold into sex slavery?"
Meh (also, WTF that last bit? Anne Rice? Is that you, you one-handed typist?).
So there we are. I am bored with porn, like that bouncer at the strip club that has seen so many titties that they don't excite him anymore. I'm like Stella, and I need to get my groove back.
I was thinking that I'd like to write about disembowelment, or something insane and fuckalicious, and then guess what happened?
Meh.
"But Amand-r! Remember the time you ripped the arms and legs off that dude and then sewed them back on with thin catheter tubing and a whip stitch? Let's do that again!"
Meh.
So I present, what I wrote last night. Poly fluff. It's part of a bigger story. But here you go:
***
LISA
It's the flowers that bother her the most, she realises when she's staring at the wallpaper in the loo. If they owned this place, it'd be gone already. Hell, if she could reach the upper walls with a steamer, it'd be gone regardless.
Lisa finds that in the day to day of her life in Cardiff, the futility of the flowered wallpaper in the loo is endemic to her entire situation. Flowers, bright and red and meant to weave together in a happy pattern, meant to subconsciously cheer her up as she lathers up or washes her hands, or uses the Peristeen. Instead, she often finds that she lavishes quite a bit of animosity at them in their insistence toward cheer.
She hasn't mentioned this to Ianto, because he would rip them all down for her in an instant, and that's not exactly what she wants.
But they are there every day, and as she cleans her catheter in the sink and listens to the chiming of her instant messenger program pinging repeatedly (she tells them that she'll be back in fifteen minutes, but they never seem to notice. UNIT is full of people who only read the lines they themselves have written in any given chat room.), they begin to seem less and less like a nuisance and more like a mockery. The more they want her to be happy, the more irritated she gets.
She wheels out into the hallway and bangs the chair on the doorjamb, because no matter how many times she does it, she always misjudges this turn.
By the time she's back at her workstation in her office, a bottle of Perrier, bag of carrots and a sausage roll wedged in between her legs and the side of the chair, there are fifteen new emails and about fifty lines of chat text, none of it pertinent to her. She deletes the mails with her mouse, saying, 'click' as she erases each one. She has several emails in her inbox from Torchwood, which means that she's either finally managed to get a hold of Toshiko Sato, or Ianto has a rare moment at a borrowed terminal.
From: Jones, Ianto.
Subject: An Unexpected Outing?
Lis-- I have a few minutes to spare and I wanted to mail and ask if you had any plans for dinner. Jack has given me the evening free, and I intend to not be near any form of communicative device in that space of time. Do you have anything in particular you might fancy? I might be able to persuade Tosh to hack a reservation for us if somewhere you like is full up, and bugger the consequences. We deserve nice flatware once in a while. Love you tragically hip, Ianto
Lisa smiles and hits Reply.
Babe-I don't have anything that I'm thinking I need desperately, actually, and you're the one who knows the Food section, so pick something that has those little snail forks and a fish knife and maybe pate or something that still has a head on it. All those posh places leave the heads on. What did you have to do to get the night off? Blow Mount Harkness? Haahhha. Love you tonnes and tonnes and rubber nuns, Lis.
Lisa looks at the dress that has just come back from the dry cleaners and which has been hanging in its plastic bag on the doorknob of the office closet since it had been delivered this afternoon. It is gold and sparkles in the right places and it is low cut in the front and high cut on the legs, and she wants to wear it when Ianto makes love her, but he won't let her, so she'll settle for wearing it tonight.
From: Harkness, Jack.
Subject: Re: A Request, please sir!
Ms. Hallet-Jones,
Fine, you sly minx. He's all yours for the evening. Just let him return in one piece; he's the only one who knows how to run that fancy coffee machine we bought last month.
J.
p.s. Fwd pictures. :)
Lisa smiles. She has never met Captain Harkness, but that doesn't mean that she has issues emailing him and demanding that he give Ianto an evening without distraction in which he can sex up his wife right and proper. She might have even mentioned that in her initial email; just because she hasn't met the man doesn't mean that she doesn't know the man.
'Click. Click. Click.'
NEW From: Jones, Ianto.
Subject: Re: Re: An Unexpected Outing?
O_o. If I knew I'd tell you. Let's not look a gift horse, eh?
Seven at La Tagliatelle. They have breadsticks for fencing. XO -Ianto
Lisa hits "Archive" instead.
***
Fucking poly.
5. While we're here, let's all examine the following song lyrics from Regina and wonder what the fuck she's talking about. Science fiction? Suicide? Made of Win? Y/Y?
The Genius Next Door
Some said the local lake had been enchanted
Others said it must have been the weather
The neighbors were trying to keep it quiet
But I swear that I could hear the laughter
So they joke, and they nicknamed it "the porridge"
Cause over night that lake had turned as thick as butter
But the local kids would still go swimming, drinking
Saying that to them it doesn't matter
If you just hold in your breath
'Til you come back up in full
Hold in your breath
'Til you've thought it through
You fool
The genius next door was bussing tables
Wiping clean the ketchup bottle labels
Getting high and mumbling German fables
Didn't care as long as he was able
To strip his clothes off by the dumpsters
At night while every one was sleeping
And wade midway into that porridge
Just him and the secret he was keeping
If you just hold in your breath
'Til you come back up in full
Hold in your breath
'Til you thought it through
You foolish child
In the morning the film crews start arriving
With donuts, coffee and reporters
The kids were waking up, hung over
The neighbors were starting up their cars
The garbage men were emptying the dumpsters
Atheists were praying full of sarcasm
And the genius next door was sleeping
Dreaming that the antidote is orgasm
If you just hold in your breath
'Til you come back up in full
Hold in your breath
'Til you thought it through
You foolish child
…….
Ohkaaay, Reggie baby. Love you!