This is pretty much the definition of a queeny writer tantrum.
SO THERE'S THIS ASSIGNMENT.
It is going SUPREMELY BADLY; so badly I quit the first story (porn, hotel), and started a different one (post-apocalypse AU), which also went badly. The first I just decided I hated because um, all the things I put in it are boring and I just DID all that in another fic and the rest is NMK and I hate hotel rooms and I hate everything and FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF in a minute I will start hating these characters too. The AU I started writing and went "wheeeeee, world-building" and then realised that I a) wasn't going to be able to get the required bits into the story, b) didn't know what the story was and c) was making it hopelessly maudlin and very reminiscent of stuff from 2001. So I stopped that, too.
I officially FUCKING HATE THIS EXCHANGE AND I AM NEVER WRITING AGAIN. *kicks things* NOTHING IS WORKING.
(I tried writing a blurb for potential LuLu.com poetry volume but had a massive attack of "who the HELL do you think you are" and stopped before I could go into self-esteem meltdown)
And yes I am TOTALLY blaming this fucking assignment for the fact that my "wooo let's write some shit" urge at 5am today turned into "I HATE ALL WORDS" before 5pm, it totally won't be improved by me doing any of the exercises people have given me or writing the five sentence fics, I should definitely sulk like a hormonal teenager, complain about the state of my head, and consume MORE caffeine despite the "I'm pretty sure my chest isn't meant to feel like that" on the way home. HEY GUESS WHAT DEREK CAFFEINE PILLS ARE NOT SMARTIES. YOU DO NOT NEED TO TAKE *FIVE* ON TOP OF A CAN OF ROCK STAR.
Just so this post isn't entirely me flailing and shrieking in a highly petulant manner (I have never failed a fic challenge and I'm not GOING to but ;psf ylisfhv;alu;gva *HEADDESK* I HATE THIS ASSIGNMENT/ALL WRITING EVER/WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH/*STAMP*) ... the last fic I worked on (the *fun* one) had to have some scenes cut because it was already 35,000 words and it was threatening to kill us both; this has never happened before, not to me, so in the spirit of DVD EXTRAS, here are the note/long-form scenes which failed to make it into Odds of Roughly A Billion to One.
((AUTHORIAL NOTES IN RED))
"I love you more than tattoos."
"I love you more than puppies."
"I love you more than fucking."
"I love you more than fucking your mom."
"I love you more than eating pussy."
"I love you more than petting a puppy while getting a tattoo on my left arm, eating your mum's pussy."
Foreheads together and forearms over shoulders and laughbreathetalking into each other's space and mouth and not a piece of air between them they're not talking or humming or spitting or breathing into, literally metaphorically motherfucking physically close. They're a love song written in piss on the pavement and punctuated with phlegm.
"What the fuck are you smiling at?" Bert asks Jepha, mockingly blank-faced. Jepha leaves his smile on like it's an answer, because it is, curls his shut lips up and feels his eyes scrunch. Bert's eyebrows are frowny and thick.
Jepha smiles.
Bert frowns.
Dan whistles the old west stand off music.
Bert makes the first move, darts forward with his tongue out and his hands out, gets a hand in Jepha's hair and his tongue on Jepha's cheek and Jepha crumples like cut string marrionette, slides bonelessly to the ground in an awkward-relaxed pile of limbs, pulling Bert down with nothing but gravity and giving in.
"You're no fun," Bert says and licks him again, grinning.
"I love you too," Jepha says and doesn't move a muscle, even though Bert's knee is pressing pretty hard into his crotch and his elbow is digging tickling-painful into his ribs.
"Jepha's like drums."
"Why?" Bert asks, sounding bored but indulging Quinn.
"Because every time he and Dan are in the same room, you know Dan's thinking about hitting that."
Dan is still half-asleep, his face poking out over a landscape of forearms and under the shadow of his hood as he slumps over the white metal garden table. At this time of the day the air is cold and clear and Jepha's ceaseless yawns blow tiny clouds into the grey light. The sun has yet to reach the garden but its presence is in the sky.
"As soon as Bert's done dealing with that fucking snake," Quinn says for about the thousandth time, stifling a yawn. "Fucking … wildlife."
"Not everywhere … at once," Jepha mumbles, sacrificing the sense of his sentence for the sake of biting off another yawn. He flops sideways into Dan's back and makes a pathetic noise. "I wanna got to sleeeeeeeep."
Quinn balances an empty bowl from last night on his head. "Ta fucking da." He turns it over to use as a helmet and tips the dregs of overnight beer - speckled with flying insects and random scunge - and dew over his head. His hair goes flat and soggy and he doesn't so much leap up as sag in his seat. "Fuck's sake."
Jepha hiccups a laugh into Dan's shoulder. Quinn sniffs.
"Someone peed in that."
Dan half-raises a hand before collapsing back on it again. "Bathroom far. Pool go red when Dan pee in it. Drunk Dan no like red pool. Drunk Dan think his dick dying." He scratches the side of his face, gets up in a rush so violent he knocks his chair over, and seizes up the nearest vaguely weapon-like thing; a plastic water noodle floaty thing. "Fuck that snake," he announces, and stamps back into the house waving the noodle like a weedwacker.
Quinn catches Jepha's eye. Jepha yawns again. "You smell of Dan's pee."
"I fucking know," Quinn struggles out of his t-shirt and throws it on the lawn. He starts shivering almost immediately. "Stop fucking laughing."
"I wasn't laughing, I was - augh - yawning."
Quinn ruffles the remains of his hair sadly and shivers again. There's a crash and a whoop from the house. Quinn flicks beer-pee-dew-insect cocktail from the end of his fingers. "Jephaaaaa…"
"No."
"Gimme your jacket, I'm freezing."
"Nooo." Jepha yawns.
"I'll blow you."
"No - wait, what? Seriously?" His head pops up like a puppy at the prospect of a walk.
"Too late. You said no."
"Because you were going to say something retarded." Jepha is leaning into the space where Dan was like he's still there.
There's another crash and Bert screams something: what is impossible to tell but it's definitely Bert. No one else can sound that much like tortured glass.
"But I didn't and now you missed your chance," Quinn shivers again, rubbing his own arms and glaring at air. "BERT DID YOU KILL IT YET, I'M FUCKING FREEZING."
"All I have to wait for is the next really fucking … huge … smoke-up," Jepha is still chewing words out sloppy-sleep slow around his yawns. He rolls his face onto his own forearms and folds up over the table. "Aaaaaand you'll … oh I don't fucking care. SLEEP."
Quinn kicks him under the table. "Check it ouuuuut."
The glass door to the house slides back with a bang as Bert's hand and Dan strides out with his arms stretched in front of him and something wriggling in his grasp. "FUCKING HERCULES," Dan yells over his shoulder at Bert, running toward them. Quinn dives the fuck out of the way; Jepha puts his hands over his head and groans.
Dan launches something serpentine over the back hedge of the garden, out into the street. "Well, I see a horse fly and a house fly but I ain't never seen a snake fly-"
"No Disney before breakfast," Jepha mutters, cradling his own head in his hands. "Just … no to all of it. Sleeeeep."
((THIS GOES EARLIER))
Quinn and Dan wear the same size, so the problems only really start when Bert picks up Dan's pants and has to roll up the cuffs four times before his toes are visible again, or when Jepha pulls on Quinn's jeans and they literally fall off his ass, held up only by the lonely line of the last boner in the room. Because he still. Hasn't. Come. Quinn's pants sag sadly. Jepha does too.
(FISTING SHOULD HAPPEN)
also Bert came on Jepha's face
Quinn you need to ride Dan while he's holding your wrists and you need to watch the chain reaction and maybe get fisted later, also Jepha, you need to not be allowed to come, until you are going fucking crazy with it and offering to do all sorts if Dan just lets you, because your desperation is HOT, Dannnnnn, you need to spend a while making out with stoned!Bert and jerking him off
NOTE: USE WORD SUCK. Heh.
There. Also, because I'm a fucking wanker, most of the cut bits were Jess's, not mine. Wanker. Never cowrite with me, I'm horrible and a glory-thief. More whiny post later. First I -- to what end I don't know, as I've already decided they are too faily to be made into actual fics, ever -- have to type up this HORSESHIT. Seriously, I hate writing. I'm going to set my hands on fire.
It is going SUPREMELY BADLY; so badly I quit the first story (porn, hotel), and started a different one (post-apocalypse AU), which also went badly. The first I just decided I hated because um, all the things I put in it are boring and I just DID all that in another fic and the rest is NMK and I hate hotel rooms and I hate everything and FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF in a minute I will start hating these characters too. The AU I started writing and went "wheeeeee, world-building" and then realised that I a) wasn't going to be able to get the required bits into the story, b) didn't know what the story was and c) was making it hopelessly maudlin and very reminiscent of stuff from 2001. So I stopped that, too.
I officially FUCKING HATE THIS EXCHANGE AND I AM NEVER WRITING AGAIN. *kicks things* NOTHING IS WORKING.
(I tried writing a blurb for potential LuLu.com poetry volume but had a massive attack of "who the HELL do you think you are" and stopped before I could go into self-esteem meltdown)
And yes I am TOTALLY blaming this fucking assignment for the fact that my "wooo let's write some shit" urge at 5am today turned into "I HATE ALL WORDS" before 5pm, it totally won't be improved by me doing any of the exercises people have given me or writing the five sentence fics, I should definitely sulk like a hormonal teenager, complain about the state of my head, and consume MORE caffeine despite the "I'm pretty sure my chest isn't meant to feel like that" on the way home. HEY GUESS WHAT DEREK CAFFEINE PILLS ARE NOT SMARTIES. YOU DO NOT NEED TO TAKE *FIVE* ON TOP OF A CAN OF ROCK STAR.
Just so this post isn't entirely me flailing and shrieking in a highly petulant manner (I have never failed a fic challenge and I'm not GOING to but ;psf ylisfhv;alu;gva *HEADDESK* I HATE THIS ASSIGNMENT/ALL WRITING EVER/WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH/*STAMP*) ... the last fic I worked on (the *fun* one) had to have some scenes cut because it was already 35,000 words and it was threatening to kill us both; this has never happened before, not to me, so in the spirit of DVD EXTRAS, here are the note/long-form scenes which failed to make it into Odds of Roughly A Billion to One.
((AUTHORIAL NOTES IN RED))
"I love you more than tattoos."
"I love you more than puppies."
"I love you more than fucking."
"I love you more than fucking your mom."
"I love you more than eating pussy."
"I love you more than petting a puppy while getting a tattoo on my left arm, eating your mum's pussy."
Foreheads together and forearms over shoulders and laughbreathetalking into each other's space and mouth and not a piece of air between them they're not talking or humming or spitting or breathing into, literally metaphorically motherfucking physically close. They're a love song written in piss on the pavement and punctuated with phlegm.
"What the fuck are you smiling at?" Bert asks Jepha, mockingly blank-faced. Jepha leaves his smile on like it's an answer, because it is, curls his shut lips up and feels his eyes scrunch. Bert's eyebrows are frowny and thick.
Jepha smiles.
Bert frowns.
Dan whistles the old west stand off music.
Bert makes the first move, darts forward with his tongue out and his hands out, gets a hand in Jepha's hair and his tongue on Jepha's cheek and Jepha crumples like cut string marrionette, slides bonelessly to the ground in an awkward-relaxed pile of limbs, pulling Bert down with nothing but gravity and giving in.
"You're no fun," Bert says and licks him again, grinning.
"I love you too," Jepha says and doesn't move a muscle, even though Bert's knee is pressing pretty hard into his crotch and his elbow is digging tickling-painful into his ribs.
"Jepha's like drums."
"Why?" Bert asks, sounding bored but indulging Quinn.
"Because every time he and Dan are in the same room, you know Dan's thinking about hitting that."
Dan is still half-asleep, his face poking out over a landscape of forearms and under the shadow of his hood as he slumps over the white metal garden table. At this time of the day the air is cold and clear and Jepha's ceaseless yawns blow tiny clouds into the grey light. The sun has yet to reach the garden but its presence is in the sky.
"As soon as Bert's done dealing with that fucking snake," Quinn says for about the thousandth time, stifling a yawn. "Fucking … wildlife."
"Not everywhere … at once," Jepha mumbles, sacrificing the sense of his sentence for the sake of biting off another yawn. He flops sideways into Dan's back and makes a pathetic noise. "I wanna got to sleeeeeeeep."
Quinn balances an empty bowl from last night on his head. "Ta fucking da." He turns it over to use as a helmet and tips the dregs of overnight beer - speckled with flying insects and random scunge - and dew over his head. His hair goes flat and soggy and he doesn't so much leap up as sag in his seat. "Fuck's sake."
Jepha hiccups a laugh into Dan's shoulder. Quinn sniffs.
"Someone peed in that."
Dan half-raises a hand before collapsing back on it again. "Bathroom far. Pool go red when Dan pee in it. Drunk Dan no like red pool. Drunk Dan think his dick dying." He scratches the side of his face, gets up in a rush so violent he knocks his chair over, and seizes up the nearest vaguely weapon-like thing; a plastic water noodle floaty thing. "Fuck that snake," he announces, and stamps back into the house waving the noodle like a weedwacker.
Quinn catches Jepha's eye. Jepha yawns again. "You smell of Dan's pee."
"I fucking know," Quinn struggles out of his t-shirt and throws it on the lawn. He starts shivering almost immediately. "Stop fucking laughing."
"I wasn't laughing, I was - augh - yawning."
Quinn ruffles the remains of his hair sadly and shivers again. There's a crash and a whoop from the house. Quinn flicks beer-pee-dew-insect cocktail from the end of his fingers. "Jephaaaaa…"
"No."
"Gimme your jacket, I'm freezing."
"Nooo." Jepha yawns.
"I'll blow you."
"No - wait, what? Seriously?" His head pops up like a puppy at the prospect of a walk.
"Too late. You said no."
"Because you were going to say something retarded." Jepha is leaning into the space where Dan was like he's still there.
There's another crash and Bert screams something: what is impossible to tell but it's definitely Bert. No one else can sound that much like tortured glass.
"But I didn't and now you missed your chance," Quinn shivers again, rubbing his own arms and glaring at air. "BERT DID YOU KILL IT YET, I'M FUCKING FREEZING."
"All I have to wait for is the next really fucking … huge … smoke-up," Jepha is still chewing words out sloppy-sleep slow around his yawns. He rolls his face onto his own forearms and folds up over the table. "Aaaaaand you'll … oh I don't fucking care. SLEEP."
Quinn kicks him under the table. "Check it ouuuuut."
The glass door to the house slides back with a bang as Bert's hand and Dan strides out with his arms stretched in front of him and something wriggling in his grasp. "FUCKING HERCULES," Dan yells over his shoulder at Bert, running toward them. Quinn dives the fuck out of the way; Jepha puts his hands over his head and groans.
Dan launches something serpentine over the back hedge of the garden, out into the street. "Well, I see a horse fly and a house fly but I ain't never seen a snake fly-"
"No Disney before breakfast," Jepha mutters, cradling his own head in his hands. "Just … no to all of it. Sleeeeep."
((THIS GOES EARLIER))
Quinn and Dan wear the same size, so the problems only really start when Bert picks up Dan's pants and has to roll up the cuffs four times before his toes are visible again, or when Jepha pulls on Quinn's jeans and they literally fall off his ass, held up only by the lonely line of the last boner in the room. Because he still. Hasn't. Come. Quinn's pants sag sadly. Jepha does too.
(FISTING SHOULD HAPPEN)
also Bert came on Jepha's face
Quinn you need to ride Dan while he's holding your wrists and you need to watch the chain reaction and maybe get fisted later, also Jepha, you need to not be allowed to come, until you are going fucking crazy with it and offering to do all sorts if Dan just lets you, because your desperation is HOT, Dannnnnn, you need to spend a while making out with stoned!Bert and jerking him off
NOTE: USE WORD SUCK. Heh.
There. Also, because I'm a fucking wanker, most of the cut bits were Jess's, not mine. Wanker. Never cowrite with me, I'm horrible and a glory-thief. More whiny post later. First I -- to what end I don't know, as I've already decided they are too faily to be made into actual fics, ever -- have to type up this HORSESHIT. Seriously, I hate writing. I'm going to set my hands on fire.