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I got an email about a possible casual job at the Canberra Times!!
I've just gotta call them tomorrow about it. YAY! This is so cool. Today was okay, I slept a bit too long this morning and didn't get to vaccuum so I have to do it tomorrow. Went to uni, wasn't really very exciting. Tom Clark denies being "a dickhead" in primary school. I never said that, I said he picked on me. But he's decided he didn't :p Bought some credit, came home, did some 'homework'. Lots of writing got done today, but not in the uni sense. I bumped into Nutty, too. That's about it :)
Mum's sick, and she's driving us all insane. I think I was actually a lot more gracious when I was sick, she keeps yelling at all of us. It's quite amusing since she's usually exceedingly nice. Does mean I'm trying to stay out of her way, though.
Last ep of Jamie's Kitchen was tonight, it was kind of an anti-climax. Rove was by request, and I have to say the Charlie's Angels doing My Sharada is still a classic. Then Amazing Race came back on! Yay! I'm so pathetic *sigh*
bedtimestories!!! I can't read your xanga site coz it keeps closing down :(
Which Cyndi Lauper song are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Yeah...okay.
The following fic is rated PG, there's no sex, and it was written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
contrelamontre's couch challenge. It's odd.
Tales from the Couch
The tattered brown couch that sat in the corner of the hobbits’ makeup trailer didn’t think anyone appreciated it very much.
It was a faithful couch, a well-used couch. It tried to look inviting, but this is rather difficult when one has been spilled upon and torn apart for years, and the poor couch could really only handle rejection for so long before it gave up completely. It had had a rough life, spending its first thirty years or so in a cheap, shabby apartment in New Zealand that had spent an equal amount of time inhabited and uninhabited. Most of that time, the couch had been shoved into corners where it couldn’t be seen, because it was rather an ugly shade of brown really, and didn’t seem to go well with any of the other furniture. It had stains on it that the couch itself couldn’t even identify. The only one who’d ever really appreciated it was a rather fat but very happy man with glasses, who treated it like an antique French bourgeois lounge. The couch took centre stage in the man’s apartment, and it was while he was sitting on it that the couch got its fisrt glimpse at the world of Lord of the Rings. It dreamed of being a throne at Rohan, part of the great adventure, being important and regal and holding up kings, queens and princesses like Eowyn.
For years it watched its beloved owner toil and sweat, frequently crashing onto it for a few hours’ sleep. It tried to make itself as comfortable as possible for the only man who’d ever treated it well, holding on to papers for him and jealously guarding the apartment and the house they moved into next. It was particularly proud of the moment when it tripped up a couple of dim-witted thieves. When the fat man finally got to fulfil his dream of making the books they both loved so much into movies, the couch felt what it thought must be true happiness as it was packed into a box to be part of it with him.
The couch’s dreams of stardom were short-lived. Oh, at first it had been grateful just to be a part of something so amazing, but it quickly learned that movie-making wasn’t nearly as glamorous as it thought it would be. Mostly it spent its time watching grumpy, tired men have extra skin applied to their ears and feet, yawning and not acting anything like stars. Hell, in all its years as the couch of a film buff, it had never even seen two of them. It sat largely ignored in the corner for months. Its corners drooped, its cushions got dusty and flat. It felt so insignificant that had it had a name, it doubted whether any of the regular inhabitants of the trailer would have known it.
It wasn’t until one day about six months into shooting that the youngest actor first took an interest in the couch. He was a sweet, funny boy, slightly hyperactive and occasionally bratty but with excellent taste in music. When he started to lie on the couch for quick cat naps, the couch realised how much energy the boy must have used up in the day and started to finally feel a connection to some of the people it shared its days with. About a week and a half after the boy started sleeping on it, the couch noticed the moody man who reminded it distinctly of a monkey staring at it. The couch had never been under such scrutiny; the monkey’s intense gaze bore right into it. If the plant had been able to blush, I tell ya, it would have been red as a beet.
One day it saw that when the monkey turned away, the boy would start to look upon him longingly. It could feel the heat that came off the boy when he watched the monkey. Occasionally, the boy would sigh sadly, ruffling the soft upholstery on the couches’ cushions, tickling it slightly. The couch decided that in the interests of self-preservation and its own amusement it would encourage the desire it could see burning in the two men.
The couch had never tried so hard to be attractive in its life. It ensured that its cushions looked as soft and inviting as possible; its upholstery was fuzzy and warm, dust brushed off, stains hidden. By the end of each day the poor couch was exhausted with its efforts. It couldn’t be sure, but it did like to comfort itself with the fact that it thought the monkey’s gazes were getting stronger and more intense. It was starting to get used to them, and it enjoyed being useful again for a change. It just wished that somehow he could get the squishy man and the Scot to leave them a few moments alone.
The fat man always did seem to have a special connection with the couch. He paid the hobbits a visit one morning with a re-re-revised copy of the script which he handed to them personally, taking a long rest on the couch and watching the makeup process. The couch could see that the director was deep in though, biting his lip and staring at the squishy one, who was laughing and swatting at the hovering boy, and the Scot, who looked to tired to do much of anything. He sighed deeply and asked them to join him outside. The boy quickly took his place on the couch, which in a supreme effort made itself almost glow with comfort. The gaze from the monkey lay upon the two of them, the couch and the boy, until the boy could stand it no more.
“What is it, Dom? I wanna sleep.”
“You have no idea,” the monkey growled in a low voice, stalking towards them, “how long I have waited to do this.”
He attacked the boy’s mouth with his, holding the back of the boy’s head firmly in his hand, which the couch saw for the first time had a message on it: “Do it. Today.”
“Dom,” the boy gasped, pulling back. At first the monkey looked hurt and shocked, but his expression soon changed to a crooked, inviting smile, as he kissed the boy more softly.
“You, Elijah. On this couch. Day after day…you drive me crazy. I wanna fuck you…hard…right here on this couch.”
Unfortunately for the rest of us, the couch blocked out the last part of this memory. It does, however, remember the many happy months that followed, while the couple giggled and snuggled on it, and it had never felt so close to alive in its many years.
Quill of Doom chapter 42
Power, Lorne discovered, could be a dangerous thing.
Intoxicating.
Threatening.
Delirious.
Delicious.
He tapped his way through the bowels of hell, humming to himself quietly as he danced through the torrents of rain he had created, and began to sing.
"I'm singin' in the rain,
just singin' in the rain,
what a glorious feelin'
I'm happy again
I'm laughing at gods
so helpless tonight
a song's in my heart
and I'm ready to fight..."
He could hear footsteps splashing towards him and stopped his reverie, humming quietly to himself as he leaned against a conveniently-placed lamppost. A group of three soggy fangirl witches stopped inches before him, grinning wildly.
"Lorne," one of them said breathelessly before kneeling at his feet. He grinned at her briefly before his attention was diverted. A huge, lumbering idiot of a troll was thudding towards them through the rain, brandishing a heavy club and a large belly, a small woman by his side.
"That's right, Olaf, that's the evil demon who attempted to devour me. Squash him with your mighty weapon!" the woman cried, pouting and pointing directly at Lorne. Lorne smiled and walked up to Olaf, stopping right under the ugly troll's nose.
"I know something you don't know," he hummed softly, then gestured towards the young lady.
"Olaf smart. Olaf know everything," the troll cried triumphantly, holding his club above his head and preparing to pummel Lorne. Lorne just passed his hand through the noncorporeal belly of Olaf's wife.
"Aud?" Olaf bellowed in confusion. The First humphed and turned into Angel, glaring at Lorne.
"You realise that by turning against me you're only going to get yourself into more trouble. I have an entire army of willing murderers in this labyrinth, if I can only imitate the right people. The ones they'd do anything for." Angel grinned and morphed into Cordelia. "The ones they love." He became Gunn. "You know...as long as they're dead."
Lorne took in a great, gasping sob as he registered the fact that so many of his near & dears were gone. This distraction was all Olaf needed, and he lifted his heavy club once more...
only to be attacked from behind by a large, smoky version of what appeared to be himself. He stared at his own ghostly face, completely nonplussed, as it swung its own club into Olaf's side. He grunted, and the two waged war, until finally Olaf's defeated body fell through the ground to the waiting hellfires below. Lorne stared up into the face of Connor, shocked out of his dreams of power. The last raindrop fell to the ground beside him.
"The Quill writers have only just begun," Connor's voice whsipered into his ear as SoAnya, Dru and Atropa dropped their hands and the shadow version of Olaf dissolved into mist.
"And when they take up the quill, chaos reigns."
Link of the day is Daily Confession. Nina loves it, and it's equal parts disturbing and hilarious. You'll love it.
More RotK spoilerifics ahead for Pics of the Day!!
obligatory chick shot.
Lookit the tiny Pippin!
*sigh* I squeed. Over bloody Billy.
Oh. my. JOSS! Domhat!!!
*pets* poor Sam...lemme help you feel better...
Obligatory chick shot 2.
Obligatory stupid fangirl phrase
Green Queen
I've just gotta call them tomorrow about it. YAY! This is so cool. Today was okay, I slept a bit too long this morning and didn't get to vaccuum so I have to do it tomorrow. Went to uni, wasn't really very exciting. Tom Clark denies being "a dickhead" in primary school. I never said that, I said he picked on me. But he's decided he didn't :p Bought some credit, came home, did some 'homework'. Lots of writing got done today, but not in the uni sense. I bumped into Nutty, too. That's about it :)
Mum's sick, and she's driving us all insane. I think I was actually a lot more gracious when I was sick, she keeps yelling at all of us. It's quite amusing since she's usually exceedingly nice. Does mean I'm trying to stay out of her way, though.
Last ep of Jamie's Kitchen was tonight, it was kind of an anti-climax. Rove was by request, and I have to say the Charlie's Angels doing My Sharada is still a classic. Then Amazing Race came back on! Yay! I'm so pathetic *sigh*
bedtimestories!!! I can't read your xanga site coz it keeps closing down :(
Which Cyndi Lauper song are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Yeah...okay.
The following fic is rated PG, there's no sex, and it was written for
contrelamontre's couch challenge. It's odd.Tales from the Couch
The tattered brown couch that sat in the corner of the hobbits’ makeup trailer didn’t think anyone appreciated it very much.
It was a faithful couch, a well-used couch. It tried to look inviting, but this is rather difficult when one has been spilled upon and torn apart for years, and the poor couch could really only handle rejection for so long before it gave up completely. It had had a rough life, spending its first thirty years or so in a cheap, shabby apartment in New Zealand that had spent an equal amount of time inhabited and uninhabited. Most of that time, the couch had been shoved into corners where it couldn’t be seen, because it was rather an ugly shade of brown really, and didn’t seem to go well with any of the other furniture. It had stains on it that the couch itself couldn’t even identify. The only one who’d ever really appreciated it was a rather fat but very happy man with glasses, who treated it like an antique French bourgeois lounge. The couch took centre stage in the man’s apartment, and it was while he was sitting on it that the couch got its fisrt glimpse at the world of Lord of the Rings. It dreamed of being a throne at Rohan, part of the great adventure, being important and regal and holding up kings, queens and princesses like Eowyn.
For years it watched its beloved owner toil and sweat, frequently crashing onto it for a few hours’ sleep. It tried to make itself as comfortable as possible for the only man who’d ever treated it well, holding on to papers for him and jealously guarding the apartment and the house they moved into next. It was particularly proud of the moment when it tripped up a couple of dim-witted thieves. When the fat man finally got to fulfil his dream of making the books they both loved so much into movies, the couch felt what it thought must be true happiness as it was packed into a box to be part of it with him.
The couch’s dreams of stardom were short-lived. Oh, at first it had been grateful just to be a part of something so amazing, but it quickly learned that movie-making wasn’t nearly as glamorous as it thought it would be. Mostly it spent its time watching grumpy, tired men have extra skin applied to their ears and feet, yawning and not acting anything like stars. Hell, in all its years as the couch of a film buff, it had never even seen two of them. It sat largely ignored in the corner for months. Its corners drooped, its cushions got dusty and flat. It felt so insignificant that had it had a name, it doubted whether any of the regular inhabitants of the trailer would have known it.
It wasn’t until one day about six months into shooting that the youngest actor first took an interest in the couch. He was a sweet, funny boy, slightly hyperactive and occasionally bratty but with excellent taste in music. When he started to lie on the couch for quick cat naps, the couch realised how much energy the boy must have used up in the day and started to finally feel a connection to some of the people it shared its days with. About a week and a half after the boy started sleeping on it, the couch noticed the moody man who reminded it distinctly of a monkey staring at it. The couch had never been under such scrutiny; the monkey’s intense gaze bore right into it. If the plant had been able to blush, I tell ya, it would have been red as a beet.
One day it saw that when the monkey turned away, the boy would start to look upon him longingly. It could feel the heat that came off the boy when he watched the monkey. Occasionally, the boy would sigh sadly, ruffling the soft upholstery on the couches’ cushions, tickling it slightly. The couch decided that in the interests of self-preservation and its own amusement it would encourage the desire it could see burning in the two men.
The couch had never tried so hard to be attractive in its life. It ensured that its cushions looked as soft and inviting as possible; its upholstery was fuzzy and warm, dust brushed off, stains hidden. By the end of each day the poor couch was exhausted with its efforts. It couldn’t be sure, but it did like to comfort itself with the fact that it thought the monkey’s gazes were getting stronger and more intense. It was starting to get used to them, and it enjoyed being useful again for a change. It just wished that somehow he could get the squishy man and the Scot to leave them a few moments alone.
The fat man always did seem to have a special connection with the couch. He paid the hobbits a visit one morning with a re-re-revised copy of the script which he handed to them personally, taking a long rest on the couch and watching the makeup process. The couch could see that the director was deep in though, biting his lip and staring at the squishy one, who was laughing and swatting at the hovering boy, and the Scot, who looked to tired to do much of anything. He sighed deeply and asked them to join him outside. The boy quickly took his place on the couch, which in a supreme effort made itself almost glow with comfort. The gaze from the monkey lay upon the two of them, the couch and the boy, until the boy could stand it no more.
“What is it, Dom? I wanna sleep.”
“You have no idea,” the monkey growled in a low voice, stalking towards them, “how long I have waited to do this.”
He attacked the boy’s mouth with his, holding the back of the boy’s head firmly in his hand, which the couch saw for the first time had a message on it: “Do it. Today.”
“Dom,” the boy gasped, pulling back. At first the monkey looked hurt and shocked, but his expression soon changed to a crooked, inviting smile, as he kissed the boy more softly.
“You, Elijah. On this couch. Day after day…you drive me crazy. I wanna fuck you…hard…right here on this couch.”
Unfortunately for the rest of us, the couch blocked out the last part of this memory. It does, however, remember the many happy months that followed, while the couple giggled and snuggled on it, and it had never felt so close to alive in its many years.
Quill of Doom chapter 42
Power, Lorne discovered, could be a dangerous thing.
Intoxicating.
Threatening.
Delirious.
Delicious.
He tapped his way through the bowels of hell, humming to himself quietly as he danced through the torrents of rain he had created, and began to sing.
"I'm singin' in the rain,
just singin' in the rain,
what a glorious feelin'
I'm happy again
I'm laughing at gods
so helpless tonight
a song's in my heart
and I'm ready to fight..."
He could hear footsteps splashing towards him and stopped his reverie, humming quietly to himself as he leaned against a conveniently-placed lamppost. A group of three soggy fangirl witches stopped inches before him, grinning wildly.
"Lorne," one of them said breathelessly before kneeling at his feet. He grinned at her briefly before his attention was diverted. A huge, lumbering idiot of a troll was thudding towards them through the rain, brandishing a heavy club and a large belly, a small woman by his side.
"That's right, Olaf, that's the evil demon who attempted to devour me. Squash him with your mighty weapon!" the woman cried, pouting and pointing directly at Lorne. Lorne smiled and walked up to Olaf, stopping right under the ugly troll's nose.
"I know something you don't know," he hummed softly, then gestured towards the young lady.
"Olaf smart. Olaf know everything," the troll cried triumphantly, holding his club above his head and preparing to pummel Lorne. Lorne just passed his hand through the noncorporeal belly of Olaf's wife.
"Aud?" Olaf bellowed in confusion. The First humphed and turned into Angel, glaring at Lorne.
"You realise that by turning against me you're only going to get yourself into more trouble. I have an entire army of willing murderers in this labyrinth, if I can only imitate the right people. The ones they'd do anything for." Angel grinned and morphed into Cordelia. "The ones they love." He became Gunn. "You know...as long as they're dead."
Lorne took in a great, gasping sob as he registered the fact that so many of his near & dears were gone. This distraction was all Olaf needed, and he lifted his heavy club once more...
only to be attacked from behind by a large, smoky version of what appeared to be himself. He stared at his own ghostly face, completely nonplussed, as it swung its own club into Olaf's side. He grunted, and the two waged war, until finally Olaf's defeated body fell through the ground to the waiting hellfires below. Lorne stared up into the face of Connor, shocked out of his dreams of power. The last raindrop fell to the ground beside him.
"The Quill writers have only just begun," Connor's voice whsipered into his ear as SoAnya, Dru and Atropa dropped their hands and the shadow version of Olaf dissolved into mist.
"And when they take up the quill, chaos reigns."
Link of the day is Daily Confession. Nina loves it, and it's equal parts disturbing and hilarious. You'll love it.
More RotK spoilerifics ahead for Pics of the Day!!
obligatory chick shot.
Lookit the tiny Pippin!
*sigh* I squeed. Over bloody Billy.
Oh. my. JOSS! Domhat!!!
*pets* poor Sam...lemme help you feel better...
Obligatory chick shot 2.
Obligatory stupid fangirl phrase
Green Queen
