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18 October 2004 @ 08:42 pm
bury my heart at wounded knee, which is where i now live.  
when your body stops doing what it is supposed to do, suddenly everything takes eons and is a whole affair, and you just want to cry with frustration/rage/helplessness all the time. or, you do if you're me. plus, i'm not that great at handling large amounts of pain. it totally blows, and so i am utterly dispirited and hurting and hating a lot of things right now. most things, really.

i owe emails. i owe comments. i owe many, many things. mainly, though, all i seem to be able to do is whine/rage/weep. and i've got a month of this to look forward to. and so do you, as readers of my painjournal. er, livejournal.

so, in lieu of any actual content, i will instead make demands: porn and cake. that's what i want, petulant/exhausted four year old that i am.
Current Mood: horrid.
Current Music: storm - godspeed you black emperor
the opposite of batmanpearl_o on October 18th, 2004 06:15 pm (UTC)
*snugs you* I am sorry, honey.

I will try and see if I can write you porn while I am on my stupid pointless evil field trip this week.
sageness on October 18th, 2004 06:47 pm (UTC)
Nifra Sue for you
Chloe moves the tv over a bit, pops a dvd into the player, and finally comes over to the bed bearing a fully laden breakfast tray.

"Here," Chloe says, placing the steaming teapot on the nightstand and pouring out two mugs.

"Wow," you murmur, staring at the plate in front of you. There's an enormous wedge of yellow-iced cake, garnished with red, ripe strawberries.

Chloe climbs gingerly up onto the other side of the bed, taking care not to jar your knee. "It's lemon chiffon, extra moist." She hides a grin at the sound of your stomach rumbling.

"But--" You look from her to the tv, but the pain meds are making coherent sentences a chore.

"Patience," she says, propping the pillows up behind you both. Then she takes the remote from the tray, flips on the power, and asks with a gleam in her eye, "Do you want to start with girls or with boys?"


Heal fast, lovely.
pure FORESHADOWING: Chloe!nifra_idril on October 18th, 2004 11:49 pm (UTC)
Re: Nifra Sue for you
*curls up your lap* thank you, babe. you and chloe are excellent nursemaids.
when she smiles it's like a revelation: Snugfox1013 on October 18th, 2004 08:34 pm (UTC)
*hugs you so much*

Don't worry about what you owe. Worry about resting. And getting better.

And you might want to tell me what you'd like in your porn, so that I can get to writing you some. *nods*
Qqe2 on October 18th, 2004 08:45 pm (UTC)
Seconding fox1013 on the "tell us what you'd like to have in your porn, Ms. Nif, and we'll do our best to write it" front.

Or perhaps you'd just like to lie back and have porn handed to you without having to make any decisions about it at all? This is my sister's extreme stress reaction - well, not the slash, she doesn't grok that, unfortunately, but the "please just make a decision I'll like and relieve me of that burden" thing.

Just say.
pure FORESHADOWING: Niflet!nifra_idril on October 18th, 2004 11:50 pm (UTC)
Aww! *snugs you* I -- surprise me? I make no decisions right now beyond what strategy I am going to employ to get to the bathroom. Also, ps? You're so sweet to me. *snugs you again for good measure*
Qqe2 on October 19th, 2004 06:29 am (UTC)
that icon is appallingly cute. ::chokes::
You got it, honey. Lemme wade through the swamp du jour (aka "twenty or so First Amendment cases concerning the suppression of creativity in schoolchildren, who, after all, aren't really citizens the way the Constitution means the term) and I'll get to it directly I can shake the mud off my boots.

::snugs you back and recommends having someone carry you bathroomwards::
Meretmeret on October 19th, 2004 12:24 am (UTC)
I hope you feel better soon!
just abijustabi on October 19th, 2004 01:10 am (UTC)
Knee pain is terrible, and frustrating and makes you feel like you are helpless and little and I always always want my mother. But I am sure porn and cake work just as well. Just make sure some ice gets in there somewhere, too. Hmmm, porn with ice. Hmmm.
Astreaastrea9562 on October 19th, 2004 04:01 am (UTC)
I hope you feel better soon
And that the pain meds are rilly, rilly strong.

Qqe2 on October 20th, 2004 12:26 pm (UTC)
a bit later than I'd hoped
(why does everything always take so fucking LONG?)

For you, m'dear. Unbetaed and a little angsty. Hope it helps.

There are different kinds of pain.

There’s the bruises born of banging into walls during a chase or fighting the dogs when they pull or being under someone’s hands at the right time. There’s the ache when you’re sick and only want soup and crackers and to be left the hell alone, and the irritable itchy hurt of a sprained ankle, where mostly what hurts is that you can’t fucking move when you want to and your muscles are tense all the time with the need to just get up and go already. There’re the cuts, same story as the bruises and scrapes but closer calls, or maybe the knife slips when you’re cleaning the last of the fur off the rabbit Dief brought back. Or maybe someone else’s knife, and it didn’t slip, or a gun. But those heal, too, like the rest.

Then there’s the kind where Ray’s hands hurt, clenched tight around the thick top rungs of the headboard, and his back twinges a little when Fraser shoves into him even harder than normal, and he’s got more of both of their weights on his knees than maybe he ought to. And if he’s lucky, like now, there’s still a little burn where Fraser went in hard and fast, wanting it so bad that he gave that whole proper-preparation thing a miss and just took Ray nownowNOW. Just enough stretch and burn to back Ray down from the edge, which he usually hits in, like, four strokes when Fraser’s fucking him. Ray appreciates this particular small pain; it lets him stay in that place where he can see the edge but hasn’t hit it yet, so it’s less about him and he can actually feel what Fraser’s doing, what Fraser needs, what’s got Fraser so completely twisted up inside today.

Because, yeah: whatever’s going on with Fraser? Is hurting him like hell, no doubt about it. Fraser is in pain here. Ray could feel it when Fraser pinned him down on top of their comforter and sucked biting, stinging kisses from his throat all the way down to high inside his thighs without ever touching his aching cock, and he could feel it when Fraser flipped him over and pulled him roughly onto all fours, put a lubed finger into him as a token gesture and then pushed into him, voice cracking in the middle of a monologue Ray thinks was French and full of curse words. And he can feel it now, in the way Fraser is fucking him, thrusting into him over and over, teeth sunk into the side of his neck and continual groans humming against the sensitive skin there, marking him and taking him and owning his ass.

But Ray knows this one, he is with this, this particular pattern of all the ones they’ve got together, and he has a rough idea of where this is gonna end. Yeah, he’ll come, hard, and he can see the edge a little closer now and that’s a very good thing. He’ll come before Fraser, probably, because when Fraser’s this far inside his own head he just really needs to fuck his way through it, needs the skin and the sweat and the contact of being deep inside Ray a lot more than he needs the actual release of coming. So it’ll take him a long time, long enough maybe that Ray comes again, definitely long enough that Ray’ll feel it for a while and Fraser'll wind up apologizing needlessly. Finally, though — finally Fraser’ll lose that pounding rhythm he’s got going and his hips will push into Ray short and sharp and like he can’t help himself, and his scraped-up, sore hands will tighten their hold where they’re curled under Ray’s arms and over the points of Ray’s shoulders — hard enough to bruise — and he’ll moan long and low like he’s dying and collapse on Ray, wiped out and exhausted and empty.

And he’ll sleep.

And then, maybe, he’ll be able to find words for it.