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Oh dear.
I just got a terrible idea for a follow-up vignette to Emotional Politics....
Actually, I already have one idea - a sort of slightly-happy-
/raising-of-the-middle-finger epilogue for Jack. I'm planning to bash that out today, if things stay quiet at the office. I'll just say that it involves Harry Saxon failing to understand that the security forces aren't nearly as inhumane as he is...
But the morning coffee has jogged loose a terrible, awful, completely unredeeming vignette, garnished with extra squick. In fact, despite the vast, looming temptation to write the thing, I'm not sure I can because it hits a couple of my buttons and, no, I'm not talking about the fun buttons. Because, y'know, if they were fun buttons, you'd be reading the dratted thing, right now, instead of this.
Free to a good home: one messed-up plot bunny. You provide the carrots, it'll bring its own issues. ETA: never mind, it ate my head (see below).
Meanwhile, rpg!Jack is expecting a whole mess of lovin' from me to make up for all of these Year in Hell ideas I'm coming up with. I dunno, I'm kinda considering this for revenge for having a 51st century omnisexual time traveller taking up permanent residency inside my noggin. That dude can take over at the most unexpected of times. I'm never going to live down that tangent about paying people compliments and tubs of margarine...
ETA: Ooooh. I'm going to hell. The special hell for people who write non-con fic on company time. I'm a bad, bad person. So why can't I stop giggling?
I just got a terrible idea for a follow-up vignette to Emotional Politics....
Actually, I already have one idea - a sort of slightly-happy-
/raising-of-the-middle-finger epilogue for Jack. I'm planning to bash that out today, if things stay quiet at the office. I'll just say that it involves Harry Saxon failing to understand that the security forces aren't nearly as inhumane as he is...
But the morning coffee has jogged loose a terrible, awful, completely unredeeming vignette, garnished with extra squick. In fact, despite the vast, looming temptation to write the thing, I'm not sure I can because it hits a couple of my buttons and, no, I'm not talking about the fun buttons. Because, y'know, if they were fun buttons, you'd be reading the dratted thing, right now, instead of this.
Free to a good home: one messed-up plot bunny. You provide the carrots, it'll bring its own issues. ETA: never mind, it ate my head (see below).
Meanwhile, rpg!Jack is expecting a whole mess of lovin' from me to make up for all of these Year in Hell ideas I'm coming up with. I dunno, I'm kinda considering this for revenge for having a 51st century omnisexual time traveller taking up permanent residency inside my noggin. That dude can take over at the most unexpected of times. I'm never going to live down that tangent about paying people compliments and tubs of margarine...
ETA: Ooooh. I'm going to hell. The special hell for people who write non-con fic on company time. I'm a bad, bad person. So why can't I stop giggling?
