So look, when I tell you this, you don't tell anyone else. Alright? I don't fucking care what happens with me and Lorelai, I don't want it mentioned. Patient-doctor confidentiality, right? Or whatever the fuck it is.

Whatever, I don't care.

The point is, I wouldn't be saying this if she was here. I don't know if I can yet. I've thought about this. More than I ever wanted to. If I wasn't still under a court order, I would've gone to get into a fight just so I could get this knocked out of my head.

I mean, I'm getting work now. Work that I don't hate. I like Broadway. I miss Hollywood, but this break, I needed this. I have a play that's going to open soon, and it's my work, and it's good shit. This is exactly what I was looking for. I feel like me again. Nowhere near as shitty as I did before. Everything looks good for once.

So it's-- What're you writing, anyway? ... No, fuck it, you're not going to tell me. I hate that, you know that? I hate that you get to sit there and write shit and I can't--

Nevermind. Fuck it.

( Anyway. )

Muse: Miles Lawson
Fandom: Original Character
Word Count: 666 (LOL.)

OOC: Obviously, backdated to the utmost.

"I know I am behaving badly, but I have every intention of behaving badly. As a matter of fact, this is exactly the kind of situation where one should behave badly."
- Thomas Fowler

"Miles Edgar Motherfucking Law--"

"Gee, we said we were going to stop swearing in front of him."

Miles, only a week past his tenth birthday, is now currently wondering whether or not he's going to make it to eleven. In all likelihood, that was a negative. Although, he'd survived worse incidents, so maybe there was hope for him. A light at the end of the tunnel.

He had no idea what his mother was so pissed about anyway, it wasn't as though it wasn't justified. As if Stupid Bossy Julia who acted like she owned the fucking world hadn't had gotten exactly what was coming to her. He only wished he'd been able to pull off worse. Bringing down a cake on top of someone's head, no matter how masterful and funny the result, is hardly all that damaging in the long run. Although seven, he was still smart enough to know this.

"Dylan, we're supposed to act like we're human when we're here. I never get to see Carly. I never get to see Sam. They're my friends, and he's fucking--"

"He's your son, Gina, and quit swearing!"

"Fuck you!"

Miles rolls his eyes at his mother and father from around the corner in the kitchen, behind the cabinet in the little corner he'd found for himself. Just because he thought what he'd done was utterly justified didn't mean he was stupid enough to stick around after he'd done it. He was going to miss that red velvet cake though. Aunt Carly always made good food. It was cool.

( Oh well. )

Muse: Miles Lawson
Fandom: Original Character
Word Count: 900

OOC: This baby is for daughterof_evil, who requested a Miles and Sasha Lick!Fic. And oh, is this ever backdated.

"Stop it."

"Why?"

Miles glared. Although he wasn't moving, so the glare didn't have a direct focus. Unless you counted the television dead ahead of them as direct focus. So when Sasha did it again, not only was he subject to it, she was not subject to the glare. Because he had yet to turn his head. And if he did, she wouldn't've been able to do that again. She also would've been subject to the glare.

Not that the glare would've made a dent, but it would mean Miles would've been able to offer up a better protest than 'stop it'. That would count later. Even if it only counted to him. He needed these little dignities. Because--

She did it again.

Miles couldn't remember why he needed his little dignities anymore.

"God damn it."

"Oh please."

( They had to leave soon )

Muse: Miles Laweson
Fandom: Original Character
Word Count: 528
Partner: Sasha Hoffman (daughterof_evil)

I know I owe on the Christmas fics, nevermind like eleventy three prompts, but this was fun last time so we'll just tack this on too:

Request any fic of mine and I will provide you with a commentary/annotations, like a DVD extra.

Christmas Gift Toy & MySpace Layouts at pYzam.com

Here's what I don't get.

Why is thinking logically about a relationship so fucking offensive to women? I know they're capable of it. I'm not going to work the chauvinistic prick angle and say shit that's going to result in me being put into some fucking stockade or something or whatever. I just genuinely want to know why approaching something from an angle that makes sense is wrong.

Before Lorelai and after Sasha -- I should just start marking everything I talk about regarding other relationships I've been in as B.L. and A.S., I'm not even fucking kidding -- I had a rule. A two week rule. I'd date a girl, we'd do whatever, and at the end of two weeks I'd end it. Unless they were special for some reason or another, and then it'd stretch until whatever.

( The record that falls between B.L. and A.S. is... )

Muse: Miles Lawson
Fandom: Original Character
Word Count: 344
Partner: Nooooobody.

Author's Note: In reference to these two posts. Set back in that time. strangeandsweet used with permission.

'Panama' is still stuck in his head.

Miles almost wishes he was buzzed enough to hum it, because at least then, he'd be in a good mood. He'd never do such a thing otherwise, especially not in public, and especially not in a situation like this. Still, a good mood would serve him well here. Make him more likable. Make a bad situation better.

But no, that's not something Miles is capable of. He's in a horrendous mood. He's glaring at everyone, including the Lawson family lawyer his grandmother had flown in the second she heard her dear grandson had been arrested. She hadn't yet called to tell him exactly how displeased she was, he was still waiting on that.

In the meantime he'd had entirely unpleasant conversations with his grandfather, his mother, his father, his uncle, and his little sister, who wanted to know what jail was like. And if it was true what they said about dropping the soap. Miles had been forced into a long discussion over the difference between 'jail' and 'prison' after that.

Most of the unplesantness was done over the phone, save for Sonny who'd decided to show up personally to pay his bail. This was done instead of sending the money with his Uncle Graham, as Miles had requested, and that would've made life a lot easier. Which was why Sonny'd gone out of his way to handle it instead.

After all, as much as he loved his grandson, Sonny had never seen fit to make Miles's life easy.

( After a severe amount of smacks upside the head to go with his hangover... )

Muse: Miles Lawson
Fandom: Original Character
Word Count: 1,243

Miles muttered something unkind about the noise that entered the bedroom that morning, and shifted a bit in his sleep. It was early, he could feel it. No disturbances were required here, especially not on a Saturday. Saturdays were for sleeping in. Whoever was making the noise should know that.

And if they continued to make noise, something akin to the sound of footsteps but definitely smaller, he would tell them so. And do it vocally, and quite explicitly, at that.

He found himself shifting closer to the person next to him in the bed, because while Miles wasn't a snuggler or affectionate by any standard, close proximity was still a thing with him when the right person was involved. And since they'd shared a bed often together, this was one of those right people. He was comfortable here. More than comfortable.

The footsteps continued. Miles frowned, muttered something again to the person next to him that may very well've been 'the fuck's that?', but he wasn't sure. He didn't move again until there was suddenly weight in the bed, and then Miles jerked, and his frown deepened, and he opened his mouth to say something--

A little hand patted him on the shoulder. "Wake up."

Henry.

Pat pat. "Up, Miles."

He opened his eyes to find the two year old staring at him, and blinked. And then he looked to his right. Sasha was in bed with him. She'd asked him to sleep with her. But not like that, because they didn't do that anymore. But it was him and Sasha in the bed.

And now it was him, Sasha, and Henry. Henry, who then turned and got the remote, and turned on the TV across the room to find the cartoons. He seemed to pause, then move himself in between the small space between Miles and Sasha to settle in.

Miles relaxed a bit, more unconsciously than anything else, and looked back at Sasha. This felt... Homey. Domestic. And he wasn't doing anything to stop it.

Oh God.

Everything.

Nothing.

Muse: Miles Lawson
Fandom: Original Character
Word Count: N/A
Partner: strangeandsweet

[Locked]

This is so fucked up.

Okay, fine, I'll admit to it. Okay? Fuck it, I know no one else can know but you, so fuck it, I'll talk about it. I'm losing my mind. What little's left of it. And when you write all this down, make sure that it's written as proof to that judge that I'm doing what I'm supposed to.

Fuck. Fuck, I hate this.

I'm having these weird dreams. Ever since this thing with the script started, and I've had to lock myself up in the house all goddamn day writing endlessly, I'm starting to dream about shit. And you would think it'd be about the material, but no, it's about writing the material.

You know you've seriously got to get your shit together when you're dreaming something as bad as typewriters and computers and pencils trying to kill you, and that studio executive prick chasing you like he's Godzilla or something. Fire breathing, the whole deal. You laugh at me, I'm going to hit you with this motherfucking chair, I'm not kidding.

I'm supposed to be more creative than that.

... I dreamed about my wedding last week. It was so fucked. I'm not even going to get into that. I can't get into that. I don't want to start thinking about that again any time soon.

How does a guy get better material into his dreams? There has to be a way, right? He needs more shit to happen so he has more to think about. So maybe I should be doing something. I'm just not doing enough lately. Is that it? It'd make sense. And then I can get better dreams. I used to have fucking great dreams.

So what do you think?

... Why're you nodding your fucking head at me like that?

Do you know how much good you aren't?

Fuck this, how many minutes left in the session?

Fifty five?

God damn it.

[/lock]

Muse: Miles Lawson
Fandom: Original Character
Word Count: 323

Author's Note: Set a few weeks earlier. daughterof_evil used with permission.

Miles recognized that every once in a while, there would be things in life a person did not want to do. When faced with this, the person in question had to suck it up, be a man, and get the fuck over it. Either that, or be a childish stubborn bitch and fight it tooth and nail. Whatever felt good at the time.

However, with this particular situation, he'd wanted to do the second. But he couldn't. He wasn't allowed. And the first, by the time he'd become aware of this, seemed positively fucked and was the last thing he wanted to do. He thought any man in his position would feel the same.

Sasha didn't seem to think so, but when did she ever really agree with anything he said that mattered? Exactly.

"You can't do this to me." After driving all that way to get to Malibu, he was still pulling this. Miles was constantly glancing at the shut and locked bedroom door, jaw set, ready and more than willing to spend the next hour arguing this to waste time. By then, she'd be far too late to get out of here, and he could go home.

"Sure I can. I'm doing it." Sasha double checked her purse for everything she needed, and snapped it shut calmly once she was through. She motioned to her back, where her unzipped dress was hanging wide open in a way that might've made someone who wasn't him or Peter a bit uncomfortable. "Zip me."

Wondering why God hated him, Miles came up behind her and zipped up the dress. "Someone else can do it. I'll call someone. Who do you want? I could get--"

"I want you to do it." She turned to face him sharply, giving him that look that always made him take a mental, and this time literal, step back. Smirking at the reaction, she shrugged. "It's a few hours. I'll owe you one."

( 'You'll owe me twenty.' )

Muse: Miles Lawson
Fandom: Original Character
Word Count 1,638

None of them. Who the fuck needs to bother with that? People can go stare at other people running around, it's not my fucking problem. I've got better things to do. I've got a script I've spent the last few weeks locked up in the fucking office rewriting that that goddamn dick from the studio is going to tell me 'still needs work' again. And then I'm just going to have to lose what's left of my fucking sanity.

This isn't going to get made, I can fucking feel it, it's never going to happen and I'll just

Then there's the best friend being depressed and all the shit she has going on, the Southerner being pissy with me and having to talk to Lorelai about it, missing Henry a little and a whole bunch of other happy shit.

Who has the time to worry about Olympics? Or watch it? It's boring.

Especially soccer. That is the biggest bitch sport I've ever had to sit through. And I've had to sit through that more times than I care to count. Not just kiddie soccer, but actual games. My cousin went pro a few years ago finally, the games are something I'm 'expected' to go to 'when I can'. Which, in my family, translates to 'You're going to fucking do it, and you're going to do it as often as possible'. Because we're a supportive fucking breed, aren't we?

Fuck this, I'm going to bed.

Muse: Miles Lawson
Fandom: Original Character
Word Count: 244

1 question...
1 chance...
1 honest answer...

That's all you get. Ask me one question. Any one question, anything, no matter how crazy it is. An honest answer. No catch.

All comments will be screened so your question stays private between you and me, and only you will get to see my answer to your question. But I dare you to repost this and see what people ask you.


OOC: Not screened, but locked between the questioner and the answerer... er.