"THEY DON'T HAVE TO BE BOYS! THAT'S THE BEAUTY OF IT!"

[behindthec]

cut for hugeness, polls, brainstorming, recs, etc.



a few recs:

http://dys-topia.livejournal.com/4819.html
SHE WROTE IT!!!!!!!!! *dances* don't ask me why i like this pairing; it is too complex to explain. HOWEVER, everyone must write it now, in order to win my eternal love. please please please please please??

http://emmuzka.livejournal.com/296825.html
this is really disturbing, but amazing. read the warnings. i would LOVE a sequel.

http://community.livejournal.com/diedandreborn/46037.html
utterly delicious. oh god. more of this forever. sleepysex with top!ryan is my favourite. nnngggghh.

random, but BEST MOTHERFUCKING ICON EVER. the_randomist... ily.

also totally random, but something popped up in my gmail ads yesterday and it took me a moment to figure out why, and it's because the following line is in chapter 8 (i write all fic in gmail drafts): "Brendon steps outside, out the glass doors and down the path, past the hammock until his bare feet meet sun-warmed wood." HERE IS THE SCREENSHOT:



can't stop laughing, omfg!

so, okay. i really wish people wouldn't go anon just to tell me something they think i don't want to hear. (exception being when i know who you are but for privacy reasons you go anon to say something; that's FINE). if you go anon just to say something you're afraid to say logged in (said exception aside), dude, i'm not going to dislike you for expressing your opinion, especially when it's done nicely. i respect all opinions expressed maturely and politely. i don't care what you say to me; i have no idea who you are; even non-anon you're still just an icon and a username. we're all open and friendly here. don't be afraid.

i hate how so many people here seem to be (and often admit to once being) intimidated by me. what the hell is so off-putting about me? i talk to everyone. i answer every comment, message, and email (eventually). i hold open house posts for lurkers, where i've made some of my best friends. how am i intimidating? i don't get it. :(

i also i wanted to reply publicly to that comment about biting off more than i can chew, fic-wise, to explain how i write. first off, i am not planning on writing all these fics at once. :P i'll be choosing one, and the others will be put on hold. the way i work is, i have to write whatever fic i am obsessed with at the time. so i may have tons of ideas and planned-out fics in my mind, but when i actually sit down and commit to something, it has to be what i'm excited/obsessed/passionate about at that given moment; once i actually start writing it, i generally stay obsessed till i finish. this is why i so rarely take prompts or requests, and when i do, i make a huge prompt post and pick the one i connect with most. i have to really *want* to write the fic; i can't write based on what you guys want or when. for it to turn out well, it has to be what i want, when i want it. that sounds so selfish, but that's the only way it works. otherwise i won't enjoy it, and the quality will suffer. make sense?

also, the reason i'm so excited about this fic is because it would be my first real AU, and you know i've always been very meh about AUs in the past b/c they don't feel real to me, and i'm big on canon. but canon is stressing me out too much lately; i'm too attached to it, too affected by it, too dependent on it; i think it would be really emotionally healthy for me to write something that i have complete control over; where it doesn't matter if ryan's doing coke IRL or brendon has a girlfriend. plus i think it's a very important transitional step for me to take if i ever want to write original fiction someday, which i do. plus it's just indulgent and FUN, and i want fic to be fun again.

so, there's my reasoning.

moving on! okay, so clearly, there are as many people for kilts as against them. i personally still find them kind of ridiculous, though the fact that someone mentioned they were generally worn without underwear is a definite plus. idk. what do you think? feel free to post photographic support for your opinion in the comments, otherwise i'm going with no.

[Poll #1384130]

i could always set this in ireland too, considering i have a much stronger mental memory of irish accents than i do scottish (and i even PREFER irish accents). We went with scottish b/c sara had heard that ryan is part scottish, and we know brendon is, but… idk, i could definitely go irish. thoughts?

[Poll #1384131]

also, bagpipes are out; i just went with them initially 'cause it was obvious. :P pianos, so much sexier than bagpipes. also, my first historical request: what other instruments were there in late 19th century scotland? anything guitar-esque? AUs are much easier for me to swallow (lol) if they maintain the basic canon of the characters being musicians. i want ryan to play something. also, i have some ideas for what to do with jon and spence and other bandom peeps, but if you have thoughts for them, let's hear it. i'm considering a side of joncer, maybe. idk. kinda cliche.

last night before bed my brain developed about 2k worth of dialogue for this fic, which is. a very good or very bad thing. some more brainstorming with soph last night:

Sophie: me: AND BY "THE WORLD" HE MEANS "MY DICK"
Sophie: WELL YES
lols
me: YESSSSS :D
or maybe oh god
5:11 PM
maybe he and brendon had this adorable ~courtship before
and they ksised and stuff
but never actually had sex
and before they could, ryan was sold as a slave!
Sophie: awww
me: so when they meet up again years later, they get to have their first time!
Sophie: i think they should flirt
me: total epic faily flirting
Sophie: def
me: brenodn can bring him fucking FLOWERS and stuff
5:12 PM
Sophie: omgggggg
and Ryan's all blushy and Idk-what-to-do-with-this-affection
me: i knowwwwww
Sophie: but also smiley
me: and they have to run off to the park at night to be alone, 'cause, ryan's dad
5:13 PM
Sophie: yess
and pls bden has to hrow pebbles at ryan's window
me: OF COURSE.
and climb the tree to his window while wearing his kilt :D
Sophie: AND RYAN CLIMBS DOWN AND IS FAILY AND BDEN HAS TO CATCH HIM
me: YES!!!!
5:14 PM
and they are all tangled and blushy on the ground
Sophie: like in the making of that green gentleman video
me: :LSKEJR:LIEFE YES!!!!!
that gif makes my life
Sophie: and bden's just like eeeeeeeee, I caught a ryro
gif?
i has no gif
just the dvd lol
me: EEEEEEE
oh, well, gifs of it have been made lol
5:15 PM
Sophie: well. yes
AND THE MOON IS OUT. AND RYAN IS PRETTY. AND BRENDON IS LIKE "... you're pretty"
5:16 PM
and it is cold so he has to give ryan is coat
except then ryan is a girl
lol
i fail at making them boys
me: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
THEY DONT' HAVE TO BE BOYS IN THIS
THAT'S THE BEAUTY OF IT
Sophie: YESSSSSS \o/
5:17 PM
maybe they should nearly kiss but then Ryan sez he has to go home
and Bden thinks they can ~nxt time
and then Ryan gets made a sex slave
me: AWWWWWWWWWWWW
ASKLERJAOFAPO3I
nooooo!!!
they have to have one kiss!!!
5:18 PM
Sophie: hahaha
fiiiiine
is your fic
lol
me: ONE KISS
BEFORE YEARS OF MISERY
come on
i just need to figure out how he gets all ~stolen. or if his father ends up broke and actually sells him. :/
5:19 PM
Sophie: HAHA I SEX OK
UM. SEZ
me: HAHAHAHA
you sex okay
Sophie: i do ok
i thinks he gets sold :/
me: i knowwww ugh
5:20 PM
Sophie: which is like. gah.
me: i KNOW
Sophie: and can Bden get pissed at his dad?
or something?
me: yeah, totally
i see his dad eventually committing suicide though
once he realizes what he's done
maybe he was drunk when he sold him
Sophie: yeah
makes sense. in a morbid way
me: UGH POOR RYAN
5:21 PM
Sophie: why are we writing such depressing aus?
me: I DON'T KNOW
Sophie: they are aus. WE COULD HAVE UNICORNS
me: KIK!!!!!
er, LOL!!!
Sophie: lolol
me: YES
BRENODN RESCUES RYAN ON A UNICORN
LIKE IN PRIZONER OF AZKABAN
prisoner, even
Sophie: OMG YES
me: AND ITS NAME IS SPARKLES
Sophie: omg lol
5:22 PM
:D
okay. srs bsnss

*headdesk* that last bit was a joke. most of this is a joke. :P

what i wanted is for them to have a kiss (or maybe sex, once), and then the next day ryan is sold into slavery. brendon is present for it all, he's hanging onto the bars on the back of the carriage where ryan is locked in, their fingers overlapping as brendon promises him, "i'll come for you, i promise." and such begins the Quest.

also, thoughts for what ryan's dad's shop is? what kind of business? i have some ideas for how ry and bden meet; i think ryan sees him around a few times before, gets caught staring, etc., and then he finally runs into him (literally, b/c, cute) in the marketplace one day. and is utterly faily and shy and ends up running off. but bden just smiles after him because he's all hearteyes and stuff. ugh, so many ideas swarming in my head. all i want to do is sit and write them down all day, and instead i have to work. :(

i will jot down this one moment i don't want to forget. ryan and brendon sneak off during one point in their faily ~courtship and spend the afternoon by the river or something, sprawled on their backs watching the sun, and the subject of death comes up, and ryan talks about how you have to live each moment, b/c you could die the next (in typical melodramatic, morbid ross fashion :P), and bden's kinda quiet... and that night is the night he throws pebbles at ryan's window in the middle of the night (\o/!), and ryan opens up and lets him in (AHEM) and he's like wtf are you doing here dumbass, my dad will ACTUALLY MURDER YOU if he finds out. and bden just crowds him against the wall, breathless, their foreheads touching, hands joined, and says, "i know, i know, i just couldn't, what if we died and i'd never told you?" and ry's like, "told me what?" and bren says, "that i love you," like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and kisses him. UGH MY HEART. i really, really want them to have sex that one night, and then the next day ryan gets taken. :'( but, i also love the idea of them having their First Time years later... y'know... um... after ryan's been a SEX SLAVE for however many years, so, okay, maybe not. :P though, bden could teach him how sex is ~beautiful. *eyeroll* clicheeeeeeeeeee, ack! thoughts?

sigh. my brain. my life. enough of this nonsense.

Comments

[j-plash.livejournal.com]

Annnnnnnd...Spencer being heartbroken/protective/adorable/angsty/etc about Ryan :P And Ryan making me want to hide him away and never let anyone near him again. Ryyyyyyan...

Going to have to split it in two, too long. Here goes...

***

The afternoon it happened was not a particularly significant afternoon. There was nothing to suggest that this would be the afternoon things might change; there was nothing, in fact, to suggest that it would ever be the afternoon things might change. Not that Spencer wasn’t interested. God knows, Spencer’s body, at least, was very interested. Just…it wasn’t like that. It couldn’t be like that. Spencer didn’t want to want it. And Ryan—Spencer was getting better at reading Ryan, but that didn’t change…anything.

Every evening he would sit in the dark behind his window and pray that that man—because he wasn’t his father, Spencer would not give him that title—was tired, or busy, or something, anything. His prayers rarely seemed to reach far. Almost every evening he would watch out the window as a figure he tried not to think of as more than the shadow he could see at this distance followed the path to what wasn’t really Ryan’s cottage, because Ryan would rather be dead than inside. And every evening he would stay awake to watch the figure walk back, sometimes not half an hour later, sometimes hours, hours of keeping himself in his chair because standing up and leaving this room would probably mean killing someone.

Eventually, though, the door of the little cottage would always open, lamps casting a sickly glow out into the night, and the shadow would appear against them, and cross back under the moon, and reenter the house. Every evening Spencer would wait fifteen crawling, second-by-second minutes. Fifteen minutes was enough time for him to be retired, out of the corridors, away from back windows. And fifteen minutes was enough time for Ryan to…do things. Drag himself from wherever he’d been left. Dress. Clean himself, because however Spencer hated waiting, he just didn’t have the stomach to see Ryan…like that. And Ryan, there were many things Ryan didn’t want him to see. Not just the…mess. There were the bruises he hid beneath his clothes and the ones he couldn’t hide, that told Spencer the rest were there. There was the day Spencer knocked on the door and Ryan was still holding a wet cloth to his lip, split and swelled and still bleeding, where the bastard had hit him for no reason either of them could figure out. Ryan had spent a full five minutes swearing through sobs that he hadn’t done anything before Spencer had managed to get through his skull that he didn’t give a crap whether he’d done anything, he wouldn’t care if Ryan had killed the worthless bastard. And there was the day he’d opened the door and heard Ryan sobbing through choked-back gasps in the bathroom, frantically jerking himself off over the toilet. Ryan had turned white when he’d come out to find Spencer there, doing a hopeless of job of looking out the window and pretending he’d heard nothing.
“I wasn’t—” Ryan had choked out.
“I don’t care, Ry.”
“I don’t—I…I can’t help…”
And he was sobbing again, and Spencer had taken a deep breath, and made himself turn around. “It’s okay,” Spencer had whispered, knowing full well it wasn’t, wasn’t at all, and Ryan had crumpled right there in front of the bathroom door, clung to the floor and refused to look up, and hadn’t let Spencer near him for the rest of the night.

(cont. next comment...)

[j-plash.livejournal.com]

(continued from last comment...)

Most nights weren’t like that. Most nights Spencer would let himself out of the house after fifteen minutes, cross the grass to Ryan’s door rather than walking on the path, because of all the footsteps in the world he never wanted to follow, those scuffs in the gravel under the moon were top of the list. He’d knock as he opened the door, but he’d always open it himself, without waiting—he couldn’t afford to stand outside where he might be seen, and…Ryan was often better off staying on the ground anyway. As long as he stayed still, he hurt less, so Spencer tried his best to let him stay still. Spencer would let himself in, and try not to let anything real show, make sure he never, ever let Ryan see how sick it made him, or how it made him want to run away. He’d fill a cup of water from the big bucket Ryan brought in in the morning, because Ryan would always be thirsty half an hour after Spencer came in. And then he’d place it down on the ground by Ryan’s side, and sit down on the ground in front of him, and let Ryan make the move to shift forward and curl into him, Spencer’s arms loose around his back, shaking against Spencer’s chest, breathing quietly into his shirt.

Ryan always did, after the first time, and Spencer always held him, just loosely, and always got him to drink some water after half an hour when he’d stopped shaking, and always sat in silence and listened, to the silence if Ryan didn’t want to talk. And every night, his traitorous, ridiculous body was interested. It was much worse the few nights that Ryan wanted to ‘try’ then and there, when Ryan kissed him frantically, shaking, flinching with every touch but keeping on going like his life depended on it, face tight and hard and devoid of anything close to pleasure or peace. It was worse those nights because kissing Ryan, with Ryan’s hands on his arms or his neck or in his hair, Spencer couldn’t help the way he reacted, couldn’t help getting half-hard, or worse, and the way he hated himself for that was eclipsed only by how scared stiff he was that Ryan might notice. It wasn’t normally that bad, there wasn’t usually ‘evidence’, but every night, with Ryan in his arms, Spencer wanted him. Not right at the start, not trembling and still damp from scrubbing himself clean, but as the night wore on, and Ryan stilled, and breathed a slow beat against Spencer’s heart, Spencer always wanted him, the parts of him that didn’t listen to reason or fairness or wrong and right, and he always walked silently back to the house some time after midnight wondering whether it was right of him to go down to comfort Ryan at all.

(cont. next comment...)

[j-plash.livejournal.com]

(continued from last comment...)

This, thank god, was not that nightmare. This was a relatively good day. Spencer’s father wasn’t on the estate, he was in town, which meant there was no chance of the day turning bad. It was always worse those days—always worse when it was in daylight than the cover of darkness, when Spencer caught him leaving his study and slipping out the back door, or heading toward Ryan’s cottage from the garden, sweaty and foul from helping [Idk, I don’t have a name, staff] with something, or worst of all, when Spencer was there, when he was right there with Ryan, and they both heard him coming, and Spencer had to leave, had to leave Ryan alone and escape out the back without a word, without screaming, or crying, or coming back with a weapon. Those were the worst days, worse than the nights, though the days when it was both were no question the worst of all.

But today, today he wasn’t here, today he was hours away. Today, Ryan was safe, for a while. It was sunny but not too hot, the last week of summer, the heavy light of mid-afternoon in the mountains a little too bright through the window, bright enough that Spencer was glad it was hitting the other wall and not them, curled under the sill. It was sunny, and comfortably warm, and Spencer and Ryan were pressed together, hands held close, kissing in the shadow under the window.

Kissing was not, and might well never be, Spencer was quite aware, what it was for other people. Spencer was, when he could keep his thoughts sufficiently in order, terrified, and Ryan was a different person day to day, though always experimental. Most of the time, for both of them, it was more trying to get through without a disaster than what anyone would generally refer to as making out. There were times, though—brief times—when the line blurred, sometimes significantly. There were times when this could almost be another place, when Ryan seemed almost happy, really happy, and the feeling that, the seeing that and hearing that and feeling it soft and sweet on Ryan’s lips pressed to his own was enough to make Spencer forget to think. This afternoon—this particular moment of this afternoon—was one of those times.

***

And there will be more :P I swear. The pron begins, like, next sentence, lol. I just kind of forgot what I'd written in my head :S so I am working it from the start again :S But soon! :D Sorry :(

[lolab.livejournal.com]

askjersf;iva;kejtlaeg;i;aerlkawhg;j;!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! UGHHHHHHHHH i would hate you for stopping there but it's so GOOD that i have to forgive you. very, very nice background/context. this is like, exactly how i see it. guh, you're perfect. ♥_♥ and it's so intense and agonizing and yet, tender and precious and askejh;ogiapo4a.

sleep. but MOARRRRRRRRRRR. <3333