rsadelle | Entries tagged with metallica

Title: On Call
Author: Ruth Sadelle Alderson
Pairing: Jason/Dylan/Brian
Rating: FRT for implied m/m interaction.
Disclaimer: This didn't happen. It's all made up.
Summary: Jason's no longer in Metallica, but he's still on call.
Author's Note: Thanks to Nette for help along the way.

( On Call )

Part 3

When I get out of the shower, they're in the kitchen, cooking. Together.

"Come on, Jase. It doesn't take a genius to flip pancakes."

"These are patented Newsted family pancakes. They have to be done right."

"They're already made. I can flip them over."

"They have to be flipped at the exact right moment."

I can almost hear Kirk roll his eyes. "They're *pancakes*. It's not rocket science."

"Get away from my spatula," Jason growls. He glances up and sees me waiting in the doorway. He moves away from the pan, still holding onto his spatula, and pours me a cup of coffee.

I take the mug from him and wrap my hands around it. "Thanks."

He nods and goes back to scrutinizing his "patented Newsted family pancakes." After he flips them, he starts pulling plates out of the cupboard and silverware out of a drawer. He adds some napkins and hands the whole stack to Kirk.

"Why do I have to set the table?"

"You wanted to help."

Kirk makes a face at him. "I wanted to help with the pancakes."

"You can't, so go set the table."

Kirk mutters, "Bastard," under his breath as he passes me to go into the dining room.

"I heard that!" Jason yells after him.

"Good!" Kirk yells back.

Jason chuckles and flips the pancakes out of the pan onto a plate he sticks back in the oven. "You feeling any better?" he asks me as he pours more batter into the pan.

I shrug.

He sighs. "Sometimes I think you take this strong, silent type thing way too seriously."

I sip my coffee while he watches the pancakes.

Kirk comes back and peers at the pan. "Aren't they done yet? I'm hungry."

"Great food takes time. Get the syrup and butter out of the fridge and put them on the table."

"Make James do it." So he does know I'm standing here.

Jason flips the pancakes. "James isn't wandering around my kitchen getting in the way."

"Of course he isn't," Kirk sneers. "James wouldn't do that."

"Kirk," Jason says sharply.

"Well, why shouldn't I be mad?" Kirk throws open the refrigerator. "He's the one who waltzes in here with his problems and ruins our morning. He always does this." Kirk slams the refrigerator door shut and takes the syrup and butter into the dining room.

I set my coffee cup on the counter. "Maybe I should go."

"He's probably just blowing off steam. At least stay for breakfast." He flips the pancakes onto the plate with the others and turns off the oven and stove. "There's enough food." He hands me Kirk's juice and grabs his own coffee cup. I pick up my coffee and follow him into the dining room.

I sit down across from Kirk and hand him his juice. He scowls at me. Jason puts the plate of pancakes in the middle of the table and sits.

"Dig in," he says cheerfully.

Kirk glares at him for a moment, then grudgingly takes a couple of pancakes. Jason takes some next, then passes me the plate. I take some pancakes and wait for Jason to pass me the butter and syrup.

"God," Kirk says after his first bite. "These are the best damn pancakes I've ever had."

Jason beams. "I told you they'd be good."

"You didn't say they'd be this fucking good." Kirk crams another large bite into his mouth.

Jason laughs. "Jeez, Kirk. Slow down. No one's going to take them away from you."

Kirk gulps down some juice and takes a smaller bite. I take a bite myself. Kirk's right. They are damn good pancakes.

Kirk finally pushes his plate away and heaves a sigh. "Damn good pancakes."

"Thanks." Jason quirks an eyebrow at me.

I echo Kirk. "Damn good."

Jason grins and starts gathering up plates. He waves me back down when I get up to help. He takes the plates to the kitchen and comes back with the coffee pot and the orange juice carton. He pours more coffee for me and juice for Kirk. Then he goes back to the kitchen, leaving Kirk and me at the table. Alone.

Part 2

I hear some rustling, and then one of them gets up. I recognize the footsteps. Jason.

I open my eyes and glance at the couch. Kirk's closer to me now. I let my eyes fall shut again.

"I came over to jam," he says into the silence. "We did some awesome shit. We made tape, if you want to hear it."

I shrug. "Okay." I don't bother to open my eyes. I know what he looks like. He's disappointed that I'm not showing more interest.

"I stayed over. Jason makes a good teddy bear."

I don't need to know this.

"And he's good with nightmares too."

"Maybe I should give him a try." Even I'm surprised by how choked my voice is.

"Maybe you should." His voice is soft, gentle.

I look away from him.

"James," he says tiredly.

Whatever else he might have said is lost as Jason comes back. "I left some towels and clothes on the counter for you if you want a shower," he tells me.

I push myself out of the chair. I walk to the bathroom even though I really want to run as fast as I can. I can feel their eyes on my back. I can hear the murmur of their voices. I shut the door on them.

Part 4

Nette kept this from being destroyed by an attack of the killer ands.

All those people who think Lars is my best friend are wrong. He told some reporter once that he didn't even know all the shit about my mom until we were writing the Black Album, and we'd known each other for nine fucking years then. Kirk had it out of me in the first week, and he barely had to ask anything. I just told him.

I was showing him around the neighborhood. He stopped in front of a comic book shop or something. He pointed at a magazine--an issue of Famous Monsters--and told me, "I got in trouble for reading that in school. That very issue."

"Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I went to Catholic school." We walked another block or two, then he asked me, "You Catholic?"

"Naw." We walked another couple of blocks. "Why'd you think I was?"

He glanced up at me. "You've got all the guilt and religion shit."

We kept walking. I pointed out the deli that let us get stuff cheap sometimes. "Christian Scientists."

He squinted against the glare off a shop window. "Don't believe in doctors, right?"

I nodded. "Right." We ducked into a place that sells notepads cheap and picked up another one for me to write lyrics in. I tucked it into my jacket pocket while he held the door for me. "My mom died because of it."

He dug into his pockets and came up with a couple of coins. "Wanna share a cup of coffee?"

"Sure."

We went into one of the diners, one of those places with a bottomless cup of coffee, and Kirk counted out enough change for a cup of coffee. The waitress rolled her eyes at us, but we just smiled sweetly at her and she let us share it.

I sipped some of the coffee, then handed the cup back to him. "She had cancer." I watched him finish off our cup, and we waited for the waitress to refill it. "No doctors because of the fucking religion."

He pushed the cup back across the table at me. "That's fucked up."

That wasn't the only time I talked to him about it. We talked a lot, all those times when Cliff and Lars went out to score some weed and booze and left us home alone. We'd pull out our guitars and play a little while we talked.

***

I found out his birthday and I bought the magazine for him, the Famous Monsters we saw in the window. I waited until Cliff and Lars were out to give it to him, and then I just handed over the bag and said, "Happy birthday."

He looked totally surprised that I'd even gotten him anything, and completely awed when he saw what it was. "Jesus fucking Christ, James."

"I thought you'd like it."

He carefully slid it out of its protective plastic. "Fuck, James. I love it." He looked up and grinned at me. "This is fucking awesome, man. Thanks."

I settled myself next to him on the broken-down old couch. "So show me what got you in trouble in Catholic school."

Spending most of the afternoon poring over that magazine with Kirk made me glad I saved up my money to buy it. Thank fuck his birthday was so many months from the time we first saw it; it took me that long to save up enough money. Even then I barely ate for that last week and had to bum a couple of bucks off of Scott. Now it would be no big deal, but then-- Well, things were different then.

Some things haven't changed, though. We still get together to strum our guitars and talk. We still share the occasional cup of coffee. Every year, I find some piece of horror memorabilia he told me about and buy it for his birthday. We're still best friends.

Jason laughs and holds out the spoon for Kirk, who tastes the sauce, then adds more of something out of one of the jars on the counter. I watch Jason lean in for a quick kiss.

Lars notices my distraction and stops talking. He watches them for a moment, then asks me, "Are you jealous?"

"No," I lie.

He looks up at me. "Liar." He puts his arm around my waist. "Stop being such a grumpy fuck." He pulls me into the kitchen and grabs me a soda out of the fridge.

I lean back against the counter and take a deep drink of the sticky-sweet cola.

Kirk scrapes his cake batter into a pan and turns toward me with the bowl. "Want some?" he asks, holding the spoon out to me.

I shrug and take the spoon from him. He does make a damn good cake.

He scoops up more batter on his fingers and holds them out to Jason. Jason closes his lips around them and carefully licks off all the batter. Kirk grins and stands on his tiptoes to whisper into Jason's ear. I have a pretty good guess about what he's saying, and it makes something twist inside of me.

Nette and I were working on Ron/James, and then I had this idea for James to tell Kirk about Ron while they're drinking in the place in New York, the one upstairs from Anthrax.

I've obviously been influenced by Bliss, and Nette told me it really would be better in first person present tense.

"It must be nice to be in a band with your best friend," I try.

James just looks at me. "Huh?"

Christ, but it's hard to get through to the guy. "Lars is your best friend, right?" I prompt. "I mean, whenever you hear about Metallica, it's all James and Lars."

"Oh, Lars, right."

There has to be a story here. "Isn't Lars your best friend?"

"What's it to you?"

I shrug. "We're in a band together." I take a swig of my beer. "Just thought we might get to know each other."

James leans over, elbows on his knees, beer bottle dangling from his fingers. "I guess he's my best friend." He drinks from the bottle.

"Oh."

"Wasn't Lars and me."

"Huh?"

"The band. Wasn't Lars and me. Was Ron and me. We had a coupla bands. Then we hooked up with Lars." James drops his bottle in the trash and grabs another one from the cooler. He uses the bottle opener on it and drops the cap into the trash. He sips from the new bottle, and glances up to meet my eyes for a short second. "Ron was my best friend."

I sip my beer and think for a second. "Was?" I finally ask.

"Was," James repeats.

"What happened?"

"None of your fucking business," he growls.

I hold up my hands in a gesture of innocence. "Hey, man, I'm just trying to make conversation here."

James drinks the rest of his beer in a few swallows. "He left the band. Wanted a real job. We needed a better bassist." He gets up and puts his beer bottle in the trash, then sits down again. "We had to move to San Francisco to get Cliff to be our bassist. Ron's still in L.A." He fiddles with the frayed edges of the holes in his jeans. "Don't get down there much." He waves at our surroundings. "'Specially not now."

"Sorry, man."

He shrugs. "Nothing you can do about it."

Part 1

The three of us look at each other for a moment, then Kirk slides past me and peers into the coffee pot.

"No hot water for tea?"

Jason smacks Kirk's ass. "Go get dressed. I'll make you some tea."

Kirk jumps away from Jason's hand. "Dick."

"Don't insult the man making your morning tea."

Kirk only grins at him and slides past me again.

Jason busies himself heating water and finding a tea bag. I turn my coffee mug in my hands, feeling the heat seep into my joints. Jason leans back against the counter and watches me while he waits for the water to boil.

"Why'd you come over?"

I shrug. "Couldn't sleep. Thought we could shoot some hoops."

He sips his coffee and runs a hand through his hair. He sets down the coffee and pours boiling water over the tea bag in Kirk's mug.

Kirk comes back into the kitchen, yawning, and takes his mug from Jason. He sips it and stares at me through the steam.

Jason gulps down the last of his coffee and sets his mug in the sink. "We're gonna shoot some hoops," he tells Kirk. "You wanna play?"

Kirk makes a face. "No."

Jason grins and reaches over to ruffle Kirk's hair. "We'll be outside." He takes my coffee mug and puts it with his in the sink. "Come on, James. Time to kick your ass."

I dredge up a smile. "No way, man."

"Oh, yes." He puts his arm around my shoulder. "I'm going to kick your ass, my friend."

I resist glancing over my shoulder at Kirk as Jason leads me outside.

Unfortunately, Jason's right, and he does kick my ass. I'm panting and sweating, and he's still dribbling toward me. I bend over and put my hands on my knees.

"Admit defeat?"

I nod and push my sweaty hair out of my face. "Yeah, yeah. You kicked my ass."

He scoops up the ball and ruffles my hair. "Come on."

I follow him into the house and back into the kitchen. He grabs two bottles of water out of the fridge and tosses one to me. We gulp from the bottles, and he heads into the living room. He flops onto the couch. I take one of the chairs.

"So. Couldn't sleep?"

My throat goes dry, and I drink down more water. "Yeah."

Jason just watches me patiently.

I stare blankly at his walls, not looking at him. "Had a nightmare."

"About what?" he asks softly.

I shrug. "Dunno." We sit in silence for a little longer. "Something about Kirk."

Jason's eyes flicker over my shoulder, and I know before I turn to look that Kirk's behind me. He comes around my chair and sits next to Jason on the couch. He's taken a shower; his hair's wet.

"Dreaming about me?"

"Yeah." I can feel myself shrinking back into the chair.

"What'd you dream?"

I grip my water bottle with both hands. "You were in danger."

He scowls at me. "I can take care of myself."

I close my eyes and tip my head back. "It was just a dream."

Part 3

"Kirk!" My shout yanks me out of the /nightmare/ dream. Just a dream.

I lie there in the pre-dawn stillness. I stare up at the ceiling for a long time, try to calm down. The house is so /empty/ quiet.

Jason's. I'll go to Jason's. He's up in the mornings. His house won't be quite so /lonely/ quiet.

I pull myself out of bed, take a shower. Shorts, t-shirt. Don't need a basketball; Jase has enough to supply a whole high-school PE department.

He smiles at me when he answers the door, and lets me in. His hair is sticking up like he just got out of bed. Maybe he did. He takes me to the kitchen, starts the coffee.

"You're up early."

I shrug. "Couldn't sleep."

He pours coffee into sensible dark blue mugs and hands me one. I rest my elbows on the table, sip my coffee while he spoons sugar into his.

"You here for a while?"

I shrug again. "Maybe."

He nods, looks off into the distance.

"Hey, Jason--" Kirk comes into the room, but stops when he sees me.

He's naked. I've seen him naked before. But not in Jason's kitchen.

Part 2

Title: Musical Interlude
Author: Ruth Sadelle Alderson
Pairing: James/Kirk
Rating: FRT m/m affection and kissing.
Disclaimer: They're not mine, and if they did this, they didn't tell me about it.
Summary: James and Kirk play music and talk.
Author's Note: Thanks to Nette for helping along the way and beta reading, and mega-huge thanks to Bliss for telling me about guitar playing.

( Musical Interlude )

Title: Backstage
Author: Ruth Sadelle Alderson
Pairing: James/Kirk
Rating: FRAO for m/m interaction.
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, and this didn't happen.
Summary: A very young Kirk goes to see Metallica play.
Author's Notes: Thanks to Nette for beta reading and title help.

( Backstage )

Lars, Skylar and Myles welcomed the newest addition to their family on Sunday, May 6th. Layne Ulrich was born at 3.26PM with a weight of 7lbs. 9oz. and a length of 18-1/2 inches. Parents are doing well and big brother Myles is looking forward to the adventures that lie ahead.
--Metallica.Com

Matt leans against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest. "So now you have everything you want. Perfect job. Perfect husband. Perfect children."

His voice startles Skylar. She curls over the baby in her arms protectively. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard about the blessed event. I wanted to offer my congratulations."

"You've offered them. Now get out."

Matt stalks across the room. He twitches the blanket away from Layne's face. "Such a beautiful child," he murmurs.

Skylar sets her mouth in a thin line. "Get out, Matt."

Matt runs the back of one large finger down the baby's cheek. "I didn't get to see the other one when he was born."

She shrinks into the chair and gently replaces the blanket. "Get out."

Matt leans down over her. "He could've been mine."

"Get out." Her voice shakes.

Matt brushes his cheek against hers. "You could still be mine," he murmurs into her ear.

Skylar squeezes her eyes shut. When she opens them, the room is empty again.

Part 2

Right wrist sliced open by a broken beer bottle.
--Chapter Inc.'s List of James' Injuries

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Kirk snatched the broken bottle out of his hand, away from his wrist.

"No," James wailed. "Cliff. Gotta get to Cliff." His voice desperate and wounded, his words slurred.

"No, you don't have to get to Cliff," Kirk snapped. He grabbed James' uncut wrist. "You have to stop doing fucking stupid shit." Kirk got them into the bathroom. He ran cold water over James' wrist, pressed a washcloth to it. He pulled it away. "Fuck. You need stitches."

"No. I need Cliff." Big, round tears rolled down James' face. He wrenched out of Kirk's grip. "No stitches. No more." He neatly avoided Kirk's attempt to grab his wrist again. "No more." The tears fell faster.

Kirk slapped him, the shock forcing his stillness. "Yes. We are going to the hospital. Now."

"But Cliff--"

Kirk let James' arm drop. "You are not the only one he left," he snapped. He grabbed the keys off the night table. "Into the car. Now." He pressed the washcloth against James' wrist again. "Keep that there."

"It was a broken beer bottle," he calmly told the emergency room nurse. "He needs stitches."

She peeled up the washcloth and examined the wound. "You just wait here, and I'll find a doctor."

James moaned at the pain of the needle numbing his wrist. Kirk only watched, his lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

"Kirk, don't go so fast."

Kirk ignored him.

"Kirk. You're driving too--"

"Shut up, James," Kirk ground out, his eyes never leaving the road.

James subsided into silence.

Kirk banged on Lars' door. When a still half-asleep Lars answered it, Kirk shoved James at him. "He's staying with you."

Lars frowned at him in confusion. "Why can't he stay in his own room?"

"Ask him what happened to his wrist," Kirk snapped. He turned away and stalked to his own room.

Lars and James called after him. "Kirk."

He closed the door on their voices.

Title: Sated Desires
Author: Ruth Sadelle Alderson
Pairing: James/Kirk
Rating: FRAO m/m interaction.
Disclaimer: They're so not mine. I don't think this happened, but I certainly wish it did.
Summary: James and Kirk have sex.
Author's Note: If you're looking for plot, this is the wrong story for you. Many thanks to Nette for helping to make it not so sleazy and for helping to find a title.

( Sated Desires )

Spooks said, "james and jase leaping in and out of shrubbery... conjure an image?"

All I can think about is the funniest play I've ever seen: Twelfth Night as performed by The Oregon Shakespeare Festival.

There's a scene in Twelfth Night where Toby, Andrew Aguecheek and Fabian hide out in the shrubbery while Malvolio reads the letter they've planted. In the production I saw, one of the bits has Andrew Aguecheek, holding a bouquet of flowers, standing right behind Malvolio. Malvolio senses his presence and whirls around to see if anyone's there. Andrew Aguecheek, to avoid being seen, also whirls around. It works. Trust me when I say that it's very funny on stage.

Of course, I can also see James and Jason jumping out of the shrubbery in front of Lars.

"Fuck," Lars shrieked. He clapped his hand to his chest. "Fuckers," he growled. "What the fuck are you doing in the fucking bushes?"

James glanced around the yard. "I don't see any politicians around," he said innocently.

Lars glared. "Dick." He fixed Jason with a look. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Jason shrugged. "Playing." He draped an arm around James' shoulders.

"Well it's not fucking funny," Lars sulked.

James grinned at Jason. "It sure as fuck is."

Jason grinned back. "Yeah. Lighten up," he said to Lars. "We were just having fun."

Lars waved his hands at them. "Go have fun at Kirk's."

"But he doesn't have any shrubbery," Jason reasoned.

Lars glared at them again. "Is this just an excuse to make out in public?"

"Aww. He figured us out," Jason said with a disappointed look.

James and Jason stepped forward to flank Lars.

"Want to come play with us?" James didn't wait for an answer, but pulled Lars and Jason back into the shrubbery with him.

The politician mention is for Molly, who said, in answer to the original question, "Having sex with the president?"

One of the women in chat last night was trying to work out her dues for the other list. As I gather it, to be on that list, you have to write something every however often (I haven't asked for all the gory details). As evidenced by metslash's policy of allowing lurkers, the whole idea goes against my theory of lists. I was thinking about what I would do if I were still on the other list, and I thought, "Wouldn't it be cool to pay dues with a snippet decrying the whole idea?"

"Shit! Motherfuck!"

"What?"

"Dues, man. Fucking dues." Lars turned and glared at James. "How the fuck am I going to get away with lurking now?"

"I thought you weren't allowed to lurk."

Lars grinned. "You're not. But every time she unsubbed me, I just begged her to resub me and promised that things would be different. Fuck."

"So just do your dues and you won't get kicked."

"When am I going to have time to fucking write something? There's still Napster shit to deal with and we have to fucking 'bond' before we can start looking for a new bassist. Fuck," Lars swore again. He glared at James.

"There's nothing I can do about it."

"Dick." Lars scowled. "We're not even being slashy."

"So?"

"*So*, this is a fucking slash list."

James shook his head. "It's just mostly slash. You can be gen here. You're thinking of The Other List."

"The Other List?"

"You know, the evil one. Where they're only slash and they have lurkers and they write about--" James snapped his mouth closed.

"What?"

James shook his head. "Never mind."

"What?" Lars fairly vibrated with curiousity. "I want to know. Tell me."

James leaned down and whispered in his ear.

Lars frowned. "So what? I am m--"

"Don't say it," James interrupted.

"Why not? I actually have a w--"

James clapped his hand over Lars' mouth. "Look, are you *trying* to get me in trouble with her Spookiness?"

Anyway. It's probably a good thing I have my own corner to play in.

Title: Blood Moon
Author: Ruth Sadelle Alderson
Pairing: Kirk/Cliff
Rating: FRM for implied m/m interaction and drug use.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I don't think this is the way it happened.
Summary: Cliff makes a decision.
Warning: Death.
Author's Note: Nette helped with this. A lot. She read it a whole bunch of times and told me what did and did not work. She even came up with the title. Thanks to Melle for additional consulting.

( Blood Moon )

The discussion over at Free Speech is rather interesting, especially now that it's evolved from "outwit the idiots" to "discuss fan fic." The problem is that I really want to answer Texas Flood's question about why metslash is so heavily James/Jason, but I can't. I think it has a lot to do with the other list, but I can't say that on the boards because 1) despite having advertised its existence, the other listmom would not be pleased with that, and I don't want to anger her because 2) I think it's really important for us to keep up a united front in this kind of public.

I find it ironic, or perhaps it's a logical consequence, that I have a craving for James/Kirk now that I can't get to any. I don't want James/Kirk abuse stories where James is a monster, Kirk is basically an abused woman, and the happy ending just legitimizes the cycle of abuse, but I want the more enjoyable kind of James/Kirk. I want James/Kirk like that unbelievably incredible scene in Teresa's "Sand and Water" where they talk through music. I want James/Kirk like the end of Nette's "Retribution" where James admits he liked it and Kirk is still mad. I want James/Kirk like the cabin story Nette and I are working on where they tease each other and they're worried about Lars and no one's okay.

I have a lot of trouble writing Kirk. I can see him in my mind's eye the way he sounds in interviews. He's a smart ass if he can get away with it, and when he does talk about himself, he's not completely unstable. The problem is that there's a way I'm used to seeing him written, and for all that I can see him a different way, I can't seem to write him a different way. I'd be less distressed about it if I only couldn't write him with James, but I also have trouble writing him with other people.

I tried writing Jason/Kirk once, and the story is stalled. It was really fun to write. They're snapping at each other and joking around, and they're both miserable. The problem is that I can't get them to do anything sexual. It should be relatively easy to see them together because there's so much canon to work off of. I think maybe that's why there isn't much Jason/Kirk out there, other than the surprise Jason ending to some James/Kirk stories (the ending in which Jason stops mumbling about sandwiches long enough to wander off into the sunset with Kirk). Sometimes the easiest pairings to see don't get written precisely because they are so easy.

I'd like to see Cliff/Kirk, too. That also seems almost canon. Cliff and Kirk roomed together and by Kirk's own admission, Cliff used to tell him all kinds of things he wouldn't tell James and Lars. He also says that "Cliff was a real thrill seeker," which makes me wonder if some of those thrills might have been sexual. Cliff and Kirk are involved in one of the things I'm working on, but I'm not sure if it works for the story. It makes it clearer why Cliff does what he does in the story, but I almost want it to be out of loyalty to his bandmate, not protection of his lover.

I find it odd that before Nette and I became interested in Cliff and started writing him with James and now with Kirk, most of the fic I'd read with Cliff in it posited Cliff/Lars. I can't see that at all. Cliff/James makes sense to me because Cliff was James' mentor, and James was so torn up by his death, so I can see them being more than just bandmates. Cliff/Kirk, as I already said, makes sense. There just doesn't seem to be any canon reason for Cliff/Lars. Lars almost never talks about Cliff, which might make you think they were lovers and he's still too hurt about it, but Lars is hardly discreet about his affections, so it seems like if he and Cliff were close, we'd know about it. I have the same problem with Jason/Lars. I can see them goofing off together, and maybe even fooling around and having sex, but I don't see them as a really serious pairing.

I think part of the problem with writing Cliff in general is that it's really hard to get a hold on his character. There are one or two interviews with him on the web, but he died before Metallica found more mainstream success, so there isn't a lot of stuff to base the characterization on. Not many people write about Cliff, so there isn't even anyone else's characterization to play off of. When we write fic, especially slash, I think we play off of other people's characterizations just as much as we play off of the "original." Which, I suppose, is exactly what I want to say about the James/Jason thing.

I find that the music aspect is one of the other things that makes writing Metallica fic difficult for me. I'm a musical idiot. When I listen to Metallica, I can distinguish James' voice and Lars' drums, but I can't pick out which sound is Jason's bass line or James' rhythm guitar. Sometimes I can hear Kirk's guitar, but not always. Not having a clue about what's going on musically makes it really hard to write a realistic Metallica fic. I've tried, in both "Changes" and "Long Way Down," to get the right feel, to get something even half as good at the scene I mentioned from "Sand and Water," but I know it doesn't really work.

That, of course, only makes it harder for me to write James/Kirk. Every time I come up with a story idea about them, it involves music somehow. Either they're connecting through their music, an example of how I want to play off of Teresa's characterization of their relationship, or they're not connecting because they're not playing together. I can almost see it in my head, but I don't know enough about music to write about it, which is really frustrating.

I dreamed about Metallica last night, which was a new experience. I was staying on someone's living room couch, but the living room was also a club, and Metallica played a concert while I was there. I fell asleep looking at a huge stack of Metallica tapes being guarded by Lars. In the morning, I woke up (still within the dream), and got ready for the day. The tapes were gone, so I was sure they'd left and disappointed in myself for not meeting them the night before. However, they were still in the house. Or some of them were, anyway. James was at the kitchen table. Jason was playing chess with someone in a bar area adjacent to the kitchen. Lars was in an armchair reading something. I don't think Kirk was there at all. I was still trying to decide how to act when I woke up (out of the dream), but in the space between asleep and awake, my dream carried over, and I put Cali on my lap and started to tell her a story. Also, somewhere in the dream, Francesca was reading/guarding a Bay Area newspaper that had an article about Metallica in it, and I was trying to be cool about not grabbing it to obsessively read it. I have to wonder if my remembering of my dream has anything to do with the fact that I read Graham Joyce's Dreamside yesterday.

Because I'm at home, I got to rent movies. Yesterday we watched The Contender, which was better than it probably should have been, and today we watched Bring It On. Not only was Bring It On a great and hilarious movie, but it was also extremely slashy. I wrote a few sentences. I'm not sure if they can be connected into something more story-like or not.

Kissing Missy in the bathroom, calming her down. Don't freak out Missy, don't. Then, when she finds out, dragging Missy back. Her turn for reassurance.

Cliff and Missy. Missy and Cliff. Is Missy really the dyke the girls say she is? She's not just projecting, not just choosing Cliff because Missy's a girl, is she?

Missy doesn't cheer because she cares. She cheers because she's like a shark: move or die.

She cleans up nicely, but underneath, she's still the same rough, raggedy girl who showed up for tryouts, the same hard-edged woman who took her to East Compton.

...is brought to you by this picture, a conversation with Nette and my own fascination with Kirk and Lani.

Jason looks so tired and ready to give up in that picture, so Nette and I were talking about how we can see him doing emotionally destructive things. Also, it makes sense to us that Jason would be so close to Kirk because not only will Kirk listen to him, but Kirk's pretty much together, even if he was abused as a child and once had a cocaine problem.

So the image of the day: Kirk takes Jason home with him for dinner. Kirk and Lani make Jason feel better by joking with him and teasing him and having fun.

"They're vegetables, Jason. You eat them."

"I know what a vegetable is."

"That's right. It's James who doesn't believe in eating anything unless it once ran around on its own four legs." Lani touches Jason's hand and apologizes, "Sorry," when she sees him wince.

Jason shakes his head. "It's okay."

"It's not," she says gently. "Things are fucked up."

"Yeah," Jason says, "that's one way of putting it."

And of course, when they're done eating, Kirk and Lani take Jason to bed with them.

"Let me help with the dishes," Jason offers, like the good houseguest he is.

Lani shakes her head. "Don't worry about them. Kirk can do them in the morning." She laughs at the face Kirk makes. "Yes, you will."

Kirk sighs. "Of course I will. Do you see how it is, Jason? Work, work, work. That's all she ever wants me to do."

Lani laughs and puts her arm around Kirk, kissing his cheek lightly. "That's not all. You're good for other things too."

Kirk laughs. "Yeah, sex and cleaning. I could be replaced by a vibrator and a maid."

Lani puts her arm around a blushing Jason. "Don't be so embarrassed. You're a grownup. You can deal with a discussion about sex."

"Yeah, but I don't usually talk about sex with my best friend and his wife."

Lani meets his eyes seriously. "Maybe you should."

Jason frowns at her. "What do you mean?"

"She means come to bed with us," Kirk says, taking Jason's hand.

Jason looks from one to the other, hope dawning. "Really?"

Lani takes his other hand, twining her arm around his. "Yes, really." She kisses his cheek. "Come to bed with us."

Jason nods. "Okay."

And I'll leave the actual sex to your imagination.

It's true, you know. At least, I never used "random" in the colloquial sense of odd, unexpected, as in, "That was totally random," or, "This random guy came up to me the other day." It is, I suppose, a logical consequence of its more scientific meaning of without pattern.

Remember back when I was depressed and couldn't sleep? Well, now I feel better and all I want to do is sleep. And my subconscious is not being helpful. Usually, if I remember my dreams, they're strange assortments of images that need interpretation to be understood. For example, I dreamed that one of my teeth broke in half, and, according to swoon.com, in dreams "broken or unusually worn-down teeth are a sign of the deterioration of an important relationship." More recently, I dreamed, with more obvious symbolism, that a friend and I said goodbye, then had to cross different bridges to get to our respective trains. Thank you very much, subconscious, but I already know we're different people on different paths.

I needed something to distract me from my overwhelming compulsion to sleep before class today, and went back to a picture that Nette and I once discussed as a possible basis for an AU (alternate universe for the uninitiated) set in the 50s. James and Lars would be the ringleaders, Jason the reasonable one, and Kirk, I think, would oscillate between going along with whatever James and Lars want to do and backing up Jason's objections. I'd love to be able to write it, but my sum total of knowledge about the 50s comes from Grease, which is really a 70s vision of the 50s.

Despite my earlier post about the importance of disagreeing, I find myself growing weary of forever being the lone dissident. I'm somewhere in between the swans, who, incidentally, I don't revere, and Joanne, with whom I nearly always disagree. If you're writing, even if it's just for fun, you ought to want to do it well, especially if you want other people to gain enjoyment out of it. If you think other people don't write well, but could, you should do something about it. I fail to see the point in remaining on a list merely for the sake of bitching about it, just as I don't understand the point of posting to fanfiction.net (no link because I hate the site) merely for the sake of being flamed.

Ruth Sadelle Alderson

Disagreeing with fandom since 1999.

Fic: On Call (Metallica, Jason/Dylan/Brian, 1200 words, FRT)

Hell if I know, part 4.

Hell if I know, part 3.

Getting to know all about you.

Help! I'm writing first person, melancholy James, and I can't stop!

Getting to know you.

Hell if I know, part 2.

Hell if I know.

Fic: Musical Interlude (Metallica, James/Kirk, 1400 words, FRT)

Fic: Backstage (Metallica, James/Kirk, 3900 words, FRAO)

Next thing you know, he'll be a kidnapper.

Writ Longhand: Melancholy and Poppy Z. Brite

Fic: Sated Desires (Metallica, James/Kirk, 1800 words, FRAO)

This time, it's Spooks' fault.

Living on the edge, or, I anger more people.

Fic: Blood Moon (Metallica, Kirk/Cliff, 560 words, FRM)

The difficulties of writing Metallica

Images, images everywhere, nor any thought to think.

Today's image...

I never used the word "random" until I came to North Carolina.

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