Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.
eliade

the story that launched a 1000 kinks

I wish I'd had the foresight years ago to save copies of all my favorite online stories and create a vast index so that I could easily find something whenever I wanted to. And if I'd been exceptionally precognitive, I'd have printed hard copies of everything by Karen McFadyyon and Em Brunson and bought a fire-proof safe to store them in.

But the upside to having poor organizational skills and a spotty memory is rediscovering stuff. Like shaking out an old coat and having a $100 bill flutter out of the pocket. Or a bundle of 100s rolled up with a rubber band...falling meatily from the pocket...rolling into my fingers...sighhh. I somehow skidded sideways while re-reading a bunch of Due South today and landed on Wesley Rogue Demon, which out of hundreds, even thousands of stories, across multiple fandoms, has to be in my all-time top ten. I have huge slave kinks (possibly on some kind of primal, freakishly empathetic level), am a massive romantic sap, and weep for brilliant, pitch-perfect writing. This story is greatness, and the writing is *restrained*--and being able to use that word about a slave-themed story, about *Wesley*, makes it especially perfect.

Also, re-reading it today with four years' (actually FIVE) distance from writing SGA, I realize that this badfic snippet, making Rodney an alien, was essentially a cryptic scribbled post-it note to myself. I think I wanted to write something as awesomely inspired as Wesley Rogue Demon, along different lines, but keeping a key kink. Not the slavery, but the massive "secret otherness" that when revealed is accepted. Love is not love / Which alters when it alteration finds... Etc.

Meanwhile, I am *so* not used to this whole "capturing thoughts in complete sentences" thing. My head actually hurts. Plus after years stranded on a rock in outer space it's very tempting to second-guess everything I say and how I say it. But I've done that to death in the past, so I'm just going to roll my shoulders, crack my neck, inhale, breathe, repeat. Bloom, close, kick...

Meanwhile 2, I'm looking for the DS story where Fraser runs away with Victoria--maybe to Vegas?--and ends up as a back-alley hustler, neatly laying out his handkerchief on the pavement before getting on his knees to give blow-jobs. Found by aerye: Follow Without Pride.

(Does anyone know of a good cross-fandom storyfinders list?)

P.S. I'm behind on answering comments. Ah, to be able to write those words again. Good times, good times.

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