*explodes into fangirl goop*
This is a long, weird post. Just warning you all. Grab a cup of tea and a biscuit <3.
First off, a rec for one of the best things ever, and the inspiration for this post:
Harbor by irisbleufic; John/Sherlock, R/light NC17; sequel to Drowning Man, which was also fabulous.
This is the best story I have read in months. Possibly years. Your mileage may vary, everyone has different tastes, but I have never been happier with the use of emotion in a fic that I can recall - as I said, definitely not in months, and possibly not in years. And I read and adore (and I do mean adore) a lot of fic.
But there's a very real reason for this one, and it's weird and bizarre but true; it's because it's how I imagine (excepting for the specific circumstances, I'm scarcely a war veteran Doctor or a sociopathic consultant detective) my love story will finally go, should it happen, because I've almost been there before, with tensions lining up just right - unfortunately, it's yet to happen with someone I'm both attracted to and love as a person rather than an idea. It's that feeling of tensions lining up that irisbleufic absolutely nails, spot on. I hope someday I find the Sherlock to my John, or the John to my Sherlock.
Bizarrely, and completely unintentionally, that story just gave me a boost in my faith in love and eventually finding it, at a time when I've rarely needed it more. It's something where I can't really thank the author enough - or at all, because again, it was unintentional! Just a side-effect, one of those curious ones acting as proof that art and prose is always worthwhile because you can never, ever predict the effect one image or one set of words will have on each indivdual member of an audience.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ Embers' first kiss! ~
My first non-peck kiss was with a girl I had adored for years. It was at a time where I was still very, very clingy - overly clingy, I will admit that I was creepy - because I hadn't had friends before. It took until I was about fifteen to get past the worst of the outright creepy stage, for the record; seven years of rejection by peers meant about four years recovery, give or take.
My first best friend was someone who I didn't particularly understand. I adored her but given I'd spent years without friends I didn't really know how to interpret particular cues, so in essence I just gave her all the love and attention and forgiveness I was capable of to the detriment of my own emotional wellbeing and that of people around me. I can't say I regret it as it was a lesson to learn, and even painful lessons are usually worthwhile in the long run. I was blind to anyone but her at the time - these are all things I realised much, much, much later. I should also note that the gender terms I use here are out of date and only used in reference to how I knew said friend at the time, as my first best friend is now a he, and much happier from what I hear about his day to day life. I'm glad for him, because that love is still there, though the obsessive quality of it has left, and I will admit I never really knew him back then, for all I wanted to.
In later years I've come to realise that I am more or less straight, but when your hormones kick in at the same time as your first friendship forms, things get confused. I'd only known familial love; platonic love and romantic love weren't yet separate concepts for me. All I knew was that I would have done anything to protect her, anything to make her happy; I don't think she ever really wanted anything back from me, but it was a strange friendship we had and I still don't regret it, in all honesty - I made mistakes, but the majority of them I didn't realise were mistakes at the time and, again, the learning processes in life can be pretty rough or peculiar at times.
When I slept over at hers, we pushed the two single beds together so we could hold hands. In school I would sometimes give her a kiss on the cheek, or cuddle with her for the better part of an hour, or play with her hair. Not long before I finished high school we met one last time at a party, and she kissed me on the lips. It wasn't much more than a peck, lingered only a little longer than appropriate for a kiss between friends, but I came out of it both high as a kite because I'd been kissed for the first time. It also was a starter on my realising that I'm just not that into girls, because my first kiss with someone I'd adored for years should have been more than just something exciting and ego-boosting, it should have made me want to kiss that person more, and it simply didn't. I was high on the kiss, not on kissing them in particular, which is probably not so subtly hinted at in the really, really drunk post I made at the time.
It was so strange, because there'd been this tension between us for years, and there's little doubt in my mind now that she knew at the time I was head over heels for her; a tension that part of me never quite expected to see requited in any way. Our tension ended on a fizzle, really, but I'm still happy for that kiss. It meant I never thought years later "What if?" because I knew - it had happened, and it wasn't really for me. Judging by the fact she never tried to kiss me again, and her wry smile after our kiss, I think she knew it wasn't for her either.
~ Embers' first "proper" kiss! ~
My second kiss was with the most attractive guy on our course at university. The best thing is, that's not a general boast/eye of the beholder fact - the first thing my best friend at university said on finding out was "BITCH!", a sentiment echoed by the girl next to him when he explained what had happened. He was one of those swines who knows they're attractive, are laid back and lazy with it, content to bask in their own glory, the handsome, handsome bastards ;).
There's no way in retrospect he could have missed it. Our course was relatively small and highly gossipy, and I have never been all that quiet or subtle about my crushes. I stare a lot as is, it's a bad habit - multiply that by finding someone attractive and he was always catching me looking at him.
When the first year of university ended, the friendship group I hung out with at the time decided to go to Rock World, Manchester to celebrate. We got bladdered, and I spent ridiculously little because I kept sitting on the edge of the sofa, which meant taking everyone's money at drink-ordering time to go up to the bar and getting my drinks paid for in exchange for the favour.
The very first thing said very attractive lad did when he saw me come in through the door was throw his arm around me and say in my ear, "I'm pissed as a fart", grinning at me a little blearily before going off to dance.
My moments of saying what I'm thinking rarely come as a bonus. Especially if you add fever or alcohol into the mix, leading to declarations like "Everybody thinks I'm funny and clever but NOBODY LIKES MY ARSE". In this instant I had a case of badfic dire-logue, and shortly after meeting up with a friend from my high school and her boyfriend I announced to my gentleman, "I've never kissed a guy before and I've always wondered what it would be like and um can I kiss you?"
He went for it. It was awesome, and my reaction made it quite clear to me that apparently I am indeed attracted to boys that way.
I later pulled him into my lap and made out with him for, give or take, two drunken, sweaty, very, very happy hours. I tingled excitedly every time I realised I could keep kissing him and he was happy to kiss me back - and a really good kisser at that.
It never went anywhere - we didn't actually have anything in common and years later I found out part of the reason was he had a girlfriend at the time, but that was one night of realising that yes, sometimes I could strike lucky and it had been so worth it waiting three years before kissing someone again. That one hadn't been so much a mutual tension thing as I'd fancied him for months, he knew it, and it resolved itself in one fabulous snogging session. Again, even if nothing ever came of it, I regret nothing. I didn't know he had a girlfriend at the time, it was guilt free, and he really was gorgeous.
~ The one who got away ~
Oh, Steve. Steve, Steve, Steve. Steve I do regret. He was a guy in my sister's class with a morbid streak, and we would monologue at each other for hours. He'd talk about music, I'd talk about writing, our conversations would never really interlink but it was wonderful. He was quirkily handsome and there was always a fun mutual tension between us where I don't think we knew what we were - if we were acquaintances or friends or flirting or somewhere in between. He'd wait for me at the bus stop, I'd wait for him at the train, and we never missed a chance to talk, even for only a minute.
I never took his contact details, and never saw him again after that year. I still wish I'd acted. He was lovely, and he is my "What if?".
So, yes; the long ramble and whole point to the post is this; sometimes I get a little lonely, and I wonder if I'll ever fall in love. If I'll ever know that feeling of wanting to be with someone, and knowing they want to be with me, and waiting for one of us to find the moment to act on it, and this time it not end in my realising I'm basically straight/am not in love with them, just desperately attracted to them/missing out on the chance to act.
And this fic gives me hope, really, really, silly hope, that someday all the waiting will be worthwhile. Benedict Cumberbatch is about nine years older than me, Martin Freeman about 14 ;), and if I have to wait nine years for my John or fourteen years for my Sherlock - well, damnit, it'll be worth the wait <3. Hell, I'm even looking forward to it again.
First off, a rec for one of the best things ever, and the inspiration for this post:
Harbor by irisbleufic; John/Sherlock, R/light NC17; sequel to Drowning Man, which was also fabulous.
This is the best story I have read in months. Possibly years. Your mileage may vary, everyone has different tastes, but I have never been happier with the use of emotion in a fic that I can recall - as I said, definitely not in months, and possibly not in years. And I read and adore (and I do mean adore) a lot of fic.
But there's a very real reason for this one, and it's weird and bizarre but true; it's because it's how I imagine (excepting for the specific circumstances, I'm scarcely a war veteran Doctor or a sociopathic consultant detective) my love story will finally go, should it happen, because I've almost been there before, with tensions lining up just right - unfortunately, it's yet to happen with someone I'm both attracted to and love as a person rather than an idea. It's that feeling of tensions lining up that irisbleufic absolutely nails, spot on. I hope someday I find the Sherlock to my John, or the John to my Sherlock.
Bizarrely, and completely unintentionally, that story just gave me a boost in my faith in love and eventually finding it, at a time when I've rarely needed it more. It's something where I can't really thank the author enough - or at all, because again, it was unintentional! Just a side-effect, one of those curious ones acting as proof that art and prose is always worthwhile because you can never, ever predict the effect one image or one set of words will have on each indivdual member of an audience.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ Embers' first kiss! ~
My first non-peck kiss was with a girl I had adored for years. It was at a time where I was still very, very clingy - overly clingy, I will admit that I was creepy - because I hadn't had friends before. It took until I was about fifteen to get past the worst of the outright creepy stage, for the record; seven years of rejection by peers meant about four years recovery, give or take.
My first best friend was someone who I didn't particularly understand. I adored her but given I'd spent years without friends I didn't really know how to interpret particular cues, so in essence I just gave her all the love and attention and forgiveness I was capable of to the detriment of my own emotional wellbeing and that of people around me. I can't say I regret it as it was a lesson to learn, and even painful lessons are usually worthwhile in the long run. I was blind to anyone but her at the time - these are all things I realised much, much, much later. I should also note that the gender terms I use here are out of date and only used in reference to how I knew said friend at the time, as my first best friend is now a he, and much happier from what I hear about his day to day life. I'm glad for him, because that love is still there, though the obsessive quality of it has left, and I will admit I never really knew him back then, for all I wanted to.
In later years I've come to realise that I am more or less straight, but when your hormones kick in at the same time as your first friendship forms, things get confused. I'd only known familial love; platonic love and romantic love weren't yet separate concepts for me. All I knew was that I would have done anything to protect her, anything to make her happy; I don't think she ever really wanted anything back from me, but it was a strange friendship we had and I still don't regret it, in all honesty - I made mistakes, but the majority of them I didn't realise were mistakes at the time and, again, the learning processes in life can be pretty rough or peculiar at times.
When I slept over at hers, we pushed the two single beds together so we could hold hands. In school I would sometimes give her a kiss on the cheek, or cuddle with her for the better part of an hour, or play with her hair. Not long before I finished high school we met one last time at a party, and she kissed me on the lips. It wasn't much more than a peck, lingered only a little longer than appropriate for a kiss between friends, but I came out of it both high as a kite because I'd been kissed for the first time. It also was a starter on my realising that I'm just not that into girls, because my first kiss with someone I'd adored for years should have been more than just something exciting and ego-boosting, it should have made me want to kiss that person more, and it simply didn't. I was high on the kiss, not on kissing them in particular, which is probably not so subtly hinted at in the really, really drunk post I made at the time.
It was so strange, because there'd been this tension between us for years, and there's little doubt in my mind now that she knew at the time I was head over heels for her; a tension that part of me never quite expected to see requited in any way. Our tension ended on a fizzle, really, but I'm still happy for that kiss. It meant I never thought years later "What if?" because I knew - it had happened, and it wasn't really for me. Judging by the fact she never tried to kiss me again, and her wry smile after our kiss, I think she knew it wasn't for her either.
~ Embers' first "proper" kiss! ~
My second kiss was with the most attractive guy on our course at university. The best thing is, that's not a general boast/eye of the beholder fact - the first thing my best friend at university said on finding out was "BITCH!", a sentiment echoed by the girl next to him when he explained what had happened. He was one of those swines who knows they're attractive, are laid back and lazy with it, content to bask in their own glory, the handsome, handsome bastards ;).
There's no way in retrospect he could have missed it. Our course was relatively small and highly gossipy, and I have never been all that quiet or subtle about my crushes. I stare a lot as is, it's a bad habit - multiply that by finding someone attractive and he was always catching me looking at him.
When the first year of university ended, the friendship group I hung out with at the time decided to go to Rock World, Manchester to celebrate. We got bladdered, and I spent ridiculously little because I kept sitting on the edge of the sofa, which meant taking everyone's money at drink-ordering time to go up to the bar and getting my drinks paid for in exchange for the favour.
The very first thing said very attractive lad did when he saw me come in through the door was throw his arm around me and say in my ear, "I'm pissed as a fart", grinning at me a little blearily before going off to dance.
My moments of saying what I'm thinking rarely come as a bonus. Especially if you add fever or alcohol into the mix, leading to declarations like "Everybody thinks I'm funny and clever but NOBODY LIKES MY ARSE". In this instant I had a case of badfic dire-logue, and shortly after meeting up with a friend from my high school and her boyfriend I announced to my gentleman, "I've never kissed a guy before and I've always wondered what it would be like and um can I kiss you?"
He went for it. It was awesome, and my reaction made it quite clear to me that apparently I am indeed attracted to boys that way.
I later pulled him into my lap and made out with him for, give or take, two drunken, sweaty, very, very happy hours. I tingled excitedly every time I realised I could keep kissing him and he was happy to kiss me back - and a really good kisser at that.
It never went anywhere - we didn't actually have anything in common and years later I found out part of the reason was he had a girlfriend at the time, but that was one night of realising that yes, sometimes I could strike lucky and it had been so worth it waiting three years before kissing someone again. That one hadn't been so much a mutual tension thing as I'd fancied him for months, he knew it, and it resolved itself in one fabulous snogging session. Again, even if nothing ever came of it, I regret nothing. I didn't know he had a girlfriend at the time, it was guilt free, and he really was gorgeous.
~ The one who got away ~
Oh, Steve. Steve, Steve, Steve. Steve I do regret. He was a guy in my sister's class with a morbid streak, and we would monologue at each other for hours. He'd talk about music, I'd talk about writing, our conversations would never really interlink but it was wonderful. He was quirkily handsome and there was always a fun mutual tension between us where I don't think we knew what we were - if we were acquaintances or friends or flirting or somewhere in between. He'd wait for me at the bus stop, I'd wait for him at the train, and we never missed a chance to talk, even for only a minute.
I never took his contact details, and never saw him again after that year. I still wish I'd acted. He was lovely, and he is my "What if?".
So, yes; the long ramble and whole point to the post is this; sometimes I get a little lonely, and I wonder if I'll ever fall in love. If I'll ever know that feeling of wanting to be with someone, and knowing they want to be with me, and waiting for one of us to find the moment to act on it, and this time it not end in my realising I'm basically straight/am not in love with them, just desperately attracted to them/missing out on the chance to act.
And this fic gives me hope, really, really, silly hope, that someday all the waiting will be worthwhile. Benedict Cumberbatch is about nine years older than me, Martin Freeman about 14 ;), and if I have to wait nine years for my John or fourteen years for my Sherlock - well, damnit, it'll be worth the wait <3. Hell, I'm even looking forward to it again.