Fic: Dear Goodbye | popslash | justin/nick, justin/chris | adult
Dear Goodbye
Fandom: popslash
Pairings: Justin/Nick, Justin/Chris
Rating: Adult
Notes: Written for bittybang!
Comments and Acknowledgments
I have a lot of people to thank. First and foremost, my betas: wendy (for being willing to read it at all); kira_j, who is responsible for everything awesome and gorgeous about this fic, including some of my favorite lines, and who read it probably more times than I did in various incarnations; to musicboxgirl, who probably had no idea what she was getting into, offering to read this, and who caught some very glaring concept errors; and to llamabitchyo for giving me a wonderful beta, for thinking this is any good, and for listening to me whine. I also want to thank vaudevilles, who beta'd the ficlet this originally stemmed from and really helped me flesh out this world and these ideas at the very beginning. And of course, thanks to bubbleforest for running the challenge, and to semijocund, who did my artwork! I want to add here that this poor woman had to sit through me trying to figure out what the hell I was going to call this fic. I just couldn't decide on a title. I had extreme title angst. Ugh.
Warnings
I started writing this before I watched Generation Kill, but once I had, I realized I needed to go back and really try to capture the language and the peculiar culture of the marines. As a result, there's probably a few things you might not get, so for your edification, here's the wiki of marine corps acronyms and phrases. Most notably: "oscar mike" = on the move, FUBAR = fucked up beyond all recognition, and so on. There's some strong language in this fic that might be offensive. They're marines. That's just how they talk, so please don't hate me forever. Stay frosty, y'all. Spoilery warnings; please read if you have triggers relating to PTSD. Close your eyes for the rest of this paragraph if you don't want to know! Other things to be aware of: it's a WAR AU. They get shot at; bombs go off, they shoot things, and they kill. There is major character death. It's not graphically depicted, but it does happen. Recreational drug use. There's also PTSD issues; the story takes place when Justin is back from Iraq and attempting to deal with events that happened there, including the death in the line of duty of someone close to him. Even so, I would say this isn't a story about death, but about hope. It's about someone reconciling his past with his present and coming to terms with his own shifting world view. It's about growing up. It's about learning how to be a person again. And please, if you read this and think it needs more warnings or a warning for something I haven't thought to put here, feel free to let me know via comment or email (phaballa at livejournal). And of course, if you want to discuss the issues raised in this story in a more private setting, anyone is welcome to email me.
This is probably the hardest story I have ever written. By which I mean, it was hard for me to write, and I think it's not that easy to read either. I have never felt so much angst about a fic, or so much nervousness. I am, honestly, genuinely freaked out by it. But I also kind of love it and I think it's one of the best things I've ever written, so I hope you all kind of love it, too.
Justin remembers the sand most of all. Miles and miles of it, the lightest tan, coarse and grainy, extending in all directions to meet the fluorescent blue of the sky at the horizon in an endless line that waved in the heat of the desert sun. He remembers the dirt roads between villages and the only slightly better roads between cities; he remembers that first sip of water, sweet and cold, the best damn thing he ever tasted even after only ten minutes under the sun. He remembers riding in the back of the jeep, pressed hip-to-knee with his company and wondering if today was the day they'd all get fucked to hell by a roadside bomb.
But mostly, Justin remembers the sand. The sand, and Nick.
Dear Goodbye
+Part 1: Stay Frosty
+Part 2: All the King's Men
+Part 3: Semper Fidelis
+Artwork: Dear Goodbye, the Art by semijocund
+Fanmix: A Fine Dusting of Sand
Fandom: popslash
Pairings: Justin/Nick, Justin/Chris
Rating: Adult
Notes: Written for bittybang!
Comments and Acknowledgments
I have a lot of people to thank. First and foremost, my betas: wendy (for being willing to read it at all); kira_j, who is responsible for everything awesome and gorgeous about this fic, including some of my favorite lines, and who read it probably more times than I did in various incarnations; to musicboxgirl, who probably had no idea what she was getting into, offering to read this, and who caught some very glaring concept errors; and to llamabitchyo for giving me a wonderful beta, for thinking this is any good, and for listening to me whine. I also want to thank vaudevilles, who beta'd the ficlet this originally stemmed from and really helped me flesh out this world and these ideas at the very beginning. And of course, thanks to bubbleforest for running the challenge, and to semijocund, who did my artwork! I want to add here that this poor woman had to sit through me trying to figure out what the hell I was going to call this fic. I just couldn't decide on a title. I had extreme title angst. Ugh.
Warnings
I started writing this before I watched Generation Kill, but once I had, I realized I needed to go back and really try to capture the language and the peculiar culture of the marines. As a result, there's probably a few things you might not get, so for your edification, here's the wiki of marine corps acronyms and phrases. Most notably: "oscar mike" = on the move, FUBAR = fucked up beyond all recognition, and so on. There's some strong language in this fic that might be offensive. They're marines. That's just how they talk, so please don't hate me forever. Stay frosty, y'all. Spoilery warnings; please read if you have triggers relating to PTSD. Close your eyes for the rest of this paragraph if you don't want to know! Other things to be aware of: it's a WAR AU. They get shot at; bombs go off, they shoot things, and they kill. There is major character death. It's not graphically depicted, but it does happen. Recreational drug use. There's also PTSD issues; the story takes place when Justin is back from Iraq and attempting to deal with events that happened there, including the death in the line of duty of someone close to him. Even so, I would say this isn't a story about death, but about hope. It's about someone reconciling his past with his present and coming to terms with his own shifting world view. It's about growing up. It's about learning how to be a person again. And please, if you read this and think it needs more warnings or a warning for something I haven't thought to put here, feel free to let me know via comment or email (phaballa at livejournal). And of course, if you want to discuss the issues raised in this story in a more private setting, anyone is welcome to email me.
This is probably the hardest story I have ever written. By which I mean, it was hard for me to write, and I think it's not that easy to read either. I have never felt so much angst about a fic, or so much nervousness. I am, honestly, genuinely freaked out by it. But I also kind of love it and I think it's one of the best things I've ever written, so I hope you all kind of love it, too.
Justin remembers the sand most of all. Miles and miles of it, the lightest tan, coarse and grainy, extending in all directions to meet the fluorescent blue of the sky at the horizon in an endless line that waved in the heat of the desert sun. He remembers the dirt roads between villages and the only slightly better roads between cities; he remembers that first sip of water, sweet and cold, the best damn thing he ever tasted even after only ten minutes under the sun. He remembers riding in the back of the jeep, pressed hip-to-knee with his company and wondering if today was the day they'd all get fucked to hell by a roadside bomb.
But mostly, Justin remembers the sand. The sand, and Nick.
Dear Goodbye
+Part 1: Stay Frosty
+Part 2: All the King's Men
+Part 3: Semper Fidelis
+Artwork: Dear Goodbye, the Art by semijocund
+Fanmix: A Fine Dusting of Sand