by Livia Balaban

Note: If you're on Mac/Netscape and the page below is jumbled, you can download this RTF file to read the fic.
Please don't distribute or archive it.

Classification: Metafic; C with a nonexistent television series and a gently renamed blog site
Content: H, A, MSR, Slash. Haven Challenge Fic.
Rating: R and a half
Archiving: Inkspot only. Please ask if you'd like to link to it.
Spoilers: Everything through S7 (and little implied ones from S8 and S9)

Summary: Excerpts from Troopie Award winning author M. Luder's blog.

A Note to the Reader: You really, really need to have read "M. Luder, King of 'SETI Troopers' Fanfic" in order to understand most of this prequel/sequel/duringquel. It'll make sense if you sit back and remember that despite what Scully said, everything really is about Mulder. Oh, and this is a Strict Canon Zone. (Aside from the, you know, fanfic and all.) Any timeline mistakes are mine.

Luder's Journal      Luder's Pals  |  Luder's Bookmarks  |  Luder's Profile

a very zombie new year to you too
Jan. 4, 2000
Mood: pissed
Music: Stones, "You Can't Always Get What You Want"

Crap day. Nello the Cleaner™ proclaimed my favorite Hugo Boss beyond reprieve. Apparently rock salt doesn't play well with dry cleaning fluid, and the pants pockets disintegrated. Just how I wanted to start the non-Millennium.

S. was in a good mood this morning and brought muffins, so there was that. Yes groaner, they were carrot, and I therefore owe you two additional cheesesteaks. Shut up.

BalconyFic is going to have to wait, sorry guys. I have it all plotted out so it is coming, but I'm down one typing arm at the moment. Admiral Riordan is going to have a very good time with The Dark One. There will be handcuffs and a balcony railing.

Goofette, you owe me big for this slashfic.

7 pals chimed in • chime away

Goofette
Re: a very zombie new year to you too

I do owe you, but I see you've already accumulated quite a stash of meatish foodstuffs. How would you recommend I submit payment, Mr. Luder? ;-)

 

Luder
Re: a very zombie new year to you too

Let it not be said I am above a good old-fashioned bribe. PayPal: the gift that gives to the pseudonymiously gifted.

 

JaneBus
Re: a very zombie new year to you too

Great, you've done it now. I'm drooling all over my keyboard, Luder. Riordan/Dark One slash? [pant pant]

 

Santanitaholic
Re: a very zombie new year to you too

You said a mouthful Jane. This is the guy who brought us Mueller-and-Aurora-lost-in-the-forest-smut. That wine and cheese scene made my monitor melt down.

I need to start a group cheer. LuderSlash! LuderSlash! LuderSlash!

 

groaner
Re: a very zombie new year to you too

Carrot, he says. Carrot Muffins. The titian-haired goddess brings him carrot muffins and he makes no further comment.

groaner groaned.

 

Luder
Re: a very zombie new year to you too

I do not carrot-muffin-and-tell. Go watch one of those tapes, groaner. The goddess and I have much on the agenda, and we cannot be bothered to supply you with blow-by-blow descriptions of our activities.

 

groaner
Re: a very zombie new year to you too

>>blow-by-blow<<

You unworthy sonofabitch. I hate you so much right now.

smoking gun: help?
Jan. 19, 2000
Mood: perplexed
Music: Percy Faith, "A Summer Place"

I'm trying to get the atmosphere just right for the final bedroom scene of the PWP BalconyFic That Wouldn't Die but damn it, I'm stuck on mood. Which works better, taking into consideration the previous violent handcuffed sex on the balcony?

[Dark One's POV]
Riordan's eyes blazed with dark fire as he stalked The Dark One back toward the bed. "Strip," he growled through a steel-band tense jaw. God, the man was magnificent - sculpted of polished rock and gleaming like it - but his expression was impassive and impossible to read.

Tripping on shuffled footsteps, the slender young man held out his hands in supplication. He was no one's property, and it was time to make himself a real person to the bald, muscled mass of man before him. "Max," he muttered in a soft voice, praying Riordan would understand this sacrifice. "My name is Max."

or

[Riordan's POV]
Riordan's gaze burned with dark fire as he stalked The Dark One back toward the bed.

All he'd wanted was quiet shore leave to restore his focus; a few days of solitude and indulgent pampering at this plush resort. As the soft carpet yielded under his firm, menacing paces, he wondered how he could have ended up here, only forty-eight hours later; naked, hard as tritanium, and so hungry for his nemesis that he was reduced to simple sentences.

Fuck it, he thought and allowed a fierce smile to prowl across his face. "Strip, you teasing little fuck," he growled. "I have a cock for you to suck and you're not getting near it with that barbed wire on."

Tripping on shuffled footsteps, the younger man held out his hands in supplication. His expression softened and Riordan halted, fixated on the slim brunet's unexpected demonstration of vulnerability. "Max," the young man muttered in a soft voice.

Riordan gasped.

"My name is Max."

9 pals chimed in • chime away

groaner
Re: smoking gun: help?

Depends on what you want to go for, man. The first one is great if you want to soften things up and the second works if you want to keep things hard-edged. Me, I'd go for #2.

I can't believe I'm doing beta for fag smut. Kill me now.

 

Truthseeker
Re: smoking gun: help?

groaner, the term is m/m slash.

Luder, if you want to evolve the relationship into a quasi-romance, your best bet would be to let "Max" have the POV to spotlight his vulnerability. It will end up by necessity as a tragic story of course, but it could be strangely beautiful. Well, you're writing it -- of course it will be strangely beautiful.

 

Lord Manhammer
Re: smoking gun: help?

Suck Luder's dick, Truthseeker, it'd be more direct.

Luder, keep it harsh, dude. #2 all the way. This ain't a pretty story. Mueller dumped that ratbastard on Riordan's doorstep and just up and left. Riordan has a big fuckin' chip on his shoulder because of it. I say you set out some Aurellian Bean Dip and let him munch away.

Personally, I don't give a rat's ass who knows I'm doing beta for fagfiction. Anybody who cares can blow me. I'm not picky.

 

groaner
Re: smoking gun: help?

>>Anybody who cares can blow me. I'm not picky.<<

You say this like it's news, girlhammer.

 

Luder
Re: smoking gun: help?

Don't make me come up there and separate you boys.

Thanks. Harsh it is. I don't see either of those guys capable of any kind of romance. Dark One's an enigma and Riordan's a goddamn stalker. So no romance. But one more brutal fuck, yeah.

 

JaneBus
Re: smoking gun: help?

>>>>THUD<<<<

Oh sweet Jesus, tell me there's more of this.

Goofette
Re: smoking gun: help?

There's a reason I keep you around, Luder, and this would be it. I'll double the stakes if you actually finish this. Oh my god, I think I'm in love.

 

groaner
Re: smoking gun: help?

Give it up. The guy is so taken it's embarrassing.

 

Luder
Re: smoking gun: help?

Shut up, you. Don't discourage the fan base.

freedom
Feb. 21, 2000
Mood: optimistic

I'm disabling comments on this post because this isn't about journal chatter or fanfiction, it's about real life.

I just returned home from an awful trip to the past. The last member of my immediate family has departed and instead of being weighted down with grief, I feel as if a veil has been pulled away from my eyes. My vision is clear and I can finally see life for the first time. There's a horizon, and I can barely see it, it's so far off. I slept all night, dreamless, and woke up this morning zinging with energy and ready to live.

No matter how far back I look, I don't remember ever feeling like this.

I have a lot yet to overcome, but it finally feels manageable and worthwhile. I will fight now, as hard as I have to. At last I feel there's a chance to win.

Screw carrot muffins: I'm going to take S. out for pizza and ply her with beer. I'm free. Life begins today.

no chiming

slash and burn, nicely
Mar. 5, 2000
Mood: Critical Zen
Music: Time-Life "Great Sci-Fi TV Themes" CD

I have finished the novel from hell, and after three weeks of receiving beta so brutal I'll need an inflatable butt pillow, it's only fair that I lash out in retaliation. I mean, the spirit of generosity.

Mandy, it's your turn at bat. Welcome to another edition of "Up Your Ass Beta". I'm your host, M. Luder. The rules are simple: you beta me on your public journal, I beta you on mine. Then we post our finished fics on the same day.

Just remember, BaloneyGirl, You Asked For It.

"Grim Reaper" was one of the bleakest things I've ever read. Naturally I loved it. I'll give it one blanket thumb-up for plot, characterization and language, with the following exceptions:

1. Thematic unity is a little off. The opening metaphor is about the horrifying transition from life to death. The closing metaphor is about water. You need to pick one and stick with it. I'd pick the first.
   
   
2. Some of the dialogue seems forced. Gabriel's plea especially seems too whiny for him. He's a straight-shooter on the show, so don't let him pussyfoot around in your fic. Keep him honest.
   
   Mueller is a little too macho here. Of the two roles, he's more seeker than sought. Don't let him sit there and wait for people to come to him. Mueller's a go-getter, so don't make him sit in his throne of a command chair hold court on the bridge. Get him out there and involved in the action.
   
   
3. I think the internal monolog is unnecessary and confuses matters. Death is already speaking inside Gabriel's head. Adding a personified inner monolog adds an extra voice in there, and he comes off as schizophrenic. Use the 3rd person POV, filtered through Gabriel's perceptions, and communicate his thoughts that way - like you did in "Pay the Toll". That was effective, so stick with what works.
   
   
4. You were right about the tense issues. Go back to your first draft in that regard. It makes more sense that way.
   
   
5. Leave Aurora and Dani out of it. They're peripheral and soften the impact. This is a horrible, bleak, scary, wonderful story. Tell it in all its miserable glory.

That's it, BG. Great fic. Now go and make it better.

2 pals chimed in • chime away

BaloneyGirl
Re: slash and burn, nicely

You're so right about Mueller getting off his ass, and about dumping Aurora and Dani. I need to figure out about the metaphors, because something was bothering me about this thing and now I know what it is. Thanks for pointing it out. What do I owe you?

 

Luder
Re: slash and burn, nicely

You don't owe me anything except a quick rewrite. Finish that thing so I can post my monster. "Never - Ever - Say Never" needs to be off my goddamn hard drive.

minor accomplishments
Mar. 19, 2000
Mood: relieved

Monster: posted.

S: continuing to permit me to ply her with assorted Northwest microbrews.

Fish: still alive. This is a new record. [looking over shoulder at tank] There are no fewer than four perfectly healthy ichthyological life forms currently animate in my living room. Contact the media.

Headaches: haven't had one in a week. Stress must be abating.

chime away

revelations
May 9, 2000
Mood: bipolar
Music: Moby, "The Sky is Breaking"

Vacillating between bliss and unease over when the other shoe is going to drop.

I have discovered my favorite flavor on the entire planet, and it's my good fortune that it's connected intimately with my new favorite texture. Jesus, I am so far gone it's a pathology.

I need a smoke, but of course I will make do with a stand-in. Sunflower seeds: substitute of choice for the orally fixated.

As a side note, Salisbury Plain is dank and rainy. I'd forgotten about that.

3 pals chimed in • chime away

groaner
Re: revelations

It's about fucking time, you unworthy sonofabitch.

Treat her right or I'll kill you with my bare hands.

 

Lord Manhammer
Re: revelations

What he said.

 

Luder
Re: revelations

Believe me, if I did, I'd do the job myself.

Jesus, what the hell am I doing tapping away at this keyboard when she's just across town? I'm out of here.

and if my grandmother had wheels she'd be a trolleycar
May 23, 2000
Mood: wishful

The world disappeared today. When it came back, I was doing something really stupid.

This is my life defined. Even ultimate power is powerless against the big stuff.

chime away

Why is it that the right thing to do is never the good thing?
June 12, 2000
Mood: resigned

My last chance lies still and cold in the woods of Pennsylvania. With that last shot, I handed away my future to the unknown and unseen. Maybe my lack of faith has finally cost me more than I've been willing to pay. Now I find myself wishing for the capacity to believe.

I choose to look at my silence with S. not as a coward's refuge but as the preservation of unutterable joy. Every minute with her is a gift; I will not waste a single one. If I keep my counsel, she will have a few more months of pleasure. If I confess, she will have the truth she deserves, but her time with me will be mingled with dread and fear. I will not do that to her, or to myself.

In the darkness, when weakness overcomes my spirit, I mourn lives not yet fully spent. There have been so many, their losses unanswered, and my soul dies a little each day under the heavy knowledge.

One day perhaps she will reflect on these precious weeks and understand how much joy her sacrifices bought for one troubled man. Perhaps then she will lay down her head and sleep peacefully, knowing she was loved once beyond life.

no chiming

Screw you guys, I'm going home
June 17, 2000
Mood: edgy

The Rat and the Blonde showed up and now things are upside down. Now I sit alone in the same bed S. and I slept in only two nights ago, and everything feels wrong.

Tomorrow I'm supposed to leave this cabin and look for the truth. Only now I understand that I left my truth back home. My wants have dwindled to a simple set of three: life, health, and her. Screw the world. I can't save it anyway.

I want to tell her the truth and find a solution together and walk away into the sunset because I'm fucking sick of this crap. I'm tired and I want to go home. I'm thinking a three bedroom colonial in Cleveland Park. And a dog. A big, slobbery one.

Christ, I can't get home fast enough. Maybe I'll knock on the bossman's door and go out there right now. It's only a couple hours until dusk. We can get all our work done before nightfall and be home by lunch tomorrow.

Each and every puppetmaster, naysayer, blind follower, colonist, rebel, and power-mad cocksucker can kiss my lily-white ass. It's our time now. We will find a way around this medical clusterfuck and everyone else can leave us the hell alone while we do.

Christ, I wish this headache would go away.

5 pals chimed in • chime away

groaner
Re: Screw you guys, I'm going home

Go get your proof, man, and come on home. We'll keep the goddess safe until you get back, you have our word. We're already learning a lot of interesting shit about trajectory.

 

BaloneyGirl
Re: Screw you guys, I'm going home

I wish I understood all of what you've been going through, Luder, but just remember you have friends out here whenever you need us.

{{{Luder}}}

- Mandy

 

Santanitaholic
Re: Screw you guys, I'm going home

No job's worth that kind of grief, Luder. I'm with Manhammer: quit it and write full time. I'll pre-order on Amazon the second I can, and I know a few hundred others who'd do the same.

 

JaneBus
Re: Screw you guys, I'm going home

You're in my prayers, Luder. I don't know what you're up against but my thoughts are with you.

 

Anonymous (IP logged)
Re: Screw you guys, I'm going home

September 9, 2001

I have sat in front of this computer for nearly an hour, attempting to respond to this journal, wondering if I even should. Between the occasional cooing interruptions from interested passers-by, I sip at an unsatisfyingly decaffeinated nonfat mocha latte, and consider what I would have to say to you if you were here now.

I believe I would say nothing at all. I would simply place our son in your arms and watch the two of you watch each other.

W and I miss you horribly, M. I have wished for so many things over the past year, but more than anything, I wish I hadn't let you go out there without me. I wish I had been quicker to find the evidence proving I wasn't the one at risk.

We never had a chance to discuss your illness and your fear of disrupting the fragile joy we'd created, but I understand why you kept silent on the matter. I can't say I agree with your actions, but I respect the motivation.

W and I are still here, making it through day after day without you, as he grows bigger and sweeter. His eyes are mine but his frequent, brilliant smile is all yours. I see more of you in him today than I did yesterday.

Yet despite this relative calm, nothing is resolved and I feel untethered fear every day I wake without you. I fear for W's safety and for my own sanity during these long, dark days. Friends and family have gathered to help, and I love them dearly for their efforts, but none of them are you.

I know in my heart I will see you again and for that reason I am able to go on. Know this, M, wherever you are: you are needed.

The subject of this online journal, however, is a different matter. I happened across it when I finally regained possession of your computer and was stunned that you revealed so many intimate details of our relationship to utter strangers. In addition, your thinly veiled fictional retelling of serious, pivotal events from my life will only serve to increase the severity of the ass kicking you will receive when next we meet. There is a heap of trouble awaiting you over this, beloved.

S.

=====
End.

Notes:

1. Challenge elements: Mulder giving constructive criticism, slash, Mulder's fish tank, a bridge, and a blog. Nuthin' but net.
2. Thanks to Mr. Livia for "fagfiction" and for keeping Mulder from being overly decisive.
3. Beta thanks to Sybils and insipriational thanks to Beduini for the challenge in the first place.

LB