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[personal profile] stardate64783
Title: The Ballad of DreamJournal
Fandom: ...I don't even. Blogosphere?
Notes: I don't own them. Good lord, I hope I don't.
Summary: I.J. throws an insane party, D.W. has a thesis to work on, and L.J. may just pull himself out of a rut.

"D.W., the point of a party is to relax, so relax already!"

D.W. looked up from staring into her red solo cup and frowned from behind her glasses. "I.J., I've got to work on my thesis. And my research is due at the end of the month. And I've got papers to grade. Crap, I shouldn't have come," she grumbled, tucking a few strands of red hair behind her ear. She quickly polished off her cup. "Sorry, I've got to go."

"No, no. No, no, no, I've worked too hard for too long to pull you out of that disgusting grad student hell for you to retreat after an hour." Immediately, the brunet set down his cup and hooked arms with her. "Come on. I've got people to introduce you to. You know how to talk to people, right? Of course you do." I.J. didn't leave room for her to speak as he began to guide her through the different groups of people that were hanging around.

Xanga was chatting with MySpace. Both were child stars that burned out too quickly when the masses decided that something else was far more exciting. Facebook batted his blue eyes to dozens of aspiring apps and gave a dashing smile that had Words with Friends practically swooning into her drink (don't tell her mom: Scrabble). Friendster lingered nearby, quietly seething in jealousy. LinkedIn was already networking, trying to get this person to join that department. They were nice, D.W. supposed. But social media wasn't really worth her time.

"This is Tumblr and deviantArt, if the others were too mainstream for you," I.J. was saying. Tumblr with her NyanCat shirt was laughing wildly and going on and on about the social injustices of the world while deviantArt tried to trace over something.

"I.J., I mean it. I need to get out of here. I've got a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it in," D.W. insisted. She threw the plastic cup into a trash can and reached for her coat on the coat hanger by the door of I.J.'s apartment.

"Idle chatter is what all of that is. No sustenance to them whatsoever," came a tired voice. D.W. looked over and saw someone who smelled like he was in dire need of a shower and had seen better days with his ragged dark locks and unshaven chin. The ratty flannel shirt was barely hanging on his thin frame. D.W. sat down, already interested. He looked like there was life in those eyes once, but not any longer. "I used to be hot just like all of them before any of them were even a single line of code." American but there was a hint of Russian in his speech.

"Shit, L.J., you shouldn't pop up like that, no one's gonna know where the hell you are if you don't speak up." I.J. came over and L.J. snorted, taking a long drink from his beer. "Dreamwidth. This hot mess is Livejournal." He lowered his voice before continuing, "Used to be a brilliant professor of something, got transferred to some University in Siberia or Moscow or something. Said something bad went down and had to come back. But barely."

"I can hear you whispering even if you think you're insane, I.J." A glower and D.W. found herself sitting down by him. "People still talk when I'm around." Already, she was beginning to formulate a plan, a pet project of sorts. To bring L.J. back to his former glory. Or maybe something like that. He was still brilliant. People still wanted to listen to him, talk with him.

Her research was solid, everything she did was solid, right down to the last details in her life. But...interpersonal communication was something she lacked. D.W. sat and attempted to converse with him for the rest of the night, with L.J. leading and guiding her from topic to topic. She ended up staying until the late hours.

It was slow. But she managed to get him a position back at the university. For him to work with the department of communications as an adjunct professor. D.W. got him soaps. Shampoos. They often graded papers at his apartment, which slowly began to get cleaner and cleaner, the more time she spent there. He began to smile more, become more animated. There were dark moments, still, when he crashed, when he hung up and went into that space that his time in the cold could only barely explain. But she waited him out, drew him out as best as she could.

One night, after between glasses of vodka and chardonnay, D.W. found herself giggling with her legs in his lap. Their papers and books were abandoned on the floor and they had gone for the couch and laughing about literary devices and their misuse in supposedly deep projects. She leaned close. Closer still. L.J. reached for her and pulled her into a kiss.

"D.W., wanna do something spontaneous?" he whispered against her lips.

"Yes," she whispered.

He led her to the bedroom and she could feel herself getting more and more excited. She helped bring him back, helped bring him to this wonderful person that was caressing her, touching her, causing her to gasp and sigh. The morning came and D.W. cuddled up to him underneath the sheets. With the rise of the sun, came a newer lease on life. And when he woke up and drew her closer, she knew her time and effort was worth it.

Several months later, she passed her dissertation. The morning of her ceremony, she felt sick and accredited the prayer to the porcelain gods with eating some bad Thai food. L.J. was there, every bit the proud and happy boyfriend. I.J. was there as well, hooting and hollering in the back. The next day, though, she was throwing up again.

And again.

And a trip to the doctor's told them they were expecting a new addition.

So when the baby was placed in her arms, D.W. beamed and looked up at an astounded L.J. "What are we gonna call her?" he whispered. It seemed that L.J. couldn't speak to the baby in anything more than a whispered voice.

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November 2013


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