no, seriously

Part 2

Part 1

Original Fiction
Rating: NC-17 and three-quarters
Warnings: Slash, slight age difference, teacher/student (in a monk sort of context), uncomfortable conflation of sexuality and religion (though seriously not Christianity)
Summary: Sebastien is a monk, famed for denying his flesh in his worship of God. His new acolyte Jean-Benedicte is not so strong.



( A month later, two things happened: )

Part 1

Part 2

Original Fiction
Rating: NC-17 and a half
Warnings: Slash, slight age difference, teacher/student (in a monk sort of context), uncomfortable conflation of sexuality and religion (though seriously not Christianity)
Summary: Sebastien is a monk, famed for denying his flesh in his worship of God. His new acolyte Jean-Benedicte is not so strong.



( All men are priests in the eyes of God. )

Fandom: Narnia
Pairing: Uh... there's some Peter/Susan and just general all around inappropriate tension
Rating: PG-13 (oh my gaaawd call somebody, call an ambulance)
Warnings: Incest, offscreen. Also holy crap, depressing.
Summary: Basically, if you think about anything in Narnia for very long, it's horribly sad and unjust and heartbreaking. And I don't know how to write meta without making it into fic.

( if you see a white stag, don't chase it )

Subroutines
Part 2 of 3 (shut upppp this always happens)

Fandom: Star Trek TNG
Pairing: Wesley/Riker
Rating: NC-17 (yeah, do I write anything else?)
Warnings: I'm just assuming that Wesley is at least 17, because that's legal in Texas. The exact number's not explicitly stated, but obviously there's a fair age gap.
Word count: 2,630
Disclaimer: Everybody in this story belongs to whoever owns TNG, and I'm pretty sure this wouldn't make it as an episode.
Summary: For fadsforwhatever, who somehow convinced me to write the crackiest possible pairing. Please don't judge me. (Or, okay, judge me, but wait until you've read it to pee yourself laughing and reach for the rotten tomatoes.)

Part 1 is here.




( He tries at first to act like nothing happened. )

A beanup is kind of like a meetup, but with beans.

Thursday night: arrived at airport in hooker clothes, including thigh-high stockings & heels. Horrified beedlebarg's family. Awww yeah.

I... don't remember much of that night. I think I was jetlagged from the one-hour difference. Uh. Pretty much we all hung out & talked & had dinner & I passed out like the so-cool mofo I am, oh and we watched Scott Pilgrim and Beedle/Ami was SO SICK. SO SICK, YOU GUYS.



Which leads us to Friday morning, upon which I woke up at the crack of noon (oops) and staggered downstairs to find everyone waiting on me to go to Kennedy Space Center, except for Ami who was SO SICK. She had to stay home & spend the day writing while I gallivanted off to Cape Canaveral for a rocket-powered lark.

KSC WAS SO FUCKING COOL. NEARLY VOMITED MULTIPLE TIMES WITH DELIGHT. STILL KIND OF LOSING MY MIND OVER IT. GUYS IDEK, I HOPE KEVIN PROCESSES THOSE PICTURES SOON

Then came home, had dinner & wine with the manfolks, discussed politics and retail because we are all awesome, and went upstairs & got in bed with Ami. NOT LIKE THAT YOU PERVS, REMEMBER, SHE WAS SO SICK AND ALSO BB WAS IN BED BESIDE HER. I just took her computer away from her, read her as-yet half-written K/S fic, and spontaneously orgasmed about fifty times while crying tears made of my own cerebro-spinal fluid.

Then I passed out again.



Then: SATURDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY. Slept in AGAIN, because I have no social graces, took the world's longest shower (forgot to pack conditioner, bar soap, scrubby pouf, or deodorant, fuck yeah) & hauled off to Wal-Mart Land for supplies.

Afterward Ami made basically all the best food possible while I tried to make brownies without eggs, to no avail, and then realized that WHERE THE FUCK WAS halfbreedchild, WAS SHE DEAD ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD? So we texted her a lot: BRING US EGGS, VANESSA, COME TO US, VANESSA, WE WANT TO ASSIMILATE YOU

Turns out she was locked out of her car. Like... six miles away. Fortunately ewinfic arrived just then, so after screaming like idiots and throwing ourselves around the house in paroxysms of delight, we went to get Vanessa. We just barely made it before the locksmith left, so we had just enough time to run around screeching & for Erin (a fancy word for Ewin) to get her head bitten by a fake shark.

Then we returned to the domicile ONLY TO FIND THAT the_deep_magic HAD PRECEDED US. She and Erin had hair wars, because they both have just incredibly long gorgeous hair, and we settled in for a long delirious night of wine, hummus (ERIN: THE BRINGER OF AMAZING HUMMUS AND MANY OTHER DELECTABLE THINGS), and then OH MY GOD THE FRONT DOOR OPENED AND IT WAS 1lostone! Perfect timing too because I was busy ignoring Sasan's adorable televised antics in favor of reading her panty-igniting fic, so the moment I finished I basically jumped in her lap.

Thus the full complement coalesced: me, Ami, Erin, Vanessa, Rachel, and Jess. We stayed up way too late. Like... way too late. I don't even remember everything that happened. I know we ate cheesecake brownies, and that we started trying to watch STXI only to discover that our incoherent screaming drowned everything out, and that Ami wrangled with the hateful DVD-playing device until it finally submitted to her, and that I had my first gin & tonic (limey!), and... wow, there was a lot of stuff.

I also word-vomited about health & nursing, no doubt to everyone's undying horror, and then (to my eternal shame) hit on withthepilot during a conference call, failed to disrobe at all, and discovered that what I had previously considered 'drunk' was actually 'not drunk'. Or maybe just 'mildly drunk'. Or possibly 'most annoying human alive'. Anyway when I went to sleep that night I dreamed about what the morrow would bring, and my unconscious mind supplied me with hypotheses about going to Wal-Mart, slipping out the back door of Wal-Mart, and being in Yellowstone trying to find Rachel's lost suitcase in one of about thirty cabins before the sun went down and we couldn't see the park sights anymore... okay obviously that's a dream, because it makes no sense.




SUNDAY WAS AMAZE. At this point I began to be horribly sick, apparently having picked up Ami's plague, but the wondrous delight of Beanup still held me mostly upright. We lounged about, eating Erin's AMAZING INCREDIBLE SELECTION OF CHEESE OH MY GOD I STILL CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT IT, sleeping on top of each other, putting Rachel up to unspeakable porn writing, and annoying the hell out of Ami, who was busy writing SCORCHING PORN. (Do we begin to detect a theme?)

I forced Ami to look up one of the most horrifying Poser-illustrated 'erotic' stories on the Internet (it's called The Candy and if you really think you want a link I'll provide), then did a live performance of legolas by laura to my immortal chagrin (yeah that's a twilight reference AND a HP trollfic reference tacked on the end of some legendary LotR badfic, go me), then basked in the glory of being surrounded by some of the most awesome people in fandom.

I also might have horrendously molested Vanessa. God, I'm sorry, Vanessa. I hope all that will grow back. D:

Then we all went out toward the pool & Erin actually got in it despite it being colder than liquid nitrogen. Jess got in up to her shins and then went 'oh god no' and backed away, wisely. (Case in point: Erin is tougher than Batman. Er, not that Jess is Batman, just that even Batman would have wimped out of that berg-crusted arctic water. UNLESS JESS IS BATMAN, AND IN THAT INSTANCE, JESS, I HOPE YOU'D LET ME KNOW.) I put on the most embarrassing bikini ever and fell asleep by the pool (THE AIR THERE IS AMAAAAAAAAAAAZING, ERIN AND I BOTH FIXATED ON THIS FACT LIKE MAJOR STONER DUDES).

I awoke to shrieking. Apparently while I was lying there drooling all over myself, Erin posted HRRRRRNGH-LICIOUS BUTTFUZZ PORN, which we all read and went into convulsions over, I'm pretty sure I actually slapped Ami like a fishwife in my delight. SERIOUSLY THE PRODUCTIVITY THIS WEEKEND, WHAT ON EARTH

At this point, sick was beginning to catch up with me, and my face was probably glassy & slack from the intensity of my focus on NOT DYING OF PLAGUE. At some point my nose began to flow like a faucet, and I demurely swallowed about a gallon of my own dilute nasal mucus before my stomach went 'WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT' and offered up its own complaints. (AREN'T YOU GUYS GLAD I TELL YOU THESE THINGS)

Jess had to leave early, because of this weird thing she had going on called 'real life' (seriously, it sounds terminal), and after that we just descended into a wretched spiral of clinging & porn. Packing up my stuff to go was almost physically painful. YOU GUYS I MISS ALL OF YOU SO MUCH AND I CAN'T BELIEVE THE TIME PASSED SO QUICKLY AND I WILL TREASURE EVERY HUG AND SQUEAL AND GROPE. A THOUSAND CRYS

After that, Erin drove me to the airport, and we listened to good music, watched the rocket launch, and discovered that you CANNOT DRIVE TWELVE FEET IN FLORIDA WITHOUT GETTING YOUR ASS TOLLED OFF. LIKE, CASH IN YOUR MORTGAGE, FOLKS, WE'RE DRIVING TO WAL-MART.

Then I got on a plane and flew a bunch of miles & landed in Texas & had to wait an hour for Kevin to get off work & fetch me, and then I went to the hospital and wrote up my patients for the next day & went to Wal-Mart and got food (because we were out) and medicine (because Kevin is sick too) and got home finally and did my paperwork and made some chicken noodle soup (which I ate for the next six meals) and finally finally finally fell facefirst into bed.

GUYS I CANNOT WAIT FOR NEXT YEAR. CANNOT. FUCKING. WAIT.

Matthew links me to a picture entitled: "Name The Brand."






"Oh," I say, not really getting it, because I don't know jack shit about cars, nor do I care.

Matthew continues:






I guess this is a picture of the front end of a car. The point is, to Matthew, cars all look like this:





Or this:








Ladies and gentlemen, my brother-in-law.

nolikereally

I THINK MY BRAIN WAS JUST WHIPLASHED

fadsforwhatever

LADYBONER = GONE

nolikereally

BECAUSE YOU'RE ALL LIKE 'HERE LET ME JUST DESCRIBE TO YOU A HYPOTHETICAL STORY IN WHICH ALL OF YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE AND BY THE WAY, ~DADDY~'

( ”CUT )

Matthew says:




here is how I grew up:


one male role model: relaxed, nerdy, sensitive to animals, compulsive jokester


about a bajillion self-reliant, assertive, world-wise female role models


the idea that women should be subservient in any way was entirely alien to me until high school, when kids start to really try to sort things out the way their daddies told them


it made me dislike just about everyone around me because I knew I had nothing in common with that culture


so, my mommy and daddy didn't raise no texan


but of course guys who are raised that way are going to perpetuate it


it's a pretty sweet deal for them


as long as you don't give a crap about your lady's feelings or ambitions


so you gotta teach 'em from an early age that they are inconsequential, "little girl" stuff


they're little girls until they become appliances


the world would be so much better if people didn't think they were entitled to sex.



______________________________________________________


I alternately want to hug him, build a shrine to him, and throw him in a naked lube-wrestling pit with a horde of lithe nymphs who appreciate artistic ability and beards.

Subroutines
Part 1 of 2

Fandom: Star Trek TNG
Pairing: Wesley/Riker
Rating: NC-17 (yeah, do I write anything else?)
Warnings: I'm just assuming that Wesley is at least 17, because that's legal in Texas. The exact number's not explicitly stated, but obviously there's a fair age gap.
Word count: 2,178
Disclaimer: Everybody in this story belongs to whoever owns TNG, and I'm pretty sure this wouldn't make it as an episode.
Summary: For fadsforwhatever, who somehow convinced me to write the crackiest possible pairing. Please don't judge me. (Or, okay, judge me, but wait until you've read it to pee yourself laughing and reach for the rotten tomatoes.)



( Wesley is a smart kid. )

Like

Pairing: Anton/Anton's imaginary twin brother
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Twincest, possible underagedness (but I'll just pretend they're 17)
Word count: 2,831
Disclaimer: Obviously these are not the real people, especially because Anton doesn't have a younger brother.
Summary: For garden_hoe21's prompt, and because she is dead sexy.



( Anton is cleaning his gun, crosslegged on the bed. )