fierynotes: Picture of Destruction, from the Sandman series, reading a book and slinging a guitar. (Default)
This is my front page. If you want me to add you, drop me a line here. Or, add me. Either way, I'll check you out. You can also drop me a line here if, for instance, you don't have my email address. All comments here are screened.

This post also includes every tag I have -- this is because my current LJ style doesn't include a tag index. (At least half of my participation on LJ is on my phone. I chose this style because, as bare-bones as it is, it loads quickly and it's still readable on a small screen.)

I'd tell you more about myself, but that's what my profile -- and the rest of my LJ -- is for.
fierynotes: Picture of a black sockpuppet. (footsie)
Those of you with great solemn reverence for the classics may with to avoid this fic. It starts off horrible -- the title is Latin for "Cicero sucks me off" -- and promptly drives off several cliffs. Many thanks to the person who sent me the link (if they want credit for it).

(My Latin grammar is really questionable, but I think my title says "I will die and be consumed by fire because I laughed.")
fierynotes: Picture of Discord. (discord)
That's Not an Acceptable Form of Lube: a celebration of all the bad choices of lube that make it into fanfic. My favorite one was this one (Warning: unbelievably gross). It inspired me a bit, since that one appeared in a Sweeney Todd fic...

Cut because OMFGross. )

I should add, in all fairness, that the variety of stuff that gets misused as lube in real life is also a little disturbing. In one section of his Sex Tips for Slash Writers, Minotaur came up with a list... (NSFW, squicky).
fierynotes: Picture of a black sockpuppet. (footsie)
Following are four short snippets detailing the secret lives of clothes: some sexy underwear belonging to a really tough female lawyer, a very nice business suit, a skater punk's jeans, and the same skater punk's underwear.



I have the best job in the world: making this beautiful lawyer feel sexy. She puts me on, she admires how I hug her curves... and then, she puts on a business suit. No one has ever seen her wear me, except for her. I kinda like that, actually. I get to be her dirty little secret.

In the legal world, she takes no prisoners. She's surrounded by men in suits, most of whom are tempted to take her less seriously because she's a beautiful woman, and she has to remind them, regularly, that she's just as tough as they are if not more so.

She has a soft side, though. She wishes she didn't have to do that. She wishes that she could afford to be human in the courtroom and not have it be seen as a show of weakness. But for now, she has me.

Well, there is that one guy who wears custom-made suits. He's always been kind and respectful to her, and holy crap, look at his shoulders! I wonder if my owner will ever show him my lacy bits? Or even her racy bits? Probably not. I've seen him sneak glances at other suits.

I wonder if she'll ever show my lacy bits to anyone. I know she's lonely, but her job eats up nearly every bit of time she has, and who's she gonna date, one of those assholes at work? Let's be serious.

She makes do, though. I'd tell you about her toy collection, but like me, it's her little secret.



I lead a very pampered life. But then again, when you consider that my owner paid several thousand dollars to have me constructed just for him, you might expect that. Every few days, I'm awakened from my nap on a nice padded hanger, and given a mission: to help him face the world. And I do it well. I help him impress people. I give him a flattering silhouette. (He's actually in good shape, but he's just a bit soft around the belly. I draw people's attention away from that, and up to his shoulders. You mustn't tell anyone!) And at the end of the day, he'll take me off meticulously and put me back on my nice padded hanger. Tomorrow, one of my three brothers-in-armoire will serve him as faithfully as I do today.

Wait, what's this? He's looking at some skater punk while he's at the gym? Jeez, look at the state of those jeans. Torn to shreds in places, faded, and way too tight. No freedom of movement at all. And are those stains I see? Yuk!

...Still, that guy does look comfortable. I'm sure that denim is really soft from having been distressed so much. And it leaves no doubt as to what kind of rear end he has; he's clearly no stranger to the squat rack. And holy crap, it outlines his penis! How shameless -- where I come from, clothes are not supposed to show their owner's genitals so clearly! You can practically tell that this punk is Jewish!

What is this, Lady and the Tramp? I'm not supposed to want this... but I wonder what it would be like to be hastily thrown on the floor, with those scruffy jeans thrown just as hastily on top of me. I bet they're really soft. I bet all those loose threads tickle. I bet their weight is just perfect...



I'm not the happiest pair of jeans around.

Once upon a time, I was in the Women's section of a department store, minding my own business, waiting for some slinky college girl to pick me up... but in case you hadn't heard, there's this trend in certain circles for skinny guys to buy their jeans in Ladies. So, here I am, on a skater dude's ass. And have I mentioned that his hygiene is not the best?

I'm not happy about this. I have several good friends who are happy that it was a guy who picked them out of Ladies, but I was meant to be a woman's pair of skinny jeans.

Still, this isn't all bad. Every Sunday, all my friends and I have this magical experience together. For about fifteen minutes, we are all thrown against each other in hot water... and if you've never felt anything like it, I can't really do it justice. If I had to try, though... try to imagine something that has all the best features of a jacuzzi, an orgy, and a mosh-pit all at once. As long as my owner doesn't throw his spiked belt in by mistake. That spiked belt's an asshole.



Dammit! This is so degrading!

Is it really that damn hard for humans to wipe their asses properly when they pinch off a loaf?

Because lemme tell you, my owner still hasn't mastered this. And I bear the stripes of shame to prove it.

Fuck my life.
fierynotes: Picture of Arsenal, from DC comics, who clearly sees something he likes. (leers)
I offer you all two crossover fics.

Stolen from [livejournal.com profile] ms_daisy_cutter: Hi, I'm Captain Jack Harkness. Our favorite omnisexual gets in the Millennium Falcon. Warning: contains wookiee sex.

Stolen from [livejournal.com profile] caprine: No Reservations: Narnia. Anthony Bourdain finds himself trying all sorts of new foods. Warning: contains Anthony Bourdain.
fierynotes: Picture of a B diminished 7th chord (B, D, F, A flat) followed by an inversion, in flames. (Bdim7)
These days, you can't throw a dead cat on the internet without hitting slashfic. In particular, I've seen a lot of RPS (real person slash) involving members of trendy bands: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, and so on.

In the eighties, slash was much harder to come by, but make no mistake, it existed. What I'm wondering is, was there bandslash featuring, say, Joey Tempest and Jon Bon Jovi? Was there fembandslash featuring Lita Ford and Doro Pesch?

And if not, WHY NOT?
fierynotes: Picture of Daimon, from Marvel comics, without a shirt.  'Look at me, I have muscles!' (flirty)
"Do you, Joseph Scott, take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?"

"I do."

"And do you, Andrea Miller, take this man to be your lawful weeded husband, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?"

"I do," said my soon-to-be wife.

The preacher beamed at us both. "If there is anyone who believes there is a reason why these two should not be wed, let them speak now or forever hold your peace."

After a moment of silence, the church door opened with a bang, and a shirtless man in tight black pants and suspenders stood in the doorway with a saxophone. And then he started to play.

It took the minister and the best man together to keep me from killing him on the spot.



"Dearly beloved, we are here to honor the memory of Lucas Twain, who died peacefully in his sleep on June tenth of this year. He was a great man, who shed light on the lives of all who had the privilege of knowing him."

My heart was a stone, but only because I dared not speak for fear of bawling. I wasn't one of his family, but this was the guy who'd helped my claw my way out of heroin addiction. There was a lot of screaming and vomiting involved, but he stuck with me, and made me stick with it. We'd been close ever since.

How many other people at this memorial had he helped like that? Most of them, I'm willing to bet.

Wait, am I hearing sax music? I'm not having a flashback, am I?

I looked around. The good news was that it wasn't a flashback. Everyone else was seeing the same thing I was: a beanpole with a saxophone barging in on our funeral. The bad news is they were starting to riot. The priest was at least calling the police, which may have been the thing that saved that jerk's life.



Jake and I have been cellmates for three months. Three months is a long time to have to go without getting laid, and while we're both straight, we're both horny, too. Two weeks ago, we finally decided we had to do something before we started going crazy. We've been taking turns on the top and bottom ever since. Tonight, it's Jake's turn on top.

"Okay, here's one finger," Jake said, teasing me.

"Are you going to do something back there, or just think it to death?" I growled.

"Come on, haven't you heard of foreplay?"

"Dude, just stick it in before I break it off."

"Okay, okay," he groaned, pulling down his pants. Before he had a chance to do anything beyond that, we heard a sax line from the cell next to ours.

Jake exploded. "If you don't stop playing that fucking thing, I'm gonna shove it so far up your ass you'll be shitting brass for a year!"
fierynotes: Picture of a black sockpuppet. (footsie)
Over in an anonymeme, the person in charge decided to ban the phrase "White Dick." Personally, I'm offended. After all, I have one, and it can't help its color any more than I can help mine.

So, as usually happens when something gets banned in an anonymeme, it... ahem, comes up a lot more. In this case, a lot of people had way too much fun coming up with nicknames for light-colored male reproductive organs.

Pale penis. Fair phallus. Wan willy. Milk manshaft. Moonskinned rocketship. Bleach-blond beef bayonet. (Try saying that three times fast.) Pearly pork sword. Lily lingam. Hoary hand banana. Alabaster ass blaster. Ashen assbanjo. Bleached blanc-mange launcher. Bone-hued bell-end. Caucasoid creamsicle. Dove-colored dribbledart. #FFFFFF fuckstick. Frost-hued flesh piston. Linen-colored love log. Magnolia man-meat. Platinum pleasure plunger. Vanilla veiny. Waxen winky.

My favorite is easily "#FFFFFF fuckstick."

(I have a few friends in the anonymeme in question, some of whom no doubt contributed to that list, but unless one or more of them step up and take credit in the comments, I'm not going to mention them by name here.)


And, as bonus content dug up by [personal profile] ms_daisy_cutter, a short slashy drabble involving Captain Kirk and a Pokemon. I found it hilarious, but of course I would...

Text here. It's only 175 words, what can it hurt? Pika pika! )

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fierynotes: Picture of Destruction, from the Sandman series, reading a book and slinging a guitar. (Default)
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