Because tokyoghoststory wanted me to do something dirtybadwrong. With Gary Mitchell. I did the best I could.

Title: Poker-face
Author: eonism
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm just here for the lulz.
Characters/Pairings: Jim Kirk/Leonard McCoy/Gary Mitchell (Star Trek XI)
Word Count: 5,632
Warnings: Threesome, potential dubious consent issues
Author's notes: Written for tokyoghoststory. Beta'd by tracker_lucifer, who held my hand every step of the way. Any other mistakes are my own.
Summary: It starts four beers in, when Jim Kirk’s fresh out of poker chips and three-hundred credits in the hole.

( I figured it out after Deneb IV, but had to see it for myself. )

*hides under the couch*

The threesome fic. She is completed. Finished. Done.

12 pages, roughly 6,000 words. Mostly catty banter, bad poker bets, blowjobs, testosterone, dubious consent, hebitchery, bloody noses, and Rebooted!Gary Mitchell owning your face.

And the worst part of it is? I'm already trying to figure out ways to do a sequel. Shit.

Lordy. The threesome fic is up to ten pages,, 4,000+ words after a two day "Wait, what the hell am I even doing?" writing hiatus. I just. I don't even know what to say for myself anymore. On another note, I'll try to finish up those comment!porn prompts at...some point. I'm sickly and my brain hurts. I make no promises.

(Although I'm kinda proud of myself on that Chekov/Sulu fic. All my smutfic this year has been about slutty little androids or dudes getting tied up or spanked or something, so, you know. Go romance!)

tokyoghoststory had this fabulous idea of doing this meme to kind of re-introduce ourselves to our friends lists. Because sometimes things change, and other times people just forget stuff, and sometimes it's nice to just get reacquainted with one another. (She cares about the sense of community like that. Isn't she nice?) So I'm going to steal it from her for my own personal enjoyment.

Please copy the topics below, erase my answers and put yours in their place, and then post it in your journal! Please elaborate on the questions that would benefit from elaboration. One-Word-Answers seldom help anyone out. (:

( 3, 2, 1, and here we go. )

I've finally overcome my fear of writing Chekov/Sulu fic. And I did it with porn.

Yeah, I don't even knows what that means, really. However, I'm stupidly happy with how it came out so I'm going to burn all your eyes with it.

Title: In closed spaces
Author: eonism
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm just here for the lulz.
Characters/Pairings: Chekov/Sulu (Star Trek XI)
Word Count: 551
Author's notes: Requested by/written for firestormroses.
Summary: Sometimes it’s good, just like this. Between shifts in their quarters, in those twilight hours between Hikaru’s coming and Pavel’s going, marked only by the computer’s tracking of the liquid passage of time in deep space.

( Whatever happens next, this, at least, will be enough. )

Burn damn you. Burn.

So. I've had too much caffeine, not enough cough medication. Instead of sleeping? I'm up making fandom icons with Lady Gaga lyrics.

Yeah.

I think it's going to take an elephant tranquilizer to put me down tonight.

Oh, Karl.

"I think the challenge is to come up with the most important mission, the mission that literally tears these people apart. The mission that is the definitive Trek mission."

Oh. Karl. You're so sexy when you're getting your nerd on. Now go tell the writers what to do. The rest of your fandom will really appreciate it.

(P.S. The way he describes the Kirk-McCoy dynamic makes me weep a little. He so gets what Shatner and Kelley did and the way the characters worked together as friends. I just. I don't even. ;3;)

I really wish that GayRoughnecks.com would stop emailing me. Look, I know I must've given you the wrong impression with my fanfiction, but seriously. Stop contacting me. I'm not buying.

(And while you're at it, please talk to Rowdy-and-rugged.com, about them sending me "pictures of bears." I don't know what kind of bears they're talking about, but I'm not interested. The websites they sell your name to when you sign up for shit online, I swear.)

Today, I swear. After I'm done feeling like twice-warmed death, I'll get off my ass and go write something.

Yeah okay so I'm sick again. And am also incoherent, apparently. So much so that I should not be allowed to talk to people on the internet. Allegedly my points just dissolve into a lot of gibbering that gets me accused of racism, or sexism, or just being a mean vagina-hating slash fangirl.

I dunno. If anybody needs me, I'll just be over here. Dying. Again.

"The first day we worked together, there was a chemistry there that hopefully we'll get to explore."

-- Chris Pine, regarding Karl Urban.

I think I less than three'd all over myself. Not going to lie. Yeah I know the entire planet has already seen all these extras. Shut up. I'm American and I'm behind the curve.

Also, the "Same ship, different day" take, after the "Buckle up" bridge back-slap? Yeah I kind of wish they'd kept that line. It would've been hilarious.

( Some more random thoughts, regarding deleted scenes and such. )

Also, for the record, I did not realize Clifton Collins, Jr. was Nero's second-in-command until like, two days ago. This just blows my mind. I can't believe I didn't recognize him in Boondock Saints II, especially after seeing Star Trek seven freaking times in theaters. The image of him as Romeo is now burned into my retinas.

(And no, no BDS/Star Trek AU fic, you guys. Put your pens down.)

I probably need to stop listening to Lady GaGa when I'm writing Star Trek fic. I dunno. I think it's starting to mess with my head-canon, to be honest with you. Because you know, Klingons can't read Kirk's p-p-poker-face. Also Bad Romance has become, like, a flagship song for a few fics now, and I don't know why.

(Other than it being an awesome song, not gonna lie. And I really have no idea why I have so many fic-irons in the fic-fire. I wasn't very happy with the last round of stuff I posted and feel like I need to make up for it. Or something. Shrug.)

Oh, Star Trek DVD special features. Mmmn. They make me feel all warm inside. I'll have to go through the rest of them tomorrow though. I do have to sleep some time tonight.

Dear America,

It's finally here. The day we too get to own a shiny and delicious special edition of Star Trek on Bluray and DVD.



But the question is this: Do I waste my entire day and go to school, or do I just lay here in my pajamas and spoon with my DVD, basking in the afterglow of its arrival? I mean, because, seriously. What has school ever really done for me?

I had a good weekend, I'm enrolled for the spring semester, I may have found a venue and an enthusiastic editor for a story that I haven't even finished yet (I'll give you a spoiler: it's an anthology), and Star Trek comes out tomorrow.

If anybody needs me, I'll be over here cooking breakfast and just not giving a good god damn about today.

I have just returned from my pilgrimage to Arlington in the rain to partake of Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day. This film? It's basically the greatest thing I've ever seen in my life. If you saw someone vibrating out of Three Parks Mall, don't be alarmed: it was only me, in the throes of pure nerdy bliss.

My life is greatly improved by this movie simply existing. Now if you'll excuse me, brb. Writing Connor/Murphy porn forever.

So um. I'd hate to say it, but this fic has gone from "Hay, Academy Jim/Bones sexytimes plus some fun Nu!Gary Mitchell! :)" to "Nu!Gary Mitchell is a dirty fucking bastard who needs to be spanked and Jim/Bones are so screwed and they don't even know it yet, D:"

*boggles*

Also, brb, head-casting. I need a Nu!Gary icon. Stupid sexy bastard.

Me: I'm kind of emotionally distraught.
My dad: Why?
Me: I don't have enough money to take all the classes I want to take this semester. Which means I'm stuck there for one more semester than I want to be. Which makes me emotionally distraught.
My dad: Great. That means you'll have more free-time to come work for me after the first of the year, :D
Me: ...

...

*climbs over counter and punches him in the face*

So my dad wants me to come work for him in February-ish. Regardless of, like, my own hopes and dreams and plans and uh. Other stuff. I mean, yes, I'd like to leave customer service if at all possible, but not at the expense of dropping out of school. Which I already pay for. By myself. Without his help.

So yeah.

In any case. You seen this icon? Goddamn. I could stare at a bruised Chris Pine all day long. SLAP THAT AROUND AND BREAK ME OFF A PIECE.

So who was in Dallas on Friday the 13th, in black ass-kicker boots and red lipstick, while Rob Zombie was recording tracks for a new live album?

Oh wait, that would be me. (Yes, I know. I'd be jealous of me too.)

On a similiar note, you know when you've been to a great rock show when you wake up bruised the next morning. Ow, my ribs. Also -- ow, my legs. Shouldn't try to dance to psychobilly when pressed into the rails.

Making duplicates of myself at will. I'd send one to work, one to school, make three write stories all day and I would just sit on my ass watching Star Trek.

Me. Dallas. Tonight. An intimate evening with Rob Zombie at the Palladium Ballroom.



Oh my god, you guys just don't even know.

So I had to make a fictional five list for Girl Talk Thursday (according to tokyoghoststory anyway). It was kinda hard to do, too.

Here, I'll give you a hint.

“Well then what is it going to be, Kirk?” Gary looks ridiculously smug, and it kind of pisses Jim off. “If you don’t have anything, fold now and get out of the way.”

Looking to his left, Bones is giving him the face. The You’re an idiot and you can’t be helped but that’s okay face that tells him to sit this one out. Instead, Jim licks his bottom lip and lifts his brow coolly.

“Name it,” he says. “Whatever you want. If I lose this hand, I’ll do it, no questions asked.”

Across the table, Gary smirks slowly. Beside him, Bones’ face tightens.

This is me, in my special handbasket. Hopefully I'll get this one done by tomorrow morning before I go to Dallas. Along with more comment!fic.

I was just crying about writer's block and crappy ideas the other day. Then I get through half of the request comment fics, and now I have, like, an entire story planned about an Academy-era threesome between Kirk, McCoy and Gary Mitchell involving a poker game and the use of sexual favors as currency when Kirk runs out of poker chips.

*headdesk*