X-Men PWP: Collision (Jean/Emma)

Title: Collision
Fandom: X-Men
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,111
Author’s Note: Written for porn battle, prompt: collision
Characters/Pairings: Emma/Jean
Summary: The dildo’s in both of them, thick and almost too hard, but neither of them will show it. They just let it fuck between them like they’re fighting instead of having sex.

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Reviews of things I've already seen

TNG episode: Yesterday's Enterprise

Smart move having Wesley still be a crewmember in the alternate universe. "Universe devastated by war, billions dead, is Wesley not piloting the flagship? Fine by me."

TNG episode: Deja Q

Man, I forgot how awesome Q episodes were. Like Bob Hope on the Tonight Show, every so often he pops up, does his schtick, and it's just a real treat all around. John DeLancie's Q is one of those rare confluences of actor and character that can make a bad story good and a good story great. And the best part is he never got overexposed like Spike or Wolverine, at least not until Voyager. I am so hoping he shows up in Star Trek 2.

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl

Okay, so Jack Sparrow has two principle revelations in this movie. How much he fucking hates Barbossa and that he's a pirate and a good man. Both were rolled back in the sequels for more of the same, only bigger and louder and with more swordfights. Sure, you could say he just loved the Black Pearl enough to want his ship back that much, but you don't carry around a Significantly Ominous pistol for ten years just because you feel meh about someone.

Of course, by the time AWE rolled around, everyone was an untrustworthy asshole and Jack was too comic relief-y to hold a grudge against the man who marooned him (seriously, who would've guessed that the biggest consequence of Jack Sparrow and his arch-nemesis having to work together would be a dick joke?), so there was really no point in Barbossa coming back except to serve as an epitome of the series' obsession with running gags.

Transformers

I still can't get over that people ship Sam Witwicki and Bumblebee. And I refuse to consider what kind of Gigeresque monstrosity might pass for an anus among Transformers.

Coming soon (no, I mean it)

So, recently I cracked the third act of the epic Smallville AU and to celebrate (and because I'm still worried about how jazzed fandom is about the prospect of Chloe/Davis, even if I promise it doesn't end with Jimmy getting murdered... well, especially if I promise it doesn't end with Jimmy getting murdered) I thought I'd post a little excerpt. You know, like a trailer, just without the cool music that you kinda recognize but it bugs you all day when you can't remember where it's from. So, without further adieu or more than two parenthetical asides (I have a problem, I know I do), here's an excerpt from What Comes Around (title pending).

*******

One of the doors has a keypad, like a tumor of the cancer invading his home, taking his father away. He knows the code is either Mom’s birthday or Julian’s, and it turns out to be Julian’s. Inside is a disappointment. There’s a cage and a baby. It’s odd, but his boyish mind had given him images of space aliens and mythological beasts, a slimy creature that has replaced or is controlling his real father. Something he can kill.

The toddler is crying. It, he, stops for a moment to notice Lex, his blue eyes like some rare mineral unearthed in this mine. Turquoise or sapphire. He’s jolted out of his attempt to reconcile his fantasies of intrigue with this mild creature when the toddler starts crying at the top of his lungs. Lex runs and doesn’t stop until he’s in his room, pulling back the dust cover on his bed as if he’ll hide under it. Like a child. Like a weak child.

He digs into his closet, tears burning his eyes as he shunts away his mother’s things, his precious hoard of memories, to get to the preschool toys. Bright colors, rounded edges. No wonder he outgrew them.

Lex gathers them up in a backpack, smuggles them down to the toddler. He wastes a good hour seeing how the thing responds to each toy. The toddler seems to figure them out quickly, boring of some and arranging the others in a shape that evolves from an S to an hourglass to an 8. The toddler’s joy is infectious too, his eyes so pure and unjudgmental. Lex tries to convince himself he’s not having fun playing Sesame Street games with a baby. He fails.

“And that’s Warrior Angel,” Lex says, turning the page for the toddler, then leaning forward until all he can see is those blue eyes. “I’m gonna be just like him when I grow up.”

“Is that so?” His father’s voice is warm, but Lex can guess that’s more for the toddler’s benefit than his. He knows with his father, warmth is just an absence of cold, something to dazzle the press. Something that died with Mom. “What are you doing down here, Lex?”