Title: The Glass Man
Fic Rating: NC-17
Bit Rating: PG
Summary: Spaceships and robots and secks, oh my!
Warning: AU BAD!FIC. Utter ridiculous crack. Bad accents, Mary Stues, Gary Stues, odd names, bad geography, no humor, gaping plot-holes, blatant plot devices, unbelievable events, tedious backstory, and eventual secks for weird reasons. Feel free to abuse in comments.


1 Bit , 2 Bit, 3 Bit, 4 Bit, 5 Bit, 6 Bit, 7 Bit, 8 Bit, 9 Bit, 10.1 Bit, 10.2 Bit

Title: The Glass Man
Fic Rating: NC-17
Bit Rating: PG
Summary: Spaceships and robots and secks, oh my!
Warning: AU BAD!FIC. Utter ridiculous crack. Bad accents, Mary Stues, Gary Stues, odd names, bad geography, no humor, gaping plot-holes, blatant plot devices, unbelievable events, tedious backstory, and eventual secks for weird reasons. Feel free to abuse in comments.


1 Bit , 2 Bit, 3 Bit, 4 Bit, 5 Bit, 6 Bit, 7 Bit, 8 Bit, 9 Bit, 10.1 Bit

Title: The Glass Man
Fic Rating: NC-17
Bit Rating: NC-17
Summary: Spaceships and robots and secks, oh my!
Warning: AU BAD!FIC. Utter ridiculous crack. Bad accents, Mary Stues, Gary Stues, odd names, bad geography, no humor, gaping plot-holes, blatant plot devices, unbelievable events, tedious backstory, and eventual secks for weird reasons. Feel free to abuse in comments.


1 Bit ,   2 Bit,   3 Bit,   4 Bit,   5 Bit,   6 Bit,   7 Bit,   8 Bit,   9 Bit

Title: The Glass Man
Fic Rating: NC-17
Bit Rating: PG
Summary: Spaceships and robots and secks, oh my!
Warning: AU BAD!FIC. Utter ridiculous crack. Bad accents, Mary Stues, Gary Stues, odd names, bad geography, no humor, gaping plot-holes, blatant plot devices, unbelievable events, tedious backstory, and eventual secks for weird reasons. Feel free to abuse in comments.


1 Bit
2 Bit
3 Bit
4 Bit
5 Bit
6 Bit
7 Bit
8 Bit

Title: The Glass Man
Fic Rating: NC-17
Bit Rating: PG-13
Summary: Spaceships and robots and secks, oh my!
Warning: AU BAD!FIC. Utter ridiculous crack. Bad accents, Mary Stues, Gary Stues, odd names, bad geography, no humor, gaping plot-holes, blatant plot devices, unbelievable events, tedious backstory, and eventual secks for weird reasons. Feel free to abuse in comments.


1 Bit
2 Bit
3 Bit
4 Bit
5 Bit
6 Bit
7 Bit

Title: The Glass Man
Fic Rating: NC-17
Bit Rating: G
Summary: Spaceships and robots and secks, oh my!
Warning: AU BAD!FIC. Utter ridiculous crack. Bad accents, Mary Stues, Gary Stues, odd names, bad geography, no humor, gaping plot-holes, blatant plot devices, unbelievable events, tedious backstory, and eventual secks for weird reasons. Feel free to abuse in comments.


1 Bit
2 Bit
3 Bit
4 Bit
5 Bit
6 Bit

Title: The Glass Man
Fic Rating: NC-17
Bit Rating: G
Summary: Spaceships and robots and secks, oh my!
Warning: AU BAD!FIC. Utter ridiculous crack. Bad accents, Mary Stues, Gary Stues, odd names, bad geography, no humor, gaping plot-holes, blatant plot devices, unbelievable events, tedious backstory, and eventual secks for weird reasons. Feel free to abuse in comments.


1 Bit
2 Bit
3 Bit
4 Bit
5 Bit

This fic is refusing to end. Damn.
It's getting worser and worser, too.


Title: The Glass Man
Fic Rating: NC-17
Bit Rating: G
Summary: Spaceships and robots and secks, oh my!
Warning: AU BAD!FIC. Utter ridiculous crack. Bad accents, Mary Stues, Gary Stues, odd names, bad geography, no humor, gaping plot-holes, blatant plot devices, unbelievable events, tedious backstory, and eventual secks for weird reasons. Feel free to abuse in comments.


1 Bit
2 Bit
3 Bit
4 Bit

Written in the grand tradition of telling, not showing.

Title: The Glass Man
Fic Rating: NC-17
Bit Rating: PG-13
Summary: Spaceships and robots and secks, oh my!
Warning: AU BAD!FIC. Utter ridiculous crack. Bad accents, Mary Stues, Gary Stues, odd names, bad geography, no humor, gaping plot-holes, blatant plot devices, unbelievable events, tedious backstory, and eventual secks for weird reasons. Feel free to abuse in comments.

  

1 Bit
2 Bit
3 Bit

Title: The Glass Man
Fic Rating: NC-17
Bit Rating: PG
Summary: Spaceships and robots and secks, oh my!
Warning: AU BAD!FIC. Utter ridiculous crack. Bad accents, Mary Stues, Gary Stues, odd names, bad geography, no humor, gaping plot-holes, blatant plot devices, unbelievable events, tedious backstory, and eventual secks for weird reasons. Feel free to abuse in comments.



1 Bit
2 Bit

Title: The Glass Man
Fic Rating: NC-17
Bit Rating: G
Summary: Spaceships and robots and secks, oh my!
Warning: AU BAD!FIC. Utter ridiculous crack. Bad accents, Mary Stues, Gary Stues, odd names, bad geography, no humor, gaping plot-holes, blatant plot devices, unbelievable events, tedious backstory, and eventual secks for weird reasons. Feel free to abuse in comments.

 

( 2 Bit )

1 Bit

It's my day off! I spent it writing bad!fic!

Title: The Glass Man
Fic Rating: NC-17
Bit Rating: G
Summary: Spaceships and robots and secks, oh my!
Warning: AU BAD!FIC. Utter ridiculous crack. Bad accents, Mary Stues, Gary Stues, odd names, bad geography, no humor, gaping plot-holes, blatant plot devices, unbelievable events, tedious backstory, and eventual secks for weird reasons. Feel free to abuse in comments.

I work a 3 hr bus-ride away from home, so for 5 nights out of the week, I stay with my sister's cousin-in-law who works at the same burrito joint and lives closer to it. The only electronic device I have for those five nights is my cell phone. So when an idea for a fic popped into my head, I started thumbing it into my cell. No idea how to get it off, except by retyping (no Internet on the cell yet).
The fic just started writing itself. I haven't got very far, since I'm just starting to learn thumb-typing. No idea if the fic will get anywhere, so read at your own risk.
Also, my Bertie POV is arse.

( Legend / Jeeves & Wooster crossover: )

That's as far as I got. No idea why Jeeves is being kidnapped or why Legend was left dead at the starting post, or why my Bertie voice seems so dashed effeminate...
I have another two fics rattling around in my brain as well. They've been stuck in there for a long time. I hope I can find the time to write them out before I tire of them. One of 'em is a soap-operatic melodrama told from the POV of an OC (not proper, that). The other involves a vibrator like this one and is basically PWP along the lines of Bingo Little's Magic Act, only it's a much longer fic.
Actually... I had started writing the vibrator one a while ago



The [ ], as you have no doubt deduced, are notes to self. Don't know why I'm sharing this tripe. Maybe it's a promise (threat?) to inflict you with more of it in future.  >:-}

Stephen Fry was part of a debate recently, ‘Theology’ vs. ‘Secular.’ As part of the Secular team, he fielded an accusation from the Theology team that when the ‘fire’ of religion died out for Atheists, they did not replace it with another fire: All the beauty and poetry inherent in religion was lost to Atheists because they could not replace it with their own.

Stephen Fry answered that beauty and poetry are not particular to religion, and that divine fire is exactly what Atheists replaced religion with. He talked about Shelley’s ‘Prometheus Unbound,’ and compared the Greek legend of Prometheus with the Genesis myth.

I love his argument, and just have to post my favorite part. The whole thing, challenge and response, is a six-minute audio clip.

… If you were to compare the Genesis Myth, which had bedeviled the Western European culture for two thousand years, it was essentially a myth in which we should be ashamed of ourselves. God says ‘who told you you were naked?’

What possible reason have we to believe that we are naked, or that if we are naked, there is something to be ashamed of? That what we are and what we do is something for which we should ever apologise? Our dreams, our impulses, our appetites, our drives, our desires are not things to apologise for. Our actions sometimes we do apologise for and we excoriate ourselves for, and rightly.

But that’s the Genesis Myth. The Greek myth is of Prometheus, who stole fire from heaven and gave it to his favorite mortal: man. In other words the Greeks were saying ‘we have divine fire. Whatever is divine is in us.’ As humans, we are as good as the gods.  The gods are capricious and mean and foolish and stupid and jealous and rapine and all the things that Greek mythology shows us that they are. And that’s a much better explanation, it seems to me. … That mythological idea, the champion of real humanity and a real humanism (as we have come to call it) is that we are captains of our soul and masters of our destiny. And that we contain any divine fire that there is. …

And it’s perfectly obvious that if there were ever a God, he has lost all possible taste. Forget the aggression and unpleasantness of the radical right or the Islamic hordes to the East. The sheer lack of intelligence and insight and ability to express themselves and to enthuse others of the priesthood ―of the clerisy here in this country, and indeed in Europe― God once had Bach and Michelangelo on his side. He had Mozart. And now who does He have? People with ginger whiskers and tinted spectacles who reduce the glories of theology to a kind of ‘sharing,’ you know. That’s what religion has become: feeble and anemic nonsense. Because we understood that the fire was within us. It was not in some idol on an altar, whether it was a gold cross or whether it was a Buddha or anything else. We have it. The fault is not in our stars.[1] But also the glory is in us, not in our stars. We take credit for what is great about man and we take blame for what is dreadful about man. We neither grovel or apologize at the feet of a god; or are so infantile as to project the idea that we once had a father as human beings, and we therefore should have a divine one, too. We have to grow up.

     It was as the mists and mellow fruitfulness of August drifted into the metropolis that I departed London for Herne Bay. I was looking forward with no small delectation to the prospect of two peaceful weeks fishing. But I was loath to leave Mr Wooster in such low spirits as he was on the date of my departure.
     My young employer had partaken the day before of a luncheon with his Aunt, the honourable Lady Worplesdon. He had been well braced to receive her usual critique concerning his lack of vim, gorm, spine and moral fibre. But her ladyship took the opportunity at the conclusion of their meal to illustrate her thèse with an inspired sermon upon the ease with which Mr Wooster allows himself to be influenced by his friends, his casual acquaintances, and especially by his personal attendant. By the time Lady Worplesdon had concluded her lecture, the many bracers under Mr Wooster’s belt had quite worn off. Thus he had nothing to cushion the shock of her parting words.
     ‘Yes, there is a distinct deficiency in your moral makeup, Bertie,’ she had said beadily. ‘It is high time something is done to keep you from frittering away your fortune in idle wastefulness and ludicrous generosity.’
     This unfortunate declaration made Mr Wooster ‘crumple like a damp sock.’ I hoped as I departed for Paddington Station a few hours later that a dish of Mrs Pigott’s piquant veal curry would bolster Mr Wooster’s spirit, accompanied as it generally was by her sparkling conversation.