((M/M (CONSPIRACY, I TELL YOU!), Possession with Consent, Songfic. Storme/Shipfest!Larfen.))

Hide and Ship

((Granz/Larfen. You knew it was coming.))

Granz was in the kitchen.

He, being a stereotypical teenaged-to-early-twenties male, was hungry. He was also too lazy to properly cook something like chicken or pasta. No, snacking would have to do for him this fine afternoon.

He got out his favorite ice cream from the freezer; he'd have to put in on the grocery list soon, it was almost out. It was then that he was struck by an Idea. A crazy, food-based Idea. Granz watched his trembling hands open the fridge, almost of their own accord, and pull out various ingredients. Ham. Cheese. Lettuce. And, of course, bread.

He proceeded to make the sandwich of his dreams. He could see it in his mind: the moist ham separated from the fluffy bread by the gorgeous pale cheese and the fresh lettuce. The ice cream, forgotten, began to melt in its tub; the frost on the outside glistened in the early afternoon light, a sight that escaped Granz. He had a mission, and nothing was going to stop him from having the sandwich of his dreams, even if those dreams were born all of five minutes ago. As the last slice of bread was placed upon the top of the glorious sandwich, something happened Granz could never quite believe.

"Fiiinaaallly," the sandwich said in his mind. "You wouldn't believe how good it feels to exist again, mate."

Granz stood, mouth agape, staring at the sandwich. Psandwich? "Wait, what--what just happened?" he asked, struggling to process that his lunch was speaking to him.

"Isn't it obvious that I was talking to you?" the psandwich snapped. "I swear, people can't seem to understand the concept of a psychic sandwich anymore!" Granz's stomach rumbled at the mention of the word "sandwich."

He needed lunch.

He needed that sandwich.

But he couldn't shake one question from his mind.

"So, if... you're a sentient sandwich... do you have a name?" Granz asked.

There was a pause. It stretched on and on like a rubber band that stretched. The superpowered sandwich had rarely, in its previous existences, been asked its name. Indeed, it had been so long, such a title was nearly forgotten; and here was a person, asking him with those lips, what his name was. Like most rubber bands being stretched, the silence was eventually broken.

"... Larfen J. Stocke, Esquire," the sandwich finally replied. Granz noticed a drop of water from the lettuce fall onto the plate, shining like the most beautiful diamond in the world.

"'Esquire'?" Granz asked. "How does a sandwich get a law degree?"

"OI, do I sound American to you, mate?!" Larfen roared. "It doesn't mean anything! Can you imagine a sandwich in a courthouse? They'd eat me alive in there!" The psandwich chuckled at its own joke.

"Yes, uhm," Granz began, "about eating... I need to have lunch, and... well..."

If a sandwich could nod, Larfen would have. "I figured as much. Just make another sandwich, I'll transfer to it then you can eat this one. Or just eat the other sandwich, but where's the fun in that?"

Granz nodded before noticing the ice cream, now almost completely melted. One of his dogs was standing next to him, begging for the ice cream or for Larfen, it was impossible to tell. Granz shooed the dog away and put the ice cream back in the freezer. He started making another sandwich.

Granz was tired.

He'd been putting so much effort into making certain that everyone else who had expressed interest was being shipped that his monitor was bleached with the glare of a thousand lovers. All of them had come away satisfied, which may or may not have been a euphemism depending upon the preferences of the reader.

He leaned away from his keyboard and sighed, stretching his fingers, grown toned and defined from the speed and ferocity with which he'd shipped.

"Oh, my," said a voice from behind him. He turned, and the Shipfest itself stood before him, leaning casually against the wall and grinning easily as its gaze slid along the exaggerated lines running along his overworked digits. "You have been a busy boy, haven't you?"

Granz's eyes went wide with astonishment as he beheld the Shipfest's lithe, firm form. He knew his lover when he saw it. "I. . . Suppose. . " he said nervously.

The Shipfest laughed, wrapping its firm arms over his shoulders and raising an eyebrow at him. "No need to be coy, lover," it said. "You've put so much more work into me than any of the others. I can feel your. . . passion. . ." Its hands were sliding over his chest now, and Granz's breathing was coming fast and heavy, like a lot of things were shaping up to be.

"Passion, huh?" he asked, lips trembling with excitement.

"Oh, yes," assured the Shipfest, nodding. "The passion of revenge. Did you think Aegis had forgotten the corsets? Now shut up," it said, its gaze intense, "and take your fic." Its tone made it apparent that it was to be taken in every sense of the word.

And suddenly, something stopped Granz's lips from trembling. Things often grew sturdier when they were firmly pressed against something, and the Shipfest's own lips were no exception. Neither was anything else that wouldn't really be very appropriate to discuss on the Board, and the two true lovers sank down to enjoy the fruits of their labors. Intensely and repeatedly.

((Alleb/Marty Robbins, American singer, songwriter, actor, multi-instrumentalist, and racing driver. SFW, SFA, SFEEPAOC (safe for everyone except people afraid of cowboys) ))

Alleb bloody loved this song. As far as western-cowboy-country-hoo-wee-pardner-songs sung by Marty Robbins, American singer, songwriter, actor, multi-instrumentalist, and racing driver went, this was certainly her favourite.

And the Texas Ranger went on down the old rooooooad

She bobbed her head along to the music.

And he walked to the young maiden and spoooke...

Alleb moved her whole body as the bass dropped.

And the Texas Ranger bought himself a carton of milk that daaaaay

Alleb leapt off the couch, breakdancing on the floor.

The carton was 1 litre and contained 252kJ per 100g

Alleb backflipped and leapt off a wall, moving her body to the music. Then the music stopped. Alleb stopped, too, arms thrust in the air, leg up high, sweat dripping over her still frame. She stepped to the gramophone, the sweat disappearing from her body in a fine mist, leaving her straight, smooth hair to float and move very beautifully in the breeze it left. The smell of sweat was technically still around, but her natural smell was so gorgeous, nobody noticed it (this was also helped by the fact that nobody was around.) The gramophone shook. It shuddered. It made a noise of skittering, and metal bending. Alleb stood back, getting into her classic Krav Maga 'Adam's apple grab' pose, the most powerful pose there was to learn in Krav Maga. A hand appeared from the horn. It grabbed the edge of the horn, pulling itself out, revealing an arm. It pulled harder, and then a head appeared. Alleb gasped, letting her 'Adam's apple grab' pose down for a split second. 'Marty Robbins, American singer, songwriter, actor, multi-instrumentalist, and racing driver!' she exclaimed, stepping back.

‘That’s me, pardner, yippie-ki-yay. I, Marty Robbins, American singer, songwriter, actor, multi-instrumentalist, and racing driver,’ he said, taking his cowboy hat from his moustache-less head. She could tell he was a cinnamon roll, just looking at him.

‘I-I,’ Alleb sputtered, as he approached and stretched. She had done extensive research on him, and was deeply aware of the fact that she was two inches taller than him. What she hadn’t researched was his incredible fondness for people two inches taller than him. She also hadn’t researched his love for people who knew Krav Maga, people who used Krav Maga to grab Adam’s apples, people with blonde/brown hair, and people with eyebrows reminiscent of Gandalf. ‘I’m a big fan,’ she murmured, face turning red like a tomato, but in a really pretty and graceful way.

‘I’m a big fan of you, pardner, yippie-ki-yay,’ he said. ‘And your dancing, too.’

‘And my dancing, too?’ Alleb murmured.

‘And your dancing, too, pardner, yippie-ki-yay.’ He extended his arm and bowed. ‘Will you dance with me, pardner, yippie-ki-yay?’ he asked.

Alleb made a splurting noise that went ‘Mryes!’ (but a really pretty and graceful splurting noise,) and took his hand. And so they danced. A few neighbours glanced in through the window and thought to themselves: ‘By Zeus, master of lightning and ruler of Mount Olympus, is that Marty Robbins, American singer, songwriter, actor, multi-instrumentalist, and racing driver?’ but this was not true, they thought, and they shook their foolish heads and went on their merry, foolish ways, unaware of the true reality of the situation. Alleb and Marty Robbins danced into the night, and until daybreak, when the sunlight began shining through the window.

‘I must go, now, pardner, yippie-ki-yay,’ Marty Robbins explained, releasing Alleb's hand and stepping back. The sunlight shimmered and glowed against his clothes. ‘For as a cowboy, I am banished back to the lands of the West by the power of the morning sunlight.’ And with a fwump, he caught fire.

‘Will you visit again?’ Alleb said, fighting back tears from both the sheer sadness of the situation, and from her proximity to the raging fire.

‘I’ll always visit, pardner,’ he said. ‘As long as you listen to my music, I’ll be right there with you…’ And suddenly he was gone, nothing remaining but faint scorch marks on the floor and the faint scent of garlic (which cowboys are known to excrete when they feel bittersweetness.) A single tear dripped from Alleb’s eye, shining like a diamond, and she looked to the gramophone, and nodded, wiping it away with a graceful hand.

I'll be your clown

Scapegrace stepped into the darkened room, head held high. She walked slowly to the centre of the floor. There she closed her eyes, drew a deep breath, and raised her arms to embrace an imaginary partner.

Behind the glass

There was no music, not even in her mind. There was no-one to encourage her, to urge her on or applaud her courage. (There was no courage, for how could there be, in the dark?) But she held her arms high, maintaining the posture, and took the first careful steps of the dance.

Go 'head and laugh, cause it's funny

Scapegrace moved slowly, with a grace that spoke of long practice. She made the turns with exquisite care, compensating for the missing weight of her absent partner. Her feet moved silently on the cold floor.

I would too if I saw me

She didn't open her eyes. There was nothing to see in the darkened room - but there was nothing to see in her mind's eye, either. Whatever images she might have conjured up were long gone, washed away by disuse.

I'll be your clown

She didn't cry. She refused to cry. The tears welled in her eyes, but she wouldn't let them fall. She would remain the picture of perfectly-composed elegance - until the dance was over, and the moment passed again.

On your favourite channel

She circled across the floor, swirling through the moves. Her steps remained textbook-perfect, the emptiness in her arms forbidden from altering them. She leant back, counterbalancing herself, wishing she could even remember imagining the feel of her partner's hands supporting her, letting her fly.

My life's a circus (circus), round in circles

She stumbled to a halt, the dance not to much finishing as fading away. Her arms fell to her sides, and she let her head hang loose, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Her tears, held in for so long, tumbled down to splash on the wooden floor.

I'm selling out tonight

A hand touched hers, and Scapegrace raised her head to see Iximaz standing in front of her. The other woman smiled slightly, and held out her arms to Scapegrace.

"Mind if I… cut in?"

I'll be your clown...

((With sincerest apologies to Scapegrace, Iximaz, Emeli Sandé, and Wicked for nicking G(a)linda's line. Docs version))

hS

This is part 2 of last year's shipfic. Back then I said I'd posted a third. This year I think it may have been more of a fifth. Will I get any more written? Who knows!

~

Clara Oswald watched the readouts on her screen, her hands hovering over the TARDIS controls. "There's some sort of weird ripple effect over most of America right now… I bet the Doctor's mucking about down there. And here we go…"

She took hold of one of the multitude of levers and eased it down, flicking switches with her other hand. Around her the TARDIS vibrated, the air filling with the rising and falling thrumm of its landing pattern. She held the lever steady for two seconds - three - and then pushed it firmly into its locking position.

"And we are down. How about that, then?" She turned to her companion, grinning widely.

Desdendelle looked back at her with Ashildr's face, her expression impassive.

Clara's smile faltered. "Oh. Right. I forgot. Well… we've landed. You can go and get your friend now."

Desdendelle frowned slightly. "I don't think that will work," she said. "I'm hardly recognisable right now." She cocked her head, studying Clara. "She would certainly recognise you, however."

Clara snorted. "Right, because I'm going outside in a corset to hunt for a woman I don't even know. Do you want to know how well that ended last time?"

"Someone has to go," Desdendelle said with a shrug. "I've explained why it shouldn't be me."

"... you know what? I'm just going to pull up the cameras now." Clara reached behind her and toggled a switch, activating the TARDIS's monitoring system. A portion of one wall flickered with static, then resolved into an image of the interior of the diner.

"O-kay." Clara walked round to another panel of the console and took hold of a joystick. "External view is… over there." The image jumped, showing a brick wall. "Er, right, other external view… there."

The picture showed a tarmac surface, and the front doorstep of the diner. Nothing moved. Clara glanced over her shoulder at her passenger. "Are you sure this-?"

"Ahem." Desdendelle nodded at the screen. "Yes."

Clara looked back just in time to see the top of a head vanishing into her diner. She heard the door squeak outside, and footsteps on the tiles.

"Okay," she said, "so there's someone out there. What are the chances it's your friend?"

"It's her."

"... any reason for thinking that?"

"I recognise her." Desdendelle turned away from the console and crossed to the door. She stopped in front of it, looked down at her hands, then shrugged and pulled the white door open.

The young woman who stepped inside had an expression somewhere between scepticism and awe. She brushed past Desdendelle as if she wasn't even there, got halfway to the console, then stopped and turned in a slow circle. "Wow." She crossed the rest of the distance and pressed a hand to the console. "Wow." She turned, walked up to Clara, and stopped just short of pressing a hand to her, too. "Just wow." Then she frowned. "Wait, why're you in your underwear?"

Clara ran a hand over her corset, snorted, and looked over at Desdendelle. "You see? I told you." She turned back to the newcomer. "Glad you've got a better handle on reality than your friend."

"My… friend?" The girl turned in a second circle, as if looking for someone. "I don't- that is-"

Desdendelle took a step forward, held out a hand. "Iximaz."

The girl turned slowly to face her. "You… don't sound right."

"It's me." Desdendelle flicked the imprecision away with one hand. "Desdendelle."

"Oh." Iximaz cocked her head. "Then I guess you don't look right."

"Yeah, he - she - whatever said you could help with that." Clara swung round, perching on the console. "That you're some kind of… mind-swapping expert, I guess?"

"Me?" Iximaz blinked, then laughed uncertainly. "No, I'm just a fan of… oh, no, actually that might work." She turned and studied her friend. "There was that thing with Lady Cassandra; you remember, with Ten and Rose? And I think Davros once-"

Clara shook her head. "Right, you two kids have fun," she said. "I'm going to finish getting dressed." She gave the two of them a pointed look. "Don't touch anything."

Iximaz looked affronted. "As if we we would!"

"Granz walked through the hallways of the Board with an ice cream delivery; not bothering to wonder why the Board was a physical space currently (hint: it had something to do with Shipfest). He was too preoccupied with thinking sad, angsty thoughts to care. His job as Ice Cream Monarch left no space for relationships. Particularly now: ice cream was in high demand for dates. Clearly people thought that ice cream was romantic.

Needless to say, Granz was lonely. Everyone else was pairing up. Hell, even a lowly semi-sentient corset got someone! Who was it again? Ah, yes: Aegis. Granz wasn't surprised; that man had charm (you need charm to seduce a corset). Mmm yes, that man was a miracle. He involuntarily slowed down and [insert sappy daydream sequence here].

"Hey! Hey Granz!" A sweetly accented voice broke through Granz's daydreams. He opened his eyes, and found himself face-to-face with Aegis himself. Granz's thoughts at the moment ran something like this: "Oh my God! The Ironic Over-Power is screwing with me really hard. Ooh, screwing, really hard, Aegis, me. Aegis is so hot. Will not drool, will not drool. I drooled! CRIKEY! I'M STANDING IN A PUDDLE OF MELTED ICE CREAM! IN FRONT OF AEGIS. Nom nom, Aegis, ice cream."
"Hey, you still with me, Granz?" The voice came again from that perfect... "Granz!"
"H-Hi! Aegis! I'm really busy right now," Granz cringed at the utter lameness of that. "I was delivering this ice cream to some people, because it's my job, you know? I did *not* stop in the middle of this Generic Hallway to daydream about you. That's *not* why the ice cream is all melted now." He gasped, "Did I just admit I was daydreaming about you?"
Aegis smirked, "You did."
Granz turned tomato red.
Aegis ruffled his hair, "I actually was, well um, I was looking for you."
"Say what?"
"Yeah, AC was rattling on like he does about random stuff, and he suggested, completely out of the blue, that you and me should get together."
Granz face-walled (it's a special skill set), "So you're here because of something AC said?"
"Not exactly. You see, after that run-in, I got to thinking about how much you [insert sappy love monologue here]. And I have some wicked plans for that ice cream, if you don't mind."
"Not at all," Granz was impressed that he managed to rattle that line off instead of just collapsing from the sheer hotness of it all.

10 minutes later

"Mmm, ice cream a la Granz is delicious."
"Aaaahh, oooh, don't stop."

I trust that you can imagine the rest."

So this was my first fic, I hope you all liked it.

I just added my description to the sign-up thread somewhere down the page. Frankly, I'm really curious to see what my personality would look like in fic written by another person. I'm also curious to see who I'll be shipped with.
So, ship me?

(( Scapegrace/Jellyfish/Hypno-Disc. SFW, but a bit kinky. ))

Somewhere in the British Isles, a woman infiltrated a workshop, evading all the security. That is to say, she walked right in the front door, because no one was guarding the place. She looked around the large room, searching for her lover. It took her a while, since she was used to scanning the floor for her beloved Jellyfish. Eventually, she found it on one of the tables, where it had been recently polished.

"Oh, my Jellyfish!" Scapegrace shouted, running over to the clamp-bot, "Did you get all shiny for me?"

"Bloop!" replied the glistening machine.

"You did! C'mere you!" Scapegrace beckoned, as Jellyfish slowly inched towards the edge of the workbench. Scapegrace reached out to stroke it's tentacles. "I haven't seen you in forever!"

"Blooop." Jellyfish objected, since they had, in fact, seen each other just yesterday.

Scapegrace's hands kept exploring every inch of Jellyfish's finely-tuned destructive chassis. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But it sounds more romantic when I say that."

"Bloop?" asked a very confused Jellyfish.

"I like sweeping romantic gestures. Not as much as I like you, though."

Jellyfish's clamp twitched slightly in a mechanical shrug. "Bloop bloop."

"Y-y-ou ready for this?" Scape asked, her voice quivering with anticipation.

"Bloop!"

Scapegrace held her arm out in front of her, positioning her wrist right in Jellyfish's powerful clamp. The clamp slowly closed on the offered wrist. It stuttered occasionally due to combinations of excess passion and mechanical problems.

As the clamp enclosed Scape's arm, she nearly screamed in ecstacy. "Oooohhh yes! Yes! Like that! Keep going!"

The amorous robot joined in the passionate sounds. "BLOOP! BLOOOOOOP!" it cried. It was fulfilling its purpose, and doing so with the woman it loved.

From another area of the room, a faint whirling noise could be heard, as a small box with a sharp Frisbee attached worked its way towards Scapegrace.

Once it had made it over to the embracing lovers, Scapegrace stared at it, mesmerized. "H-h-hypno-Disc?" she asked, fearfully. "Is that you? I thought you'd left?"

Hypno-disc's flywheel made a few small precise movements, which said "Chaos 2 and I just didn't click. He kept flipping me over in bed." to anyone who know how to understand them.

"So you came running back to me, then." Scapegrace spat. "You think I'll hook up with you just because?"

Hypno-Disc looked despondent, somehow. It might have been the slightly drooping blades. It turned around, preparing to leave. Scapegrace was moved by her former lover's distress, and relented.

"Oh, alright. Fine. You can join in."

Hypno-Disc pivoted around with a loud "whirrrr". It wheeled itself over to near Scapegrace's feet. She bent down and used her free hand to slip off her shoes and socks. The old, rather washed-up Robot Wars entrant recognized what this was in preparation for, and began to spin its wheel in appreciation.

Once Scapegrace was ready, Hypno-Disc began to slowly move its flywheel back and forth across Scapegrace's feet, massaging them.

"Ooohh yeah! Don't stop! Either of you!" shouted out Scapegrace, drowning in the love and companionship of both her and old and new lover.

After a long but carefully unspecified period of time, the woman and two robots finished their ... adventures. Jellyfish's clamp expanded, releasing Scape's arm, and Hypno-Disc moved itself (and its disc) away from Scapegrace's feet. Scapegrace put her footwear back on, much quicker this time because she had both hands free.

"That was great, y'all. See you tomorrow?"

"Bloop!"

"Whrrrrr! Whirrr whirr whirrrrr."

Scapegrace left her lovers behind, walking, again, out the front door.

(( I don't know Robot Wars. I don't know how to write romance. I'm not sorry, though. ))

(Pretty sure it's not NSF anything. Pairings...if you squint? Maybe? Based heavily on the Discord reading of a terrible ship-fanfic, kind of. Enjoy?)

(Honestly, it was this or a Twilight spoof, and this is what came out.)


“As Geema poured the water slowly into glasses, Larfen watched in anticipation. He was oh so very thirsty—”

“…Granz,” GMA said slowly. “Granz.”

“Yes?”

“Why are you narrating everything, again?”

“Uh…badfic?” Granz offered. He waved the omnipresent banner (currently it read ‘the Romance Monarch’) out of his face and raised his microphone again. “Larfen raised his hand and took the glass Geema was holding out. He—”

“Hey, Granz, I’m with Geema,” Larfen cut in. “And—”

“Yes, you are,” said Granz cheerfully.

Larfen scowled at him. “And you need to stop. The narrating everything we do bit got old the minute you started it for the fifth time. Either shut up or join us.”

“Uh, Larfen.” GMA cleared his throat. “Larfen.”

“Hush, I’m taking care of it,” Larfen told him. “Granz—”

“I’ll join you,” Granz said. He put down the microphone and picked up a cup of his own. “As Granz picked up the cup, he thought he could smell strawberries. That was a sure sign that clones were in the area—”

Larfen stared at him as GMA facepalmed. “I thought you were going to stop!”

“You told him to stop or join us—will you stop reading that fic in the background?” GMA turned to glare at Aegis.

Aegis gave them all his best innocent look. “Granz stopped. And we have to keep reading. We’re finishing this fic if it kills us!”

“It might do that,” Iximaz grumbled. “If it doesn’t kill Hermione first, of course…”

“We’re finishing this fic,” Aegis repeated loudly. “All thirty-three chapters. To infinity! And! Beyond!”

Silence fell as they all stared at him. Finally, Aegis coughed.

“I…didn’t mean to imply that it’ll take an infinity to finish reading this fic.”

“It’d better not,” GMA grumbled.

“Tiny people camping, on top of his head,” Scapegrace said cheerfully. “Have I got your attention? Good. Let’s finish this already.”

And so, with a good deal more bantering, they got back down to business: reading the worst fic to come their way in a while, and tangenting to talk about DoSAT’s potential involvement in some…particular situations.

((We're doing tags? We're doing tags. Alright, M/M, male!Ix, Matt Cipher, mild NSFW I think.))

Iximaz was strolling through the halls of the PPC, whistling to himself, when he caught the sound of the most amazing voice. It was captivating, enchanting, almost siren-like. Few sirens, however, would ever have dreamed of singing the lyrics this mysterious voice was.

“Sandwiches, sandwiches, barely even seasoned! Sandwiches, sandwiches, bought them at the store!” Truly, there could not possibly have been a more seductive line anywhere in the universe. The great enchantresses of old would have wept at the its incredible beauty. Iximaz could not resist, and so followed the tune through the corridor, until at last, he reached the door it seemed to be coming from. Hesitantly, he opened it and peered inside.

The room was very sparsely furnished. In fact, it barely had any at all, save the stool the room’s sole occupant sat upon. Iximaz gasped, for he was the most handsome person he’d seen since arriving here. The music cut off abruptly as the stranger looked up to see who had entered the room. “H-Hello,” he stammered. He hadn’t meant for anybody to hear him, let alone this very attractive young man.

“Hi,” Iximaz said. “You sing really well.”

“Thank you,” the stranger, whose name was Matt Cipher, replied. “I, uh, I’ve been practicing.”

“You don’t have to stop,” Iximaz said. “Please, keep going.”

“Um, okay,” he replied.”I’ll just, uh, start over.” Ix nodded, then looked for a place to sit. Conveniently, there was another stool right across from Matt Cipher. Ix took it and stared expectantly at him.

“What can you expect from a filthy store-bought sandwich,” he began, “Their whole disgusting race is like a curse! Their crust is burnt and thin, they have no veggies in! They're sloppily made and worse!” As he began, Iximaz was once more enthralled by his beautiful voice. It stirred something deep within him, something that cried out for release. Finally, he could hold it back no more.

“They’re sandwiches, sandwiches, barely even seasoned! Sandwiches, sandwiches, bought them at the store! They're not like yours or mine, which means they must be eaten! We must chew with gums of war! They’re sandwiches, sandwiches! Of lettuce and tomatoes! Now we chew with gums of war!” he sang, unable to stop himself. Matt Cipher was shocked at the beauty of the man’s voice. He knew what effect others said his voice had on them, but he had never thought it to be true. Now, he knew what they meant. The music pulled on something within him, enthralled him, excited him. He loved it. He never wanted it to end, and he was going to help it go on.

“This is what we feared, the white bread is a demon. It doesn't give us nutrients we need! Beneath that milky hide, there's emptiness inside. I wonder if I have some wheat!” Iximaz had, at first, stopped as Matt Cipher began to sing, but had quickly recovered, and they began to sing together, weaving a glorious melody that would have brought anybody else who heard it to the room, if they hadn’t been so overwhelmed that they simply had to find the nearest person or group and have their own… singing match. “Foooor sandwiches, sandwiches, barely even seasoned! Sandwiches, sandwiches, we must make some more! If we want a few for us, because there have been locusts! We must chew with gums of war! They’re sandwiches, sandwiches! First we consume this one! Then we chew with gums of war!”

Now, their voices broke apart once more, and Iximaz sang, “Sandwiches, sandwiches! Let’s go get a few, men!”

“Sandwiches, sandwiches! Add some cheese of blue, then!”

“Sandwiches, sandwiches! Now we chew with gums of war!” Although neither performer noticed, the sound of drums being beaten began to filter into the room, as if from a very far off place. It was as if the song were building to an even more powerful point, but, alas for the music, the singers had very different ideas. The music had been building a pressure within them, and now, it demanded to be released. Iximaz and Matt stared into each other’s eyes, and some corner of each of their minds noted the similarity in color. However, the majority of their brains was occupied with only one thing. Almost as one, they stood up and embraced each other, embrace quickly transforming into a kiss. The drums faded as clothes were discarded and song was replaced with different, but equally pleasurable noises.

((hS, just so you know, you look like this. Also, sorry, Nesh.))

“My love!” Huinesoron cried, clasping Neshomeh’s soft, delicate, beautiful hands in his warm, strong, also-beautiful-but-in-a-manly-way hands. “I have waited desperately, eagerly, anxiously to see you again!”

A single tear ran down the side of Neshomeh’s wonderful, gorgeous, flawless face, and she had to turn away from him.

“Neshomeh, my love?” Huinesoron said, his warm, strong sod this I’m not going to repeat the same adjective string every time his hands come up you can’t make me hand cupping her chin and gently, sweetly, inexorably turning her head back towards him. “Whatever is the matter?”

Neshomeh let out a sob, and threw her arms around Huinesoron, which accidentally pulled his wide-open shirt a little wider. Well, she tried to throw her arms around him, but Huinesoron had such a magnificent physique that she didn’t really reach all the way around. “Oh, my precious, my darling, my one and only!” she cried, burying her face in his unrealistically-defined chest. “My love, my sweet, my sugarplum, I’m married!”

Huinesoron’s perfect, elfin, improbable face was the picture of confusion. “But, of course, my love--I am as well. We are married to one another.”

“We are not!” Neshomeh wailed, her face still managing to be awe-inspiring, unmarred, and equally-improbable as she cried. “My love, my--my--” her perfect face, once in the throes of agony, was now confused and thoughtful. “I, I can’t think of any more endearments.”

“Orange blossom?” Huinesoron suggested, his chocolatey, perfect, unnaturally-good-smelling hair blowing a little more dramatically in the wind than usual.

Neshomeh grinned. “Thanks!” Her face once again became one of agonized love. “My orange blossom,” she continued, “I am married to Phobos!”

“Phobos?” Huinesoron repeated, staggering slightly. “But--my peach--my nectarine--my heart--I love you!”

Neshomeh sobbed, once again burying her face in Huinesoron’s chest. “And you are married to Kaitlyn!” she howled. “My--my--um--my dove, my parakeet, my toucan--we are not married to each other!”

Huinesoron desperately, unceasingly, need...fully? clung to Neshomeh. A single manly tear rolled down his manly face. “Then, my love,” he whispered, looking into the middle distance, his hair somehow managing to blow even more dramatically in the wind, “we will run away together.”

Neshomeh pulled away and looked up at him, eyes wide. “But--my lemming--my groundhog--my hamster--what of our spouses?”

“Is our love not true?” Huinesoron said, willing dramatic music into the background. A veritable gale whistled around them, tossing his hair around his face, and he had to shout to be heard over it. “ARE WE NOT IN LOVE, NESHOMEH?”

“WE ARE, MY PRECIOUS SNOWFLAKE!” she replied, forgetting that she was obligated to use no fewer than three terms of endearment. Then she thought of something. “BUT, MY DARLING, WOULDN’T THAT BE ADULTERY?”

Huinesoron frowned. His concentration slipped, and the gale and dramatic music ceased. “Well, er, I suppose so…”

Neshomeh looked up at him, confused. “But, um, my wombat, isn’t Alleb writing this?”

“Um,” Huinesoron said, looking around him at the undescribed setting, “um, I think she is?”

“Well, my star-nosed mole, she wouldn’t write an adulterous story, would she? I mean, it doesn’t seem very in-character for her.”

“I suppose it isn’t,” Huinesoron admitted, baffled. “Does, er, does this mean we’re through?”

“I’m afraid so,” Neshomeh said, stepping away from him and wiping the tears from her cheeks. She turned and began walking away, presumably towards Phobos. “Bye, hS!” she called over her shoulder.

“Huh,” Huinesoron said. He stood for a moment, then started in the opposite direction. He supposed Kaitlyn must be around here, somewhere....

((I… apologize, everyone.))

((-Alleb))

Matt really hadn’t expected the spell to work. But honestly, if he wasn’t prepared for the repercussions, he probably shouldn’t have tried it in the first place.

What the spell had done had been to coat everything he touched with sugar. And, for some reason, everything began to smell like peanut butter.

Matt.

And… he was hearing voices, too. Perfect.

Please talk to me, Matt.

The voice’s gender couldn’t be identified. Male, female, something in-between, both, none of the above - nothing was quite right to describe it. It just… was.

I’m trying to be nice to you, Matt.

He gave in. “Alright, since you put it that way, who are you?”

I’m your magic, Matt.

Matt stilled. His magic? Since when did any magic talk to anyone? And - when did magic belong to anyone, either? “My… my magic?”

Yes. Your magic. You’ve been looking for me for a long time now, haven’t you?

“Since when does magic belong to people?”

Everyone has magic. Most don’t know about that. But I’m yours and yours alone, Matt.

Matt wet his lips slightly. It was hard to drink things when they just turned into sugary messes when you touched them.

Boip. Someone was trying to contact him over Discord. It was about three in the afternoon for him… so who the heck would be up early/late enough for this and would be sending him a message?

“Um. Magic - actually, d’you have a name other than ‘Magic’?”

Not yet. But you can give me one. Just make sure it’s not something you’ll be saying all the time anyways - you know what names can do.

Hmm. “I’ll name you later, so I can give you a good one. In the meantime, d’you think we could make the sugar spell stop?”

Yes. For now, just repeat after me: “So mote it be.”

“So mote it be.”

As soon as the last syllable was said, Matt could feel the change. He couldn’t have explained it, but he knew that the spell had ended. To test it, he tapped a nearby flower that hadn’t been sugarcoated. No sugar came over it. No more peanut-butter scent was released.

Boip.

Right. Discord. He was getting messages. Matt went to his computer and clicked the note-tag-thing before it disappeared.

The Triumvirate: Hey there, Matt!
The Triumvirate: boops snoot

Matt smiled. Oh, boy, he would have fun telling Cal about this…

(I believe someone requested Matt/Magic? As another magic-lover - though to a significantly lesser degree, I'm sure - I felt obligated to make it happen. I just can't believe I wrote this in... what, an hour? Not even that, really.)

Picture a young woman sitting on a sofa, swinging her legs. Picture her dark skin, her even darker hair. Picture her elegant dress swaying with every flick of her delicately-shaped ankles. She is reading a book - from your vantage point, you cannot make out the title, but the hammer and sickle on the red cover gives you a few hints.

The door swings open, and a man steps inside. His red hair is almost as long as his luxurious beard, swaying in the breeze he has just stepped out of. His jacket is a deep purple, elegantly cut, complementing his shirt perfectly.

He looks around and catches sight of the woman. His face lights up. "Alleb!" he calls, spreading his arms wide.

"Ypsi!" Alleb leaps from her seat and crosses to embrace him. "I was missing you," she says, her Russian accent strong. "Where were you being?"

"Oh, well…" Ypsi reaches up to rub the back of his head sheepishly. "There's a little… I mean, something's being organised outside."

"Oh?" Alleb swirls past him, catching his hand on the fly. "Then let us be going to see!"

She hurries out of the door, and stops short with a gasp of pure delight. In the formal garden below, a dance floor has been laid out, leading to… "The maze!"

"Of course, my love." Ypsi nuzzles at her neck from behind. "What sort of ball would this be if there weren't a maze involved?"

Alleb's laughter tinkles as she drags Ypsi to the floor. Soft music plays from concealed speakers, and the couple begin to dance under the golden moonlight. As they find their pace, they sway across the floor, and into the shadowy hedges of the maze.

There are other guests, she discovers as they foxtrot through the labyrinth. By the ornate fishpond, the couple pass a bench on which Calliope's and Cat-on-the-Keyboard's long golden hair blends into a single precious river. The tips trail in the diamond-clear water, but neither of the girls notices - or cares.

Later, under the willow arches, they come across a scattering of clothes, discarded in unseemly haste. The white velvet suit is instantly recognisable as Badger421's, and the silk sari is equally emblematic of KoolKoopaGirl. Alleb frowns slightly, and leans in to whisper in Ypsi's ear: "About the implication of this, I am not certain."

"It's quite all right, dear girl," Ypsi reassures her. "It is happening off-screen, after all."

"Ah. Yes, I am understanding."

The couple dance onwards, the music shifting with their movement, until at last they waltz into the open square at the heart of the maze. There, beneath the great bronze statue of the Muse, they find their friends have arrived before them.

Badger421 and KoolKoopaGirl step forward. The tall, dark-skinned couple have, Alleb is relieved to note, reclaimed their clothes, and they greet her with a formal bow and courtsey. "Your garden is most fair," KoolKoopaGirl says softly. "We thank you for your hospitality."

"No," Alleb says, her voice thick with emotion. "It is I who am thanking you. All of you, my friends, from the bottom of my heart - I thank you."

Okay, so... there's a tradition going right back to the first Shipfest of completely ignoring what people actually look like in favour of making it up. Given that the six of you had given such detailed descriptions, I felt it was not only fair, but necessary to respond by chucking them out and giving you new ones.

Historically this has tended to run to 'long blonde hair', but there's something about Black Commie Russian Alleb that amuses me more than I can say. So that's what you get. ^_^

hS

Specifically, Granz's version.

Huinesoron leant back in his chair and pressed the phone to his ear. "Yeah, it's about how you'd expect."

He listened to the reply, lifting his feet to let Desdendelle and Zingenmir past. "No, I don't know why they invited me; it's not really-"

He ducked as Neshomeh hurtled past, on her way to seize the teapot from Des. "No, it's not a tea party. It's more of a- hang on."

Huinesoron jumped out of his seat, barely avoiding Zingenmir as she crashed into it. She was clutching a box of tea to her chest, and as Huinesoron circled away, Neshomeh lunged for her.

"More of a tea fight, is what I was going to say." Huinesoron sighed and shifted the phone to his other ear. "It's all a bit energetic." He glanced back at the pair fighting over his seat, frowned. "Uh, only now they're making out?"

Another reply, and Huinesoron stepped hurriedly closer to the table as Desdendelle stalked past. "Well, it was Nesh and Zing, but now Des has gotten involved too. I think- no, I don't know." He winced as the chair - and the PPCers - went crashing to the floor. "I think Nesh is only joining in until she gets an opportunity to make off with the tea, but- no, I take that back." He ambled round to the far side of the table and leant on it. "Yeah, she's definitely enthusiastic about this."

He leant on the table, fiddling absently with the french press set up in the middle. "I don't know when I'll be back. It seems a bit rude to just walk out on- oops!" Zingenmir pulled herself up onto the table and grabbed the press, only to be tackled by Desdendelle in turn. "No, no, I'm fine, they've just… shifted location. Onto the table."

Huinesoron took a few steps back, eyeing the others warily. "Yes, they're all on there now," he confirmed. "Nesh brought the tea, Des has got the pot, Zing's pretty much clinging to the press - heh, yes, to them as well." He shook his head slowly. "I dunno, I figure you'd know better than me how tea's supposed to be taken, but I'm pretty sure this isn't… yes, yes, I know, but even I know that, uh, canoodling isn't part of the deal…"

Because seriously, what'm I doing in a Tea ship? That's much more Kaitlyn's thing. ;)

hS

((Tiny fandoms represent.))

---

Will you be my boy in the belltower,
And let me be your sandalwood girl?
Will you strike the hour and watch me
From your home in the roof of the world?

If you'll be my sandalwood girl, love,
Then I'll be your wrought-iron boy
Looking out as your scent fills the steeple
With aromas of incense and joy.

Then come down from the bells, my beloved,
Come down to the cobblestone lane
And just be with me for an hour
Before you must leave me again.

Oh, would that I could have more than hours
To spend in your sandalwood arms
While your head rests upon iron shoulders
Leaving kisses like spice-perfumed charms

My beloved, I feared you would leave me,
If you knew what it was I must say,
But I've heard from the wizard's apprentice
That there could be some kind of way.

Love of mine, I have heard of this also -
The wizard likes hearing my bell -
And I've heard of the strange Silver River
And I know what you've yet to tell.

Then will you come with me, beloved?
Will you come to the river with me?
And wash off the iron from your shoulders,
To let us and our love be free?

The way to the river is laden
With dangers and traps of designs
Unnatural, evil, and vicious...
For you, I will pay them no mind.

And the fields by the river are given
To suddenly burst into flames
But next to my love for you, darling,
They will seem just diminished and tame.

But what shall we do when we get there,
My beautiful sandalwood girl?
For the iron that binds me will shatter -
What lies under, I cannot quite tell.

We can think about that, iron lover,
When the river has set us both free,
And if you'll permit me, I've thought of
Two names, one for you, one for me.

I am honoured, my love, that you'd name me,
As honoured as if I could stand
With the last of my iron skin forming
A ring I could put on thy hand.

Then, my saviour, my lover, pray, listen:
To metal men say I adieu,
For heart's shining saviour is Aegis,
And Iximaz will marry you.

((For context, Calliope revealed during a ToS game that she calls Huinesoron “honey” in her head. Hence, this.))

“This could have gone better, honey,” Calliope remarked as she and Huinesoron ran before a horde of zombies.

“Better?” Huinesoron said, twisting to fire his shotgun at a zombie that was getting dangerously close. It fell back without a sound; unsurprising, as it now had no head. “How could it have gone better? I mean, we’re alive. And stop calling me ‘honey’!”

“Aw, but it fits you so well, honey!” Calliope replied. A zombie stumbled into their path from a side street, and she quickly decapitated it with a machete as she ran. “I wish I still had my gun.”

“You wouldn’t have lost it if you hadn’t tried to pet the cat!” Huinesoron said, once again turning and firing at the oncoming horde.

“But it was adorable!” Calliope said, grabbing Huinesoron’s arm and steering him around a small pile of zombie corpses. “I couldn’t not pet it!”

“It was a zombie cat!” Huinesoron said, trying to fish some ammo out of his bag as he ran. “It was a bloody zombie cat!”

“It was still adorable,” Calliope insisted. She reached behind Huinesoron and grabbed the ammo. She held it for him as he reloaded, grinning up at his grime-covered face. “But not as adorable as you, honey.”

Huinesoron growled as he chambered a round, then immediately shot a zombie that was about to lunge at Calliope. “Why do I keep you around, anyway?”

Calliope saw a zombie on the other side of Huinesoron from her. In one fluid motion, she leapt around him as they ran, skewering the thing before it could leap. She pulled her machete out of its chest, then sped back to her place at Huinesoron’s side. She grinned up at him. Huinesoron growled again.

Another beast tried to throw itself in front of Calliope, but at that moment, she stumbled. Huinesoron, thinking quickly, yanked her out of the zombie’s path. Its clawing hands missed her by inches.

“Thanks,” Calliope breathed, briefly resting a hand on Huinesoron’s arm. The two continued running through the ruined city, side by side, watching each other’s backs.

-Alleb

Calliope took the cigarette from her mouth and exhaled. She leant back, closed her eyes, and sighed. 'Was that good for you?' she asked, looking to her side.

The apple did not reply. This was not because it thought that it wasn't good for it. Rather, this was because the apple was a fruit. The apple shifted slightly, rolling under the bedsheet.
Calliope grunted, raised an eyebrow, and turned to her other side. 'What about you?'

The mango was also a fruit. It did not say anything. It wobbled a bit, as Calliope moved on the bed. She glared at it. It did not say anything.

'Oh, come on,' she said, trying the puppy-eyes. The mango wobbled slightly, in reply.

Calliope placed the cigarette, and all the poisons and toxins and tar and grinded up cats and medical equipment it was made of to her sixteen year-old lips, to absorb all of it into her sixteen year-old lungs. This was a really cool thing to do, almost as cool as wearing sunglasses at night and driving incredibly loud cars next to people who are trying to sleep, and she would have recommended it to any audience who may have been observing this situation.

'Well, it was good for me,' she said, somewhat hurt.

((The true PPC OTP: Calliope/fruit. As requested by Cal, herself: 'threesomes or more (just keep them healthy)'!
We didn't specifically see fruit opt into the Shipfest, but fruit is the coolest and chillest of all foods, so we can simply assume it. And did you know that, even if fruit didn't want to be in the Shipfest, they wouldn't be angry? That's simply how cool fruit is.

Always make sure to eat fruit!
You've heard that an apple a day keeps the doctor away, but did you know that a banana a day keeps the vet away? And did you know that a tomato a day keeps the maintenance man away? And a grape a day keeps the castle jester away? And a kiwi a day keeps the Dark Blood-Magician of Ut'Ul-Al away?
If you eat your daily required serving of fruit, you could keep any person of any occupation away! How about that!

Always make sure to eat fruit!
Sure, smoking and wearing sunglasses and driving fast cars and beating up old ladies is pretty cool, but you know what's even cooler?
Antarctica!
And you know what's even cooler than that? You if you eat fruit!

EAT FRUIT!))

Once upon a time, there was a young man who occasionally became a crow. There was no good reason for this, as far as anyone knew; he certainly hadn't been cursed, and he'd had no royal christening at which to receive magical gifts. No—it just was. As some things were.

In years past, a traveler had come to the young man's door. She had smelled of a rich, bitter drink that he did not recognize; and she carried another, which he had also never before encountered. “Keep it,” she had told him, when he had smelled the leaves and remarked that it was interesting. “I'm a Coffee Girl, anyway. French Press is the—well, anyway. French Press is mine. You're welcome to this, though.” And, in the morning, she had gone on her way, leaving behind the leaves and instructions on how to brew a drink from them.

He had followed her instructions, curious to try it. He discovered quickly that he almost always preferred to leave out any sweetener, milk, cream, or lemon; the pure, uncorrupted taste was more to his liking. He drank it sparingly, once he discovered the best way. He even gave it a name: the Earl of Grey Teas (for so the drink was classified: tea, and Earl was the highest rank in his land. This tea, he knew without having tasted any others, was truly of the highest quality.)

However, even sparingly brewed, normal tea leaves cannot last forever. His supply of precious Earl of Grey Teas ran out, save for two leaves, which he carefully wrapped and put away. One he kept to show to anyone else who might pass his way with materials to trade, sell, or gift to him. The second he kept lest the first one crumble, and for his own memories besides.

It took a year before a traveler came his way bearing tea leaves. He gave his name as Hardric, and was quite happy to explain the origin of the tea leaves which he unwrapped for Desdendelle—for so the young man was named—to see. He had found them in a field far away, and named them in his native tongue; Desdendelle, when he bought half the supply for a steep price, tried the brew and named it Lady of Grey Teas, in honor of his feeling that it was a fair counterpart to the Earl tea and very fine indeed.

But all things pass, and all too soon the last cup of the Lady of Grey Teas was drunk to the dregs. Again, Desdendelle set aside two leaves; and he waited long months for travelers to pass his way, but none came. At last he determined to set out on his own, for if the teas would not come to him, then surely he must come to the teas…

And so he set out, after much deliberation over how to do so. He took with him his carefully wrapped leaves, and some provisions, and a change of clothes. A blanket he felt he did not need; for surely, he could simply sleep the night away in the form of a crow, and thus save on weight.

He had walked for two days, following the direction from which Hardric and the self-proclaimed Coffee Girl (who had given her name as Neshomeh) had come to him from, when he espied another traveler. Her hair was brown and shoulder-length; she wore clothing as green as the tops of the trees and carried a pack from which hung a small tin pot, cup, and spoon.

He greeted her, giving his name; she returned the greeting and gave her name as Zingenmir, whereupon he asked tentatively after the utensils she carried. She wiped the sweat from her brow, wishing out loud for some form of bear, before answering.

“Oh, yeah, those,” she said. “I drink a lot of tea, so...it makes sense to have them on hand. I’d say they’re my most prized possessions right now, but one doesn’t really hang one’s prized possessions on the outside of a pack, right? But they’re definitely very useful.”

Desdendelle’s eyes went wide. Could it be that his search was over scarcely two days away from his home? “You drink tea?” he asked, fairly trembling with excitement. “I do as well! I have left my home to search for more of it, since no one had passed my way for months. Where did you find it?”

The woman looked taken aback, but she smiled as she waved a hand at the forest around them. “I collect it. Some can only be grown specially, which requires settling down for a while or bartering for it, but much of it can simply be collected. Some barks work, and flowers and fruits...I once mixed rosehips with dried wild strawberries with good results, and another time I passed through a land where spearmint grew everywhere—”

Desdendelle stared at her. “But that’s not tea,” he said. “Tea is made from leaves—like these.” And he unwrapped a leaf of the Lady of Grey Teas to show her.

The woman leaned in to smell its fragrance and then ‘ah’ed softly in understanding. “You’re looking for a different type of tea,” she said. “The type that will keep you awake and is frequently bitter. I deal in herbal teas.”

Desdendelle tried not to look too disappointed. “So you don’t have any tea, then?”

“I—” The woman sighed. “No, I don’t have the type of tea you’re looking for. I do know where it grows, though,” she added as his face fell. “I can give you directions—or take you there myself. At my present course, I’m sure to pass several of the places.”

“Would you really take me there?” he asked.

The woman shrugged. “I travel more easily with a companion anyway. Let’s go.”

*

They walked for nearly two months, encountering increasingly more travelers as they went. Some, like Matt Cipher, were traveling only a short distance (in Cipher’s case, delivering a box of pastries called pączki to a nearby group of friends and relatives); others, like Silenthunder, were going farther. One Larfen J. Stocke joined them for a day, amusing them with his wit for hours before they finally parted ways; a man named Aegis joined them for a little longer, until his propensity for making bad puns began to grate on them. He took the separation easily enough, though, as it coincided with him joining a traveler named Maslab; when Desdendelle and Zingenmir last saw them, they were trading bad puns with identical expressions of growing glee.

There were, of course, some odd moments, such as the first time Desdendelle turned into a crow for the night. Zingenmir had stared, open-mouthed, until he changed back and sheepishly explained his ability; in return, he found out that his traveling companion could understand and speak to bears (which was completely useless in much of the world, as bears were hardly commonplace in every land). They also had the occasional argument over tea, but, all in all, they found themselves falling easily into friendship.

Towards the end of the first month, they left the road to avoid a large group, all clamoring around a man who looked a lot like the tall kind of faerie from the storybooks and might have been (as discerned from the clamoring) named something along the lines of ‘Enesoron’. Desdendelle flew ahead briefly; upon returning, he pointed them in the least thorny direction, and they continued walking.

A minute later, a black-clad person flipped down from a tree and landed in front of them. When they stumbled backwards, two more caught the travelers, and pushed them firmly forwards again.

“I, uh,” said Desdendelle. “I think I missed something.”

Zingenmir nodded mutely, staring at the first ninja.

The first ninja unwrapped the black cloth that covered their face and grinned. “Hey! Aren’t you the girl who talks to bears? Dawn-something?”

Zingenmir face-palmed as Desdendelle gave the ninja a strange look. “DawnFire, and it’s Zingenmir now.” She looked up, frowning at the ninja. “You look a little familiar...uh?”

The ninja helpfully pushed back their black hood.

“Oh,” said Zingenmir. “You’re Iximaz. Since when are you a ninja?”

Iximaz shrugged. “I decided I wanted to do more than just cuddle seals all day, even if they are adorable. Who’s your friend?”

Desdendelle cleared his throat and gave his own name, adding, “I’m searching for tea leaves; Zingenmir has been guiding me. You two know each other?”

Iximaz nodded. “Yeah, we were at this school together for people who can talk to cold-weather animals. Weird place. Hey, do you want company? It’s been ages since I went on a quest.”

“That depends on who your friends are,” Desdendelle said, after he and Zingenmir had exchanged shrugs. “I’d rather not travel with people whose names I don’t know.”

“Sure,” said Iximaz, nodding at the other two ninjas. They unwound their own masks as the two travelers turned. “Scapegrace is the one on the left, and on the right is Alleb. They’re pretty cool.”

They all traded hellos, and then Scapegrace asked, “What are you doing off the main road, anyway?”

Zingenmir shrugged one shoulder. “Too many people.”

“On that road?” Alleb said, frowning. “Truly?”

“They were clustered around some guy,” said Desdendelle. “They seemed...busy. And very loud. We thought we’d seek out some quiet.”

Scapegrace waggled her eyebrows up and down, but Iximaz only said, “Did you catch his name? Was it Huinesoron?”

The original travelers traded looks. “Something like that,” Zingenmir said. “How’d you know?”

Iximaz grinned. “This happens every year around this time. I’ve even taken part before. It’s pretty fun!”

“...what exactly is it?” Desdendelle asked. He wondered if he actually wanted to know, but Scapegrace answered before he could take the question back.

“Well, everyone likes him, and around this time of year a bunch of people get together to try and...woo him. Or just get in his pants, one or the other—”

Alleb coughed, her face going red; Scapegrace glanced at her and went, “Oh, sorry,” before continuing.

“Anyway, it’s pointless since he married someone named Kaitlyn. Probably half of them do it just for the tradition by now.”

The group had seemed pretty enthusiastic, but Desdendelle didn’t argue. “Well, they should be gone by now, if we want to rejoin the path…?”

No one disagreed, and so the party of five headed back to the main road.

*

The five of them traveled together for another month. All three ninjas had a tendency to do the occasional acrobatic feat, and Scapegrace and Iximaz made eyes at each other when they each thought the other wasn’t looking (though Iximaz also spoke of other loves, two of whom Desdendelle and Zingenmir had met. Aegis was, for the moment, abroad—while they had met him, he had also left in a direction that took him far to the east—and Neshomeh, who had first introduced Desdendelle to the wondrous tea, turned out to have stolen yet another love by the name of French Press and run away with her. Scapegrace, meanwhile, occasionally mentioned someone who ate, prayed, and loved, which seemed to Zingenmir an odd sort of description to give of someone, but otherwise left her history out of conversations. Alleb mentioned no one, but blushed when questioned).

The end of the month found them in a field of tea leaves. Desdendelle stared at it in dazed amazement.

He had been without tea for so long. He had tried Zingenmir’s blends, though they seemed to him lesser in quality. He had also tried some of the bitter drink whose scent had lingered on Neshomeh (Iximaz had offered him a little from her own stores), and pronounced it emphatically not to his tastes. Nothing had compared.

He knelt carefully at the edge of the field, ignoring the strange look Scapegrace was giving him, and breathed deep of the fragrance.

Tea. More tea than he could drink in two years. More tea than he had ever thought to see—and there were at least two more fields in the area.

This, at last, was bliss.

(“Er,” said Scapegrace quietly. “Exactly how long is he going to just sit there with that grin on his face?”

“Give him a moment,” Iximaz replied, and then said wistfully, “He looks a little like I did when I was introduced to French Press…”)

Zingenmir sighed, and knelt next to him. “So,” she said. “What next? Do you...do you think you’ll stay here?”

“I don’t know,” Desdendelle said. He still felt dazed, and brushing his fingertips carefully over the tea leaves in front of him didn’t help. “I...I suppose I could try to build a house…”

Iximaz joined them. “Have you ever built a house before?”

“No,” Desdendelle admitted. “Have any of you?”

Everyone shook their heads.

“I read a book on it once,” Alleb said. “I think I remember most of it.”

“So we could probably figure it out, then,” Scapegrace put in. “I’ve watched people put up shacks before, too; we could do this. Probably.”

“Or we could try to find a carpenter to consult,” Zingenmir said. She got to her feet with a sigh. “Well, then. Let’s find a good place for a house.”

Iximaz got up by way of a handstand; after a minute more of breathing in the delicious tea smell, Desdendelle accepted the hand up that was being offered to him.

“Alright, then,” he said. He had carefully picked one tea leaf, and he rubbed the stem between his fingers as he looked around at his friends. “Let’s go looking.”

((After dragging myself out of the whole Granz seems to have vanished in, I have decided we are leaving something here today for the Shipfest, and corsets can't exactly object. So, without further adieu, let us present: ))

A Perfect Fit

Aegis stared at the object resting on the table before him. This was it. The moment he’d wanted for so long. He reached out with trembling hands to pick it up. He felt its silken fabric, and took a shaky breath. Yes. Today was the day he finally put on a corset. The corset itself seemed to be whispering to him, asking him to wear it.

“Come on,” it said, “Just put me on. You know you want to.”

“I know, but…” he said. The corset seemed to scoff.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when I’m on Iximaz,” it whispered. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when I’m on anybody, or even when I’m just lying here. You want me on you.” Aegis nodded.

“Yeah, I do,” Aegis said. He turned to the mirror that was attached to the wall, corset in hand. He stared at his reflection for a moment, then tentatively wrapped it around himself. He gasped a little as it caressed his skin, and he had to stop himself from reflexively dropping it. Holding the front of it in one hand to keep it from falling, he reached back to grab the panel, but was stopped by the corset.

“I’ll get that,” it said, and he could feel something shifting back there.

“Okay,” he said, returning his left hand to the busk. He closed it, pairing knobs and holes one by one. Each time he did so, the corset shuddered, and that, in turn, caused him to tremble. “Oh,” he gasped the third time it happened.

“I know,” the corset said. “Keep going. It gets better.” It did, for with each pairing, the corset moved a little more, and this most certainly got a reaction from him. The little noises he made would have gotten a chuckle from the piece of fabric wrapped around him, except for the fact it was too busy making his own. Of course, they did eventually run out of buttons- but that just meant it was time to move on to the laces. Aegis gave them a light tug, as he had done so many times for Ix, and the corset gasped.

“Oh, yes, please, again, harder,” it said. He complied eagerly, pulling at the first X away from him. He was a bit too eager, and pulled a bit too far.

He let out a startled, “OW!” 

The corset echoed him, then said, “Whoa, too much, too much! Be a little more gentle next time.” He felt the pressure lighten again, and he pulled on the laces again, but this time, he was careful not to use too much force. He gasped a little once again when he had the laces just tight enough, and moved on to the next pair. Thankfully, the corset was once again taking care of the panel, shifting it exactly as needed with each tug. Each new tug on the strings brought more pleasure, and more pleas from the corset for more. Finally, he pulled the last X, and groaned.

“Oh, you’re so tight,” he said.

“And you fell so good inside me,” it gasped. “Quickly, get the last of it, before you slip out of me.” Aegis complied, grasping the last strings and tying them quickly. He had to force himself to slow down, to pay attention to what he was doing. He managed to tie them neatly, before stepping back to get a really good look at himself in the mirror. “Don’t we look beautiful?” the corset asked.

“Yeah,” Aegis breathed in reply. He just stood there for a moment, looking at the two of them. Of course, to fully enjoy the corset requires physical activity, and so, he started moving. He could only move slowly at first, for what he felt had him believing he would faint if he tried to speed up. Eventually, though, he was able to move back and forth with great speed. As he was overwhelmed by the feelings walking about in the corset gave him, he said, “Oh, corset, I love you.”

“I love you too, Aegis,” the corset gasped. Aegis ran his hands over the corset and shuddered. Truly, it was a perfect fit.

"Mars is bright tonight."

"Please," Zingenmir huffed. "You say Mars is bright every night."

Iximaz turned away from the telescope, a thin pendant clinking softly off the brass rim of the eyepiece. "Of course I do, it's a Harry Potter reference. They make up, like, eighty per cent of my vocabulary."

"Is that right?"

Ix looked at Mir's expression and had the sinking feeling we all know when one's girlfriend is smiling just a little bit too widely for comfort.

"Uh... yes?"

Mir just smiled wider.

---

The next night, Ix walked up to the little stargazing platform with only a slight hint of trepidation. She was certain what was going to happen would be exciting, she just didn't know how it would be-

Oh.

That was how.

Zingenmir was standing before her in a perfect recreation of the robes of Professor Sinistra. Everything about the costume was perfectly accurate... aside from the bits that were missing, namely anything underneath the outer robes.

Iximaz slowed a bit while she tried to pick her jaw up off the floor, but she continued up to the viewing platform and made to say hello. She was stopped by a quick swish of Zingenmir's wand - not Sinistra's, but disguised cunningly as such.

"You are late, young lady. Five points from Gryffindor, and a further five from being out of uniform."

Ix eeped - or would have done, if a sound had been able to escape her lips. Instead, she took an indicated seat by her telescope. To the left of her was a desk and roll of parchment, which she was certain hadn't been there yesterday.

"Now," Zingenmir continued, "seeing as you have been so enthused by Mars of late, I have a task for you. You will look through that telescope, and you will write me twelve inches on the luminosity of Mars and its relevance to divination, with reference to the movements of both Phobos and Deimos as counterpoints to common predictions. I will be watching you the whole time, very, very closely."

Ix, who had had her eyes fixed straight ahead, felt the deep heat as Mir pressed her body against her own. She gulped as she saw her mistress's hands drift across the front of her shirt, undoing the buttons ever so slowly. Her left leg began to twitch, she ground back against her lover's body, and her breath caught in her throat-

-and Zingenmir's wand flicked gently, and a wandless Incarcerous firmly attached Ix's legs to the chair in an elaborate knotwork pattern.

The taller woman's breath was hot in Ix's ear. "Do try not to get distracted, young lady. The sooner you give me that twelve inches, well... I'm a great believer in reward in kind."

The kiss that came after was passionate and desperate as only true love's can be.

With eyes wide as dinner plates and her chest set to heaving, Iximaz recovered a little from the kiss, looked through the telescope... and began, with a trembling hand, to write.

I like how you've given Tolkien plots, places, and characters a good PPC twist. Very nice!

-Alleb