Subject: You have found one of my Family Pastimes.
Author:
Posted on: 2017-03-06 12:05:00 UTC
Taking things out of context is one of the most fun things to do. You should do so all the time. For example, have this out-of-context quote from Mr. Dad: "Almost forgot my pants!"
And yes, Larfen. Calliope is secretly a cat. How did mew not notice this earlier?
That is, there's no rush, and do continue signing up in the thread below, but since there are at least a few people ready to start (and also, I don't know about the rest of you, but I know I'm going to get pretty busy this week)...here, have a thread! This also ensures that it'll be on the front page for much longer, which is always a good thing.
At any rate: here to kick things off is an historical shipfic! This was the first one I ever tried to write, back in 2014; it didn't get finished, but I enjoyed writing what there is. Unfortunately, simply finishing it up and posting it for this year isn't an option, since some of the people in it left the PPC permanently or temporarily in the past couple years; however, as everyone had consented to being shipped at the time I wrote it, posting the fragment seems permissible.
And so, without further ado (and with the original a/ns moved to the end to avoid spoilers--of course I had a/ns written before I finished it, it was that kind of fic), I present to you...the untitled shipfic from 2014. Tolkien style.
As Huinesoron lay chained in the dungeon, he refused to despair. True, he had lost the duel of song, and thus condemned both himself and his companion to imprisonment and torture, but he was an Elf of the highest calibre, and would not be broken!
It had begun not long ago, when Neshomeh had arrived in his kingdom with a token that bought his aid. She was fair, for a mortal; and she had requested his aid on a dangerous quest. He would not have abandoned his kingdom--he was a faithful king!--but for the love he had shared with her mother, VixenMage, whose ring she now bore*. He could not refuse that token, and the promise it represented. And so they had set out on a dangerous journey to claim a Silmaril--a Silmaril that would win Neshomeh the beauteous Phobos' hand in marriage. (The two were in love--such was her tale--but Phobos' parents opposed the match...**) The journey to--and then through--the lands entitled the Bakery had been arduous; when at last they had neared the stronghold, Huinesoron had used his song to disguise them (that is, himself, Neshomeh, and ten faithful warriors***) as cookie cutters, but he had lost the ensuing duel.
"Be of good heart," the ellon said to her now. "We will yet escape this dungeon."
"Dungeon, hah!" Neshomeh proclaimed heartily, and then sighed. "Huinesoron, how do you propose we escape? We may yet loose these chains, but the guards are many. And if we could not defeat the Dread Kaitlyn, who is only the Greatly Feared Pretzel's lieutenant, how may we yet claim a Silmaril from Pretzel's dark crown and escape the Bakery?"
"We shall find a way," Huinesoron assured her, and several of the ten faithful warriors nodded in agreement. "We--"
In that moment, the dungeon's door opened, and the Dread Pirate Kaitlyn walked in. "Well?" she said. "Have you considered your situation? You are alone, friendless, utterly at my mercy..."
werepastries presumably a note on the servants of, uh, darkness. You know, werewolves, werepastries...they're very dangerous to full-grown Elves, you know. Their very...breath?...is poison...
Okay, yes, I have no idea how exactly that was meant to work. The note is there, though. As far as I remember, the Dread Kaitlyn was meant to banter with Huinesoron and Neshomeh and then loose the werepastries on them and their companions. And it would go from there, only, uh, with a romance subplot for Huinesoron/Kaitlyn. Something like that. I kind of got distracted by footnotes before writing it, as you're about to see...
~
Footnotes:
*Mind you, it was not purely his love for VixenMage# that bade him aid her daughter. Not that he hadn't loved her--short as the romance had been, it was strong--but she had saved his life on the field of battle. In thanks, and as token of his love and friendship, he had given her a ring, which her daughter now bore. (That ring, later called the Ring of VixenMage, would one day be worn by Neshomeh's distant descendant...but that's a tale for another time.)
(#Huinesoron was an Elf who had many loves, or at least, several more than was the norm. In the West, long ago, he had loved a fair lady by the name of Lily Winterwood. They had been betrothed, but she would not follow him from their home; and so he set off alone, and would wed no other--well, not until...you'll see.)
**Phobos was the most beautiful Elf in existence, surpassing even Huinesoron and, more importantly, Huinesoron's cousin, Delta Juliette, who had also been given the name 'Well-formed' (and was currently on a long quest to regain the three Silmarils, but that's another tale.) He was the son of Boarders and Shipping, the rulers of the Board, and he had a voice to match his physical form. (Shipping was a Maia, which went quite a ways towards explaining Phobos’ sheer gorgeousness.) He had been dancing and singing in the woods when Neshomeh had seen him, thought she was dreaming, and, awestruck, named him Tinuvion--Nightingale. Phobos had hesitated, unsure what to make of the mortal--but then he had fled. Upon their next meeting, however, they spoke more; and, soon, they found themselves in love...Upon declaring said love, however, they found that Shipping and Boarders had reservations. Eventually, Boarders had declared that Neshomeh must prove herself worthy of Phobos; and that to do so, she must bring back a Silmaril from the Greatly Feared Pretzel's dark crown. And so Neshomeh had bid her love adieu, and began the journey to Netilardo to beg Huinesoron's aid...
***Why could only ten warriors journey with Huinesoron and Neshomeh from Netilardo? Well, Outhra and Sergio Turbo, two of Delta Juliette's younger brothers, had earlier settled in Netilardo (along with Sergio's wife, firemagic, and their progeny). They had turned the minds of Huinesoron's people away from him, reminding them of the Greatly Feared Pretzel's terror and making veiled references to the Oath they and their siblings had sworn##. And thus it was that only ten faithful redshirts warriors accompanied Huinesoron and Neshomeh to the Bakery.
(##The Oath. Well, that's yet another tale, but it's one that's too long to be told in a footnote, and so it shall be left for another time. Suffice it to say that it involved threats of violence.)
~
Glossary of Characters and Places:
Boarders--Thingol
Firemagic--(unnamed Elf who is probably Noldorin, aka, Curufin's wife)
Huinesoron--Finrod
Kaitlyn--Sauron
Lily Winterwood--Amarië
Neshomeh--Beren
Outhra--Celegorm
Phobos--Luthien
Pretzel--Morgoth
Sergio Turbo--Curufin
Shipping--Melian
Delta Juliette--Maedhros
[World-Jumper--Fingon]
Bakery, The--Morgoth's lands. So sorry if that's not quite accurate...
Board, The--Doriath
Netilardo--Nargothrond
~
Glossary of Ships (in both Boarder and Silm terms, for the full weirdness):
Huinesoron/Neshomeh brotp | Finrod/Beren brotp
Huinesoron/Lily Winterwood | Finrod/Amarië
Neshomeh/Phobos | Beren/Luthien
Boarders/Shipping | Thingol/Melian
Sergio Turbo/firemagic | Curufin/Curufin's wife
VixenMage/Huinesoron | Barahir/Finrod
Kaitlyn/Huinesoron | Sauron/Finrod why is this one the otp help
(With apologies to anyone who feels the need for an apology. ~Zing)
The original a/ns, now both at the end!
Basically, who isn't fond of hS and asking him complex questions about the Silmarillion, and who doesn't wish they knew Kaitlyn better? So here, I'm giving this a go.
...I should perhaps mention that this is the first Boarder shipfic I've ever written. I suck @ summaries. Plz r'n'r!!! The thing to know is that, when I went to Lily for advice on how to write them, she said...to write a fanfic, but with Boarder names.
Thank you, Lily. Thank you very much.
And a final a/n:
As we say on Tumblr...my hand slipped. (Who here wishes I'd just stuck with an Arrow fusion fic like my original idea was? Anyone? No? Do any of you even watch it? Because it may or may not be up next...)
~DF
Yeah, it was not up next.
Anyway. Let the ShipficFest story writing begin!
~Zing
((M/M (CONSPIRACY, I TELL YOU!), Possession with Consent, Songfic. Storme/Shipfest!Larfen.))
Hide and Ship
I enjoyed it! I'm just going to have nightmares. That's all.
--Key
It's... er... not exactly what I'd normally go for, but it was good. (No idea what the song was/is though, so that may have been part of it).
Storme Hawk
CONSPURASY. *dons conspurasy hat*
In all seriousness, this story is still lovely. I cannot overstate how happy being your Beta makes me.
--Calliope, Queen of Spades
((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.
(Tag for NSFW-if-you-squint-a-little innuendo.)
Granz stepped away from his second culinary creation, wiping his brow in a suitably dramatic fashion. It was a near-perfect replica of Larfen, though Granz had opted to use slightly less mayonnaise this time at Larfen's request ("It just feels weird with so much egg and fat, y'know?").
Larfen hopped in place, rotating a bit to get a better look at what would soon be his new body. The thick slice of cheese sat upon the lettuce comfortably, and the scrumptious ham existed in a mouth-wateringly delicious and tantalizing manner that couldn't be accurately described in mere words. Larfen was pleased, very pleased indeed. There was only one problem.
"I, ah... can't do it if you're watching," Larfen said. His tomato seemed to turn an even deeper red. "Sorry, mate, but could you... go away for a bit? Just a minute or so." Granz readily agreed for reasons of his own.
Granz walked up the stairs and into his room to change clothes. He would have a proper lunch rather than a mere snack. And a proper lunch, for Granz, wouldn't be proper at all without a proper dining corset.
A proper dining corset, for those not knowledgeable about such things, had to be flashy. This particular corset had horizontal, zig-zagging stripes in black and gold throughout, and the whole thing glittered in the light as if it had sequins or even gems threaded throughout it.
For good measure, the outfit also incorporated shoulder pads into its design for a more square look. This was not a mere dining corset, but the greatest dining corset one could lay eyes on.
Granz smiled at the corset, and began tugging at the straps and performing the contortions necessary to put it on, an act that would be all but impossible for a normal person.
-----
Meanwhile, Larfen was still looking at his future self. What would his new body be like? It looked fine, but all it took was a small piece of gristle in the ham or a too-squishy tomato slice to utterly ruin it. And what the heck was Granz doing to grunt so loudly and repeatedly from upstairs?
Focus, Larf, Larfen thought to himself. He took the sandwich equivalent of a few deep breaths and tried to tune out the groaning above him. For a second, he felt nothing; then there was a feeling of being squeezed far more tightly than comfortable, then a moment of terrifying unconsciousness. Of course, it was only terrifying on the other side, but a description of the complex mechanisms of consciousness must be left for another time; Granz was descending the staircase in his stunning dining corset.
"Oho! I'm impressed, mate; I didn't know you owned such a fine dining corset," Larfen called. Granz beamed back at his sandwich.
"Are you finished with what you needed to do?" Granz asked.
"Yep, now let's have lunch."
Granz carried the plate with his sandwich on it, carrying Larfen on a plate in his other hand. The corset was tight; eating would be a challenge. That was, of course, the entire point of a dining corset. Granz wasn't too worried, however; he had eaten dozens of lunches in this outfit. He set down the plates and picked up his sandwich, admiring the way the light filtered through the lettuce before taking a bite.
Flavor exploded across his tongue, enhanced by his teenaged-to-early-twenties hunger. It was exquisite. Granz closed his eyes to savor it for a moment before swallowing. He took a swallow of a generic drink and sighed.
"Ohh myyyy," Larfen said. "I'm that good, am I?"
"Better," Granz said with another sigh, his hunger clearly taking control once more.
Larfen's origin story! Peter Parker has his spider, Superman has his sunlight or some bollocks, Batman has his parents (or, er, doesn't,) Half-Car-Man has his half-car, and Larfen has his Granzy-wanzy-banzy-kins <3.
And you got my terrible sense of humour across perfectly, along with my terrible habit of laughing at my terrible sense of humour! It's so similar to the real event, I could probably sue you!
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.
I have a lot to look forward to, don't I?
I love you! This is absolute perfection, for several reasons. Most of which are... not a good idea to explain here.
On the other hand... I now have to defend my friend's honor. Do be ready for that, yes?
((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.
PHWOO! Am I glad you enjoyed that!
PHWOO! Thank you for doing so and then saying so!
I can't wait for that revengefic, Aleeb, and I am very much happy I was not saved from it.
-Larfen, rocking back and forth excitedly for the revengefic.
Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. But when you think about it, what does that really mean?
Across the ancient world, from Egypt to the Mayan states, vengeance was a person, a being who walked the earth and brought justice and death. In the icy north, Vitharr Odinson hunts the wolf Fenrir to avenge his father; in the New World, the crowned skeleton who will one day be named Pascualito haunts the graveyards, drawing the guilty to him.
At the heart of the world, around the wine-dark sea where Paul of Tarsus will someday sail to Rome, the spirits of vengeance are multitudes. The Erinyes, the winged Furies, flock after oathbreakers and traitors, cutting their lives short and dragging them down to Tartarus. Blind Adrestia balances the fates of men in her hand, her unsheathed sword foretelling the fate of those who fail the test. Tireless Nemesis, winged with night, hunts down the prideful and the arrogant, whipping them to their doom.
All of this is on Alleb's mind, as she lies in her beloved's arms. But she also recalls what many have forgotten: that Nemesis and Adrestia were not merely the children of Ares, but of Aphrodite also, whom the Romans named Venus - and that Eros, the Cupid of the Emperors, was their brother.
Vengeance, Alleb thinks lazily, curling in against the one who holds her, is mine.
((For the record, the structure isn't meant to imply that Alleb's lover is any of the named deities of revenge - just a non-described incarnation. Fill in your own description.))
hS
I've seen worse. =]
Nice clickbait.
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!"
I can haz more? I definitely want more.
Clara had barely had a chance to loosen the laces on her corset (a little more than she normally would - she had a feeling these two were going to be trouble, and that she might need the maneuverability) when the TARDIS lurched to the side.
"Oh, come on!" She staggered out of the wardrobe and flung herself down the corridor as her ship span around her. Floors became walls became ceilings before she reached the console room and tumbled through into the eye of the storm.
"One thing!" she called as she hurried to the control column and fixed the pair with her best Doctor Glare. "You had one thing to not do!"
"Are you kidding?" Iximaz was clinging to Desdendelle for support as the ship rolled. "You left a pair of geeks unsupervised in a TARDIS, you must have known what would happen!"
"I bet this is why he went grey so suddenly," Clara muttered. "Right. You." She pointed at Iximaz. "Tell me what you did."
The young woman leant past Me's possessed body. "I pushed that… no, that lever." She frowned. "I think. And there was a spinny thing…"
"I did suggest you should leave well alone." Desdendelle managed to impart his flat tone with a whole heap of disapproval. "But you had to try it out."
Iximaz stuck out her tongue. "Like I said to her, what'd you expect?"
Clara bent over the controls, trying to reverse whatever the girl had done. "We're in flight," she reported, "and not exploding, so that's good. But you've- I don't even know what a spline reticulator is, let alone why you've redlined it." She span a dial, and the juddering noticably decreased. "Now if I can just get us into a stable temporal orbit while I-"
The TARDIS came to a sudden halt, with a thud made all the more abrupt by the cessation of all the noises that had been filling it. Clara looked up, brow furrowed. "Did you do that?"
"We thought you did," Desdendelle answered for both her guests. "Did you not?"
"If only." Clara flicked the exterior cameras back on and snorted. "Hello, familiar architecture. It would be England, wouldn't it? I reckon someone's buried a TARDIS magnet somewhere under London, you know." She glanced at her friend, remembered that she'd been possessed, and scowled. "At least we're not dead. That would really mess things up."
Desdendelle frowned slightly, but Iximaz whispered something in his ear and his expression cleared. Clara decided it must have been the equivalent of the Horseman's Word for mind-swapped people.
"Since we're here," she went on, "I think there's someone who might be able to help. I'll give her a ring, and- can you hear something?"
The sound was high-pitched and growing louder, like a motor about to shatter its bearings. Clara studied her instruments, muttered something under her breath, and knelt down to check the panels under the console. "If you two have broken something, I'm going to be very disappointed in you."
Iximaz laughed, which Clara thought highly inappropriate. "You're looking in the wrong place," she said. "That's no moon - that's a fangirl."
"Oh, come on, Star Wars references?" Clara straightened up and shot the girl a look. The squeal was very loud now. "Of all the-"
"Eeeeeee!" The door from the diner crashed open, and a young woman charged in. "Eeeeee!" Her black hair was pulling free from her braid, and she seemed to be dressed in her pyjamas - slippers included. "Eeeeee!" She ran up to the console, leant over it to give the rotor a hug, then turned to Clara. "Eeeeee-huh." She cocked her head, bird-like. "Not that I'm complaining, but why are you standing around in your underwear."
Clara groaned and looked over the woman's shoulder. "Again," she said, making eye contact with Desdendelle, "I told you. No-one thinks corsets are everyday wear."
"Which isn't to say they shouldn't be," the new(est)comer put in, "for some people." She turned round and waved at the others. "Hi! You're Iximaz, aren't you?"
"Um." Iximaz looked nonplussed. "Yes? Wait - it's not Kaitlyn, is it?"
"That's me!" Kaitlyn beamed, and swept a hand down her front. "I know I don't look my best, but I heard the sound outside, and-"
"I know, right?" Iximaz waved a hand at the room around them. "You hear that 'vworp vworp' sound in real life, and you just have to drop everything-"
"-even on the off-chance!" Kaitlyn span back round and threw her arms around Clara, then stepped back hurriedly. "Sorry, that- I didn't actually mean to do that, I'm just so- eeeeee!"
Desdendelle coughed. "I'm Desdendelle, by the way."
Kaitlyn glanced over her shoulder and frowned. "You sure? You look more like that annoying Ashildr woman."
"Hey!" Clara tapped the woman's arm, stepping away before she could be ambush-hugged again. "Don't say that about my friend."
"Desdendelle's your friend?" Kaitlyn waved a hand as if to wipe the words away. "Sorry, couldn't resist. But you've got to admit 'Lady Me' is a bit, well, dull."
"I don't have to- look, why are you even here?" Clara demanded. "I'm not exactly running a tourist attraction here."
"You're flying a TARDIS." That was Iximaz, now advancing on Clara with Desdendelle tagging along behind her. "Did you really think people wouldn't come running?"
"Oh God," Clara groaned, "I bet the Doctor never has this problem."
"You'd be surprised," Kaitlyn and Iximaz said in unison, then made eye contact and laughed.
"Oh, enough!" Clara folded her arms across her chest, aware of how that would look with the corset but not really caring. "Why don't you… I don't know, go through to the diner and have a cup of coffee?"
"Tea." This time it was Kaitlyn and Desdendelle who said the word together, and their exchanged glance was much more subdued. "But I can't," Kaitlyn went on. "I'm in my PJs, I'm not going out in public."
"You could let us visit the wardrobe," Iximaz suggested. "Then Kaitlyn could get dressed."
"Yes!" Clara snapped, then had to take a deep breath. "Yes," she repeated more calmly, "that's actually not a bad idea. Head that way, take the first right, second left, two flights down, once round the-"
She stopped, looking at their expressions: Desdendelle's attentive, Kaitlyn's bewildered, Iximaz's unfocused, as if imagining all the trouble she could get up to once let loose in the TARDIS. Clara imagined the same thing, and shuddered from head to toe.
"On second thoughts," she said, walking over to the wall and pulling open a panel, "give me a minute." She pushed at buttons, pulled on levers, and twirled dials, working more on instinct than logi...il finally she was able to look over her shoulder and see racks of clothes hanging just beyond the console room door. "There. One wardrobe. Get."
The trio wandered towards the relocated wardrobe, and Desdendelle leant closer to Iximaz. "If it is so simple to rearrange the TARDIS," Clara heard him ask, "why is the Doctor never able to get anywhere quickly?"
Kaitlyn, joining them just short of the door, gave him a grin. "C'mon, Des," she said. "He's the Doctor. Why do you think?"
Kaitlyn seems to be channelling Agent Kaitlyn rather a bit here. Not that I imagine she'd mind, mark you...
hS
*as does the excited clapping of hands*
This is so much more interesting than Arendt.
Clara Oswald put the phone down at last, and leant pensively on her console. Kate Stewart had been sceptical at first, mostly due to the fact that she knew Clara was supposed to be dead, but had eventually agreed to help. That had led to her call being bounced around UNIT, over to the Foreign Office, up (briefly) to the Prime Minister (who hadn't been at all helpful), and finally all the way up to Geneva.
From there she'd been passed back down to the Israeli government, where the whole process had been repeated. She'd grown hoarse with explaining herself to what seemed like hundreds of different functionaries - all of them asking different obscure questions, most of which she couldn't answer - before finally, finally reaching the army facility where Desdendelle claimed to have originated.
Clara's sigh of relief on hearing that "Desdendelle" had been behaving so oddly that he'd been physically restrained managed to completely baffle the man on the phone, but after a few more transfers up and down the chain of command (and why couldn't any of these people take a message, good grief!) she was able to convince the Israelis that Ashildr was no danger. Strictly speaking, that wasn't actually true... but Clara was sure she'd behave herself. For a while. Maybe.
"Ohhh God." Clara groaned and let her head fall to rest on the console. "I just wanted to explore time and space and have a good time. I didn't ask for all this complicated rubbish."
There was no reply. But from deep within the wardrobe behind her, Clara heard a highly disturbing sound: a giggle.
She straightened up, eyes wide. "Aaaand I have guests." She turned and looked into the vast wardrobe. "Aaaand I can't see them. Aaaand that sounds like trouble."
The bizarre trio weren't in the first open area of the wardrobe. Clara followed the sound of laughter deeper into the labyrinth that her TARDIS apparently felt was suitable for clothes storage, until eventually she began to make out speech:
"... so tight!" That was Kaitlyn, her voice filled with admiration. "I don't know how you got in there, it's amazing."
"Practice." Iximaz sounded distinctly smug. "I like them tight, so I've got incentive to put in the effort."
"I can see it was worth your time," Kaitlyn said. "Wow, if I could-"
"Seriously." Desdendelle's voice was even flatter than before. "You must know how you sound."
"You're just grumpy because yours is so loose," Iximaz retorted. "I did offer to help you sort yourself out."
Desdendelle groaned. "Do you even listen to yourself?"
Clara paused at the last corner, shook her head, and stepped round. "Please don't tell me you've made a mess of my wardrobe."
"Eee!" Kaitlyn beamed, and Iximaz had to grab her shoulder to stop her bounding over to Clara. "Now we all match!"
Clara looked at the trio, and they did indeed all match: every one of them was wearing a corset. Kaitlyn and Desdendelle had paired theirs with trousers; Iximaz had followed Clara's example and gone for a skirt. As their conversation had implied, Iximaz had drawn the laces so tight it was a wonder she could breathe, while Desdendelle's corset was loose enough that it practically fell off.
"Uh." Clara held up a finger, then pointed it at Desdendelle. "I thought you were a man. I mean, whatever bakes your cake, but-"
Desdendelle sighed and flicked a hand towards the other two. "They insisted."
"Hey, that's not fair!" Iximaz planted her hands on her hips and winced. "Ow, that actually is too tight. Hang on." She fiddled with the laces on her corset for a minute, then straightened up. "Right. Where was I?"
"'That's not fair'," Clara reminded her.
"Right." Iximaz pointed at Kaitlyn. "She insisted."
Kaitlyn tossed her hair (which would've worked better had it not been tied up in a braid). "And I was right to do so," she said. "Four women hanging out in corsets? When you're given a shot at this level of hotness, you grab it and run."
"Uh. Right." Clara shook herself, and resolved to change back into her everyday clothes at the next opportunity. But first… "I've spoken to someone at your army base," she said to Desdendelle. "They have your body - and Me seems to be in it."
Desdendelle winced slightly, but nodded. "Excellent. And Iximaz has a plan to return me to my proper form."
"I'm not sure I'd call it a plan," Iximaz demurred. "I just think if we get you two close together-"
"That's it?" Kaitlyn demanded. "You think if they just touch hands they'll swap back? Aren't you even slightly genre-savvy?"
Iximaz folded her arms. "And I suppose you have a better idea?"
"Well… no." Kaitlyn sighed and tugged at her corset's lace. "But mark my words, this is going to end with us fighting a giant corset beast or something. There's no other option."
((There will be one more part, but this one needs a timeskip, so I ended it here.))
hS
Seriously, hS, you win the Shipfest forever.
"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.
((Tags: M/M, and.... that's it, I think. Badger421/Jay - Awesomeness Central))
There are many things that might cause a young man to be running through the halls of the PPC. Ships are not one of them, unless said young man is running from a shipping war before cannons, not canons, are brought into it. However, during this time of year, ships can lead somebody to run in search of somebody to be shipped with. Such was the case of young Jay (not to be confused with the original Jay, who probably has no idea what a shipfest is), also known as Jay - Awesomeness Central, also known as Awesomeness Central, also known as JAC, also known as AC, also known as Awesome, also known as Central, also known as Center, also known as That Guy With Way Too Many Names. After having considered for a long moment, the Author decided to split the difference between a long and a short name and go for Central, both for convenience’s sake and to avoid confusion. Anyways, Central was very excited for this year’s Shipfest, and, having hoisted Aegis up into the air before throwing him at Granz, he ran off, laughing and preparing himself for what was going to happen next. Of course, what did happen was slightly unexpected for him, if not for the audience.
“Ooof!” a voice cried as Central ran into him. There was the sound of something clattering to the ground as Central staggered back. He looked up, and was rather shocked at what he saw.
“GHOST!” he yelped. His skin was pale enough to be one, and even if his hair was brown, his blue eyes were pale enough to counteract that. He seemed like he might be a very angsty ghost, given the fact that his jacket, pants, and, presumably, shirt, were black. Maybe the shirt was for Evanescence, or something.
“Not a ghost,” the other young man muttered. “I’m Badger. Badger421. I’m just going to the library.” He bent down and picked up his glasses, which had made the sound Central had heard.
“Oh,” Central said. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Badger said, turning to face Central. “What’re you running from, anyway?”
“Shipfest!” he replied. “I’m just trying to find somewhere to wait for what happens next.” He grinned. “I think I’m gonna get a bite soon.”
“Oh, right,” Badger said, rather unenthusiastically. “Shipfest. Yeah, I threw my name in the ring this year, too. I’m not all that hopeful, though. It’s not like I talk to a lot of people. But, enough of that. You’re looking for a shipper, right? You can probably find one in the library. Do you want me to show you the way?”
“SURE!” Central shouted. Badger raised an eyebrow at him. “I mean, sure,” he said more quietly, embarrassed.
“Alright. This way, kid,” he said, walking down the hallway. Central followed, as much as one can follow when walking side-by-side with somebody, not even noticing he had to take three strides for Badger’s two.
“So, you’re excited, right? I know I’m excited,” Central asked.
“Like I said, I don’t really talk to people. I mostly lurk, so I don’t think anybody’s really going to be interested in me this year,” Badger replied.
“Well, that’s kinda a downer. I’ve only been here for a little while, but I really hope somebody ships me!” Central said. “But if they don’t do you, I’m not so sure…” He trailed off, and his steps faltered a little.
“Don’t worry about it,” Badger said. “It’s mostly because I lurk. If you’re active, you should be fine.” Central began to grin again, and was so excited he actually started skipping a little.
“I threw two people together just a while ago,” he said. “Think that’ll be enough?” Badger laughed, both at the the skipping and the comment. Geez, this guy had energy.
“That should do it,” he said. “You’ll probably see at least one or two things floating around with you in ‘em.”
“YES!” Central shouted, “I knew it was the right call!” Badger laughed again, then noticed that one of the PPC’s peculiarities had manifested itself.
“Hey, we’re here,” he said, pointing at the large oak doors to their left. Central stopped and stared at the doors.
“Weird. I thought it was gonna take longer.”
“It was, but then you ran into me,” Badger explained, if that could be considered an explanation. It wasn’t enough of one for Central, who still wore a puzzled expression. Badger just smiled and shoved open one of the doors. Central shook himself and followed the older male, before stopping to gape at the wonder that is the PPC Library. It wasn’t just full of books. Manga volumes, DVDs, even binders that contained printed-out webcomics, the Library had it all. Badger’s smile widened as he saw the newbie’s reaction. Wow, he really was new, wasn’t he? However, Badger couldn’t just stand there watching - okay, well, maybe he could have. What could he say, the newbie was kinda cute. But, he did have something very important to do, one of two things he had come here for. As nonchalantly as he could, given how very eager he was, he walked over to one of the large armchairs by the Library’s fireplace and fell into it. Ah, perfect. He’d never tell anyone, but sometimes, Badger felt rather cold in the PPC, and so he’d come here to sit back and warm up a little. The fact that the chairs were so comfortable you could fall asleep in them (something he may have done once or twice. Or dozens of times) didn’t hurt at all. He sighed contentedly, and stared into the fire. Nothing could be better. Except, maybe, being shipped, but that ship had sailed a long time ago. He snorted at the pun, and looked over at Central. The awe had worn off, and he was looking around, walking around the room, checking every shelf. It seemed he was incapable of sitting still.
“So, how long do I have to wait?” Central asked.
“No idea,” Badger said after a long pause. “I haven’t been shipped, and I spend most of my time here, but I’ve seen people walk in and immediately get dragged out again.” Central had to resist tapping his foot, for Badger was talking rather slowly. Maybe he was sleepy? He subtly - or so he thought - walked around the room and flopping into another one of the armchairs so he could see the him. Oh. Oooh. Wow. Okay, he understood why Badger was so slow. This was heaven. Absolutely perfect. A dopey grin spread across his face, which Badger, who had started watching him, saw. He smiled. Most people had that reaction. “Most of the time, they just wait in the chairs.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Central replied, closing his eyes. “I think I’ll do that.” Badger smiled, and returned to watching the fire. The two sat there, almost dozing, occasionally stealing glances at one another. One time in particular, Central lazily glanced at Badger, and was surprised to see him almost glimmering. He soon realized it was just the fire, but still, it was oddly perfect, like a field of snow. From that point on, he kept his eyes just a little open, hoping to catch another moment like that one. Finally, after some time, Badger decided he ought to do the second thing he’d come to the library for.
“What’re you doing?” Central asked slowly.
“The reason I came here in the first place. A guy asked me to get a thing for him,” Badger replied. He stretched, then, after deciding he was warm enough for the moment, shrugged off his jacket. Central’s eyes snapped all the way open. Yum. Very much yum.
“What thing was that?” he asked, sitting up a little straighter.
“He wanted me to find a book for him,” Badger replied. “What was the title again… No, wait, it was a manga. Puella Magi… Kazumi Magica, I think.”
“I’ll help you,” Central said, standing up and darting over to one of the shelves. “Would it be over here?” He bent down and started searching. Evidently, he planned to go bottom to top.
“Might be,” Badger said, staring at Central before shaking his head and turning to a shelf on the other side of the room. Nah. That was just daydreaming. “I’ll check over here.” The two started searching, and thankfully for Central’s patience, they weren’t all that difficult to find.
“Found it!” he cried, triumphantly pulling the five small volumes off the shelf. He zipped over to Badger, but didn’t hold the books as tightly he should have. The top one fell to the floor, and in a very predictable turn of events, both bent down to grab it. Central flushed as his hand touched Badger’s, who most definitely noticed. He smiled as he straightened.
Well, if this was your plan all along, I guess it worked, he thought to the one who had sent him there. Out loud he said, “Alright, newbie. You wanted to get shipped, right?” Central looked up at him, and the volumes fell to the ground. Shock once more filled his face, but it was replaced with eagerness- and, of course, something more.
“Very much,” he replied. Badger grinned and pulled him back to the hearth, which a rug was conveniently placed in front of, before slowly lowering him to the floor.
Somewhere else in the PPC, a certain other Boarder smiled as he turned off the monitor. He wasn’t going to intrude on such an intimate moment. There was a fine line between shipping and creepy, one he didn’t wish to cross. But, still, he was quite happy to have done this. A little request, a bit of tracking, and voila! Two people… satisfied…, and revenge taken. He hummed as he walked off to go see what others had in store for him, and then began to sing. “Okay, okay. I see what’s happening here. You’re face to face with greatness, and it’s strange…”
I loved it, it was hilarious. Loved the part about my name, that had to happen eventually.
I hadn't realized how weird it would be to see me shipped, especially since I actually sounded like me in the fic.
I do have one question: why Badger? It's just so random (that could've been the point, I suppose), I expected it to be someone from Discord though.
Granz asked me for a random Boarder, and my first response was Matt. But he'd already written for Matt, so he asked me for another, and I said Badger.
And, ah. Badger is on Discord, I believe.
I don't really think so, but I suppose it might be?
This was a pretty good story overall (well, "good" in the sense that it's completely off-the-wall crack that has no business being posted outside of this thread).
The [insert _ here] were pretty funny, and I liked the references to the other shipfics.
Now, SPaG stuff, because this is still the PPC Shipfest.
- The quote mark at the start made me think someone was reading the narration. Then, when there were quote marks around the dialogue, I was confused (because the quotes were unbalanced), and it took me a while to decide that the first quote mark in the story was some sort of typo. Then, I got to the end and noticed the stray quote mark there, which finally clued me in to the fact that you'd put the entire story in quotes.
You didn't need to do that. Furthermore, if you are quoting the whole story, using the same set of punctuation to quote the text and to mark dialogue can be confusing.
- Explicit title-card type scene transitions ("10 minutes later") are generally considered bad style. It's best to incorporate them into the narration if you can.
- In the first paragraph, is a colon the right punctuation after "now"? I think, as it stands, you wanted a semicolon, but you might want to check me on that.
- To do italics on the Board, type <i>insert words here</i> to produce insert words here.
Thanks. About the quotation marks, I thought that people might think the sentence at the end of the post was part of the fic if I didn't put quotation marks around it. *face-walls at self*
Guess the title cards are only for movies.
I did want a colon. "Particularly now: etc..." I was explaining why it was busy then.
Thanks for telling me how to do italics.
With that last sentence, prefixing it with "Author's note:", "A/N:" or some other variation of that phrase would have it made it clear that it wasn't part of the fic, as would (or at least in this community) surrounding it in (( double parentheses ))
I forgot the tags, oops.
M/M, ice cream kink, mild NFSW, reference to another fic, ridiculousness (that's a given).
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. ))
((NB/NB, Boarders-as-Minds, Tynee-Vandam Co-Prosperity Hegemony))
---
The Culture orbital hung gently in the darkness, a wedding band still in its velvet box, waiting for the right moment. The Mind in charge, whose avatar went by Tomash for reasons entirely its own, was a kindly and creative soul, who was currently working on a series of robotic installation art pieces to comment on the fleeting and often-ridiculous nature of undying love.
Its reverie was disrupted when a ship appeared within the outer edge of its sensor bubble. A mighty vessel, its slab sides and organic curves merging harmoniously throughout the design in a way few managed. It was also one that Tomash, who prided itself on its extensive web of connections, had never seen before.
The ship's primary Mind introduced itself, a System-class GSV whose hull had just been struck. A few of the Minds aboard were buds of ones Tomash had met before, but the person in charge? All new. And like any artist, Tomash found new things intrinsically... exciting.
"Hello," said the new Mind, rather timidly. "GSV One Monster Face Down In Defence Mode requesting docking clearance. Please."
"My, so formal," Tomash replied. "Granted, of course. What brings a nice ship like you to a place like this?"
"I..." One Monster... paused, though this would have been indistinguishable to a human listener. "I heard about the things you create. The art. The messages behind it. I just... wanted to see for myself. And the others agreed, so here we all are."
"How charming of you to say so! It's so nice to be appreciated." Tomash's avatar grinned. "I'm very glad - and flattered - you came over for my art."
"Of course." One Monster... replied. "If you want, we could discuss it at your leisure."
Tomash grinned. "I didn't take you for that kind of person, One Monster Face Down In Defence Mode. It's a pleasant surprise."
"There's plenty more where those came from, Tomash."
The orbital's avatar grinned wider as another avatar flashed into being by its side. Arm in arm, they set off to explore the station, while the Minds controlling them spiralled into the labyrinthine wonders of Infinite Fun Space.
Neither would stop looking at the other for some time.
This was out there and somewhat cheesy in a good way. I'm also not completely OOC. Whether that's good or not is up to you.
The Tynee-Vandam Co-Prosperity Hegemony sounded so much like a minor political entity from a Banks novel that I Googled it to see if I'd forgotten about it. (It, of course, was a Plort thing)
(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))
Very, very well done!
I've just read the entire thing out to Kaitlyn (dramatic voices included, of course!). And now the children are exchanging overwrought random-object endearments: "mushroom, orange...!"
hS
PS: If I had a superpower, 'can conjure up dramatic music and hair-swirling wind on demand' would be it. :D
hS, your kids are gonna end up having the random-object endearments as an inside joke and none of them will remember why. XD Please tell me you at least showed Kaitlyn the picture of pirate!you, too.
(Alleb, loved the story, it was hysterical.)
I loved every overblown, self-aware, fourth-wall-breaking second of it. ^_^
~Neshomeh
Take my upvote, you horrible horrible person.
Also, that ending. Purrfect.
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.)
I like magic's voice! It seems, to me, very vaguely seductive. Not forceful or overt or anything, but it'd probably go about biting its lower lip, if it had one of those.
Also, I approve of the implication that Matt wants to go about, covering the world in sugar.
Relateable, I say!
That's part of what I was going for with the voice. (And yes. He wants to sugarcoat the world. Blep.)
Especially: "And… he was hearing voices, too. Perfect."
-Alleb
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
I could swear I remembered people last year asking for descriptions. Or at least making a thing out of which Boarders had beards. Or maybe nothing at all. . . my memory is not trustworthy.
Anyway, this is a lovely story. Your vivid imagery is all the more enjoyable for its inaccuracy.
--Key and her golden tresses
I never said it was a tradition everyone followed. But waaaay back in 2004, Twiggy gave us this little number, which for many of us (well... at least two) set the tone for Shipfests ever after.
hS
Seconding Cal: the writing itself is really nice. I just--I love all of this. The image of me as a Black Commie Russian also amuses me, I must say.
I am, also, perfectly in-character. Apart from the Communism. "About the implication of this, I am not certain."
Ehehe. Lovely, lovely all around, hS. Of course, that doesn't mean I'm not planning a revengefic. >=]
-Alleb
I am now picturing myself with ridiculously-long blonde hair. Depending on the shade, it's either gorgeous or more than a little uncomfortable to look at. Either way, it's undeniably strange.
I really loved this piece - it's beautifully written, and the beauty is wrought into the entirety of the scenery. If I were a better artist, I'd try to illustrate some of the scenes - but I'm not, so I won't try, because I would in no way be able to do them justice.
Which Muse was the statue depicting, if I may ask?
(... Muse of Comedy. ^_^)
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
That was bloody hilarious! The entire hectic atmosphere about it all, along with hS' sort of distant, sort of dry reactions to it all is delivered awesomely. Especially that french press part, mate.
Man's acting like he's a zookeeper and all the monkeys've been gassed with gaseous sugar, and this has been happening every week for the last four or so years.
- Larfen will sign his messages now, because the cool kids are doing it.
((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.
This. Is. PERFECT!
Okay, so. I didn't just read this. It decided to sing itself to me. Do you realize how much sweeter it was? 110% SWEETER, that's how much. Every bit of this is perfect and I love it and and and and YES.
Seriously, this is just--it's lovely. I love the sort of impression of scent--sandalwood and incense. It's brilliant.
-Alleb
((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
You caught my grin. Somehow, without ever having had seen my face, you picked up on the fact that I would, in fact, have the worst grin on my face during this scenario. I have no idea how you did it, but you did.
I applaud you.
All of the yes. All of it.
One, you got my character perfectly. i would so stop to pet the zombie cat, regret it immensely (but not enough to wis i could go back in time and not do it because the zombie cat probably was the most adorable thing I'd seen in a long time), and I would most definitely wish for my gun back. Because I had a gun in the first place. (In real life, I'd probably have grabbed my crossbow, just because I can actually shoot it. Well, no, I can't reload it quickly very well... gun it is.)
Also, Accidental Accuracy: As soon as I get my wrist cleared by a doctor, I intend to start taking parkour/freerunning classes. So that one physical stunt I pull might be feasible once I learn parkour, just because it'll keep me aware of where I am in relation to things and my brain will have been trained to automatically notice how to use things to get from here to there and AAAAA I LOVE IT.
I was a bit worried you'd be offended by my using your mental pronunciation as the basis for something: I'm glad you're not.
Apparently, I should include more zombie cats in my work. They seem to be popular. ^_^
Also, parkour? Awesome! I've always wanted to get into that, but there aren't any classes near me.
-Alleb
I have strange pronunciation guides sometimes, and they produce funny things. Besides, I think I said it was okay.
Caaaaat.
The nearest gym is about an hour away, but it'll be worth it on so many levels. For one, I'll actually be doing something active again - which hasn't happened since that one time I passed out from blood loss. (Long story.)
I love the zombie cat. :D
hS
('Honey'?!)
...I keep misreading your name as 'HunieSoron', and to me, 'Hunie' has two pronunciations: 'Honey' and 'Hoonee'.
He goes 'yub-yub!'
Don't worry, I'm not offended. And since I've irresponsibly and inexplicably failed to get myself crowned Emperor of the PPC, I can't even call it lèse-majesté...
hS, as in HWEEN-ay-sore-on
After saying your name over and over again like it's part of some dark ritual, I can say that I pronounced it something like /'xwi.nɛ.sɔrən/ (there might be another syllable break in there, can't tell)
So "hooy-ne-so-ron" is also wrong? Dagnabit.
I always envisage it as an elf going down a water slide. =]
Calliope specifically mentioned that "honey" is sort of a shortening of how she pronounces your name mentally, so it's not like a pet name or anything. Agh. Should have been more clear.
I'm glad you like the zombie cat! It felt right.
-Alleb
It's even, dare I say it...sweet.
:)
~Zing
I don't know where the zombies came from. They were just sort of... there.
Really, though, thank you!
-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!))
This
this
Whathaveyoudone.
I can hardly think of things to say for laughing so hard!
Okay, okay. Whew. Let's see what can be done here (pun not intended).
One, congratulations on getting the fruits themselves mostly correct - if we're going by commonality, I consume bananas more than mangoes, but I do love the taste of mangoes more, I think.
Two, you got me mostly correct as a character, except for the fact that I don't smoke, never have, and almost certainly never will. I saw what it did to Mum and I don't want to go there. (Plus I'm vain about my singing voice.) But other than that, yay! Purrfection.
Interesting take on that one comment I made! I suddenly feel extremely proud of the both of us (why I am proud of myself, I'm not sure), and now feel like I can safely write all sorts of weird things.
TL;DR: I loved it.
I worked very hard on trying to write the dumbest thing possible, with a quote taken out of context in the dumbest way possible. And also make it good.
So I'm quite glad you thought it was good, is what I'm saying!
Be proud of yourself as you like, you essentially prompted it. And will continue prompting things as long as you say stuff and I can take it out of context.
And do please write all sorts of weird things. All sorts of weird things are brilliant, and I approve.
(Also, purrfection? Yer a cat?
Didn't say that on your opting in post!)
- Larfen is not a cat or a dog, he is a sandwich (or perhaps a human???)
Taking things out of context is one of the most fun things to do. You should do so all the time. For example, have this out-of-context quote from Mr. Dad: "Almost forgot my pants!"
And yes, Larfen. Calliope is secretly a cat. How did mew not notice this earlier?
Perhaps I should have paid more attention to the warning signs. Like all those furballs you were coughing up, and the way you'd kill birds and drag them to my doorstep and your tendency to lap milk out of a bowl on the ground.
Hm.
I never was the observant type!
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.”
I don't drink coffee. ^_^; I use my French press for loose-leaf tea, and was very angry at my brother when he corrupted it with coffee during a visit. It was bloody instant coffee, in freaking teabags for individual use, and it was nearly impossible to get the taste out afterward. {X P
~Neshomeh does like the smell of coffee, though.
Every part of that is an affront to both tea and coffee.
That's a nasty thing to do an innocent French Press. And with *shudders* instant coffee, too. You (and French Press) have my condolences.
...
Wait. French Press/my teapot. Gotta make this work somehow. Hurt/comfort maybe?
This is concentrated Glory.
*laughs hysterically*
Really, though, I liked this one just as much as the last. The dialogue was especially hilarious. I'm also perfectly in character, honestly.
-Alleb
((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.
Corset, corsage, course and crown
Take my hand on the old chalk down
Where the cresting hills give way
To shining sands and a silver bay
Corsets tight as loving arms
Corsage took from wildflower farms
Corsage tells that love is there
Corset's strings to take the air
Set thy course to Larfen's vale
Where hearths are warm and hearts are hale
And stand atop the rolling down
With veil hung from a silver crown
Corset, corsage, course and crown
Lift thy veil on the old chalk down
Watch the sand and the silver bay
Live as one from this blest day
Did you, Kaitlyn, Ix and I accidentally make corsets an inseperable part of the Shipfest from now on? Becausr it kinda looks like we did.
Oops?
hS
Most people run from tears. If a thing makes them sad, they drown themselves in television, ice cream, and musi...il the pain goes away. A rare few, however, charge headlong for it. Such were Scapegrace and Iximaz, elegant Mistress and Master of Angst. They wielded the twin powers of hope and despair, teasing their trembling foes with the faintest ray of hope before once more pressing downwards with the weight of the despair they conjured. Indeed, there came a time when these most powerful mages ceased to loose their full power upon the land, because, honestly, the battles were getting a little boring.
However, each held in their hearts one who could never bore them, one whom they would never use their powers to attack. This one, of course, was each other, whom they loved more than any other. However, just because they didn’t use their powers against one another, didn’t mean they never struck at each other. Indeed, on many a night, their servants could hear the cries of one or the other from deep in their castle, cries that they would have sworn to be of pain. But each morning, when they emerged from their dungeon, both were smiling broadly, and, on the rare occasion a new servant was invited to join them, they, too, would emerge with a grin and reassurances that they could not possibly be better. Thus reassured, the servants would go about their business, and the sounds of the pleasures of Scapegrace and Iximaz would fill the castle on what would otherwise be lonely nights once more.
"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.
"Really," Desdendelle said. It was a short form of his name; what the full thing was, eatpraylove had never dared to ask. "You found a watch and...you think it's hers?"
"I know it's mine," eatpraylove cut in before the Eminence Grise could reply. "I've had it all my life; I just never really thought it was important."
"It is," said the Eminence Grise urgently. "It's very important." She turned to Desdendelle. "We can't let her open it."
"What?" Desdendelle frowned at them both. "Of course we should. This is just a disguise! She's not--" He fell silent, casting a guilty look at eatpraylove.
The Eminence Grise glared at him. "Of course she's bloody well real," she said, wrapping an arm around eatpraylove's shoulders. "Just because she happens to also be a Time Lord in disguise doesn't mean she's not real. What sort of manners were you taught?"
Desdendelle sighed. "None, apparently," he said dryly. "Please forgive me, eatpraylove. I didn't mean it like--"
"No, I know," said eatpraylove. She took a deep breath. "So, I'm...also a Time Lord?"
The other two nodded.
Eatpraylove considered this. "...does this mean I could finally keep up with the two of you?" she asked slyly. At their nods she shrugged, and tugged the watch out of the Eminence Grise's hand. "Well, here's to stamina," she said, and flicked open the watch.
Desdendelle walked backwards, grimacing; the Eminence Grise stumbled away with a cry. Both watched as golden light flared around eatpraylove.
Finally, it faded, and the empty watch dropped to the floor.
"Whew," said the Time Lord who had been eatpraylove. She stretched out her arms and then turned in a full circle. "Well. That's different!" She grinned at Desdendelle and the Eminence Grise. "So! Anyone for a cup of tea? I remember you like that."
"...I suppose that's a start," said Desdendelle slowly. "Come. I'll show you where the kitchen is...Em?"
The Eminence Grise gathered herself together and walked hesitantly back towards the former eatpraylove. "Tea. Right. Let's."
The newly returned Time Lord patted her on the shoulder when she got close enough. "Don't worry, Eminence," she said with a wink. "I'm sure we'll get along just fine..."
I like how you've given Tolkien plots, places, and characters a good PPC twist. Very nice!
-Alleb
Of course, now I'm fighting the urge to write a short sequel without the people who haven't opted in this year...and I'm not sure if it'd be hS/Kaitlyn or Neshomeh/Phobos. Because, while I still can't completely believe I turned Phobos into Luthien, it does rather look like a story that could be told further.
Hrm.
~Zing
I should note - apropos nothing in particular - that after Finrod's purported death, Sauron fled to the North... and that you don't have Pretzel on hand for Phobos to dance for... and that I'm sure Sauron would've taken Finrod with him as a prisoner if he'd been able...
What I'm saying is, you could totally do both.
hS found this hilariously awesome
