(A/N: So I noticed that nobody has shipped Larfen yet. I also noticed that they said something about "the eroticism of humanised household appliances" in the Discord way back in 2018. Then I blacked out, and when I came to, this was written.)

Larfen refreshed the page to the new PPC Board, taking a breath to calm their nerves before scrolling down. Surely someone had done it by now, right? This was the PPC, there were loads of funny people about, all typing funny things on their funny keyboards and going about their funny lives...

Alas, it was not to be. Somehow, none had dared to ship them; the humor requirement was too daunting. Cowards. It was the problem with being a postmodernist genius; the humor of others could never hope to measure up. The small voice of a narrator hoping to move the plot along sounded in Larfen's head, telling them that this could be a freeing moment if they just accepted fate and stopped tying themselves to a Web page in the vain hope of satirical romance.

Larfen seized upon this newfound freedom and used it to collapse with gusto upon their keyboard, sobbing in despair. Dadaist polyhedrons of their tears clinked against the floor. Larfen's anguish, however, was rendered meaningless by the pointed absence of a sufficiently pretentious literary scholar. This absence only sent Larfen spiraling further into the depths of despair, to the point that they hardly noticed the heavy footsteps of their roommate.

"What's wrong, Larfen?" the fridge asked, sauntering over to its greatest friend in the world.

"N-no one wants t-t-to ship me," Larfen sobbed, wiping away their tears.

"That's why I'm here," the fridge whispered, bending down on one knee and throwing a well-insulated arm around the distraught figure. Larfen looked up, and the surge of warm love that shot through the fridge as its eyes met with their was so great that its compressor turned on.

"You mean... You'll be my shipfest partner?" Larfen asked. What they saw in the fridge's eyes told them all they needed to know, and they leapt out of their chair to embrace the appliance. A soft bing! indicated to any who would listen that the Turbo Cool feature had been activated. "I love you, fridge-senpai."

The fridge remained unperturbed by the out-of-place honorific (which sounded even stranger in an Australian accent) and silently carried Larfen out of the room. There were cuddles to be had.

(Previously: Huinesoron's Very Tedious Day -- Huinesoron's Even Tediouser Day)

(Previouslier [and rather smuttier]: Huinesoron's Very Odd Day -- Huinesoron's Even Odder Day -- Huinesoron's Oddest Day Ever)

---

Huinesoron's Tediousest Day Ever

"I've tried everything," Huinesoron lamented. "I've tried cutting my hair. I've tried changing my clothing choices. I've tried moving house, for Someone's sake, but it does no good. They're still out there."

Leaning back on the sofa, Kaitlyn didn't look up from her book. "I really think you're overreacting."

"I'm not." Huinesoron twitched the curtain aside and glared out at the road. "Iximaz is out there." He gasped and ducked back. "She waved"

"People do that." Kaitlyn craned round and waved back at Ix. "It's a greeting; you could try it."

"Not the way she's doing it," Huinesoron said darkly. "It had connotations."

"Of friendliness." Kaitlyn closed her book and got to her feet. "Come on, you need to get out more."

Huinesoron allowed himself to be pulled by the wrist across the sitting-room. "But they're out there."

"Sure they are, love." Kaitlyn opened the door and checked the temperature. "You won't even need your coat. Got your shoes on?"

Huinesoron slipped his feet into his trainers. "Yes, but-"

"Good." Kaitlyn stepped behind him and shoved. "And out you go…!"

Huinesoron stumbled over the doorstep, hearing his wife lock the door behind him. For a moment he considered just curling up on the floor and waiting for her to let him back in - but no. He must be strong. He was, after all, Huinesoron.

Iximaz was nowhere to be seen when Huinesoron finally crept out of the driveway. He didn't consider this to be a good thing - it was simply proof that her nefarious-slash-lustful scheme was more cunning than he could have imagined.

Huinesoron made his way cautiously down the road. Each wall he passed had to be glanced over, each gate peered behind, because he knew the PPCers would stop at nothing to catch him. As he neared the bottom of the hill, he stooped to look through a hedge - and there was something there!

With trembling hands, he reached in and pulled out what seemed to be the carelessly-discarded and somewhat rain-warped head and shoulders of an old Fellowship of the Ring Legolas standee. "Oh, sure," Huinesoron muttered, turning it over in his hands. "I'm expected to believe that's a coincidence? No - they're trying to distract me with his pointy ears."

He shoved the battered cardboard back under the hedge and jumped to his feet. "But I won't fall for it!" he announced to the street at large. "If this is where you want me to be - then I'm getting out of here!" And off he marched, down onto the main road.

Around the time he passed the old workers' club, Huinesoron's heart sank as he heard a voice behind him: "Morning, hS!" There was only one person that booming, bear-like voice could come from, and sure enough, when he turned round it was to see Phobos' beaming, bearded face.

"So glad I ran into you," Phobos said. "I don't suppose you've seen my wife anywhere?"

"Wh-why would I have seen Neshomeh?" Huinesoron stammered. He knew full well what Phobos was thinking, but nervous as he was, he couldn't think of anything else to say.

Phobos shrugged. "No reason," he said (or 'blatantly lied', as hS would have put it). "I just thought she might have come this way. I don't suppose you could help me look for her?"

Huinesoron flinched back from the innuendo he was sure was there. "Sorry," he said, "got things to do." He glanced quickly to both sides, then hurried across the road and down a side-street.

"No problem!" Phobos called after him. "But if you see her, could you let her know I'm…"

"Sure," Huinesoron muttered, safely out of earshot. "Because I definitely want to have to run away from Neshomeh, too."

"Who's running where?"

Huinesoron stumbled to a halt and stared at Neshomeh. She was standing in a front garden, leaning on the wall. "Um," he said, trying to keep his voice level. "Nobody. You… you don't live here."

"Oh, no, I'm visiting Zingenmir." Neshomeh half-turned and waved at the house. "Come on out, Zing; look who it is."

Zingenmir poked her head round the door. "hS!" she exclaimed, waving. "Lovely to see you. How's Kaitlyn?"

Huinesoron couldn't see anything of Zingenmir besides her head and arm, but felt sure she was scantily-clad back there, if not outright nude. "She's… fine," he said. "Why do you ask?"

Zingenmir shrugged, somehow still not showing any of her surely indecently-garbed body. "I just feel like it's been ages since I saw her," she said. "We should get together sometime."

Huinesoron restrained a snort of disbelief - they'd probably just take it as a come-on. "I'll tell her," he said in his most neutral tone. "Well, it's been… I should get moving."

"Oh! Wait." Neshomeh beckoned at Zingenmir. "Go on, ask him."

Zingenmir didn't move from the doorway, confirming yet again that she was definitely not dressed. "We've got a bit of a Silmarillion book club going," she said, smiling at Huinesoron. "Nesh was wondering if you'd like to-?"

Huinesoron backed away, his hands rising defensively. "I know what you're thinking," he said, "and I'm not interested."

"Oh, go on," Zingenmir said. "Kaitlyn's invited too! We're doing Fëanor and Nerdanel, so there's something for each of you-"

Huinesoron had heard enough. Turning on his heel, he strode off at a speed just shy of headlong flight. He heard Neshomeh's voice fading behind him - "Okay, that was weird; do you think I should…?" - and then he was around the corner, safely out of sight.

Leaning against a street sign, he tried to catch his breath. "This was a mistake," he muttered, staring down at the treacherous street. "I should never have let Kaitlyn send me out for a… walk." He shuddered, remembering all the narrowly-avoided lustful encounters he was sure he had faced. "I'm going home," he added. "I'll sit on the doorstep if I have to, but I'm going-"

"hS?"

Huinesoron practically jumped out of his skin. Neshomeh had crept up behind him! Any moment she was going to grab him and do unspeakable things! He whirled, ready to push her away.

It seemed she had betrayed her presence early: she was still several steps away, too far to catch him unawares. "Are you all right?" she asked, the concern on her face barely masking the uncontrolled lust he knew was there. "You seem a bit skittish."

Huinesoron stared at her, mind whirling. He knew this was a seduction attempt, but how? Instantly he settled on the obvious conclusion: she was about to compare him to a frightened kitten, and then waggle her eyebrows and say 'sex kitten.'

"I'm fine," he said in a level tone. "You just surprised-"

"Oh, hey, hS!"

Huinesoron yelped and span around again. Delta Juliette had also mistimed her greeting; she was almost ten meters away, not close enough to ambush him. But now Neshomeh was behind him, and closer-

He felt a hand on his arm as Neshomeh took advantage. "I know it's been a rough year," she said. "If you're… Delta? You free?"

"Sure," Delta said, grinning, only her stage skills hiding the salaciousness behind it. "We could go get a coffee - hot chocolate, sorry hS - talk about old times…"

Huinesoron wanted to cry out a defiant "NO!" and denounce the pair for their shameless debauchery. Unfortunately, all he managed was a frightened squeak - but it was enough to loosen Neshomeh's grip (which wasn't all that tight anyway). Twisting away, Huinesoron backed out onto the road, stared at the two Oldbies for a moment, and then turned and fled.

As he ran, he found himself stumbling through a labyrinth of streets he didn't recognise. On either side of him, the signs proclaimed unfamiliar names: Ångström Avenue. Bjørn Boulevard. Cachaça Close.

"They're taunting me!" he yelled, hurtling past Dégât Drive. "The diacritics - they're using them to seduce me!"

At last the main road appeared ahead, and Huinesoron put on an extra burst of speed. He was terrified someone would leap out, probably naked, and take shameless advantage of him - but no, he was out of the maze, and his own street lay just ahead.

He slowed down as he climbed the hill, and began to think that perhaps he'd been a little bit silly. Sure, everyone was clearly trying to jump him, but it was possible that they wouldn't actually have clubbed him over the head and chained him to their various beds.

By the time he reached home, Huinesoron was feeling much better. He pushed the door open, kicked his shoes off, strolled into the living room - and stopped dead.

Kaitlyn was there.

So was Iximaz.

And Delta Juliette.

"Oh, hi, hS," said a voice from behind him, and he whirled to find Scapegrace standing in the doorway. "Kaitlyn asked us over - she's got some sourdough starter that needs using up."

She waved a plastic container, but Huinesoron was no longer listening. He crumpled to his knees on the rug, clutching his hands to his chest, and threw his head back in anguish: "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Delta looked over and raised an eyebrow. "Kaitlyn - your husband is strange."

Kaitlyn sighed, pushed off the sofa, and walked over to put her arms around Huinesoron. "Believe me," she muttered, "I know."

---

Being all the hS and Kaitlyn ships from this year's Shipfest, specifically:

• Huinesoron/Kaitlyn
• hS/Iximaz
• Iximaz/Kaitlyn
• hS/various Tolkien elves
• PhobohS
• Kaitlenmir
• Neshomeh/Huinesoron/Zingenmir
• Huinesoron/Fëanor
• Kaitlyn/Nerdanel
• Huinesoron/Neshomeh/Delta
• Huinesoron / diacritical marks
• Ixilyn-Deltagrace: the New Corset Ship
• hS/Shipfest

With many thanks to Kaitlyn, who suggested back in 2015 that for the final installment I should turn 'everyone is after hS's body' into 'hS thinks everyone is after his body'. It's a little late, but was tremendously fun to write.

hS

Someone knocked on Granz's door. After he'd calmed his dogs down, he called out "Who is it?"

"It's Thoth," Thoth shouted through the door. "I've got something for you!"

Granz rushed up to the door but didn't open it, balancing his excitement for the surprise with his multi-kilometer-long paranoid streak. "Is it a video game?" he asked. "One with lots of complex bits I can get lost in?"

"No," Thoth replied. "Not this time. How's TIS-100, by the way?"

Granz blushed. "Well, uh, I'm still going and I stayed up really late playing it last night ..."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. It's why I'm not bringing more games."

"So is it tabletop rulebooks?!"

"It's not those either," Thoth said. "You've got plenty, last I checked."

"But I can never have enough rulebooks!"

Thoth chuckled.

"Ok, so, uh ..." Granz tried to think of what else the surprise could be. "Pictures of cute guys?"

"You're getting closer..." Thoth said, stretching out the last word flirtatiously.

Granz was quiet for a minute, trying to come up with a guess. "I give up," he finally admitted, "what is it?"

"It's me!" Thoth said. "I came all the way over here to smooch you and hug you and, well, maybe later we can play Magic ... oryoucanravishme."

Granz threw the door open. "Did you say Magic?!"

"Well - maybe - but I want to kiss you first."

"Sure thing. You've come all this way, we might as well ... enjoy each other."

And so, Thoth threw himself around Granz in a passionate embrace that featured much smooching. Soon, they migrated to Granz's bedroom, where [details of what Granz can do with a control deck removed because no one needs to see that level of trouncing in this good Christian shipfest].

Huinesoron, Neshomeh, and Delta gathered around a table at their favorite brunch spot, as they had almost every Sunday for the last several years. They'd used to meet up in Rudi's, but they moved to a quieter part of the multiverse due to "those darn Time Gentry and their bloody drama".

"Did you know it's Shipfest time already?" Nesh asked, hoping to kick the conversation off. "It really snuck up on me."

"Yeah," hS replied. "Kaitlyn already got out the corsets last week."

"I'm glad I got in on that trend," Delta said, her eyes brightening. "They're surprisingly comfy!"

"I know, right?" hS. "And then, once I've put it on, Kaitlyn ..., well I'll leave that to your imaginations."

"Please do," Delta said. "I get enough of that from the badfic channel."

hS chuckled. "You kids and your chat rooms. I remember when all we had was a Board and email."

"Hey," Nesh objected. "I'm not that young! I remember the original Lounge. Now, those were the days, let me tell you."

"The IRC, though, that was the best," Delta said. "Busy, but not too busy, and you could go wandering around the place in kitty mode."

"Bah humbug," hS said, putting on an exaggerated old man voice for comedic effect. "You two have no respect for MSN Messenger."

"Things really are different these days, though," Delta said. "Not bad—the kids are doing a pretty good job keeping the place going, but it sure isn't like it was back in the day."

"Sure isn't," Nesh said, taking a sip of water.

"They do need to get off my lawn, though," hS added. "Don't want them trampling the Sunflower Official."

The oldbie brunch nodded. Nesh's folowup comment, however, was interrupted by the arrival of the appetizers.

"I used to be in a band, you know."

Scapegrace eyed Delta Juliette over her stack of sheet music. "And you still are," she said, "so stop fussing."

Delta sighed and tugged at her tight corset. "A proper band," she said. "With class and style and suchlike."

"Excuse you." Iximaz looked up from tuning her guitar. "I happen to think we're very classy."

"Corsets are extremely classy," Kaitlyn said, running her hands over her synth. "Much classier than, say… leather?"

Delta suddenly looked very cagey. "Maybe we don't need to talk about-"

"Tight leather," Kaitlyn said, grinning. "With spikes."

Delta winced and held up a hand. "I surrender."

"Never surrender," Scapegrace said, wandering back past the trio with her arms full of black velvet. "That's how you end up trying to sing in a corset."

Delta plucked at the tight garment again. "You say that like it was my idea."

Scapegrace tilted her head. "No, I don't." She put the stack of fabric down and ducked to check the microphone wiring. "You wouldn't surrender to your own idea."

Iximaz swung her arm across Scapegrace's shoulders. "Hence why you're the only one not in bondage-wear?"

"No, bondage-wear would look dif-" Scapegrace cut herself off with a headshake. "I'm you're manager; I have standards to uphold."

"Hey!" Delta protested. "We have standards too!"

Kaitlyn snorted. "I have photos which say otherwise."

Delta froze. "There are photographs?!"

"Oh yes." Kaitlyn tapped out a sardonic tune on the keyboard. "So be a good girl and get ready for the show - or I might have to suggest to Scape that we need some promotional pictures taken."

((I had to reread The Boyband Fic for this. Feel my pain. -_- Thank you, Scape, for the title.))

((This is the last one I have pre-written. Well... no. I have another, but I'm waiting to see if I get shipped with anyone else before I post that one. ~hS))

"I've got so many plans for you," Cal whispered as they ran their hands back and fourth over their partner's skin. They smiled as they enjoyed the sheer smoothness brushing past their fingertips.

They quickly undressed their partner, and took them by one arm. Then, they guided them over to a hook near their bed, and carefully tied their arm up. Their partner seemed rather happy about this and stretched out to make Cal's job easier.

"You'll make a great hat," Cal said, admiring said partner's deep shade of red. "You're a very nice ball of yarn."

(( This idea brought to you by me suddenly deciding to do a thing. ;Quality not guaranteed. ))

"Have you even been to bed yet?"

Ix shuffled her feet, invisible to the webcam. "... How much trouble am I in if I say no?"

"All of it."

"Then I'm just an early riser today. Honest."

Delta sighed. "Dammit, Ix, why did you do that? Your sleep cycle is important-"

"Not as important as you! Not as important as the woman I love!"

There was silence on the call.

"Did you mean that?" Delta's voice trembled, leaf above a gutter.

"... Yes."

And, steeling themselves, Ix went on. "You're so far away. Ever since the big move to London, then Italy... you're hours of time and thousands of miles away. But you're still there for me. And I love you for that, and for so much else. So the least I can do is say goodnight."

Delta didn't know what to say. They talked some more, the call crackling, but neither said anything after that. Not until the end.

"Goodnight, Delta."

"Goodnight, Ix. I love you too."

And the call closed, just as the sun crept over the Sicilian countryside, and Ix looked out over the golden hills, and listened to the dawn chorus.

"I love you," they said.

"I love you," they said.

It had been a good run. The Dark Elf had been a hard sell, especially for the Players of the Plot Continuum's resident elves, but a few good costumes, a few well-written songs, and the company had pulled together once again. Tech week had been frantic, dress rehearsal had been properly horrendous, only a late-night duct-tape session had gotten the Kudzu back together in time, and then...

Opening Night had been perfect, down to the warm August weather. The house was full, the mood set when the lights dropped in time with the sunset, and the stage, the paint, the makeup all did its most subtle magic and vanished, transported the audience to Middle-Earth once again, carried them through the joy, the horror, the final, emphatic triumph.

The run was perfect, the reviews rave, the house full, every night.

And then it was September, and the summer was ending, summer theater season ending. New friends and old started saying their goodbyes, going their separate ways, back to the rest of their years, the rest of their lives.

Huinesoron had been with the company long enough to see many arrivals, many departures, over the years and performances. The elf had been there since practically the beginning, drafted to play the Sunflower by virtue of being one of the two people with the right gender for the role, despite protestations that puppeteering was hardly an elvish art.

This year had been a new one, a newer, bigger, more complicated Flower playing a bigger part in the conclusion of the story. A differently-gendered Flower, one for whom they'd pulled another person out of the crew to voice, and to spare an extra couple hands for the critical moment where many tendrils did many things simultaneously. Puppeteering had suddenly become strange and awkward again, and if his assistant hadn't been a veteran, someone he'd worked near for years...

Well. He wouldn't have bailed, couldn't have bailed. There was a reason the theater was called a 'house', and it was a home to him too. He loved it, in all its seasons, including the bittersweet autumn of departures.

Kaitlyn had been with the company long enough to see all the same arrivals, all the same departures. She'd pricked her fingers sewing the beautiful, horrid "gown" for Rambling Band, at the beginning of it all, and had been surprised when she'd volunteered for the second summer, the second run, the second mad chaos of sequins and glitter and quick costume changes.

This year had been new. This year had thrown another wrench in her plans, pulled her up to the stage to voice the slightly-malevolent Kudzu, along with still trying to ride herd on the chaos of Costuming. It'd be simple, they said. Just a couple minutes out of each run, working with a reliable, experienced partner.

She hadn't realized that performing was fun right up until the last curtain had dropped, when summer had become autumn.

Eventually, inevitably, Kaitlyn went to say her goodbyes to the stage, to the house, to the scarred black plywood where the Kudzu had sat.

For all that there was work happening, techs resetting lights, laughing about ridiculous ideas (who were the techs of the in-universe PPC? What stories could they tell, of broken hardware and last-minute fixes and maybe finding who you really were along the way?), the house was quieter than it had been all summer. The house was calmer than it had been all summer, the intensity, the purpose of a show in progress gone.

The house was, Kaitlyn was somehow not surprised to find, where Huinesoron was also spending time. Saying goodbye, perhaps, in his own way, from a seat on the stage.

Kaitlyn didn't join him, exactly. She took her own seat, left him enough space that they could each be alone with the moment, if they wanted. Let the moment happen around them. If it had been a play they might have soliloquized, two actors reading thoughts from their own scripts in turn.

"I'll see you next year?" Huinesoron asked.

"Always," Kaitlyn promised. "The grind's just a grind, it won't keep me."

A light flickered on, sweeping across the stage before a tech in the rafters unceremoniously unplugged it, unhooked it from the rack. In the wash of its beam, the glitter in Kaitlyn's dark hair sparkled like stars.

"You'll be here?" she asked.

"I don't go far," Huinesoron said.

Kaitlyn went to stand, pushing herself off the hard plywood. Starting the journey away from the theater, away from the family who'd cared enough to sand the stage so it'd stop snagging her costumes. Away from the warmth of lights on plastic leaves, the hushed glee of waiting for their scene to begin. Away from...

She looked back. Huinesoron was looking at her. In that moment, as another light came on, they were center stage. There was no one else to dress up, no puppets to hide behind. It was just them. It had, perhaps, always been them, one short summer at a time.

"Stay?" Huinesoron asked.

Oh.

Kaitlyn didn't answer with words. She just stepped closer, sat close enough that they were together. One couple, one dialogue, instead of two individual soliloquies.

Kaitlyn knocked on the door of her husband's office. "hS? What're you up to in there?"

There was a long silence, and then Huinesoron called back: "Lamenting."

Kaitlyn frowned and pushed open the door. Huinesoron was slumped over his desk, staring at his laptop. Around him, scraps of paper littered the desk.

"Er…" Kaitlyn pushed her glasses up and peered at the screen. "Oh, the Shipfest? Having fun?"

"No." If his voice was anything to go by, Huinesoron's woe was as deep as the chasm of Khazad-Dum stacked on top of the Mariana Trench. "It's all gone horribly wrong."

Kaitlyn blinked and studied the screen again. "Looks like people are getting really into it - hem, hem."

"Sure." The lack of enthusiasm in Huinesoron's voice could have moved mountains, except it couldn't be bothered. "But I can't write the stories I want to write."

Kaitlyn patted his shoulder. "People attaching too many conditions to their participation?"

"No, they're actually really good about that. But-" Huinesoron searched through his heap of papers and held one up. "I had this really good Space Ranger joke to make about Thoth in my 'tallest Boarder' fic, but he never mentioned his height."

Kaitlyn's eyebrow rose above her glasses. "Uh-huh."

"And, and Zingenmir." Huinesoron hunted for another tattered note. "Her name's Zingenmir."

"... yes, I gathered that."

"But if she was still DawnFire, I could have done this whole thing with Midnight, or Moons, or," he checked the paper, "SunAndMoon, it would have been perfect."

"I feel like it's been a few years, you've had time to-" Kaitlyn began, but her husband was already rooting out another torn paper.

"And I really wanted to ship Kittyauthor with KittyNoodles, KittyEden, and kittythekatty." Huinesoron frowned at the paper. "Possibly Kitty's Muse too, but I'm not sure she was real."

Kaitlyn leant across him and plucked the note from his fingers. "hS… haven't most of these people been gone for years?"

"That's the problem," he confirmed gloomily. "I hoped they'd come back for a visit just in time, but…" He shrugged, then returned to staring at the screen.

Kaitlyn sighed and knelt down next to his chair. "Huinesoron."

"Yes?"

"You're being ridiculous."

Huinesoron looked hurt. "Am not."

"Are too." Kaitlyn squeezed his knee. "You're getting hung up on passing fancies-"

"Oh har har."

"-instead of focussing on the shipping you can do."

"I mean…" Huinesoron tapped the mouse, bringing up the Official Shipping List. "I thought about doing something with the 'no inanimate objects' crowd, but I can't come up with anything even remotely funny-"

"Huinesoron." Kaitlyn prodded his kneecap. "I meant me."

"... oh."

"And not in a story."

"Oh."

((Surprise! It's an undercover hS/Shipfest story. All actual passing thoughts, but no actual lamenting took place. ^_^ ~hS))

“So this is awkward,” the fedora-wearing ghost named Oculus remarked. He was dainty and very… girlish. But he was scary. Totally. People fainted at the sight of him and everything.

“Indeed,” Yuki, the 6’4” tall jiangshi with legs for days replied. She was also totally scary, but, like, in the “hotter vampire than those in Twilight” kind of way. “What are the odds of the two of us showing up to haunt the same house?”

“Eh, it happens sometimes to freelancers.” Oculus shrugged, tried to lean casually against the house’s wall, and fell through. There was a loud crash from inside the house. A single wheel rolled away from the wall.

A second later Oculus reappeared. “That didn’t happen.”

Yuki laughed. It was a nice laugh. Very musical, in a “sinister muahaha” kind of way. She gave Oculus a curious look. “I thought all hauntings were unionized. You’re a freelancer?”

“Among other things.” Oculus knew better than to waggle his eyebrows, but there was a definite eyebrow-waggling tone to his voice. She was very pretty for the undead, after all.

There was a silence. It was awkward.

Oculus tried to adjust his fedora in a suave way and knocked it off his head. He leaned down for it and gave Yuki a once-over on the way up. Hot darn.

“So… come here often?”

---

I can only apologize, Ki no Shirayuki! But once the whole vampire/ghost lookalike discussion happened, I couldn't resist the mental image.

~Oculus

Huinesoron paced backwards and forwards in front of the small group, tapping a marker pen on his palm. "Good morning. As you know, I've gathered you here to answer an important question."

Ki no Shirayuki raised a hand. "Is it 'how many shipfics can Yuki be in'?"

"Good guess, but no." Huinesoron turned and wrote a word on the whiteboard behind him. "It is this: who in the PPC is the…?" He gestured to the group.

"'Tallest'," Phobos read out, and looked sidelong at Novastorme. "I mean… it's pretty obvious."

"Ah, you'd think that, but no!" Huinesoron pointed his pen at Nova. "You're 6.6 meters tall, right?"

"Er." Nova fought the urge to raise his hand. "That's six foot six."

"Same thing," Huinesoron said with a flick of his hand. "People overcomplicate the conversion."

"Even if that were true," Phobos said, "why am I here? I never even gave my height, but it's definitely not six meters plus."

"Oh, Phobos," Huinesoron said gently. "It's okay; you don't have to hide any more."

"Er…" Phobos turned to look behind him, as if he might somehow be crouched behind himself. "I'm not?"

"I know," Huinesoron said, sketching on the whiteboard. "I know you're actually seven miles in diameter."

Phobos stared at him, then slowly looked up at the board. "That's a potato," he said.

"That's you," Huinesoron said. "Phobos - moon of Mars."

"I'm not-" Phobos shut his eyes and shook his head. "Okay, sure." He flicked a finger at Ki no Shirayuki. "And I suppose she's secretly the Milky Way or something?"

"Don't be silly," Huinesoron said sternly. He twirled his pen and pointed it at Yuki. "I just wanted to show Nova you don't have to be an astronomical object to be taller than him. You're one hundred and fifty meters tall, right."

Yuki looked up at hS, then further up at Novastorme. "You mean centimeters?"

"Oh!" Huinesoron turned and stared at the board. "Centimeters…? Centi, of course, means a hundred, so you're... let's see, multiply it out, ten to the four… 15 000 meters, or fifteen kilometers."

Phobos coughed. "Aren't you supposed to be a scientist?"

"I am a scientist." Huinesoron pulled a pair of lab goggles from his pocket and slipped them on. "See? That's how you know I'm right."

"I don't think..." Nova gestured at the much shorter Ki no Shirayuki. "So she's the tallest PPCer?"

"Scientifically speaking, yes." Huinesoron blinked. "Wait, hang on, how large is Helsinki? If you stood them up on their side? And what about SunAndMoon? They must be pushing 700 000 kilometers…"

Novastorme bent down almost double until he was at eye level with Ki no Shirayuki. "He's going to be at this a while," he murmured. "Want to go try and answer that shipfic question you had?"

Yuki looked at Huinesoron, who was muttering to himself and drawing lines on the board, and then at Phobos, who had found a chair and settled in to watch. "You know what? Sure."

((Originally there was going to be a 'little short for a Novastorme' joke in here somewhere, but it never made it to the table. ~hS))

Yes, I'm serious (to a point).

Quick name key, because I've used Quenya names for a pair of Elves better known by Sindarin equivalents:

Curufinwë Fëanáro = Fëanor

Nolofinwë = Fingolfin

--

“Ooh, you have such lovely ears,” the stranger cooed.

Curufinwë Fëanáro, heir to Finwë (who was High King of the Noldor), renowned inventor of Tengwar and palantíri and, recently, three Silmarils and actual weapons, father of seven sons, hand still on the hilt of his sword where he’d begun to draw it against his half-brother Nolofinwë (!)...blushed.

It was even odds, Nolofinwë thought, whether the stranger hadn’t noticed or simply took the blush as encouragement. Either way, he went on.

“So very, very lovely, all pointed and leaf-shaped…”

Much of the crowd appeared to have...not quite frozen, exactly, but certainly halted in place, watching this new turn of events with interest. Fëanáro had already drawn their attention, entering with a sword at his hip and harsh accusations against his half-brother on his lips. To see this terrible scene curtailed was a blessing, but the confusion that had taken its place…(and how long, really, could it last?)

The stranger was, indeed, a stranger; or at least, Nolofinwë did not recognize him, and he had yet to hear anyone in the crowd of his father’s lords voice a name. He appeared to be a Noldorin Elf, with the typical dark hair and grey eyes.

Typical Noldorin Elves, however, were not often inclined towards…

Well. Nolofinwë could hardly claim Noldorin Elves were not bold, particularly not while standing in his father’s court and (previously, at least) seemingly only seconds away from his older half-brother drawing a sword on him—but this?

His brother was still blushing. His married brother with seven sons. Bold, haughty, shameless Curufinwë Fëanáro.

Blushing, because…

Well, to be fair, the stranger was practically wrapped around him by now, still cooing compliments about his ears. Nolofinwë covered a smile and glanced at his father.

Finwë leaned back in his throne, a bemused expression on his face. He seemed unwilling to interrupt, which was, perhaps, fair given the previous sequence of events had very much appeared to be going the way of his beloved oldest son publicly threatening his second son immediately after said second son had been trying to convince Finwë to rein in his oldest…

“...go somewhere more private?” Nolofinwë caught the stranger murmuring.

Fëanáro hesitated, and motioned to Nolofinwë. “Yes, but I was about to—”

The stranger pressed scandalously close. A particularly gossip-minded lord looked delighted, and nudged his long-suffering neighbor excitedly. “Surely that will keep. Maybe forever. Hopefully forever, actually, since you’re mistrusting the wrong person—but certainly at least for as long as it takes to properly admire your beautiful ears…”

As Nolofinwë watched in mild disbelief, Fëanáro blushed again.

“We will resume this later,” he said, pointing at Nolofinwë. As he’d done the pointing with a finger rather than his sword (which was by now fully sheathed again), Nolofinwë couldn’t quite bring himself to object. (And what exactly had the stranger meant by ‘mistrusting the wrong person’? The more he thought about it, the less it sounded like it was only an endorsement of Nolofinwe himself…) “Much later,” he added, and let the stranger draw him away, still blushing, as Nolofinwë obligingly gave him a shallow bow of acknowledgement. He was hardly unsupportive of his brother’s position as their father’s heir, no matter what the man himself might think.

The stranger grinned at the assembled court and waved jauntily before wrapping that arm back around Fëanáro as well. “See you around! Eventually!”

Three of the lords waved back. Finwë inclined his head.

The assembly as a whole began to murmur, some rather cheerfully, as Fëanáro and the stranger strode out of the hall. A good number of them seemed relieved.

Nolofinwë hid another smile. Perhaps matters would resolve themselves. After all, Nerdanel had been looking more relaxed since the recent appearance of...yet another stranger, come to think of it, an Elf maid who’d seemed quite at home helping her corral Nolofinwë’s many nephews. Fëanáro certainly hadn’t seemed to object to her presence; or at least, he’d been seen to greet her in as friendly a manner as he typically used for anyone. Presumably this new stranger would obtain similar approval from Nerdanel, particularly if the blushing remained in effect.

...and on that note, Nolofinwë was going to cease ruminating on his half-brother’s personal life and simply feel grateful that the Elf’s temper had been defused before he could truly begin to threaten (! It still seemed incredible that such a thing could come to pass. Had their relationship—or Fëanáro’s mind—truly deteriorated so completely?

Perhaps he should pursue the train of thought the stranger had prompted with his comment on Fëanáro’s distrust of the wrong person…)

--

Huinesoron/Fëanor, implied background Kaitlyn/Nerdanel and some sort of open marriage type thing? Or possibly just ‘open for flirting’? Who knows. Take it as either Fëanor breaking some more rules of Elven society or just Shipfest silliness. Or even a veil of ‘more innocent than it looks’: it’s entirely possible Nerdanel is more relaxed because she’s gained a (very close) friend (who perhaps gives her some missing emotional support as well as a hand with her big family with its many talented and occasionally arrogant people), and Fëanor’s going to sit down somewhere with hS and be read sonnets to his ears until the blushing wears off!

...actually, I’m very amused by that concept. No matter what your reading, more or less innocent, I move that both of those things should at least be part of it.

As to how thorough a fix-it this is: who knows? Maybe Fingolfin looks into Melkor and, together with hS, manages to open Fëanor’s eyes to the fact he’s being influenced. Maybe some other people start watching Melkor, and perhaps even manage to prevent him from damaging the Two Trees. Mayyyybe the whole Melkor-killing-Finwë-and-taking-the-Silmarils-followed-by-Oath-swearing-and-Kinslaying-and-doom plot gets averted! Maybe it just gets delayed! Maybe it still happens in some form, but some of the worst parts get softened by virtue of Kaitlyn talking sense and hS distracting Fëanor when he’s about to do something stupid and thus keeping him from making bad decisions while worked up! Maybe it becomes a war against Morgoth without the Oath and the Kinslaying. Who knows. Certainly not me. I doubt I’ll write it.

Someone else is quite welcome to, though ;)

PS: Written without easy access to the Silmarillion itself; I relied on my memory and wiki articles from Tolkien Gateway. Hopefully the (interrupted) confrontation details aren't too far off, and the same with the non-Fëanor characterization, to a point (although, even if they are...shipfest).

PPS: Why does fic!hS never bother to give his name? First of all, no one seems to have asked. Second, while I'm pretty sure hS has posted something with a Quenya version of his screen name, I wasn't in a mood to go try to dig it up. (Why not just use "Huinesoron"? Wrong language to the point where it wasn't in use in Valinor at the time and I'm not even completely sure it existed yet in Middle-earth. Either way, it wouldn't be there.)

Why doesn't Kaitlyn get named? Because I didn't feel up to trying to figure out a Quenya name with the same meaning (or a similar one) to "Kaitlyn", that's why :D Very simple, really.

And on that note...enough notes!

~Z

"Desiree…"

Desiree paused halfway across the deserted stage. The thickly-accented voice had come from the wings, the speaker hidden in the shadow of the curtain. "Yes?"

"Is that… la Frrrrench?"

"Um." She could make out a figure now - a man, she thought, solidly built, with some sort of hat atop a wild head of hair. "No?"

"Are you la sure?" The man stepped out, and Desiree recognised him at last: Mattman the Comet. She'd never actually seen him before, being very new, but he was wearing an oversized namebadge saying Bonsoir! Mon name is le Mattman the Comet, so she felt safe in her conclusions.

"It sounds la Frrrrench," Mattman continued, reaching up and tugging his beret down more firmly onto his head. "Desiree… Desirée… Dêçirrrréè…"

"That's really not how it's pronounced," Desiree said, but her heart fluttered - as all women's will, along with most men's - at the sound of her name being spoken in a French accent. "Are you here to-?"

"Oui." Mattman stepped forward and took her hands. From the empty auditorium, music struck up, and Desiree felt her skirts swirl in a mysterious breeze. "Je am here to… le dance."

"Isn't this a tango?"

"... maybe?"

"I didn't think the tango was French."

"La shh. It is le Shipfest."

---

My only apology is to the French language. I ran across my 2015 forays into it and felt a burning need to revisit.

hS

GMA laid in bed, happily cuddling his partner, who was running all six of their limbs over GMA's naked body, making him moan with pleasure as they hit the spots they knew he liked being touched on best. The couple had been having a nice evening, including a romantic dinner, and were now relaxing together.

Soon, however, GMA could tell his partner wanted more from their insect-like chittering. However, as he got ready to receive some Vex milk (especially since his own pulse rifle was charging up, if you know what I mean), a dragon burst into the room!

"Geema," she cried, "How could you? I thought we had a connection! I thought you were all about that LIZARD SECKS?!"

GMA hastily set up and untangled himself from his new snuggle-buddy. "My tastes have expanded," he said, "and I thought we'd talked about this."

"Yes, but aren't I your closest love?"

"You still are, but I wanted to get back to Destiny. It's been a while."

The dragon harumphed, letting loose a bit of steam.

"You could join in?" GMA suggested. "Destiny has dragons too."

The dragon, deciding to leave this sort of thing for badfic, stormed out, and GMA returned to snuggles and other things that happen after a fade to black.

(( I'm not apologizing for this idea I randomly had ))

There are millions of works of art in the multiverse. Great paintings, music, plays; the list goes on and on. However, nothing compares to the art of comedy. It is believed that all writers of good comedy have a mental connection.

“And there’s nothing wrong with having a physical one as well.” Iximaz looked at her friend, a deep blush rising to her cheeks.

“But...” Scapegrace pulled her forward, her hands sliding into Iximaz’s short, red hair.

“You heard me. After all, a mental connection can lead to a physical one, right?” While Iximaz didn’t entirely agree with her on the whole connection idea, she decided that maybe this wasn’t so bad as Scape’s lips found her neck. Not bad at all.

Darkness - vast, all-encompassing, an entire spectrum of black woven like the cloak of night. Upon it hangs tiny stars, not twinkling, but steady as polished steel. Vast gleaming circles ride amid them - asteroid belts, ringed planets, impossibly-large eyes? They could be any of these.

Amid the black-on-black, subtle patterns can be seen - great streams across the void, like ribbons of dust a galaxy wide. They cross and recross, their intricacies drawing the eye inwards, until it is lost in the endless maze.

Something shifts. One of the dark strands twitches, curves upwards, and then with breathtaking suddenness snaps straight, straining like a leashed wolf. The other rivers of night respond, first one, and then all moving at once, chaotic complexity flooding the blackness.

At last it settles down, the web of night forming a new pattern, a new truth. All is silent; all is still.

… and then Iximaz straightens up, and the laces, the eyelets, the hooks and the rich velvet filling her view all return to their normal proportions. She smiles up at Kaitlyn, presses a kiss onto her collarbone, then steps back and nods.

"There you are," she says, patting the fully re-laced black corset. "All sorted."

((CORSETS WILL NEVER DIE. ~hS))

Thoth's heart was filled with love for Neshomeh. Sure, she wasn't his usual type (and how!), but after seeing her in action, it was impossible not to fall for someone so detail-oriented, so focussed, so…

… competent.

Neshomeh's pulse quickened. She had never anticipated - never dared dream - that the day would end this way. Perhaps it never should have. But she had no intention of backing out.

Thoth swallowed nervously, but soon all hesitation was gone, overwhelmed by the simple delight of the moment. That much, he had expected - but he hadn't imagined it would be so thrilling.

Trembling though she was, Neshomeh was nevertheless filled with desire. It was impossible to put into words how Thoth affected her so, but perhaps - shocking though the thought was - this wasn't a time for words.

Thoth felt as though Neshomeh was taking all his inmost needs out and gently polishing them until they glowed. He had never felt this way before.

And neither had she.

((You no longer deserve physical descriptions, because this. ~hS))