The PPC Posting Board - Latest posts

Hello, and welcome aBoard! For your newbie gift, take this plate of freshly-made SPaGhetti!

As for other spinoffs to read—Neshomeh's. Definitely Neshomeh's. That means Supernumerary and Ilraen, and Derik and Gall. Her stuff's my favorite for a good reason. :)

(If anyone recommends my stuff, ignore them. There's way too much of it to wade through and you'll miss out on better stories.)

Hello! This will be unnecessarily long and rambly and poorly formatted.

I am a new poster, and this... uhh... forum? Message board? Whatever it is, it looks interesting. I have heard from distant lands (aka the discord page) that it's good to introduce yourself on this board, and that creating an account is not actually necessary, contrary to all rational logic in the universe. (Now I have an excuse to procrascinate more. Yay procrascination!)

So, introduction. I really enjoy LotR (yes, including Silm and HoME and others), Foundation series, Robot series, Culture series, Warhammer 40k (I can't actually afford the figurines, though, and GW is screwing everything up again dammit), the Elder Scrolls, Minecraft, and several others that I can't remember off the top of my head. I'm also something of a grammar nazi, though I may or may not suck at spelling myself without a spellchecker.

I found the PPC via a link from the internet forum that I frequent the most to TvTropes, where there was another link linking me to a list of terribadfic that had a link to the PPC wiki where I read for a bit, and then decided to join the message board (I admit, though, I didn't exactly have high hopes about this being active, seeing as I read somewhere about the PPC being disbanded years ago. I was wrong.)

My favorite mission/agents are probably the ones from the original series, seeing as I may or may not have not read much of the other ones apart from Celebrian (which left me seeking brain bleach). Reccomendations, plz?

That's about it, I think. Hopefully.

I think this might be Ghost!Fourth-wall!Ferrus? Or something? I have no clue. I didn't think this through at all when I wrote it.

And yes, I get the joke. XD.

Do you need a towel after writing that one? (Are you far enough in Homestuck to get that joke?)

Seriously, though, I liked this one a lot. I'm with Tomash, this poor guy needs hugs. And I confess I had no idea what the joke was until it happened, and then I felt silly.

Also... wait... "when I was alive"? This is dead!Ferrus? But I thought he was a ghost head. How does this work? {X D

~Neshomeh

*lightly taps wall with iPhone*

I'M FREE

But the story itself is pretty great. Welcome to the party, Tomash!

Tomash nodded, running his hands along the cold metal. “These are, obviously, in immaculate condition. Why did you want me to look at them again, Mr…”

“Manus,” said Ferrus. “Ferrus Manus.”

“Appropriate,” Tomash chuckled. “I mean, seeing as we’re looking at your hands, and they’re made of iron…”

“Yes, I get it…” Ferrus sighed. “Do you have any suggestions for improvement?”

Tomash shook his head. “No, not really. None that I can think of. Although I’ll be honest, I don’t entirely understand these things to begin with. Anyways… uh… were you named after the Primarch Ferrus Manus, by any chance?”

“Use your eyes, boy,” snapped Ferrus. “I am he.”

“Oh, right, right, that makes sense…” Tomash trailed off. “How did you get in here?”

Ferrus waved a hand dismissively. “Not important. In any case, I wanted someone to examine my hands. They are, of course, perfect. But I wanted to check.”

Tomash shrugged. “Seem fine to me, anyways.” He cleared his throat. “So… uh… Iron Hands, then? They’re pretty cool…”

“Are they, then?” Ferrus’s voice had developed a chilling calm.

“Yeah! All machine stuff and—”

Tomash was interrupted when Ferrus’s fist hit the table, causing him to jump back from the pile of wood that was once the table. “No. What my sons have done is not ‘cool’. It is entirely against the spirit of what I stood for when I was alive.”

“...Wait, really? You’re all about machine parts and stuff, right?”

“Is my memory truly so desecrated?” Ferrus gave another weary sigh. “When I was alive, boy, I believed in the strength of the human flesh more than all else. Not machines. And yet my sons have become disgusted with the flesh’s very existence.”

Tomash nodded slowly, moving around to get closer to Ferrus. “Yeah… I guess I can understand that. Sucks, really…”

Manus nodded. “That is the least of it.” He paused, briefly. “...Apologies about your table.”

“‘S fine,” said Tomash. “This is DoSAT. They break biweekly.” He looked the primarch up and down. “You know, I think you could do with a hug.” He hugged the Primarch, although it was somewhat awkward due to the rather large difference in stature.

Ferrus looked down at the man. “...You, boy, are very strange. But I think I like you.”

Tomash smiled at the giant. “Well… good! I think you’re pretty alright.”

“Boy, I have been alone for a rather long time.” Ferrus smiled slowly. “Perhaps I should show you another way the flesh can be strong.” The words left no doubt what he intended.

“...You know… I think I might like that,” said Tomash. “Come on. My room shouldn’t be too far away. Hopefully.”

--

Yes, I broke the name scheme. Because that was too strong name to pass on.

Also, if I'm not mistaken, we have now officially shipped half the primarchs.

I just got my hair cut so the likeness is even more uncanny.

Huinesoron brooded.

Huinesoron brooded quite a lot: every evening he brooded over what to watch on the television, what to eat for dinner, and whether he had time for a quick brooding session before bed. His preferred brooding attire was his black cloak, which he thought framed his cheekbones very nicely indeed. On this occasion, he was wearing it over a black tunic and black trousers, to achieve the proper brooding ambience.

The door to his office swung open, and Kaitlyn strolled in. She was wearing a corset - not as part of an evil-villainess-slash-dominatrix outfit or anything, she just liked corsets. "Uh-oh," she said, stopping short of the desk. "I know that look."

Huinesoron sighed deeply (an excellent addition to any brooding activity) and looked up. "Hello, my love."

"Hi yourself." Kaitlyn crossed the remaining space and perched on the edge of the desk. "What'cha brooding about?"

The British elf sighed again and waved a hand at the sofa. "Her."

Kaitlyn scrutinized the unconscious form of Twistey. "Hmm. Another one of your failed missions?"

Huinesoron quirked an eyebrow. "I assumed you'd make some kind of joke about her being passed out on my settee."

Kaitlyn snorted and rolled her eyes. "That would hardly be an appropriate joke... so what's the problem with this one? There must be a problem; you don't normally sulk at work."

"I'm not sulki-" Huinesoron cut himself off. "Apparently she won't snap out of her brainwashing - oh, yeah, she's been magically brainwashed - until we find a Lust Object for her."

"What, that's it?" Kaitlyn rubbed her hands together briskly. "Shouldn't be too hard. What about Zingenmir?"

"I think she's gone on a trip with Novastorme."

"Delta, then?" Kaitlyn frowned. "Or Juliette; I've never been sure which-"

"She and Tomash were going to 'work on the network permissions'." Huinesoron glanced at his computer. "Since we don't have a network right now, I figure they'll be a while."

"Heh." Kaitlyn pursed her lips. "Alleb, then? I know she's free."

"Have you met Alleb? She'd never go for it. And anyway, I think-"

"Well, Nesh certainly will-"

"-that Twistey's actually straight."

Kaitlyn stopped staring at him. "Well, what's the point of that, then?"

"You see my problem," the elf murmured. "I've been scouring my board for a solution..." He waved at the cork-board behind him, which was covered in photographs, pieces of string, and random scraps of paper.

Kaitlyn eyed the setup. "You're about to explain this all to me, aren't you?"

Huinesoron beamed. "Well, red string links people I know have been in a relationship at some point; blue is people I'm pretty sure won't ever hook up. Then the pin colour says what sort of relationship they had, so pink is romantic, yellow is love/hate, black is-"

"Yes, yes, all right." Kaitlyn hopped down from the desk and walked round to study the board. "So... looking at this, it seems she's already got a bit of a thing going with Voyd, right? Why not just get them back together?"

"Ah. About that." Huinesoron turned to the unpowered computer, caught himself halfway. "Perhaps it's best if I just show you... come on, give me a hand with her."

---

Twistey (not that she knew she was Twistey at that moment) came to in a brick-lined, grey-floored, and extremely rectangular corridor. She got to her feet with a jerky motion, like a puppet with one too few strings, and looked around. There was nothing of note nearby, so - without even a shrug - she set off down the hallway.

A few corners later, she came to something that was definitely of note. The wall in front of her simply did not fit with the rest of her surroundings: it cut the corridor at an angle, was shot through with glowing green lights, and most alarmingly of all, appeared to be rendered in realistic graphics.

Deep in Twistey's brain, the small part of her that was still her realised that this wall could not be dealt with by the standard NPC interactions (being: A, shoot it, or B, ignore it). She was going to have to do something... different.

She stepped closer. "... hello?"

"Hello?" The voice that came back was extremely faint, almost blocked by the wall. "Is someone there?"

"Well, hi there..." But that was the decoy talking, turning her voice into a low purr. Twistey shook herself and tried again. "Hi! Are you... I mean, who's that?"

"It's... is that you, Twistey?" The voice was stronger now, recognisable as Voyd despite the distortion of the wall. "What's going on? I was... hS sent me on a mission, and then I got trapped behind this... this massive red firewall."

"Huh." Twistey looked closer at the wall in front of her. It was most definitely green. "I think there might be two of them between us. It feels..." She frowned, rubbing at her eyes with one hand. "Familiar, somehow."

"Can you get me out?" Voyd pleaded. "There must be some sort of control - a button or a lever or, I don't know, anything."

"I'll see..." But the moment was passing. Now that she knew there was nothing behind the wall that she needed to shoot, the decoy was quite willing to file it under category B, 'ignore'. Twistey's mind slipped away, and the brainwashing was back in control. "... you some other time, lover," she purred, and strolled away, leaving Voyd to hammer helplessly at the wall.

Behind her, Huinesoron slipped off the invisibility cloak that had been covering him and Kaitlyn. "You see?" he said. "The Fun Control Walls don't bring them together - they divide them. And without the physical proximity to her lust object..."

"Yeah, I saw." Kaitlyn pushed her hair back from her face. "Back to the office, then? I'm sure there'll be something on the board to help."

"Yeah." Huinesoron gazed after Twistey's departing form. "Uh... do you think she'll be okay here? I don't much fancy trying to knock her out myself."

"I'm sure she'll be fine." Kaitlyn slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. "Come on - the sooner we sort this, the sooner we can head home..."

---

I'm not sure this really came out as a shipfic? Ah, well, brooding.

hS

Dorn brought an oar to the Ship Fest - what can you do? And Huinesoron looks not at all sure how he feels about this. Granz, though, is well into it.

(Also, is there a canon nickname for Vulkan? I couldn't seem to find one, which seems weird.)

hS

I manifestly do not have the resources to go to school. Even if I did, school is NOT what I'd use them for. I'm no gambler; I don't want to give some institution my money if I'm not absolutely 100% certain that it'll pay off.

Which I'm not, because a lot of college graduates still work as baristas or waiters or retail associates, which is nowhere near enough to stave off debt from student loans.

The only places I have experience with are the only things I qualify for. But... my experience in fast food was a nightmare, and after being let go from Walmart, I'd spend every day of retail in constant fear that my bosses are just itching for an excuse to kick me out; bad experiences tend to color my opinion of general groups, unfortunately. Same reason I don't like competitive gaming.

...Or, the Official Fanfiction University of Middle-Earth.

https://fanfiction.net/s/644826/1/The-Official-Fanfiction-University-of-Middleearth

It's a key part of our history, and while not essential reading, it is much recommended.

Learn it. Live it. Love it.

“What’s so funny?” The enormous man asked.

“Oh… it’s just that…” Geema stopped speaking to laugh a bit more, still bent double in mirth. “You look… so… stupid!”

The man nodded slowly, his absurdly ostentatious (and vaguely oriental) garb flashing in the light of HQ. “I don’t believe I look particularly silly. Although perhaps the topknot is a bit excessive.”

“Dude, it looks awful,” said Geema. “Seriously. And that warpaint… it’s amazing. Just… wow.” He sighed, trying to wipe the grin from his face before he burst out laughing again. “Anyways, who are you?”

“I am Jaghatai Khan, Primarch of the White Scars. And, in the interests of better understanding the culture your land, I have come to participate in your “shipfest.” Namely, by having sex with you.”

Geema blinked. “Well… that was… direct.”

The Khan smiled. “I like to do things quickly.”

“Well… why don’t you come in. And I hope you don’t like doing everything quickly…” Geema looked the Primarch up and down. Yes… despite the silliness of his outfit, he was rather attractive.

“Oh believe me,” said Khan, pressing an assertive hand on Geema’s shoulder, “I know well that there are some things best taken at a slower pace.”

--

Something quick for the fast Primarch. I figured it was appropriate.

I've interviewed at Meijer and Dick's Sporting Goods, and I have another at Jo-Ann Crafts and Fabrics tomorrow.

I'm not holding my breath, though... in my experience, prospective employers completely forget I exist once the interview ends. Almost ALL of the interviews I've had resulted in complete and total radio silence. Not even a rejection; nothing at all. Literally 90% of my interviews (maybe more) end that way.

Mmmwrgedfuergea...
You know me too well...
Also, I will try to write a going into RUDIS...
Although it would be more realistic for me to go back to obsessing with Pert...

I'd love to see how Horvat reacts in the Rudi's party.

And this also neatly satisfies Horvat/Military Fortifications! Two in one!

Horvat was in the process of freaking the heck out. Which, to be fair, was an entirely reasonable reaction. “Ohjeeznononononowhatareyoudoingherepleasedon’tkillmeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

The man outside his door kept a stony gaze upon him. “Why do you believe I would wish to kill you?”

“Nononononononon-wait, what?” Horvat stared at the giant. “You are Perturabo, yes?”

Perturabo—for Horvat’s assessment was indeed accurate—nodded his head. “I take it you’ve heard of me. But then… it seems everyone has heard of my brilliance. For better or worse.”

“...Hang on.” Horvat thought for a moment. “How did you end up here? Where do you live?”

“To be honest, I am not certain how I find myself in this place, whatever it may be. I believe this may be a first.” Perturabo nodded thoughtfully. “In any case, I make my home upon the world of Olympia, as I have for as long as I can remember. I take it I am elsewhere.”

“Ermmm… you could saaay that…” Horvat looked around. “We can get you back, but first… can you look at these?” He passed Perturabo a sheaf of papers, full of diagrams and drawings. “I would really like your opinion of them…”

“Fortification plans?” The Primarch glanced at the papers casually. ”These are appalling. Simple, easily penetrable. The result of a simple mind.”

Horvat flinched. When he next spoke, his words were quieter, more hesitant. “...Then… could you help me fix them, maybe?”

Perturabo snorted contemptuously. “Why should I? All my life I am used as a weapon of war. And you wish me to continue to work for such a purpose when I am, for the first time, free? I will do no such thing.”

“...okay.” Horvat spoke in a small voice. “But… before you go… can I… can I see your architectural designs?”

“...my what.”

“The designs you made. The ideas for the magnificent cities and spires and cathedrals and their wonders. The most beautiful, brilliant designs.” Horvat trembled. “Can I see them?”

The primarch was overcome for a moment. “You… you actually want to see my designs? You want to witness my work?”

“Of course.”

“In all my years… nobody has ever cared enough to so much as ask.” Perturabo stepped into Horvat’s RC. “Come here, little one. Sit upon my lap, so that I may show you my designs.”

~~

Horvat curled up against Perturabo. “Those were incredible. Some of the best I’ve ever seen.”

The Primarch smiled. “Well… I do try to be the best.”

“You know…” Horvat snuggled in closer. “We have the shipfest, right now…”

“The… shipfest.” Perturabo’s brow wrinkled. “I have not heard of such a thing. How might I partake?”

The boarder’s eyes sparkled. “Well… it would start… like this.” He leaned forward, kissed Perturabo softly on the lips. “Shall we continue?”

Perturabo was silent for a moment. “I believe I would enjoy that, yes.”

--

For those of you who didn't notice the (admittedly subtle) hints, this is a Perturabo from before he was found by the Emperor. Why did I do the ship like that? Because after he was found, he wound up turning into a total psychopath, and the challenge of writing that sort of thing will fall to whoever wants to do a ship with Angron.

Pre-Emperor Perturabo was arrogant and dangerous, but before he went off the deep end he was actually quite peaceable: He wanted people to live in harmony, preferred diplomacy to violence, and had many a grand ambition that was never to be realized, ignored by the war-obsessed around him. Also, he actually believed in the idea of democracy, IIRC. Although I may have gotten that wrong.

All of this is essentially the reverse of what Perturabo was to become, sadly...

There is only one really creepy thing about this: The drawings of us. Which are scarily accurate.

I mean, they're still wildly inaccurate, but as someone who knows what all the humans in this picture look like? It's way more accurate than I expected. Like, there are actually some reasonable resemblances here. More than I thought you'd get from what we gave you to work with.

Also, you got 'Plith's standard polo and cargo pants, which I don't think were mentioned in his description (although they might have been).

Just, y'know. Utterly baffled by what I just read.

I recently got into the Alien franchise. I haven't gotten around to anything I'd call "fandom" (I haven't been reading fanfics or looking at art), but I may or may not have binge watched four or five movies over the course of two days...