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Huinesoron had just finished logging a particularly fascinating pair of rocks when a knock came at his back door. He looked up in surprise, frowning. The back door didn't get much use, and he had no idea who could be calling there now. He got up and opened it.

"Yes? Who—oh my stars."

He looked up—very, very up—at the figure standing at his entrance. It was a man, but the most stunning form of a man he'd ever seen. His alabaster skin, covered only by a flowing satin robe of purple and gold, gleamed with scented oil over taut muscles. His long hair was silver-white and held back from his forehead in delicate braids. His eyes were dark, sensual pools in a face that was almost unnaturally beautiful, accented by artistic dots of gold. A smirk played across his full, red lips.

"Hello," said Fulgrim, the Phoenician, Primarch of the III Legion, the Emperor's Children. "May I enter?"

"Er." hS hastily cleared his throat, which had gone quite dry. He made way and gestured for the Primarch to come in. "Of course. Please. To what do I owe the, er, the pleasure?"

Fulgrim laughed, a delightful chuckle like water in a brook. "Pleasure, indeed!" He glided inside and ran his hands over the handsome Elven furnishings. Not as majestic as he was used to, perhaps, but charming in their own way. "You see, my brothers and I heard of this Shipfest of yours, and I simply had to take part. You, as one of the—do your people really call yourselves 'Eldar'?"

"Well, Noldor, of House Finarfin, if you want to be precise," the Elf nattered, loosening his collar as Fulgrim fondled his rocks. Was it just him, or was it warm in here?

"Whatever the particulars, it seems you are the most attractive, most nearly perfect specimen this dimension has to offer. Therefore, I have chosen you to be mine for the evening." Fulgrim turned with a radiant smile and grasped Huinesoron's chin delicately between thumb and forefinger. His nails were lacquered red and gold. "I trust that will be acceptable."

"Meep," said hS. He nodded.

"Excellent! Then let us begin." His voice dropped into a sensual purr. "You're going to need these." From within his robe, he pulled out a silken cord, a riding crop, and a pair of feathered handcuffs.

hS gulped. "For... for me?"

Fulgrim laughed his enchanting laugh. "No, my dear Elf. For me." He held out his hands.

~~~~

There, I did the thing. I'm not sorry for any of it. *eg*

I think I'll let hS add his own epilogue if he wants to. {= )

~Neshomeh

Have a chocolate cupcake with green icing and sprinkles!

Oh, and a late Happy St Patrick's Day too!)

Is this vanity? I think this is vanity. Oh well. =]

Please have a black-hole chocolate cake with red berries coating. And many lucky charms (I'm not having high hopes for this myself).

"Not of your rank, no..."

"I've committed a terrible crime," Neshomeh whispered. "I'm afraid I may have been irreversibly contaminated in the Uncharted Territories. Will I be stripped of my rank?"

{= 3

~Neshomeh

"Wow," Neshomeh breathed as Scapegrace came out of the bathroom, resplendent in her Peacekeeper uniform. "Scape, you have got to wear that more often."

Scapegrace came over to Neshomeh, running her hands down Neshomeh's arms. "But what's the point of being a Peacekeeper if there's nobody to arrest?" she said, her voice low and sultry.

Neshomeh looked up at her with wide eyes. "Officer, I have a confession to make."

"Oh?" Scapegrace leaned in, raising her eyebrows. Their lips barely brushed together.

"I've committed a terrible crime," Neshomeh whispered. "I'm afraid you'll have to cuff me."

Scapegrace didn't bother to hide her smirk. "Kneel on the ground with your hands behind your back," she said, and Neshomeh complied. "I'll have to think of a suitable punishment for you," she continued as she pulled a pair of fuzzy handcuffs from her belt.

"What about—" Neshomeh said, but Scapegrace shushed her.

"Anything you say can and will be held against you," she said, bending down to press against Neshomeh. "And you wouldn't want that, would you?"

Neshomeh shook her head, fighting back a smile.

"Good." Scapegrace pulled off her gloves, slapping them ominously against her palm. "Now... let's get started with the interrogation."

Peacekeepers wear lots of leather, black and red, and the uniforms are pretty boss. They're not the good guys, but they sure do have style! (Well, this guy's a good guy. He's not a Peacekeeper. PK clothes just happen to fit him really well.)

But maybe don't be this guy. Even if he is one of my favorite characters. {= )

~Neshomeh, just promoting the best sci-fi series of all time, don't mind her.

Wear some green! Add green food coloring to your drink! Add green food coloring to your meals! Add it to your toilet bowl to just weird some people out.

Happy birthday dude, you've gone 22560000000 (more or less) miles spinning around on this blue rock we call Earth. Hope it's been a good one.


- Maxewell

Not much else to say. Thus is just funny.

It may not be the best writing ever (There are way too many candidates for me to say), but it put a smile on my face.

Granz turned his head towards the call center door as it melted open to a cry of “Hello new friend!”
Standing in the molten remains of the door was none other than the Primarch of the Salamanders, Vulkan. Granz shivered at the sight of this large, oiled up slab of obsidian wearing a green robe that just barely hiding what the Ice Cream Monarch wanted to see most.
“Greeting Canine Friend!” cried the muscular man of Granz’s dreams, the primarch’s footsteps pounding and he stepped closer.
“V-Vulkan?” Stammered the kind brown haired agent, hoping against hope that his private dreams were about to be realized. With a great charcoal black hand, Vulkan cupped the puppo’s head in his hand lovingly.
“Yes tinny me! My…” With a crack of bone, his voice changed to a rugged and brutish one that sent tremors of excitement running through Granz. “BOIZ ‘N I EARD BOUT SOME HUMIE ‘ING KALLED DA SHIP’EST! OI EARD DAT YA WERE DA NOICEST GIT IN DA ‘OLE PPC.”

Granz’s knees threatened to give out on him, his mind racing to keep up stammered out, “No, that can’t be true. I’m hideous anyway.” Vulkan shook his head and lifted the relatively tiny figure up. “No friend, you are DA MOST B’EUTIFLES HUMIE OI EVA SEENS!” Laying him down, Vulkan leaned in and whispered into Granz’s ear. “I wish to do the Ritual of Friendship with you ND TA SHOW YA WOT A ROIGHT PROPPER ORKY ND BIG SHROOM LOOK LOIK.” Ears ringing and heart pounding, Granz nodded and placed his hands on the larger man’s chest, running them under his robe to feel the tight pecs and other firm organs that are also integral parts. “I would very much like that, yes.”
With a massive smile on his face, the Primarch of the Slamanders Space Marine Legion booped the snoot.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The door to Rudis turned to slag as Vulkan, the Primarch of the salamanders, burst in. On one of his enormous shoulders sat Granz. The two shared a glance before crying out.
“Hello friends! Who wants to go on an adventure?”

If you look closely, you'll find it's a stone rain.

is the OTHER reason I don't wear black leather. Or leather of any sort.

Besides, I might be mistaken for any of like 2^16 subcultures if I did. This is a hazard of wearing leather.

Which subcultures the 2^16 are depend on how you look once you're in the leather...

"I think this belt goes through that loop... no, wait, hold on, there's these laces here. Dangit. What is this zipper even for? Hold on, I'm gonna Google it. Is there a tag on the—no, there isn't a back. Okay, just... just gimme a sec... I think I have a good pair of scissors in the kitchen. In the meantime, just, uh, just sit tight and check out my collection of anatomy textbooks, 'kay? Everything is going to be fine."

{= )

~Neshomeh actually does own anatomy & physiology textbooks, and also recommends Oh Joy Sex Toy (NSFW) by Erika Moen and Matthew Nolan for fun, sex-positive intros to sex-ed topics.

~Neshomeh hopes that wasn't weird.

https://recolor.me/

You need an account to mess with stuff, but if you scroll down on the avatar creation screen to find this button—

https://recolor.me/

You need an account to mess with stuff, but if you scroll down on the avatar creation screen to find this button—

https://recolor.me/

You need an account to mess with stuff, but if you scroll down on the avatar creation screen to find this button—

Corned beef, man! {= D Therefore, in honor of the joint occasion, I present you with a corned beef cake:



... That might actually be wagyu or something, buy heck, it's pretty. {= )

Happy Birthday!

~Neshomeh

Not to be confused with the corny beefcake that goes with my post below.

Allow me to narcissistically re-plug my latest prompt piece, which happens to be thematically appropriate:

"Paint the Town Green" - now in Gdoc form! Stick around at the end for bonus art!

(BTW, Ix, what app did you use to make that pic of Gall?)

~Neshomeh