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While, yes I do know that I don’t have to read everything there is about the PPC (i’m Not that psychotic yet). But that’s mostly what people talk about, and with the aforementioned issues regarding me catching up on it, I mostly get pulled out of conversations and end up giving up on trying to join again. It make me feel more stupid than the rest of you that I don’t know much about it.

Here's one other (now older) newbie you have missed. Please have this bag of black-hole chocolates

Please have a pot of black-hole coffee.

Richard Legard: White/Blue/Red. Richard like the idea of peace, moral and just good, however... While we're not on the scale of Notary's 'White is pure Order' there is the downside he's also a rather passive streak there, letting himself follow the order and, more often than not, the logic, the facts and his head rather than guts.

Yet, deep down he's emotionally invested behind the passivity and the intellect, and would like to express this more. To steal from oter systems, his behaviour can lead him to Lawful Neutral, but deep down he craves the idea of being Chaotic Good... Provided his worldviews and ideals aren't shattered first.

Marina Nicodelli: White/Black/Red. Marina is less about 'good' as order, but she would very much like to see a world of peace and ione of rules followed... Except of course reality doesn't work that way. The world is unfair, and sometimes enforcing some form of order requires to break some rules... So be it, be she's very much not letting the means take the lead on the ends, some rules aren't escapable.

However, for all the cynism and the order, she will react strongly to any topic sensitive to her. And while she harbors some curiosity about other magics, deep down her response to it is rather emotional, with the discovery of the unknown... provided the unknown don't break the rules she holds dear or gives answers she dislikes. Moreover, there's the fact she awaits for the day she can leave the PPC behind, in no small part because of the loved ones she left behind.

(Those are the elf ears, obviously.)

+1 for Phobos' 'deep, manly growl', +another1 for Kaitlyn's pink everything, and +onemore1 for accidentally(?) having Kaitlyn sarcastically use 'my' pet name 'NeshoMAHHH' for Nesh.

hS

Gremlin belongs to PoorCynic, and he helped me work out what exactly she and Gall could be getting up to that would involve fancy dress. Cheers!

~Neshomeh

"Okay: how do I look?" Gall stepped out of the bathroom and spread her arms.

On his cot, Derik lowered The Tempest and rolled over to his right far enough to look at her without twisting his neck.

There was a moment. Gall was familiar with this moment. It was almost like a staring contest, each of them watching and waiting to see if something would happen. It hadn't yet, and Gall was getting a bit desperate. Not that she was desperate, mind you, just frustrated. But not frustrated. She wasn't pining away for Twu Wub like some yak-brained idiot. It was just . . .

Derik tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. "Like you raided the darkest, most humiliating depths of Elms' closet," he said.

The moment ended, like it always did, in disappointment. Gall sighed heavily and rolled her eyes.

Derik went on: "I thought you said you were going to World One. That can't be appropriate."

Dammit, she'd been sure this would get a reaction. The low white bodice with the sleeves hanging off her shoulders, the tight green leather corset and matching skirt, the sheer white stockings and black buckled shoes . . . the costume didn't leave much to the imagination. Okay, so Gall didn't have much to flaunt in the assets department, but the corset helped, and the color suited her complexion, too. She was a natural redhead. That was supposed to count for something, dammit!

"Shows what you know," she huffed. "This is totally traditional. I'm supposed to be, like, a leprechaun or something. Buy me a green beer and I'll show you me pot o' gold." She cocked her hips and grinned. That was a pretty good line, if she did say so herself, and she did. "Pretty good, right?"

Nothing.

Dammit.

Derik sat up. "Correct me if I'm wrong—"

"You're wrong."

"—but I thought this holiday was about a man named Patrick driving snakes off an island that never had any to begin with. What does this—" he gestured to all of her "—have to do with that?"

She shrugged. "Hell if I know. Who cares? It's an excuse to party, and everything has to be green. Green clothes, green beer, green food—and get this: the city we're going to, Chicago? Gremlin says they turn their river green."

"Are you sure she's not winding you up?"

"No. But again, who cares, as long as there's booze and hot people?" In a brilliantly unsubtle segue, she added, "You could come if you want. I bet we could find you a shamrock thong." Gods, she wished.

"No," Derik said far more quickly and decisively than was fair. "You and Gremlin have your Girls' Night. I'll stay in this time." He held up his book, telling her he planned to be extremely boring and sit around reading all night.

She sighed again. "Fine. Don't forget to sweep out the fireproof corner, it's getting all sooty again."

"Fine, fine." He flicked his fingers; he'd take care of it. "Go. Have fun."

He really meant that last part. Dammit.

She smirked at him. "Hey, if I come home with someone, do you want me to warn you, or what?"

He looked down at his book and shrugged those perfectly contoured shoulders she was dying to sink her fingers and possibly her teeth into. "I'll clear out if you like. I would prefer a warning, but if that isn't possible, an awkward scramble will have to suffice."

Dammit. "Heh. Yeah, fair enough."

The sad part was, if he'd just been a normal person and jumped her bones as soon as she made it clear she was interested, that probably would have been the end of it. As it stood, his bizarre and unnatural reluctance was like a challenge, and she never backed down from a challenge. She had never expected it to go on this long, and she knew she should have given up ages ago, but without her notice, things had changed. The longer it dragged out, the less it was about pure, clean animal lust, and the more it became about something much harder to define, like maybe principles or honor. Whatever. The point was, she knew he would come around one day. She didn't know how she knew, but she did. And when that day came, she would be there, and all would be right with the world.

But in the meantime, she'd party with her best friend, get drunk on green beer, and maybe get a little action to tide her over.

"All right, I'm off to paint the town green. Catch you later!"

One day.

---

This is set in the very near future, obviously. Apologies for the distilled cultural insensitivity that is a typical St. Patrick's Day celebration in these parts. Personally, I make a point of staying indoors on whatever Saturday they do the thing with the river. Drunk loonies everywhere. *shudder*

I kinda feel like I should apologize for taking you inside Gall's head, too, but really getting in there and figuring out how it works is something I need to do, so y'all get to take the journey with me. The MTG colors thread has actually helped with this, making the title all the more appropriate. ^^

~Neshomeh

P.S. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/TheTempest">Just in case anyone is wondering why The Tempest. (It's funny. Chuckle ironically, dammit!)

"I can't believe it," Kaitlyn complained as she accepted the mug of tea from Phobos.

He sat down on the sofa beside her and put his feet up on the coffee table, stroking his manly, bushy beard. "Can't believe what?"

"Huiney is always going on and on about Neshomah," Kaitlyn pouted, tucking her pink manicured toenailed feet underneath her. Her equally pink fingernails tapped against her mug and she pouted harder. "And whenever I ask if he wants to hang out with me, he just sighs and starts talking about how good she looks with Elf ears!" She looked up at Phobos, biting her plush pink lips. "Do you think I'd look better with Elf ears?"

Phobos growled a deep manly growl and nibbled Kaitlyn's ear. "I think you look sexy without them," he said, setting his tea aside before pulling her down on top of him.

Kaitlyn squealed as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in for a kiss. "But Phobie," she said, "What about Neshomeh?"

"What about her?" Phobos said. "She and Huinesoron are happy together, so why shouldn't we be happy together?"

"Oooh, now there's a good point," Kaitlyn said as they kissed deeply.

* * *

"Hey, do you ever think we're neglecting our spouses lately?" Huinesoron asked as he and Neshomeh pulled off their scabbards, sweaty from another day of LARPing.

"They'll be fine," Neshomeh said dismissively. "Wanna have sex?"

"Keep the Elf ears on," Huinesoron said as he tossed his cloak dramatically to the side.

On the bottom floor of a particularly modernistic and snazzy mall, a long line of people had assembled in front of a deli venue. The hour was late, and there was twisted line, spanning the width of the venue and back more than three times; much like the lines at a baseball stadium. The sandwiches being baked here were of the highest quality; with such tastes that only the most skilled of connoisseurs could truly appreciate.

Larfen, a man of large statue, waited behind about eight or so people in line. He had been waiting for quite a while, and was practically salivating at the options. Tomatoes, lettuce, bacon, cheese, garlic, onions, and so many more options to choose from (not mentioning the 8 different types of bread!), he was truly in awe. Though undecided on the particulars, he was ready to consume a sandwich of the best quality. He had fallen in love with the concept of the sandwich, in the time he had spent waiting for one. He lusted after that savory combination of bread, and assorted toppings. He desired and ached for that sweet fullness and the tastes of bread on his tongue, and the feeling of being sated.

Another five minutes passed, and a horrible, heartbreaking noise sounded through the crowd. The metallic clacking of steel shutters being pulled down by one of the deli employees. Larfen was third in line. The employee gave a terse, almost sarcastic apology, and quickly left. The people left in line were stunned. There was a silence, and an almost audible hunger that had been left unsatiated.

A noise emerged from Larfen’s lips. A deep moan, full of despair. He would never get to eat that sandwich, of which he had spent what had felt like his entire life waiting for. He had loved this sandwich so sillily, which hadn’t even been a single object, and now he had been punished for it. His hopes, his dreams, and his desires had been crushed as soon as the clack of the shutters had hit the ground. He moaned again, loud enough to gain the attention of his fellow patrons.
A man in a business suit gave Larfen a worried look.

Larfen was no longer on the plain of the living. He had descended into a realm of pure sadness. He mourned the death of his love. Worse, his love will never be created. His teeth pained, never to chew a sandwich. He imagined the soft, chewy bread, and the juices of the tomatoes on his tongue. He envisioned the oily, papery wrap surrounding and cocooning the sandwich. He released another deep, lusting moan.

Needless to say, they were startled and concerned. But after a minute, another, deeper pitched moan sounded. Larfen’s moan had been received, and understood. This moan came from another, from deep within their heart and empty stomach. From somewhere else in the crowd, another moan had erupted. The message had been comprehended. Soon enough, a symphony of deep moans, full of lusting hunger, had begun. Those who were not moaning, began stifling giggles, but eventually even they were unable to contain their laughs.

Whenever there seemed to be an end to the moans, a pause or a break, another voice would clearly resound with a hearty, hungry moan. Two men, clad in black, with words written on their backs were approaching from a distance. The words written on their backs, in bright yellow, were “SECURITY STAFF.” They were disturbed, and unamused. “Break it up, people”, one of the men yelled. The crowd was silenced, and once again returned to a neutral state. Some quiet laughing was heard, and the crowd broke up. Larfen, still hungry, turned away from his lost love, and saw a white, neon sign in the distance. It read, “DELI: OPEN 24/7”.

_____

Some liberties and ideas taken from Joseph Heller's "Catch-22".
Hope you enjoyed.

- Maxewell

Gives them energy, but also slowly killing them and making their health deteriorate. And affects their minds, and substitutes their will with an outside influence's power. And the source of the problem is an inanimate object.

Wow, that runs deep. And here I thought it was all a metaphor for over-reliance on nuclear power.

—doctorlit is bad at reading beyond the text

I think it partially comes down to it having been written during the cocaine phase of his career. You can notice a certain autobiographical element in some of his works of that era: doesn't his line about "spurious energy" sound like what the alien ship gives people?

“‘Ey, Thoth! Where’re you going?” Tom didn’t even look all the way up from his console as the Space Marine walked towards the door.

The marine in question was, unusually, not dressed in his armor. He kept a simple robe for such occasions, which is what he was wearing. After an incident involving Luxury in a particularly mischievous mood, a pair of extremely large sweatpants scrounged from somewhere had been added to the outfit, as an extra insurance of decency. He turned to face his partner. “Tom, I am going on a… date.”

Tom blinked, finally looking up. “What.”

“A date,” Thoth continued. “With a girl. I understand you are aware of the concept.”

“Yeah, but… you’re a Space Marine. Don’t you…” Tom let out a sigh. “Nevermind. Whatever. Who’re you going with?”

“Talia Ornix, DoSAT,” Thoth replied. “Now, I believe I must go.” He shut the door behind him, leaving Tom in the gloom of the RC.

Tom got back to work. For all of five minutes. For some reason, he couldn’t focus, his thoughts wandering back to what Thoth had said. Talia was… cool. Good. He was very happy for them.

Tom sighed, speaking to nobody in particular. “Who am I kidding? I something to take my mind off this.”



Rudi’s was moderately crowded, and just loud enough to distract anyone trying to think. That was just fine by Tom. Farah Tahar was up by the bar, and, judging by her expression, was probably explaining to the newbie next to her that no, the name of her species was not “catgirl.” Off in a corner, Peregrin was trying to read, with mixed success. As if any more noise was required, someone had brought in a piano, somehow. An entity with a frankly uncomfortable number of tentacles was currently behind it playing a rendition of “Piano Man” that would have been impossible for anyone with less appendages, while a group of assassins looked on.

Tom took a seat at the bar that wasn’t directly next to anyone. He didn’t really feel like talking to anyone. He ordered a Coke with added Bleep, and tried to lose himself in the music. It wasn’t that he… liked Talia, per se, he told himself. Sure, she was very cute, and she seemed nice, and she was DoSAT, so he could actually talk to her effectively… but it wasn’t that. It was just… well, he supposed he was jealous of his partner’s success. He’d never had a date in his life. And heck, did Space Marines even have an interest? Even if they did, why the heck would someone go out with one? Well, except maybe Gall… He spared himself a grin, recalling her antics at Halloween.

He sighed, resting his head on the bar. Jeez. How long had he been working, anyways, before this? He couldn’t even remember...

…

The next thing Tom knew, someone was poking at his back.

“Hey, you awake? SYN, anyone?”

“Wha, a– buh? ACK! ACK!” He abruptly pulled his head. “What’s up? I’m up! Things! Stuff! Activities!”

The assailant giggled. “It’s me. Come on, Tom. How’s your day been?”

Tom finally managed to get a good look the person behind him. Tall, short black hair, a smirk on her full lips, DoSAT patch… “Talia? ‘s that you?”

“I can’t think of a tech who looks exactly like me, so it must be. For that matter, how many techs tend to want to touch anything from your universe?” Talia gave a smile. “No, really, how’re you doing?”

“Okay, I guess…” Tom stared back blearily. “So anyways, how was the date?”

“What.”

“You know, with Thoth?”

“Ooooh, that! Yeah, I did go on a date with Thoth…”

Tom sighed under his breath.

“...if by date, you mean upgrading his dataslates to interface with something that’s not terrible. I swear, those things make token-ring look elegant…” Talia frowned. “Glad that’s over.”

Tom shook his head rapidly. “Wait, what? So… not liked a date-date.”

Talia frowned. “Space Marines don’t date, Tom. I’m not even even a field agent, why am I explaining your main canon to you?”

“No, I know that, but… Thoth said…”

“Oh, because that makes perfect sense.” Talia rolled her eyes. “So, just to get this straight, your partner, scary ex-worshipper of the god of lies and deception told you something that conflicted with your view of reality in a massive way… and you just believed him. Wow, great thinking, Tom.”

“...are you implying I’m an idiot?”

“No, I’m telling you you’re an idiot. Subtlety is not my specialty.”

Tom smiled slightly. “Uh… Thanks, I guess? Now I’ll go… not punch my partner in the face, because he’s pretty scary.”

“You go do that.” Talia grinned. “Just so we’re clear, I am never letting you live this down. Well, not until you beat me at StarCraft, anyways”

“Hey! It’ll happen one day!” called back Tom over his shoulder.

“Not a chance…” Talia said. But Tom was already gone.



“Thoth, do you ever lie to me?”

Thoth turned another page in his novel. “No,” he said, dispassionately. “I have not, technically, ever told you anything that is untrue.”

Tom sighed. “But why?”

“Because you must maintain any talent you intent to keep,” said Thoth. “Additionally, I have an abundance of free time. For the first time since I began my training as a Thousand Son, I have had to consider how to spend it.”

“So…” Tom spoke in a tone spiked with incredulity. “You mess with me… because… you’re bored.”

“An accurate summation, yes. Although you are remarkably easy to deceive.”

“You… You…” Tom deflated then, remembering Talia’s words. “Okay, you might actually have a point…”

--

Tom, Thoth, and Talia all belong to me (Jeez, I need to stop making characters with names that start with T). Peregrin and Farah belong to Tomash, used here with permission. The rest belongs to a lot of people, you know the drill.

A tear of both amusement and sadness. Scape, curse your cheating heart, I thought corsets were our thing!

The bear shambled into the room. A ham sandwich was lying on the floor.

The ham sandwich did nothing.

The bear paused, head cocked quizzically, and sniffed the air.

The ham sandwich did nothing.

The bear took a cautious step forward. As it came fully into the light, an observer might have noticed that, against all reason, it was wearing an extremely small red t-shirt.

The ham sandwich did not notice this.

The bear padded forwards to the centre of the room. It snuffled at the sandwich, its nose filled with the heady odour of the ham.

The ham sandwich did not sniff back. It did not have a nose. It was a ham sandwich.

Dropping to its haunches, the bear stared at the sandwich, waiting to see if it would do anything.

The ham sandwich did nothing. It was a ham sandwich.

Eventually, the bear gave a long, deep sigh and got to its feet. (The ham sandwich did nothing.) Leaning forward, it pressed its nose to the bread. (The ham sandwich did nothing.) Its tongue flicked out, taking the smallest taste. (The ham sandwich did nothing.) The bear yawned, its long teeth showing. (The ham sandwich did nothing.) Then it ducked forwards, and the ham sandwich [censored] [censored] [censored] [censored].

~~~

^_~ With that kind of setup, it was inevitable.

hS

On a warm, sunny day, a orange-furred, white-splotched kitten was curled up with a brown-furred puppy in a field somewhere.
The two were rather intertwined, with parts of one animal lying on top of the other and vice-versa.
Someone very close by could've heard quiet, content breathing coming from both of them.

<Hey, move over a bit?>, said Calliope, who was currently the kitten, <One of my paws is falling asleep.>

Granz, who was, at the moment, a puppy, picked up his back half and moved it away from Cal, getting some pressure off of her.
He then gave her a quick lick on the forehead.

<Think we should demorph? We've been cuddling for a while now.> Granz asked, worried.

Cal took her free paw and booped him on the snoot. <Thoth just left to check a moment ago. We'll be fine.>

Rather conveniently, Thoth, currently a raven, flutter-hopped out from a nearby bush.
(His flying skills weren't that great, especially when he was tired.)
<We've got about ten minutes left, and the coast is clear,> he said. <We should probably demorph in a moment. But first...>.

When he reached Cal and Granz, Thoth spread his wings out and draped them over Cal and Granz, resting his head in a valley in the Cal-Granz cuddle.
Cal and Granz both raised their heads and nuzzled Thoth's wings.

<This was nice.> Cal said.

<Yeah. We should definitely do this again.> Thoth agreed.

<This is great, yeah. But what if we get caught?> Granz worried.
Cal simply booped his snoot again.

<Let's split up> said Thoth, removing his wings with a sigh.
Cal and Granz both brought themselves upright, which took a while because they kept getting tangled up in each other (and Thoth, at first) and sneaking in one last lick.

A few minutes later, the trio had managed to give each other some distance, and they demorphed.

"You know what?" said Cal, once everyone was human again. "We could just ... keep cuddling."

"Ok but what if..."

"Granz, we're in the middle of nowhere. No one's going to come by and interrupt."

"But I need to do all the computer stuff." objected Thoth.

"You can do that later." said Cal.

"Ok, fine." Thoth sighed. "I'll join you for more snuggles."

And so, the now-human Floof Trio laid down on the grass, forming a pile of hugs, cuddles, and other physical gestures of affection.

(( A/N: Whether the Floof Trio were wearing clothes after they demorphed is left to each reader's personal interpretation. - Tomash ))

Scapegrace paced around her kitchen counter, trying to look intimidating while wearing an apron and holding a butter knife.

"You know, Larfen." she said to the ham sandwich on a plate she was orbiting around, "I've been thinking."

"Well, that's a first, mate." said the sandwich, despite not having a mouth ... or any other obvious organs, for that matter.

Scape poked Larfen's bread with the knife, leaving a small dent. "Food doesn't make snarky comments!" she said sharply.

"Yes, Mistress. Sorry, Mistress." Larf replied.

Scapegrace paused for a moment. "Wait a minute, this is a PPC fic. It'd be lame without snarky comments. So snark, but snark respectfully."

"Yes Mistress."

"So anyway, I was thinking. The plan was that I'd cut you up and eat you now that you've been turned into a ham sandwich, but I had a better idea I'd like to run past you."

"Go on." Larfen said, sounding excited.

"I've got a thing for corsets."

"That was pretty bloody obvious ma— Mistress."

"I thought I'd make a sandwich-sized corset. Then I'd put it on you, and squish you up real good. Then I'd work it up you so you'd be much narrower and easier to eat. I wouldn't have to clean as much too. What do you think?"

"That's ... actually a lot better idea than what I had when we decided to do this. I'd like to be squished up, Mistress. Let's do it."

"Well, I'll be back then." Scape said, putting the knife back in a drawer. "I'll need to make a corset that'll fit you."

"Don't run off now!" she called out as she left the room, chuckling as she did so.

"I don't have any legs, mate, I mean, Mistress." Larfen replied.

Scapegrace went off to her super-secret high-tech engineering complex, which is to say, the shed out back with all the robot parts in it. She spent most of the afternoon trying to figure out how to build a sandwich-sized corset, without much luck. Over the next few hours, the shed acquired a small pile of leather and plastic from Scape's attempts to build the thing she'd need to give Larf a good time.

Scapegrace, of course, didn't ignore the sandwich she'd left in the kitchen. She frequently came back there to make sure Larfen wasn't lonely, and sometimes to butter his bread or open him up and add mayonnaise.

Eventually, it was insanely late, even by Scape's standards. So, she gave up on the corset-making for the night, and went back to the kitchen. "Ugh." she said. "I didn't realize making a tiny corset would be this hard."

"So the idea's off then?"

Scape picked up her butter knife.

"Mistress." Larfen added.

"So sandwiches can learn." Scapegrace commented. "If I don't think of anything by tomorrow morning, we're going with the original plan."

"Shucks." said Larfen. "It sounded like a lot of fun, Mistress."

"It did, yeah." Scapegrace said. "Now, I think you need some sleep too." Scapegrace took out a roll of plastic wrap, covered Larfen (and his plate) with it, and put him in the fridge so he wouldn't go bad overnight.

The next morning, around ten AM (Scape slept in), Scapegrace went to the kitchen and retrieved her sandwich from the fridge. She lovingly unwrapped Larfen and set him back down on the counter. "Did you sleep well?"

"It's pretty cold in there, Mistress." Larfen said.

"It's a fridge. What'd you expect?"

"Good point." Larfen said. "We still on for the corsets?"

"Probably not ... wait, hold on, I have an idea!" Scapegrace ran out of the kitchen and went to her shed.

"Aw, she didn't even jab me for that." lamented Larfen a bit after Scape had left.

Scapegrace worked furiously for just under two hours. Her fingers flew on the sewing machine, drills, and other DIY equipment she had accumulated. Scapegrace emerged triumphant with a bundle of cloth, plastic, rope, and any other components the author missed in his thirty seconds of research that could be used to give a ham sandwich a nice extreme corseting.

Scapegrace half-ran most of the way to the kitchen, then stopped. She gathered herself and strode in fiercely. She had an image to maintain in front of her eventual food, after all.

As Scapegrace stepped into the kitchen, a clock somewhere in the house struck noon. "I have your corset." she said to Larfen. The sandwich, surprisingly, didn't reply. "It took a while."

Scapegrace set the corset down on the table and started checking it over. About a minute later, she looked at Larfen and asked "You ready?".

Larfen didn't say anything.

Just then, a much more human Larfen emerged from the other entrance to the kitchen.

"Oh." he said. "You managed to make the corset."

Scape looked around. "Right, the consciousness-transferring spell only lasts 24 hours. And we can't do it again until the next full moon."

"Oh well." Larfen said. "The pile of really lewd stuff is off, then?"

"Maybe..." Scapegrace said. "We could still figure something out. I've got a whole closet full of corsets from previous Shipfests, after all."

"Huh. Yeah. You did show that to me ... Mistress."

"Well, let's go take a look and see if we can think of something." Scapegrace said. "After all, what's a good shipfic without a transparent sequel hook?"

The pair of Boarders then went off to Scapegrace's closet to see if they could come up with any more crazy kinky shenanigans, since their original idea hadn't panned out all that well.

(( - Tomash, who's getting most of his shipping out early because he's traveling next week ))

It's been about a week since the signup thread went up, and there haven't been any new posts on it recently. It's also about to be Spring Break for a whole lot of people.

Therefore, I'm starting the story thread for this years's shipfest!

First, a reminder of the rules:
1. Only write fics involving people who have opted in, and respect everyone's limits. Here is a document summarizing opt-in status and collecting ship suggestions. Please let me know if I've made a mistake in there.
2. Shipfics should stay PG-13 and SFW.
3. Don't write shipfic involving yourself unless it's a canon ship. Doing that is weird.
4. Have fun!

If you're curious, or trying to hunt down every Shipfest for historical reasons, this link leads to last year's stories.

- Tomash

A big part of Black is self-interest. The idea of "I'll look after myself, I don't care about you," is a very black one.

I think you've got a strong grasp of this. Your descriptions make a lot of sense with the colors you've chosen. Well done.

-Phobos

I wasn't thinking quite clearly. Although, to his credit, Guilliman was a little more humble than that implies (namely in terms of the Codex), but aaanyways...

Yeah, I'd say Khan's a strong contender, but it's also put in Vulkan for consideration, especially for the high degree of value he places on mortal life.

Guilliman? The same guy who thought he was smart enough to codify war and put it into one instruction manual? The same guy who thought he was the Emperor's successor (he had someone else on the throne, but you know who was calling the shots). That guy is not even in the same galaxy as humble.

My pick for most humble Primarch is Jaghatai Khan. Dude doesn't ask anyone for anything. He just wants to tool around the cosmos on his jetbike with his sons. He doesn't want to rule anything. He doesn't want a grand purpose. He just wants to be.

-Phobos