The PPC Posting Board - Latest posts

I play a lot of TF2, a lot of the Borderlands series, and some others. I think I mentioned it in a couple other replies, so check those out. I do enjoy references to songs. I'm more of an emo/rock fan myself, but I love classical and dubstep too.

Nice clickbait.

Have some cake! Since cakes aren't sandwiches, it's not cannibalism, which is certainly a good thing.

Now stop making me feel old over here

HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU
MAY ALL YOUR WISHES COME TRUE
HOPE NOBODY MAKES YOU BLUE
AND YOUR CAKE DOESN'T EXPLODE IN GOO!

*blows noisemakers*

Just seventeen years ago, the world was totally lacking in any form of 'Larfen J. Stocke, esq.' Scientists, archaeologists, historians, and very opinionated grocers all refer to this era as the 'Pre-Larfen' age.
But all good things must come to an end.
In a decision which generally everyone regrets, Larfen left the womb, dusted himself off, and farted his way onto the internet. And now he's here. You poor gits.

So yes! I gots borned! It's my birthday and such. I am now one more step closer to the eternal embracing death that awaits us all. Huzzah! Cake! Balloons! Streamers!

((Granz/Larfen. You knew it was coming.))

Granz was in the kitchen.

He, being a stereotypical teenaged-to-early-twenties male, was hungry. He was also too lazy to properly cook something like chicken or pasta. No, snacking would have to do for him this fine afternoon.

He got out his favorite ice cream from the freezer; he'd have to put in on the grocery list soon, it was almost out. It was then that he was struck by an Idea. A crazy, food-based Idea. Granz watched his trembling hands open the fridge, almost of their own accord, and pull out various ingredients. Ham. Cheese. Lettuce. And, of course, bread.

He proceeded to make the sandwich of his dreams. He could see it in his mind: the moist ham separated from the fluffy bread by the gorgeous pale cheese and the fresh lettuce. The ice cream, forgotten, began to melt in its tub; the frost on the outside glistened in the early afternoon light, a sight that escaped Granz. He had a mission, and nothing was going to stop him from having the sandwich of his dreams, even if those dreams were born all of five minutes ago. As the last slice of bread was placed upon the top of the glorious sandwich, something happened Granz could never quite believe.

"Fiiinaaallly," the sandwich said in his mind. "You wouldn't believe how good it feels to exist again, mate."

Granz stood, mouth agape, staring at the sandwich. Psandwich? "Wait, what--what just happened?" he asked, struggling to process that his lunch was speaking to him.

"Isn't it obvious that I was talking to you?" the psandwich snapped. "I swear, people can't seem to understand the concept of a psychic sandwich anymore!" Granz's stomach rumbled at the mention of the word "sandwich."

He needed lunch.

He needed that sandwich.

But he couldn't shake one question from his mind.

"So, if... you're a sentient sandwich... do you have a name?" Granz asked.

There was a pause. It stretched on and on like a rubber band that stretched. The superpowered sandwich had rarely, in its previous existences, been asked its name. Indeed, it had been so long, such a title was nearly forgotten; and here was a person, asking him with those lips, what his name was. Like most rubber bands being stretched, the silence was eventually broken.

"... Larfen J. Stocke, Esquire," the sandwich finally replied. Granz noticed a drop of water from the lettuce fall onto the plate, shining like the most beautiful diamond in the world.

"'Esquire'?" Granz asked. "How does a sandwich get a law degree?"

"OI, do I sound American to you, mate?!" Larfen roared. "It doesn't mean anything! Can you imagine a sandwich in a courthouse? They'd eat me alive in there!" The psandwich chuckled at its own joke.

"Yes, uhm," Granz began, "about eating... I need to have lunch, and... well..."

If a sandwich could nod, Larfen would have. "I figured as much. Just make another sandwich, I'll transfer to it then you can eat this one. Or just eat the other sandwich, but where's the fun in that?"

Granz nodded before noticing the ice cream, now almost completely melted. One of his dogs was standing next to him, begging for the ice cream or for Larfen, it was impossible to tell. Granz shooed the dog away and put the ice cream back in the freezer. He started making another sandwich.

I've seen worse. =]

I have a lot to look forward to, don't I?

Like Ffwydriad said, it's all so peaceful and quite, just like we imagine the Shire. But then comes the stealthy twist in the second to last paragraph, which made me feel that this is set short before The Lord of the Rings. Soon, Samwise will have to go to the shadows of Mordor. We know. But he doesn't know yet, he'll just go to prune the hedges.

There's only one tiny thing I might have done differently. Thinking about mustard and then opening the beer is a bit of a non sequitur. To make the story flow even better, I would try to imply that the bitter(?) taste of beer goes nearly as well with the bread and cheese as the mustard would go. Or that Sam still wants the beer, although he doesn't need it to compensate for the spicy(?) mustard. Just something to connect the two sentences. But I cannot think of how to word it.

I'm sorry for being so terribly late to everything; I'm quite busy these days.

HG

Because I won't have time to write it myself, but given the current top post on the board. There should be a Matt Cipher/ALL THE LADIES (Who are willing to be shipped) fic. You know, because they want to show their 'thanks'.

Also where's my ship Granz? I asked for a destroyer and you haven't delivered yet?

Storme Hawk
Who has ideas, but neither the skill or time to write them into stories.

But I'm glad you did. *hugs* *takes flower*

There's also a protest going on today in which women who are able are staying home from work, to demonstrate just how much the world would miss us if we weren't there. Those of us who don't have the option to miss work—such as me, both because I'm not rich and because I work at a small woman-owned business where we care for lots of women—are wearing red in support.

~Neshomeh, dashing out the door right now, in fact.

It's Women's Day. And since you are a big part of this community, each of you is irreplaceable, and I love every single one of you for bringing something new and something cool to our big, crazy family... here's a virtual tulip (which is a sorta traditional flower of the holiday in Poland) for every lovely lady, everyone who identifies as such, and everyone in-between who doesn't want to be bound by gender shackles (expect us, gentlemen. We wait for November 19th!)

So... here's a flower and the most sincere wishes of well-being to you:

Iximaz,
Scapegrace,
Cat-on-the-Keyboard,
Silenthunder,
Khryssty,
eatpraylove,
Zingenmir,
The Triumvirate,
Alleb,
VixenMage,
Neshomeh,
Badger421,
S.M.F.,
Tira,
Delta Juliette,
JulyFlame,
KoolKoopaGirl...

and everyone else my stupid brain is forgetting at this very moment (because I'm sure there are more of you)!


With best wishes and love, on the behalf of the PPC male community,
— Matthias "Matt Cipher" Kennel

I loved it, it was hilarious. Loved the part about my name, that had to happen eventually.
I hadn't realized how weird it would be to see me shipped, especially since I actually sounded like me in the fic.
I do have one question: why Badger? It's just so random (that could've been the point, I suppose), I expected it to be someone from Discord though.

Have a 75-pack of perfectly ordinary paperclips. They come in no outrageous colors; they're just regularly-sized metal paperclips that you can use to hold paper together. With that said, try not to listen too closely to them, because whenever you pick one up, it starts blathering nonstop about how great the Versailles Philharmonic Quintet is, making obtuse references to song lyrics, going on about Rose Croix and the Descendants of the Rose, etc. It's probably for the best if you ignore them.

Anyways, it's great to meet you! I have one teeny tiny question: What video games do you play most frequently or enjoy the most?

I love you! This is absolute perfection, for several reasons. Most of which are... not a good idea to explain here.

On the other hand... I now have to defend my friend's honor. Do be ready for that, yes?

Granz was tired.

He'd been putting so much effort into making certain that everyone else who had expressed interest was being shipped that his monitor was bleached with the glare of a thousand lovers. All of them had come away satisfied, which may or may not have been a euphemism depending upon the preferences of the reader.

He leaned away from his keyboard and sighed, stretching his fingers, grown toned and defined from the speed and ferocity with which he'd shipped.

"Oh, my," said a voice from behind him. He turned, and the Shipfest itself stood before him, leaning casually against the wall and grinning easily as its gaze slid along the exaggerated lines running along his overworked digits. "You have been a busy boy, haven't you?"

Granz's eyes went wide with astonishment as he beheld the Shipfest's lithe, firm form. He knew his lover when he saw it. "I. . . Suppose. . " he said nervously.

The Shipfest laughed, wrapping its firm arms over his shoulders and raising an eyebrow at him. "No need to be coy, lover," it said. "You've put so much more work into me than any of the others. I can feel your. . . passion. . ." Its hands were sliding over his chest now, and Granz's breathing was coming fast and heavy, like a lot of things were shaping up to be.

"Passion, huh?" he asked, lips trembling with excitement.

"Oh, yes," assured the Shipfest, nodding. "The passion of revenge. Did you think Aegis had forgotten the corsets? Now shut up," it said, its gaze intense, "and take your fic." Its tone made it apparent that it was to be taken in every sense of the word.

And suddenly, something stopped Granz's lips from trembling. Things often grew sturdier when they were firmly pressed against something, and the Shipfest's own lips were no exception. Neither was anything else that wouldn't really be very appropriate to discuss on the Board, and the two true lovers sank down to enjoy the fruits of their labors. Intensely and repeatedly.