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*laughs hysterically*

Really, though, I liked this one just as much as the last. The dialogue was especially hilarious. I'm also perfectly in character, honestly.

-Alleb

Corset, corsage, course and crown
Take my hand on the old chalk down
Where the cresting hills give way
To shining sands and a silver bay

Corsets tight as loving arms
Corsage took from wildflower farms
Corsage tells that love is there
Corset's strings to take the air

Set thy course to Larfen's vale
Where hearths are warm and hearts are hale
And stand atop the rolling down
With veil hung from a silver crown

Corset, corsage, course and crown
Lift thy veil on the old chalk down
Watch the sand and the silver bay
Live as one from this blest day

Calliope took the cigarette from her mouth and exhaled. She leant back, closed her eyes, and sighed. 'Was that good for you?' she asked, looking to her side.

The apple did not reply. This was not because it thought that it wasn't good for it. Rather, this was because the apple was a fruit. The apple shifted slightly, rolling under the bedsheet.
Calliope grunted, raised an eyebrow, and turned to her other side. 'What about you?'

The mango was also a fruit. It did not say anything. It wobbled a bit, as Calliope moved on the bed. She glared at it. It did not say anything.

'Oh, come on,' she said, trying the puppy-eyes. The mango wobbled slightly, in reply.

Calliope placed the cigarette, and all the poisons and toxins and tar and grinded up cats and medical equipment it was made of to her sixteen year-old lips, to absorb all of it into her sixteen year-old lungs. This was a really cool thing to do, almost as cool as wearing sunglasses at night and driving incredibly loud cars next to people who are trying to sleep, and she would have recommended it to any audience who may have been observing this situation.

'Well, it was good for me,' she said, somewhat hurt.

((The true PPC OTP: Calliope/fruit. As requested by Cal, herself: 'threesomes or more (just keep them healthy)'!
We didn't specifically see fruit opt into the Shipfest, but fruit is the coolest and chillest of all foods, so we can simply assume it. And did you know that, even if fruit didn't want to be in the Shipfest, they wouldn't be angry? That's simply how cool fruit is.

Always make sure to eat fruit!
You've heard that an apple a day keeps the doctor away, but did you know that a banana a day keeps the vet away? And did you know that a tomato a day keeps the maintenance man away? And a grape a day keeps the castle jester away? And a kiwi a day keeps the Dark Blood-Magician of Ut'Ul-Al away?
If you eat your daily required serving of fruit, you could keep any person of any occupation away! How about that!

Always make sure to eat fruit!
Sure, smoking and wearing sunglasses and driving fast cars and beating up old ladies is pretty cool, but you know what's even cooler?
Antarctica!
And you know what's even cooler than that? You if you eat fruit!

EAT FRUIT!))

Once upon a time, there was a young man who occasionally became a crow. There was no good reason for this, as far as anyone knew; he certainly hadn't been cursed, and he'd had no royal christening at which to receive magical gifts. No—it just was. As some things were.

In years past, a traveler had come to the young man's door. She had smelled of a rich, bitter drink that he did not recognize; and she carried another, which he had also never before encountered. “Keep it,” she had told him, when he had smelled the leaves and remarked that it was interesting. “I'm a Coffee Girl, anyway. French Press is the—well, anyway. French Press is mine. You're welcome to this, though.” And, in the morning, she had gone on her way, leaving behind the leaves and instructions on how to brew a drink from them.

He had followed her instructions, curious to try it. He discovered quickly that he almost always preferred to leave out any sweetener, milk, cream, or lemon; the pure, uncorrupted taste was more to his liking. He drank it sparingly, once he discovered the best way. He even gave it a name: the Earl of Grey Teas (for so the drink was classified: tea, and Earl was the highest rank in his land. This tea, he knew without having tasted any others, was truly of the highest quality.)

However, even sparingly brewed, normal tea leaves cannot last forever. His supply of precious Earl of Grey Teas ran out, save for two leaves, which he carefully wrapped and put away. One he kept to show to anyone else who might pass his way with materials to trade, sell, or gift to him. The second he kept lest the first one crumble, and for his own memories besides.

It took a year before a traveler came his way bearing tea leaves. He gave his name as Hardric, and was quite happy to explain the origin of the tea leaves which he unwrapped for Desdendelle—for so the young man was named—to see. He had found them in a field far away, and named them in his native tongue; Desdendelle, when he bought half the supply for a steep price, tried the brew and named it Lady of Grey Teas, in honor of his feeling that it was a fair counterpart to the Earl tea and very fine indeed.

But all things pass, and all too soon the last cup of the Lady of Grey Teas was drunk to the dregs. Again, Desdendelle set aside two leaves; and he waited long months for travelers to pass his way, but none came. At last he determined to set out on his own, for if the teas would not come to him, then surely he must come to the teas…

And so he set out, after much deliberation over how to do so. He took with him his carefully wrapped leaves, and some provisions, and a change of clothes. A blanket he felt he did not need; for surely, he could simply sleep the night away in the form of a crow, and thus save on weight.

He had walked for two days, following the direction from which Hardric and the self-proclaimed Coffee Girl (who had given her name as Neshomeh) had come to him from, when he espied another traveler. Her hair was brown and shoulder-length; she wore clothing as green as the tops of the trees and carried a pack from which hung a small tin pot, cup, and spoon.

He greeted her, giving his name; she returned the greeting and gave her name as Zingenmir, whereupon he asked tentatively after the utensils she carried. She wiped the sweat from her brow, wishing out loud for some form of bear, before answering.

“Oh, yeah, those,” she said. “I drink a lot of tea, so...it makes sense to have them on hand. I’d say they’re my most prized possessions right now, but one doesn’t really hang one’s prized possessions on the outside of a pack, right? But they’re definitely very useful.”

Desdendelle’s eyes went wide. Could it be that his search was over scarcely two days away from his home? “You drink tea?” he asked, fairly trembling with excitement. “I do as well! I have left my home to search for more of it, since no one had passed my way for months. Where did you find it?”

The woman looked taken aback, but she smiled as she waved a hand at the forest around them. “I collect it. Some can only be grown specially, which requires settling down for a while or bartering for it, but much of it can simply be collected. Some barks work, and flowers and fruits...I once mixed rosehips with dried wild strawberries with good results, and another time I passed through a land where spearmint grew everywhere—”

Desdendelle stared at her. “But that’s not tea,” he said. “Tea is made from leaves—like these.” And he unwrapped a leaf of the Lady of Grey Teas to show her.

The woman leaned in to smell its fragrance and then ‘ah’ed softly in understanding. “You’re looking for a different type of tea,” she said. “The type that will keep you awake and is frequently bitter. I deal in herbal teas.”

Desdendelle tried not to look too disappointed. “So you don’t have any tea, then?”

“I—” The woman sighed. “No, I don’t have the type of tea you’re looking for. I do know where it grows, though,” she added as his face fell. “I can give you directions—or take you there myself. At my present course, I’m sure to pass several of the places.”

“Would you really take me there?” he asked.

The woman shrugged. “I travel more easily with a companion anyway. Let’s go.”

*

They walked for nearly two months, encountering increasingly more travelers as they went. Some, like Matt Cipher, were traveling only a short distance (in Cipher’s case, delivering a box of pastries called pączki to a nearby group of friends and relatives); others, like Silenthunder, were going farther. One Larfen J. Stocke joined them for a day, amusing them with his wit for hours before they finally parted ways; a man named Aegis joined them for a little longer, until his propensity for making bad puns began to grate on them. He took the separation easily enough, though, as it coincided with him joining a traveler named Maslab; when Desdendelle and Zingenmir last saw them, they were trading bad puns with identical expressions of growing glee.

There were, of course, some odd moments, such as the first time Desdendelle turned into a crow for the night. Zingenmir had stared, open-mouthed, until he changed back and sheepishly explained his ability; in return, he found out that his traveling companion could understand and speak to bears (which was completely useless in much of the world, as bears were hardly commonplace in every land). They also had the occasional argument over tea, but, all in all, they found themselves falling easily into friendship.

Towards the end of the first month, they left the road to avoid a large group, all clamoring around a man who looked a lot like the tall kind of faerie from the storybooks and might have been (as discerned from the clamoring) named something along the lines of ‘Enesoron’. Desdendelle flew ahead briefly; upon returning, he pointed them in the least thorny direction, and they continued walking.

A minute later, a black-clad person flipped down from a tree and landed in front of them. When they stumbled backwards, two more caught the travelers, and pushed them firmly forwards again.

“I, uh,” said Desdendelle. “I think I missed something.”

Zingenmir nodded mutely, staring at the first ninja.

The first ninja unwrapped the black cloth that covered their face and grinned. “Hey! Aren’t you the girl who talks to bears? Dawn-something?”

Zingenmir face-palmed as Desdendelle gave the ninja a strange look. “DawnFire, and it’s Zingenmir now.” She looked up, frowning at the ninja. “You look a little familiar...uh?”

The ninja helpfully pushed back their black hood.

“Oh,” said Zingenmir. “You’re Iximaz. Since when are you a ninja?”

Iximaz shrugged. “I decided I wanted to do more than just cuddle seals all day, even if they are adorable. Who’s your friend?”

Desdendelle cleared his throat and gave his own name, adding, “I’m searching for tea leaves; Zingenmir has been guiding me. You two know each other?”

Iximaz nodded. “Yeah, we were at this school together for people who can talk to cold-weather animals. Weird place. Hey, do you want company? It’s been ages since I went on a quest.”

“That depends on who your friends are,” Desdendelle said, after he and Zingenmir had exchanged shrugs. “I’d rather not travel with people whose names I don’t know.”

“Sure,” said Iximaz, nodding at the other two ninjas. They unwound their own masks as the two travelers turned. “Scapegrace is the one on the left, and on the right is Alleb. They’re pretty cool.”

They all traded hellos, and then Scapegrace asked, “What are you doing off the main road, anyway?”

Zingenmir shrugged one shoulder. “Too many people.”

“On that road?” Alleb said, frowning. “Truly?”

“They were clustered around some guy,” said Desdendelle. “They seemed...busy. And very loud. We thought we’d seek out some quiet.”

Scapegrace waggled her eyebrows up and down, but Iximaz only said, “Did you catch his name? Was it Huinesoron?”

The original travelers traded looks. “Something like that,” Zingenmir said. “How’d you know?”

Iximaz grinned. “This happens every year around this time. I’ve even taken part before. It’s pretty fun!”

“...what exactly is it?” Desdendelle asked. He wondered if he actually wanted to know, but Scapegrace answered before he could take the question back.

“Well, everyone likes him, and around this time of year a bunch of people get together to try and...woo him. Or just get in his pants, one or the other—”

Alleb coughed, her face going red; Scapegrace glanced at her and went, “Oh, sorry,” before continuing.

“Anyway, it’s pointless since he married someone named Kaitlyn. Probably half of them do it just for the tradition by now.”

The group had seemed pretty enthusiastic, but Desdendelle didn’t argue. “Well, they should be gone by now, if we want to rejoin the path…?”

No one disagreed, and so the party of five headed back to the main road.

*

The five of them traveled together for another month. All three ninjas had a tendency to do the occasional acrobatic feat, and Scapegrace and Iximaz made eyes at each other when they each thought the other wasn’t looking (though Iximaz also spoke of other loves, two of whom Desdendelle and Zingenmir had met. Aegis was, for the moment, abroad—while they had met him, he had also left in a direction that took him far to the east—and Neshomeh, who had first introduced Desdendelle to the wondrous tea, turned out to have stolen yet another love by the name of French Press and run away with her. Scapegrace, meanwhile, occasionally mentioned someone who ate, prayed, and loved, which seemed to Zingenmir an odd sort of description to give of someone, but otherwise left her history out of conversations. Alleb mentioned no one, but blushed when questioned).

The end of the month found them in a field of tea leaves. Desdendelle stared at it in dazed amazement.

He had been without tea for so long. He had tried Zingenmir’s blends, though they seemed to him lesser in quality. He had also tried some of the bitter drink whose scent had lingered on Neshomeh (Iximaz had offered him a little from her own stores), and pronounced it emphatically not to his tastes. Nothing had compared.

He knelt carefully at the edge of the field, ignoring the strange look Scapegrace was giving him, and breathed deep of the fragrance.

Tea. More tea than he could drink in two years. More tea than he had ever thought to see—and there were at least two more fields in the area.

This, at last, was bliss.

(“Er,” said Scapegrace quietly. “Exactly how long is he going to just sit there with that grin on his face?”

“Give him a moment,” Iximaz replied, and then said wistfully, “He looks a little like I did when I was introduced to French Press…”)

Zingenmir sighed, and knelt next to him. “So,” she said. “What next? Do you...do you think you’ll stay here?”

“I don’t know,” Desdendelle said. He still felt dazed, and brushing his fingertips carefully over the tea leaves in front of him didn’t help. “I...I suppose I could try to build a house…”

Iximaz joined them. “Have you ever built a house before?”

“No,” Desdendelle admitted. “Have any of you?”

Everyone shook their heads.

“I read a book on it once,” Alleb said. “I think I remember most of it.”

“So we could probably figure it out, then,” Scapegrace put in. “I’ve watched people put up shacks before, too; we could do this. Probably.”

“Or we could try to find a carpenter to consult,” Zingenmir said. She got to her feet with a sigh. “Well, then. Let’s find a good place for a house.”

Iximaz got up by way of a handstand; after a minute more of breathing in the delicious tea smell, Desdendelle accepted the hand up that was being offered to him.

“Alright, then,” he said. He had carefully picked one tea leaf, and he rubbed the stem between his fingers as he looked around at his friends. “Let’s go looking.”

((After dragging myself out of the whole Granz seems to have vanished in, I have decided we are leaving something here today for the Shipfest, and corsets can't exactly object. So, without further adieu, let us present: ))

A Perfect Fit

Aegis stared at the object resting on the table before him. This was it. The moment he’d wanted for so long. He reached out with trembling hands to pick it up. He felt its silken fabric, and took a shaky breath. Yes. Today was the day he finally put on a corset. The corset itself seemed to be whispering to him, asking him to wear it.

“Come on,” it said, “Just put me on. You know you want to.”

“I know, but…” he said. The corset seemed to scoff.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when I’m on Iximaz,” it whispered. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when I’m on anybody, or even when I’m just lying here. You want me on you.” Aegis nodded.

“Yeah, I do,” Aegis said. He turned to the mirror that was attached to the wall, corset in hand. He stared at his reflection for a moment, then tentatively wrapped it around himself. He gasped a little as it caressed his skin, and he had to stop himself from reflexively dropping it. Holding the front of it in one hand to keep it from falling, he reached back to grab the panel, but was stopped by the corset.

“I’ll get that,” it said, and he could feel something shifting back there.

“Okay,” he said, returning his left hand to the busk. He closed it, pairing knobs and holes one by one. Each time he did so, the corset shuddered, and that, in turn, caused him to tremble. “Oh,” he gasped the third time it happened.

“I know,” the corset said. “Keep going. It gets better.” It did, for with each pairing, the corset moved a little more, and this most certainly got a reaction from him. The little noises he made would have gotten a chuckle from the piece of fabric wrapped around him, except for the fact it was too busy making his own. Of course, they did eventually run out of buttons- but that just meant it was time to move on to the laces. Aegis gave them a light tug, as he had done so many times for Ix, and the corset gasped.

“Oh, yes, please, again, harder,” it said. He complied eagerly, pulling at the first X away from him. He was a bit too eager, and pulled a bit too far.

He let out a startled, “OW!” 

The corset echoed him, then said, “Whoa, too much, too much! Be a little more gentle next time.” He felt the pressure lighten again, and he pulled on the laces again, but this time, he was careful not to use too much force. He gasped a little once again when he had the laces just tight enough, and moved on to the next pair. Thankfully, the corset was once again taking care of the panel, shifting it exactly as needed with each tug. Each new tug on the strings brought more pleasure, and more pleas from the corset for more. Finally, he pulled the last X, and groaned.

“Oh, you’re so tight,” he said.

“And you fell so good inside me,” it gasped. “Quickly, get the last of it, before you slip out of me.” Aegis complied, grasping the last strings and tying them quickly. He had to force himself to slow down, to pay attention to what he was doing. He managed to tie them neatly, before stepping back to get a really good look at himself in the mirror. “Don’t we look beautiful?” the corset asked.

“Yeah,” Aegis breathed in reply. He just stood there for a moment, looking at the two of them. Of course, to fully enjoy the corset requires physical activity, and so, he started moving. He could only move slowly at first, for what he felt had him believing he would faint if he tried to speed up. Eventually, though, he was able to move back and forth with great speed. As he was overwhelmed by the feelings walking about in the corset gave him, he said, “Oh, corset, I love you.”

“I love you too, Aegis,” the corset gasped. Aegis ran his hands over the corset and shuddered. Truly, it was a perfect fit.

"Mars is bright tonight."

"Please," Zingenmir huffed. "You say Mars is bright every night."

Iximaz turned away from the telescope, a thin pendant clinking softly off the brass rim of the eyepiece. "Of course I do, it's a Harry Potter reference. They make up, like, eighty per cent of my vocabulary."

"Is that right?"

Ix looked at Mir's expression and had the sinking feeling we all know when one's girlfriend is smiling just a little bit too widely for comfort.

"Uh... yes?"

Mir just smiled wider.

---

The next night, Ix walked up to the little stargazing platform with only a slight hint of trepidation. She was certain what was going to happen would be exciting, she just didn't know how it would be-

Oh.

That was how.

Zingenmir was standing before her in a perfect recreation of the robes of Professor Sinistra. Everything about the costume was perfectly accurate... aside from the bits that were missing, namely anything underneath the outer robes.

Iximaz slowed a bit while she tried to pick her jaw up off the floor, but she continued up to the viewing platform and made to say hello. She was stopped by a quick swish of Zingenmir's wand - not Sinistra's, but disguised cunningly as such.

"You are late, young lady. Five points from Gryffindor, and a further five from being out of uniform."

Ix eeped - or would have done, if a sound had been able to escape her lips. Instead, she took an indicated seat by her telescope. To the left of her was a desk and roll of parchment, which she was certain hadn't been there yesterday.

"Now," Zingenmir continued, "seeing as you have been so enthused by Mars of late, I have a task for you. You will look through that telescope, and you will write me twelve inches on the luminosity of Mars and its relevance to divination, with reference to the movements of both Phobos and Deimos as counterpoints to common predictions. I will be watching you the whole time, very, very closely."

Ix, who had had her eyes fixed straight ahead, felt the deep heat as Mir pressed her body against her own. She gulped as she saw her mistress's hands drift across the front of her shirt, undoing the buttons ever so slowly. Her left leg began to twitch, she ground back against her lover's body, and her breath caught in her throat-

-and Zingenmir's wand flicked gently, and a wandless Incarcerous firmly attached Ix's legs to the chair in an elaborate knotwork pattern.

The taller woman's breath was hot in Ix's ear. "Do try not to get distracted, young lady. The sooner you give me that twelve inches, well... I'm a great believer in reward in kind."

The kiss that came after was passionate and desperate as only true love's can be.

With eyes wide as dinner plates and her chest set to heaving, Iximaz recovered a little from the kiss, looked through the telescope... and began, with a trembling hand, to write.

She/her/hers, Ancientbie by the reckoning of years.

Let's see here. Elbow-length brown hair, gray-blue eyes, enjoys circus and books and all the things. And tea. Prodding at my transness is okay but please be careful (I'd be happy to sensitivity-read before you post).

Of course, now I'm fighting the urge to write a short sequel without the people who haven't opted in this year...and I'm not sure if it'd be hS/Kaitlyn or Neshomeh/Phobos. Because, while I still can't completely believe I turned Phobos into Luthien, it does rather look like a story that could be told further.

Hrm.

~Zing

Omnomnom.

Yes, I thought as much. Suppose I'll just have to earn that Veteran title the hard way.

Well, in as much as awaiting the passage of time can be considered difficult.

I like how you've given Tolkien plots, places, and characters a good PPC twist. Very nice!

-Alleb

It can be found here. It's not meant to pressure anyone, but if you have a story already and/or expect to get pretty busy in the coming week (hi, fellow busy people!) it's there. Why a separate thread? More time on the front page, of course!

~Zing

I do have to ask, though, how did this tradition of throwing spikes at people start? It's not exactly normal celebratory fare.

That is, there's no rush, and do continue signing up in the thread below, but since there are at least a few people ready to start (and also, I don't know about the rest of you, but I know I'm going to get pretty busy this week)...here, have a thread! This also ensures that it'll be on the front page for much longer, which is always a good thing.

At any rate: here to kick things off is an historical shipfic! This was the first one I ever tried to write, back in 2014; it didn't get finished, but I enjoyed writing what there is. Unfortunately, simply finishing it up and posting it for this year isn't an option, since some of the people in it left the PPC permanently or temporarily in the past couple years; however, as everyone had consented to being shipped at the time I wrote it, posting the fragment seems permissible.

And so, without further ado (and with the original a/ns moved to the end to avoid spoilers--of course I had a/ns written before I finished it, it was that kind of fic), I present to you...the untitled shipfic from 2014. Tolkien style.



As Huinesoron lay chained in the dungeon, he refused to despair. True, he had lost the duel of song, and thus condemned both himself and his companion to imprisonment and torture, but he was an Elf of the highest calibre, and would not be broken!

It had begun not long ago, when Neshomeh had arrived in his kingdom with a token that bought his aid. She was fair, for a mortal; and she had requested his aid on a dangerous quest. He would not have abandoned his kingdom--he was a faithful king!--but for the love he had shared with her mother, VixenMage, whose ring she now bore*. He could not refuse that token, and the promise it represented. And so they had set out on a dangerous journey to claim a Silmaril--a Silmaril that would win Neshomeh the beauteous Phobos' hand in marriage. (The two were in love--such was her tale--but Phobos' parents opposed the match...**) The journey to--and then through--the lands entitled the Bakery had been arduous; when at last they had neared the stronghold, Huinesoron had used his song to disguise them (that is, himself, Neshomeh, and ten faithful warriors***) as cookie cutters, but he had lost the ensuing duel.

"Be of good heart," the ellon said to her now. "We will yet escape this dungeon."

"Dungeon, hah!" Neshomeh proclaimed heartily, and then sighed. "Huinesoron, how do you propose we escape? We may yet loose these chains, but the guards are many. And if we could not defeat the Dread Kaitlyn, who is only the Greatly Feared Pretzel's lieutenant, how may we yet claim a Silmaril from Pretzel's dark crown and escape the Bakery?"

"We shall find a way," Huinesoron assured her, and several of the ten faithful warriors nodded in agreement. "We--"

In that moment, the dungeon's door opened, and the Dread Pirate Kaitlyn walked in. "Well?" she said. "Have you considered your situation? You are alone, friendless, utterly at my mercy..."



werepastries presumably a note on the servants of, uh, darkness. You know, werewolves, werepastries...they're very dangerous to full-grown Elves, you know. Their very...breath?...is poison...

Okay, yes, I have no idea how exactly that was meant to work. The note is there, though. As far as I remember, the Dread Kaitlyn was meant to banter with Huinesoron and Neshomeh and then loose the werepastries on them and their companions. And it would go from there, only, uh, with a romance subplot for Huinesoron/Kaitlyn. Something like that. I kind of got distracted by footnotes before writing it, as you're about to see...

~

Footnotes:

*Mind you, it was not purely his love for VixenMage# that bade him aid her daughter. Not that he hadn't loved her--short as the romance had been, it was strong--but she had saved his life on the field of battle. In thanks, and as token of his love and friendship, he had given her a ring, which her daughter now bore. (That ring, later called the Ring of VixenMage, would one day be worn by Neshomeh's distant descendant...but that's a tale for another time.)

(#Huinesoron was an Elf who had many loves, or at least, several more than was the norm. In the West, long ago, he had loved a fair lady by the name of Lily Winterwood. They had been betrothed, but she would not follow him from their home; and so he set off alone, and would wed no other--well, not until...you'll see.)

**Phobos was the most beautiful Elf in existence, surpassing even Huinesoron and, more importantly, Huinesoron's cousin, Delta Juliette, who had also been given the name 'Well-formed' (and was currently on a long quest to regain the three Silmarils, but that's another tale.) He was the son of Boarders and Shipping, the rulers of the Board, and he had a voice to match his physical form. (Shipping was a Maia, which went quite a ways towards explaining Phobos’ sheer gorgeousness.) He had been dancing and singing in the woods when Neshomeh had seen him, thought she was dreaming, and, awestruck, named him Tinuvion--Nightingale. Phobos had hesitated, unsure what to make of the mortal--but then he had fled. Upon their next meeting, however, they spoke more; and, soon, they found themselves in love...Upon declaring said love, however, they found that Shipping and Boarders had reservations. Eventually, Boarders had declared that Neshomeh must prove herself worthy of Phobos; and that to do so, she must bring back a Silmaril from the Greatly Feared Pretzel's dark crown. And so Neshomeh had bid her love adieu, and began the journey to Netilardo to beg Huinesoron's aid...

***Why could only ten warriors journey with Huinesoron and Neshomeh from Netilardo? Well, Outhra and Sergio Turbo, two of Delta Juliette's younger brothers, had earlier settled in Netilardo (along with Sergio's wife, firemagic, and their progeny). They had turned the minds of Huinesoron's people away from him, reminding them of the Greatly Feared Pretzel's terror and making veiled references to the Oath they and their siblings had sworn##. And thus it was that only ten faithful redshirts warriors accompanied Huinesoron and Neshomeh to the Bakery.

(##The Oath. Well, that's yet another tale, but it's one that's too long to be told in a footnote, and so it shall be left for another time. Suffice it to say that it involved threats of violence.)

~

Glossary of Characters and Places:

Boarders--Thingol
Firemagic--(unnamed Elf who is probably Noldorin, aka, Curufin's wife)
Huinesoron--Finrod
Kaitlyn--Sauron
Lily Winterwood--Amarië
Neshomeh--Beren
Outhra--Celegorm
Phobos--Luthien
Pretzel--Morgoth
Sergio Turbo--Curufin
Shipping--Melian
Delta Juliette--Maedhros
[World-Jumper--Fingon]

Bakery, The--Morgoth's lands. So sorry if that's not quite accurate...
Board, The--Doriath
Netilardo--Nargothrond

~

Glossary of Ships (in both Boarder and Silm terms, for the full weirdness):

Huinesoron/Neshomeh brotp | Finrod/Beren brotp
Huinesoron/Lily Winterwood | Finrod/Amarië
Neshomeh/Phobos | Beren/Luthien
Boarders/Shipping | Thingol/Melian
Sergio Turbo/firemagic | Curufin/Curufin's wife
VixenMage/Huinesoron | Barahir/Finrod
Kaitlyn/Huinesoron | Sauron/Finrod why is this one the otp help


(With apologies to anyone who feels the need for an apology. ~Zing)

The original a/ns, now both at the end!

Basically, who isn't fond of hS and asking him complex questions about the Silmarillion, and who doesn't wish they knew Kaitlyn better? So here, I'm giving this a go.

...I should perhaps mention that this is the first Boarder shipfic I've ever written. I suck @ summaries. Plz r'n'r!!! The thing to know is that, when I went to Lily for advice on how to write them, she said...to write a fanfic, but with Boarder names.

Thank you, Lily. Thank you very much.

And a final a/n:

As we say on Tumblr...my hand slipped. (Who here wishes I'd just stuck with an Arrow fusion fic like my original idea was? Anyone? No? Do any of you even watch it? Because it may or may not be up next...)

~DF

Yeah, it was not up next.

Anyway. Let the ShipficFest story writing begin!

~Zing

Wouldn't that rather imply I wasn't stark raving mad in the first place?

Do we do cake for these? Have some cake.

To your question, I figure it's by first post date, since that's when we first got to know you and you started being involved in things.

Blows noisemakers. Hope we haven't driven you stark raving mad yet!

So we don't get to be in the same orgy group. Steele would be disappointed. (As will the ToS group. Thank you, accidental wordplay.)

, the total count down to 41 people, and changes little else. Someone who actually knows how to stats might want to analyze these.

Specifically, AFAICT Bram and Bramandin are the same person.

I can't imagine who you devious people could possibly ship me with (fear my awesome powers of lurking), but hey, can't hurt to throw my name into the hat, right?

Right...?

Ahem, so appearance. I'm a lanky, pale as an albino snowflake, 5'9"-ish, 18-22 (at this point I'm just trying to see how long I can go without directly mentioning my age. Blame Alleb.) year old Washingtonian lad. Add long brown hair, slate blue eyes with a milky white right pupil (cataract), with some oval lens glasses, and voilà, a Badger.
My wardrobe practically never varies from dark colored t-shirts and jeans, except when it's cold enough to wear my comfy jacket. I wear a leather-wrapped magnifying glass around my neck at all times.

So, that's done, on to the ships!
All the canon ships. All of them. They please my canonshipper heart.
Larfen/Granz: Does anyone in the Discord chat not ship this?
Larfen/Granz/GMA: The PPC love triangle. Drama, intrigue, romance!
Larfen/The Adoring Masses, A.K.A. everyone who follows him when he starts a name trend: I'm sure others start them too, but when Larfen does it, everybody follows. It can't be a coincidence, I tell you! Totally not leaving out the fact that this includes himself. Nope, no conveniently absent facts here.
GMA/Ypsi: Don't ask 'cause I don't know. The idea popped into my head one day, and it hasn't left yet.
Matt Cipher/Magick: Come on, he's our resident occultist. Plus, Mattick. 'Nuff said.
Alleb/Google Translate: I don't know if Alleb was responsible for the terrible things we did to poetry that night, but that's who I'm blaming.

And I think that about wraps it up. Had more ships than I thought, it seems.

And as for boundaries, pretty much none. Who am I to squash whatever eldritch and abominable flower blooms in your mind's eye?
Seriously, though, go wild. I've been hanging around the furry fandom even longer than I've been hanging around here. Nothing surprises me anymore.

Though, speaking of having shipfics ready to go, I also just buckled down and finished my Des/Tea entry that was originally meant for last year. So...one historical and one current, ready to go! Just tell me when and where.

~Zing

I remember threads typically lasting on the front page for a week and a bit, which is a bit less time than the current range (just over a week and a half between the oldest thread and the newest).

And that made me think of how many PPCers there are, anyway, so have some quick stats. I downloaded the front page (which, a few minutes ago, contained 243 posts) and counted (automatically, I'm not crazy) how many people posted on the front page and how many posts each of them had made.

Here's the list, with convenient semicolons for importing into your stats program of choice. (Note: corrections have been made to address a few times someone posted under an alternate name, or typo'd their username, or left an extra space at the end of the Author field.)

1;Badger421
1;Ffwydriad
1;Hieronymus Graubart
1;JulyFlame
1;Mikelus
1;palindromordnilap
1;RandomPasserBy
1;S.M.F.
1;The Good Mod Addict
2;Alleb
2;Bramandin
2;Daniel Stretulch
2;Meta
2;OrangeYoshi99
2;Phobos
2;sonofheaven176
3;Aegis
3;Granz the Ice Cream Monarch
3;HerrWozzeck
3;Mattman The Comet
4;doctorlit
4;Khryssty
4;Sergio Turbo
4;SkarmorySilver
5;Cat-on-the-Keyboard
5;Larfen J. Stocke, esq.
5;SquidBoi
6;Bram
6;Matt Cipher
6;Storme Hawk
8;eatpraylove
8;Neshomeh
8;The Triumvirate
10;CodeCom
10;KoolKoopaGirl
10;Tomash
11;Hardric
13;Scapegrace
13;Zingenmir
16;Iximaz
21;Desdendelle
31;Huinesoron

This list shows that there are 42 recently-active Boarders. If memory serves correctly, this is about consistent with the last time I analyzed these statistics a few months ago.

Chat, which I don't have precise stats on, hovers around 25 people online during US evenings, and has peaked 30 before. There's at least a few people that I'd consider "around" (mostly from seeing them in chat) who aren't on that Board list, such as Delta Juliette or VM, so I think I can say there's somewhere around 45-50 people who are some degree of active in the PPC.

Does that number sound right to y'all?

Bonus info: the average Boarder has posted about 5.8 times over the last few weeks, and "post count" feels exponentially distributed.

Splitting the threads was an innovation of mine 2 or 3 years back, based on the fact that the earliest Shipfest had people posting fics over the rest of the month.

Can I suggest a middle way? The Board is pretty slow nowadays, so why not make a 2nd thread now for fics?

hS