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The scope of the essay I was writing was bigger than that, so I touched on it only briefly.

You make some good points, but I would like to add an additional observation: "magic" in The Lord of the Rings is almost exclusively a Hobbit word. Hobbits throw it around like cheap birthday presents, but almost no one else uses it, except for Gandalf and Aragorn occasionally when talking to Hobbits. The only non-Hobbits who seem to use the word are the Men of Bree, and that's only vaguely conferred in the collective sense: "[Pippin and Sam] found themselves left alone in a corner, and eyed darkly and doubtfully from a distance. It was plain that many people regarded them as the companions of a travelling magician of unknown powers and purpose" (emphasis mine).

Even very superstitious men who distrust what they don't understand use different words; consider Boromir's doubts about Lothlorien and Galadriel. "But of that perilous land we have heard in Gondor, and it is said that few come out who once go in; and of that few none have escaped unscathed." And later: "I do not feel too sure of this Elvish Lady and her purposes." Magic, obviously, is what Boromir is afraid of; power he doesn't understand and can't control. But he never uses that word, and this, I think is an intentional choice on Tolkien's part.

What is this choice? Maybe that "magic" as a catch-all phrase for supernatural power is a phrase only used by people who are separated from it and have little to no experience with it and don't want experience with it? (Though some magic in Tolkien's work is arguably not really supernatural.) Or maybe not. I don't know for sure, but I am sure a point is being made.

On a tangentially related note, it's worth considering that Tolkien once stated that he had doubts about using the word "wizard" to describe Gandalf and Saruman. He said he preferred the word "Istari", which is, of course, a word that he made up. This isn't really relevant, besides "wizard" being a word usually closely related to "magic".

I like character-driven pieces. A small, personal conflict that is driven almost entirely by someone being nervous or uncomfortable. The fate of the universe doesn't hang in the balance but a skilled writer still makes us care very much. This is a good one. Thanks for sharing!

I remember that fic being discussed in the badfic chat... it's a bad one. But it made a fun mission!

Is it bad that I absolutely believe the Flowers would make people go on a mission between their wedding and their honeymoon? Probably not. Poor agents.

I loved the CAD language setting! That was a really good way to point out that "Elroy" is not even remotely an Elvish name.

Anyhow, I enjoyed that immensely and look forward to your next bit of writing!

I've been plunking away at my permission prompts and I think they're about as good as I can get them by myself at this point, which means, of course, that it's time to ask for help.

They can be found here, and I've pasted the agent bios into the bottom of the document, in case anyone wants general backgrounds on the characters. Anyone's welcome to have a look! I'll accept any feedback, even if you don't feel up to doing a full review.

(To Tawaki: Sorry for posting on your thread without offering to help. Unfortunately I don't know either of those canons well enough to offer much in the way of comprehensive betaing, though if you want help with grammar and general flow, I'm your girl.)

No, wait, your edit says you're NOT actually blaming this on me. But on the other hand, I did eggnog you on last year, so I still feel somewhat responsible, especially if this ends up as M-rated as your last story. Hmm.

I have to say, your grasp of characterization has improved vastly since then! You have hit on something I can almost see for Ilraen if I squint sideways, and I could just about suspend my disbelief for Nume. If something like this happened in the same universe as "The Cabin," maybe, just maybe...

But... MotherShipper. Sweetie. I gotta tell ya, the whole deal with the aphrodisiac flowers weirds me out a little. I appreciate the attempt to justify the situation, that's a good, wholesome impulse, but the thing is, you can't consent if you're drugged. Especially if you're too gosh-darn innocent to know you've been drugged. I'm slightly terrified for Little Boy Blue here.

Nume, too, but we all know he'll have a comedic freakout and drown himself in Bleepka later no matter what. He'll be fine, the silly lovable darling. :P

Consider me cautiously intrigued, but prepared to deny everything.

--Lemony

(( Ilraen gets a Very Odd Day series? Really? {X D

(( I am also slightly terrified of what happens when the M-rating kicks in. I'm perfectly happy not trying to picture the fine details of Andalite anatomy! Really! There are things man is not meant to know!

(( Really very amused, though. ^_^

~Neshomeh ))

Time passed.

“Brother? . . . Derik?”

“Hn?” His eyes snapped open and he started up with a sharp intake of breath. He’d almost drifted off. How pathetic.

Thoth took his hand from Derik’s shoulder. “You are injured, and today’s mental effort has drained you. It would be wise to go and rest.”

Derik shook his head mulishly. “Stop trying to get rid of me.” He rubbed his face vigorously, stretched, and rolled his head to rouse himself further.

“I am merely pointing out the obvious. If you choose to resist good sense and stay . . .”

“I do. I waited nine days for this time; I’m not wasting it.”

Thoth nodded. “As I anticipated. In that case, I thought I might attempt to heal you, if you wish it, although I cannot guarantee such excellent results as I achieved with Nurse Robinson’s assistance.”

Derik thought a moment. He vaguely recalled Tom being very concerned about the Astartes using his psyker powers to repair Derik’s foolishly broken knuckle on the day they had met, but it had been perfect afterward, never so much as a twinge. Yes, Jenni had been there, but she had simply been supervising, he thought.

He shrugged. “I don’t see why not.” A thought occurred, and his mouth twisted into a teasing smile. “Are you trying to get my shirt off?”

Flatly, Thoth said, “Viewing the injury makes no difference to the biomantic healing process.”

Derik sighed and shook his head fondly. “One of these days, you’ll learn when to play along with me. Look, if it makes no difference, it can’t hurt, right? I’ll feel better if you see it with your eyes first.” He shucked his jacket and pulled his shirt off over his head.

There were actually several yellowing bruises across his torso, courtesy of the super-Stu’s fists, but the worst was on his left side, near the bottom of the rib cage but above the floating ribs, where he’d been kicked twice before Gall got behind the Stu and caved his head in with her mace. (She’d thrashed Derik a bit herself for hashing the mission and nearly getting himself killed, but her blows, moved by rough affection, hadn’t left marks.) The main injury was still a livid maroon in the middle with a blotchy blue-black corona.

Derik set himself on his stool and raised his left arm over his head. Thoth leaned in and ran his hand down the smaller man’s ribs, framing the bruise in the angle of thumb and forefinger. Derik felt a mild electric tingle as Thoth psychically probed the extent of the damage.

“I know it looks awful, but nothing is broken; I did get it checked. Medical cheerfully turfed me out with a bag of ice and some arnica gel.”

Thoth snorted softly. “Clearly an inadequate remedy. Your pain tolerance is impressive for a mortal.”

Derik rolled his eyes. “It only hurts when I breathe. But honestly, your psychosomatic techniques have helped, when I’ve been able to use them. For some reason, my focus has not been at its peak, which is how this happened in the first place.”

“Indeed.” Thoth sat back and studied the floor. He spoke through clenched jaws. “It is humiliating to admit, but my own may not be sufficient to perform this task.”

Derik lowered his arm and turned toward him. “What do you mean?”

“You are distracting me.”

“Well, I can shut up, if—”

“No. That is not the issue.”

Derik cottoned on and felt like an idiot. “Oh. Oh.”

He suddenly was aware of his bare skin. He was a warm brown, like many born in sunny Southern Boll Hold. A few stray Threads from the same clump that had scarred his face had bitten into his right shoulder, leaving scraggly white lines behind, and besides the recent bruises, he had a few other miscellaneous souvenirs from fights and accidents. The most prominent was an old lash across his left forearm, faded to a dully gleaming pink, that had been made by a snapped harp string. That had damn near crippled him. There was also a pair of jagged scratches across his belly, made by a young green watch-wher he’d rescued from some ignorant boys when he was ten. The wher had been so worked up and confused, dragged out of her den in daylight, that she hadn’t been able to tell him apart from her tormentors and nearly gutted him like a fish with a stray swipe of her paw.

All in all, though, his hide was remarkably intact, and he kept himself fit by running, working with weights, and swimming when he could (though he’d never managed to find the fabled pool in Headquarters). He had broad shoulders and a deep chest, full but not strained with muscle, and little hair except on his limbs. Exposed to the air, and to Thoth’s gaze, his nipples had puckered into dusky rose nubs.

“You haven’t seen me like this before, have you?” Derik sometimes went topless when he exercised, but he and Thoth had very different physical regimens, so that wasn’t something they’d ever done together. In the past two years, there was no other occasion he could think of where it might have happened.

“No. I have imagined, but I am no longer familiar with what might be considered normal human physique. The reality is . . . most pleasing.” He didn’t sound comfortable saying it, and he gave Derik that invitational look again.

Since Thoth was being forthcoming, Derik joined him in a state of heightened openness and perception. He felt the same turmoil of conflict as before between his friend’s intense affection and yearning for him and what Derik could only call dread of the consequences. Given the context, he thought he understood.

“You can still do it,” he said gently. “Your powers aren’t gone. You just need to focus them in a slightly different way.”

“If I were distracted and they were to fail at a crucial time—”

“Stop right there. This is not a crucial time. This is just you and me, learning something new together in our safe place. Take a moment to look at me if you want to—I certainly don’t mind. Then put all that aside, as I know you can, and do what needs doing. You are very capable, and I trust you.” He knew Thoth would feel the truth of that, and in return he tasted the bittersweetness of gratitude spreading through Thoth’s aura. “When I’m healed, come back to me, and we’ll go from there.” If he was still awake, anyway. Stringing all that together had been a major effort.

Which Thoth also sensed. His brows drew together in a crease. “I will ask no more of you today, brother. I shall do this, and then you will rest.”

Derik gave in. Fighting it anymore was too hard. “All right. I promise.”

“Good. Now, I request your silence. This may take a few minutes.” He closed his eyes and settled into a meditative attitude. His aura receded; Derik could no longer sense him.

Derik followed suit and worked on smoothing out his own mental patterns. It could only help if they were both calm and contained within the Enumerations.

Time was funny in that state, and it might have been a minute or an hour when Thoth finally opened his eyes and said emotionlessly, “Come to me. It would not do for you to fall from your seat if you should be overly depleted by this healing.”

That made sense. As Derik understood it, Thoth would use energy drawn from the Empyrean to speed up his body’s natural repair processes, but some of Derik’s own energy would be involved, too. He scooted back to the floor and sat cross-legged with his left side turned to Thoth.

The Astartes nodded and laid his broad hands on Derik’s back and abdomen, bracketing the injured ribs between them. Abstractly, Derik appreciated the warmth, but made sure to check himself at merely observing the experience, not getting swept up in it.

“I will begin,” said Thoth.

A stronger current of power than before made the muscles adjacent to the area twitch like the shoulder of a horse bothered by a fly. Derik didn’t remember the effect being this harsh the last time Thoth had healed him, but he’d been very drunk then, his nervous system depressed. It wasn’t painful, or at least no more painful than the swollen contusion itself, and Derik didn’t complain. He couldn’t see what was happening with Thoth’s hand in the way, but he could feel a bone-deep itch that waxed at first, then finally waned to nothing.

Thoth sat back and regarded his work critically. “Hm. It is not perfect, but you should no longer be in pain.”

Derik raised his elbow and peered down. There was still a faint tan stain where the angry red had been, nearly indistinguishable from his normal skin color. Within it he could make out what looked like a craze of filament-fine stretch marks, presumably where his subcutaneous tissue had reknit itself in an unnatural hurry. Rubbing it, he found no difference in sensitivity between this patch and the surrounding skin. He nodded. “Thank you.”

“The discoloration may go away in time,” Thoth said, frowning. “I cannot be certain.”

“It’s all right,” Derik assured him. “It’s interesting.” He traced over one of the pale lines with his index finger. “Think it might turn out to be a map of the London Underground or some such?”

Thoth opened his mouth, looking as though he meant to disagree, but thought better of it. “In this place, very little would surprise me. But, apart from that, how do you feel?”

Derik evaluated himself. He still clung to the lower Enumerations, but he sensed exhaustion waiting to claim him as soon as he released them, and he wasn’t sure he could hold on all the way back to his RC. “Would it be entirely too clichéd if I passed out in your arms?” He was only half-joking.

“It would be extremely clichéd. . . . But under the circumstances, perhaps it is an acceptable compromise between your desire to remain with me and my desire to ensure that you are properly rested?”

“Yes.” Derik pointed his finger at Thoth in affirmation. “Brilliant. Makes sense to me.”

So that was what they did. Thoth braced himself against the wall, and Derik leaned back against him in turn, secure in his tireless embrace.

---

A/N: There! Less generic now, I hope!

Oh, and apologies to the JessamintheCreed99s of the multiverse if you expected hawt mansecks in part two, but actually I'm not at all sorry not to rush the characters into the hot stuff. I believe in delayed gratification. :3

--Lemony

The Duty intervened such that it was nine days before they were able to meet in RC 2112r again. To Derik’s chagrin, he had indeed suffered from second thoughts, both figuratively, in that he despised himself for having them, and literally, in that his preoccupation had made him careless in the field. On the sixth day, failing to duck under cover at a crucial moment had earned him a beating from a Stu with momentum-based superpowers, and he had the bruises to show for it. He had thought and imagined, fretted and planned, and after three particularly restless nights with an overactive brain and sore ribs waking him up at every turn, his eyes were shadowed and bloodshot.

To compensate, he had made an effort to wear freshly laundered clothes that weren’t wrinkled, and between missions he’d gotten his hair cut back to a faded crew with long fringe in the front, which the stylist had laughingly called “Gibbs hair.” Whatever the joke was, he liked the result: it made him look more like his old self, before all the bad things had happened and he’d stopped caring about his appearance.

He arrived bursting with talk, but Thoth refused to listen to anything he had to say until they had gone through their normal routine of mental discipline. Derik gave in with ill grace, but afterward, he had to admit it was a good thing to do. It put them back on familiar footing, and Derik felt less jittery with nerves and exhaustion.

He gingerly stretched and pulled out his stool. Even with a mat, the Generic Surface was hard, and the stool had the added benefit of putting him at eye-level with a seated Thoth.

“Now,” Thoth said when he was settled, “we may continue our discussion from last time.” The look in his eyes turned cold. “You must have realized, as I have, that to pursue a romantic experiment between us is both madness and folly.”

Shocked and hurt, Derik almost played right into it with a furious retort, but instinct made him dart out with his empathic sense, and he tasted the anguish behind Thoth’s words before the Astartes could fully conceal it.

“Don’t do that,” Derik said softly. “You don’t mean it.”

“It is the truth,” he replied.

Derik gave a frustrated groan and rubbed his hands over his face. “Thoth, please. I see through you. You told me how you feel; you can’t take it back, and I don’t want you to. What are you afraid of?”

His eyes flashed angrily at the word. “I am not afraid.”

“All right, not afraid. Anxious. Tormented. Whatever you want to call it: I have felt it. And last time you spoke as though you thought there was something wrong with you. I hope you have realized that’s not true.”

“It is.” Thoth blinked, startled by the vehemence of his own admission, and said more quietly, “Not in the way you mean, I think, but it is.” He sighed and shifted in place as though physically uncomfortable.

Derik knew he must be very upset indeed. His irritation evaporated. “Tell me, brother. Please.”

Thoth thought a moment, and then, not meeting Derik’s eye, he said, “You must understand that Astartes warriors do not feel the way I feel, regardless of inclination. It is impossible, except, perhaps, under the influence of Chaos. Or bad fanfiction, which is somehow worse. Much worse.” His lip curled, and his fists clenched. “I cannot become like the depraved excuses for Astartes in those stories. I must not.”

“And you won’t!” Derik got up and came to stand before him, placing one hand on his shoulder.

Thoth tensed and twisted away further, fighting a muscular urge to strike out.

“Oh, my friend.” Derik stepped back with his hands raised in a submissive gesture. “I do understand. How long did it take me to stop fearing I might become that other man with a face like mine?”

Thoth’s eyes flicked toward him. “Do you not still fear it?”

“Yes, and that’s the point. As you keep reminding me, fearing a thing does not make it true. You must trust yourself.”

The Marine jerked his head in negation. “I cannot. Blindly seeking my pleasure would lead down a path of destruction.”

“Then trust me.” Derik dropped into a crouch, trying to find Thoth’s eyes again. “I’ll show you the way. I will not let you fall.”

“You do not know what you are saying.”

“Yes, I do. I’ve had yonks to think about it, and this—us—we can work. Will you please look at me?”

Slowly, Thoth turned his head until he made eye contact.

In full view so it wasn’t startling, Derik reached out and took his hand. “It won’t be conventional,” he said. “It won’t be easy. There may well be pain and strife. But it will be worth it, because you make me feel almost whole again.” His throat constricted, and he roughly forced out the rest of the words. “I need you in my life. So I’ll have all of you. Every inch. Every fault. Every step of the way.”

Thoth’s eyes squeezed shut; his mouth pressed into a thin line; his fingers tightened around Derik’s hand. After a moment, he opened up again and raised one eyebrow a hair. “How long did you spend composing that little speech, Harper?”

Derik cleared his throat. “Ahuh, well . . .” He sat back on his heels and ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “I did have nine days and most of nine nights; there were alternatives . . .”

“It was very good. I believe it has had the effect you desired. . . . It would be more correct to ask for your permission to kiss you again, would it not?”

With what he thought was a heroic effort of will, Derik managed to hide his bemusement as he raised his head. “No—because you already have it.”

“Then . . . let us attempt this.” He widened the circle of his legs and guided Derik to kneel there, which effectively eradicated the height difference. His hands rested around Derik’s waist. “Is that all right?” he rumbled.

“More than all right.” He laid one arm over Thoth’s shoulder and with his opposite hand stroked Thoth’s cheek where it had turned pink again. “So, then.” He had to ask. “You do still want this broken shell of a mortal man?”

“Do not disparage yourself,” Thoth said, peering solemnly at him. “This is madness, and folly, but if you will have all of me, I will have all of you. Every scar. Every hurt that will not heal. Every step of the way.”

Derik’s heart leaped and his eyes prickled. He laughed. “Shards, man. That really does work.”

“Indeed.” Thoth’s arms slid up around Derik’s back, pulling him in.

Just as Derik tilted his head to seal the kiss, Thoth squeezed his ribs in just the wrong place, and he hissed in pain and self-recrimination. “Oh, shaffit!” He should’ve seen this coming.

Thoth immediately removed his arms to his sides. His expression was pure stone, but a tidal wave of dread rolled off him. “I apologize if I have—”

“Nononono, it’s all right, it was my own fault,” Derik assured him, gripping Thoth’s shoulder and reinforcing his own psychic shields. “Shards and shells. I should have told you, but . . .” He shrugged and settled back onto the floor, gingerly massaging his bruised bones. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it, and he hadn’t been given an opportunity anyway.

Thoth grimaced; he knew. “You may tell me now, then. I did intend to inquire about your altered appearance, as well. Is there a connection?”

It was tempting to claim the haircut was simply because he’d felt like a change, but there was no putting one over on an Athanaean telepath, so he told the whole truth: he had been an idiot, it had gotten him into trouble, and he had spruced himself up so he’d look less like death warmed over for this crucial encounter.

“I didn’t want to distract you with any completely unnecessary concerns for my health,” he finished wryly.

“I see. In that case, you failed.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you,” Derik groused, turning his head in irritation; but he realized he might have focused on the wrong thing. He turned back, searching Thoth’s face for an answer.

Gazing steadily at him, the Marine said, “You will always fail at that.”

“Oh.” Derik had to look down. A silly smile was trying to take over his face. It was extremely undignified for a man his age.

“However,” Thoth added, “I approve of this haircut. It suits you handsomely.” He raised a hand from his thigh, but stopped. “I may touch you?”

“You really don’t have to ask,” Derik said. “Where is this coming from?”

“I am given to understand that enthusiastic consent is a necessary component of healthy romantic relations.”

Derik blinked. “You read some relationship how-to book, didn’t you? I assume this was before you decided to try and run me off?”

No answer, which was answer enough.

“Thoth . . .” Derik chuckled and shook his head in amazement. “My dear Thoth. You’re not wrong, and I appreciate that you feel the need for caution, but don’t let it ruin a perfectly good moment. Go on.” He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

Thoth hesitated a moment longer, as though he hadn’t understood, but he got past it and lightly brushed the back of one finger against the short fuzz over Derik’s left ear. “Quite different,” he remarked.

“I used to keep it like this all the time,” Derik said, his eyes fluttering to a close. “Easier to manage short hair with a helmet. Don’t stop,” he added when he felt Thoth’s hand move away. His scalp was still unused to being mostly exposed. Every stimulus was new and delightful.

“As you wish.” Thoth explored the gradient texture of the fade, eventually using his whole hand to rub up and down the back of Derik’s head and neck.

Derik sighed. “That’s nice.”

One of my favorite tropes!

You're all right, friend; you're all right.

I love how you showed the soft side of Draco in this, and it's always good to see more Hermione ships! Show the poor woman some love!

YOU HAVE CLAIMED MY ACCOMPLISHMENTS AS YOUR OWN, AND THEN CALLED THEM BAD! YOU WILL BURN IN THE FIRES OF ALL DAMNATIONN!

A fanfic totally unrelated to its source material is a bad fanfic, I have successfully participated in the badfic games.

Hee, Internet usernames are so hard to get straight! ^_^ I didn't speak with Lemony Eggnog about this, but I did speak with someone else who had a similar idea.

I really liked what Lemony Eggnog wrote earlier, and after talking with them for a bit I got a FANTASTIC idea for a story! The first part's really boring filler but I promise it'll get better!

Summary: Ilraen finally gets a break and decides to make the most of it.
Rating: M (Nothing that's NSFW in this chapter)
Pairing: Ilraen/Everyone
Disclaimer: I don't own the PPC; Jay and Acacia do. Ilraen and Supernumerary are owned by Neshomeh. Further characters will be attributed to their respective authors in the chapters in which they first appear.

Ilraen-Aroline-Fothergill entered Response Center 999, returning from the continually shifting and therefore unknowable halls of the PPC Headquarters. The Andalite’s partner sat on the bed, his gaze intent on the thick book on his lap. Agent Supernumerary didn’t so much as glance from the book to acknowledge Ilraen, not that the latter expected him to; when Nume was buried in his canon research, few things (apart from the [BEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!] of the console) could pull his focus away.

The console, for its part, was eerily silent. However, the Andalite did notice that an odd blue light was flashing on it. The alien walked over, pressed a few buttons, and pulled up the message.

To: All Agents
From: The Sunflower Official
Message: The Department of Sufficiently Advanced Technology has been having trouble lately with the system that generates portals. As such, no missions will be given until the problem has been fixed. Agents currently in the field must wait to complete their assignment until further notice.

&ltSupernumerary? You’d better take a look at this,&gt Ilraen thought-spoke to his friend. The surly Agent looked up with a grunt.

“If it’s not a mission and nothing’s on fire, it waits,” Supernumerary said.

&ltWell… It’s related to missions,&gt said Ilraen.

Supernumerary snapped his book shut; his concentration had been broken for too long, he might as well look at what Ilraen was talking about. “Move over so I can read,” he said, jumping down from the bed and walking to the console. Ilraen watched, his eyestalks twisting this way and that in an expression of anxiety of what his partner’s reaction would be. Nume stared at the message, reached for the flask by his side, and took a long pull. “Well, I guess that means more time to watch the latest Pokémon spinoff.”

&ltWe got a vacation! Of a sort. But we finally get a break, and that’s your reaction?&gt the Andalite questioned.

“It’s not a vacation,” Nume said. “It’s DoSAT screwing up. Meaning it will either take two minutes or two weeks to fix. It’s not a vacation since there’s no guaranteed time frame.” Supernumerary, having climbed back onto his bed, opened his book with an air of finality.

Ilraen tried to prevent his eye stalks from drooping, but he couldn’t stop the small glistening tear that rolled down his blue-green fur from his right eye at this rejection. He and Supernumerary had done so much together, saved each other’s lives, but nothing had come from it but a lessening of outright hostility. Sealing his mind off from others around him, the alien flopped dejectedly onto the lush grass below the bunk bed. As he did so, one of his hooves crushed a small flower, absorbing some of its nutrients, and an accompanying bolt of exquisite sensation shot up Ilraen's leg.

Ilraen started as if he’d been shocked, but Supernumerary didn’t react. He was used to his partner’s dramatics by this point; he was not exaggerating about only fire or the console being able to grab his attention for any period of time. Ilraen shifted to get a better view of the bloom with all four eyes, crushed as it was.

The flower was small, the outside of its petals all but invisible against the lush grass that ordinarily grew there; however, inside the flower was different. It was an amethystesque rich purple color shot through with rivers of silver and lapis lazuli blue. Ilraen couldn’t help but stare at it for a long moment before remembering what about it had caught his attention in the first place. The Andalite stood and stomped on the ground experimentally, drawing nutrients up through his hooves and confirming his suspicions.

The strange flower buds were everywhere, hidden among the shimmering blades of grass, and were far more nutritious than he was used to. They felt fantastic beneath Ilraen’s hooves; the Andalite couldn’t remember a more delicious sensation while feeding, even in human morph. A low moan escaped his mind as he frolicked, savoring his newfound euphoria, and Nume glanced up from his book, grumbling obscure obscenities under his breath. “Why must you insist on continually disturbing m—” Supernumerary said before he stopped, his mind etching the scene before him into eidetic memory.

Ilraen was posed like a dancer, his thin arms counterbalancing the rotation of his lower body as he reached the edge of the grass. &ltApologies,&gt the Andalite said, unable to keep the excitement out of his thought-speech. &ltIt’s just that this grass feels amazing right now.&gt Supernumerary was only half-listening; his attention was torn between the heady aroma of crushed grass mixed with something else, something on the edge of his perception that was nonetheless intoxicating and alluring, and the sight of Ilraen’s bare chest. Though Andalites are not known for upper body strength, it was plain to see that Ilraen was well muscled from the waist up. Supernumerary moved toward his longtime partner, wiping a bit of drool from his mouth, and cupped Ilraen’s soft cheek.

“Don’t worry about it,” he breathed, and planted a kiss where the Andalite’s mouth would have been if the latter had had a human face and wasn’t an alien from an entirely different universe.

The alien reciprocated, guiding Supernumerary’s more lithe but still powerful form against his own with his hands and squinting in his own version of a smile. When Nume didn’t resist, Ilraen whispered in his mind: &ltI’ve always wanted to do this.&gt Supernumerary simply smiled and let himself relax into the soft, luxurious embrace of his coworker, partner, and one true friend.

A/N So, what'd y'all think? Please review, but no flamers! If you don't like good romance, just don't read it!!

Back during the prompt with cooking things, remember?

((All of my characters are up for grabs. Go nuts.))

Oh, please. Kozar is being far too strict here: by my estimates Xandria was performing as well as a standard Gallifreyan conscript a year ago. If we had more time I could polish her up to standard infantry platoon material, but you know how HQ likes to mess with plans.

-E

((...seems to be going ahead, at least on my part. I can't promise it'll have exactly the same flavor, since it's been a year, I don't remember much of anything I had planned, and so on, but I kind of grabbed a couple of things from the discussion in the thread and...well, I think it's happening. Might not show up right away, or even today, but there's a good half a page or so of one scene, a couple lines for another in the same chapter, and an idea for an 'interlude' chapter at some point.

EPL, do feel free to jump in/let me know if you want to jump in...I'm not sure you've made an appearance in the games yet this year? Anyway. I'm continuing with a chapter for now, since I found the inspiration+time combination I ended up lacking for it last year, but if you also still want to keep going, you're more than welcome! :)

~Z))

ur in the wronf section! This is 4 the PPC!!!

Also harry is not evil, u SUCK.

XOXOX

This is a funny fir! IDK if it's realla ppc fic, it's more Harry Potter lyk that other1 that's in the rwrongf section, but I guess its lyk what if Harry and DRaco were agents? So that's kewl.

plz rite more!

XOXOX

There are important elements of fandom and fanlore the PPC is unable to handle. This is my attempt to rectify that.

--

"It's just too much sometimes, I swear!" said Harry. "All these... Harry/Ginny ships."

"I know," said his partner, hugging him gently. "It's hard for you. But it's not like I've got it good... they never put us together."

Harry sighed. "They never put me with any men at all. It's infuriating. I mean, Hermione is my true love, but I'm a pansexual polyamorous hermaphrodite, just like everyone else! Why don't they *understand* that, Draco?"

Draco nodded and gave him a soft kiss. "It is puzzling, how they write you as male, and straight... straight. Is that even a thing? Who's straight? Everyone's done ot with their best mate, it's common knowledge. That's how little Crab Malfoy came to be."

"I guess that's why we have to keep fighting. To show them the truth." Harry put on his best smile. "It's all in a day's work for... the Protectors of the Fanon Continuum!"

This seems to be a recurring trend with your writing.

Pros:

- Cycling partners and Jacque's varying levels of success at hitting on them is a fun idea for a fic!

- Everyone is very nearly in character, so it's even more fun!

- Some good jokes, particularly the "charming his own cheese" bit!

- Mechanically, it doesn't make my eyes bleed!

Cons:

- Nearly in character. Particularly, I'm very unclear on who the first two partners are supposed to be (actual Torchwood characters?), and I don't get much Derik from your Derik.

- This "excerpts from a longer fic" format doesn't really work for me. There's no story in this story. Also, I can't tell if this is supposed to be from an actual fan mission you intend to write or predictions for the real thing or what.

If you continue this, I'll probably read it. But TBH I'd much rather see you and/or lightfairy406 continue "Tofu Hop." You know, the real one, not JayBird's mess. ;)

--Lemony

(( Jacques/Gall, huh? Hmm... he's not exactly her type, but it could happen. Flattery, boredom, and alcohol can work wonders. How buff is he?

(( And seriously, can we look forward to more PPC OFU this year? {= D

~Neshomeh ))

Too general? You wound me, sir/madam/starfish. Granted, the moment one friend confesses to another that their feelings have changed CAN happen to anyone... Well, hopefully the next part will clear that right up.

And yes, in canon Agent Thoth is aro as well as ace, because that's how Space Marines are, but we know from a little oneshot piece that he was gay and in a relationship before becoming a Marine, so there you go. I did my homework on these guys, I promise. :)

--Lemony

My heart sings!

Jaycacia Thornbird's part was paticularly amusing~

((And we should really drag Zeb into this, shouldn't we? Though he's not mine to volunteer. =P If you want to tackle writing Jacques across someone who's taken the Oath, though...))

((Forgive me, masters of FanFicWorld!))

I wonder how this got into our Board! Maybe you should crosspost it over on ffnet's 'Harry Potter' section?