All That's Foul, All That's Stained...

Edit: Nevermind, this doesn't link right to him. The game is fun, though! I'll post a mass entry with all my '76ers later!


Sailor Moon Dress Up Game by =DracheaRannak on deviantART

It's Sailor Neddy!

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

Not once I figured out that I liked the person that I am better than the person that he wanted me to be.

So, since the Contest seems to have died with *my* topic (which I would very much like to have answered, by the way), I'd like to try to breathe some life back into it. Though this isn't really an entry, as it's not even on the right community for them, I thought it might provide a little inspiration for the fandom. On with the show!


Title: House Calls
Author: comrade_sir
Rating: Probably R, as there is some dalliance with a minor, though the action does not go all the way
Pairing: Rutledge/Hall, of sorts
Warnings: This fic will be cutesy. I warn you now. If you liked my entry "Anonymity" on Secret Delegate, then you'll probably be into this. If you only like my more warped stuff...well, I'll write something up your alley before too long, I'm sure.
Background: So, while tooling around on the Internet, my dear friend and I found out that after being excused from the ministry in CT for "charges against his moral character," our dear Dr. Hall got a second doctorate, this time in medicine, and began practicing in Charleston, SC. At this time, our equally dear Mr. Rutledge would have been a teenager who was very precocious, very pretty, and very sickly. I have a feeling that something like this may have happened if Dr. Hall actually was Neddy's physician for a while.

( It seemed like a good idea at the time. )

Ahhh...Javert's such a nutter. Anyway, for anyone who has seen/read/heard of/talked to a friend whose mother had heard of Les Miserables, I have a question. So, as many of you have probably noticed, I like to slash pairings that don't *quite* go together. Now, I've come to a bit of a cropper. Javert is seriously obsessed with Valjean. Like, SERIOUSLY. As in, in the novel, Valjean suddenly becomes, "MY Jean Valjean." Is there a possible way to pair the two? Any way I look at it, I can't see Valjean going for it, which is a crying shame. So, is Javert to wallow in his own misery forever? And, if not, how on God's green(ish) Earth does he tell Valjean how he feels and STAY IN CHARACTER?! I mean, the man's not a talker, and he doesn't play the violin. Valjean's also not the brightest bulb on the tree--sweet guy, but subtle hints might escape him. I'm just seeing how this scene would play out if the two were to stay in character, and it's kind of reminding me of the Rocky Horror Picture Show:
Javert: 24601?
Valjean: Uh huh?
Javert: I've got something to say.
Valjean:...(thinking: Don't say it asshole, sing it. It's a musical!)
Javert:...
Valjean:...
Javert:...
Valjean:...Um...you were saying...?
Javert:...Right. Well. Back to jail with you, then.
You see how this is a problem. Any suggestions at all? Besides, "Oh, gross! Don't write this," I mean. Yes, Hannah, this means you.

WARNING: For those of you who don't know me, I'm prone to overdramatizing the mundane and anthropomorphizing inanimate objects. For those of you who do know me...well, this little eulogy is pretty much par for the course. And, yes, it's meant to be somewhat comedic--I'm not really in mourning over a car. Enjoy!

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Silver Streak and I first met when I was 15 years old. I knew from first sight that she had a beautiful body, but I found out I was in love when I made that first shy, tentative press on the accelerator. Oh, was she ever responsive! She hummed as she knocked me back in my seat, and from that moment I knew she was a machine after my own heart.

Silver Streak and I had some wild times: we've driven from Texas to Massachusetts and back again, we've driven through hurricane-force winds and flood waters up to the headlights, we've driven to and from the Rocky Horror Picture Show at 3:00 in the morning, and we've driven to and from the Route Nine Diner even later than that. We've made food runs, airport runs, and Batman (well, Dark Knight) runs at hours that only the graveyard-shifters, the nocturnal, and the demented ever see. We've driven to wrestling events and softball games, and we've avoided water-spouts and chemical plant explosions. All this with neither a wreck nor a ticket--a perfect record after 5 years. Even when I abused her (like the time I locked my keys in the car while it was still running), she treated me well. And in return, I dolled her up like a queen--that is, if queens like butterflies, purple velvet and mirror ornaments.

Amazing how a (for once) normal drive can be the one that changes everything. Amazing how a driver can hit a slick patch of road at the exact second that a strong gust of wind blows the other way, how I could be going at the perfect speed (ironically enough, very close to the speed limit), at the perfect angle and the perfect size, to go into a SPECTACULAR spin.

I was driving forward, forward, forward, and then it was as though I hit a wall of air: I couldn't go forward anymore. The car was heading toward the concrete barrier at 60-65 mph. Finally, it spun around and around, and it hit one, two, three, four times before skidding about 100 feet to a stop (facing into oncoming traffic). The car, I'm quite sure, was totaled. However, as has been custom in my rides with Silver Streak, I managed to avoid hitting any other car (including a dump truck which was trapping me between itself and the concrete barrier), and I came out of the thing completely unharmed--not even a bruise. That little 2001 Ford Escort was loyal until the end.

Though Silver Streak may well be gone, she will not be forgotten--by anyone. She left her mark on the city (and not just because the TC police force named her). You can still see the tire tracks spiraling in all directions, and you can see four distinct silver patches and one silver, black and red scratch on the barrier...the whole scene lasts for well over 100 feet.

Silver Streak won't get a tearful goodbye. She won't see her parts start to break down, she won't get me any money for a trade-in, she won't see a new owner, and she won't be put out to pasture with the other cars that have lived long, dependable lives. In other words, she'll never live the life that, as a little fuel-efficient sedan, she was supposed to live. But you know what? If she's truly a car after my own heart, I know that she likes it better this way. Cue Bon Jovi's "Blaze of Glory": it's how she went out.

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

Sooooo...in honor of my never shipping real people, I thought I'd inform everyone that I didn't ship the couple I had in mind. I'm now merely planning on shipping fictional representations of real historical figures. Because that's...not...the same thing...as...

I don't have a leg to stand on, do I?

Oh, the aroma of hy-pocrisy. Point out the musical allusion and win...something.

Mea Culpa. Mea Culpa. Mea Maxima Culpa.
God, deliver me.
Release me.
Forgive me.
Restrain me.
Pervade me.

I don't ship real people. Shipping real people is gross. Shipping real people is creepy.

And I honestly would never write (or even read) fanfic about real people.

HOWEVER:

When certain real people just make the cutest darned couple ever, and they, sadly, are NOT A COUPLE...well, what's a poor girl to do?

Is mental shipping as bad as fanfic shipping?

Cookies if you can guess the origin of the supplications at the beginning of this post.

What? I need to say more? He makes pollution sound hot for crying out loud!

All you Harry Potter fanfic authors who wish to pair ANYONE with Professor Dolores Umbrige (yes, all four of you), PLEASE WARN FIRST!!! Judging by the challenge, I thought the fanfic in question, which I shall not name here, was going to be a nice, completely normal Snape fic! Part of my soul actually died. I thought I was just going to be violently ill, but it was a piece of my soul leaving this now tainted body. That is all. Thank you for your cooperation.

Watch out world, I'm going solo! Not permanently, of course. I couldn't deprive my dear rosencrantzgirl of any serious NC-17 action. ;-)

Title: Porcelain
Author: comrade_sir
Pairing: J/W
Rating: PG-13, for a bit of sexuality
Warnings: This is a fair deal darker than my last entry. It's a psych-fic.
Disclaimer: If they're still not shagging in canon, they're still not mine.
Summary: Jeeves is the perfect valet, but at what cost? Third-person omniscient character sketch thingummy. I don't know what in Dante's nine circles this is, actually. Begins during The Inimitable Jeeves and jumps to Right Ho, Jeeves before becoming my own situation. Not necessarily Wodehousian in tone-more like comrade_sir-ian.

( He supposed Sir Roderick Glossip would call him a sociopath. Jeeves called himself a valet. )

Title: Mr. Wooster and the Toy Shop
Authors: rosencrantzgirl and comrade_sir
Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster
Rating: NC-17
Length: Long
Disclaimer: Jeeves and Wooster belong to the late, great P.G. Wodehouse. If they belonged to me, they would have done this at the end of "Tie That Binds." (comrade_sir with consensus from rosencrantzgirl)
Summary: Bertie and Jeeves wind up at a "specialty" shop. Many things ensue.

( I am going to give you satisfaction, sir. )

Alrighty, this fic is written as a diary. Specifically, the diary belongs to Hexxus, just because I think there should have been more to him than what was shown.

Title: Diary of a Spirit of Destruction
Rating: PG-13, or "T" (for language and violent imagery, you pervs!)
Disclaimer: Nothing that has anything to do with FernGully belongs to me, although I wish something to do with Hexxus (i.e. Tim Curry's voice) did.

( One loses track of time after being stuck in a tree for years and years on end. )

So...I figured I should post a little rundown of my livejournal stuff before I start posting fanfic, just to see how everything works. Just so everyone knows, this journal will mostly be devoted to very adult Jeeves/Wooster fanfic. There will perhaps be some Harry Potter, and maybe some Phantom of the Opera as well. You can pretty much guarantee that everything will be SLASH. Yes, I am a slasher. 

Exceptions: If I write Hunchback of Notre Dame fic, it WILL be a Frollo/Esmeralda pairing. I'm also planning on writing a FernGully fic. There will not be pairings, as my favorite characters are Hexxus and Batty and, well...ewww. Noncorporeal beings and animals do NOT need to go together... 

...which brings me to my first rant: 

WHY DO FANFIC AUTHORS INSIST ON PAIRING THINGS WITH NO GENETALIA?! Has anyone else witnessed this phenomenon? Why do they think I want to read about the romantic entanglements of Winnie the Pooh characters? Why would Ron/Draco/Harry/whoever get so sexually frustrated that the Giant Squid and the Whomping Willow sound like good bedfellows? Why must Snape use pancakes to masturbate at the breakfast table? Since when do school subjects (i.e. Math and English) get to get laid? Yes, I have seen all of these things happen, and yes, a little part of my sould dies every time that I do. 

Now, if you are one of those people who writes this stuff, could you please explain why? They say that humans most fear what they don't understand. Well, I don't understand, and I am very, very afraid. Perhaps a little enlightenment could help me to get over my squicks. This also goes for all mpreg and necrophilia fics. I just want to know what is appealing. Virtual Chef Jeff cookies to anyone who can persuasively explain the appeal to me. For those who don't know, Chef Jeff cookies (from Mount Holyoke College) are about the size of the human head. So if you want a virtual one, explain mpreg, necrophilia, non-genitaled character pairings...oh, and anything involving, ahem, "bathroom activities." 

Well, that's my fanfic rant! You may see a few of these because I like to read fanfic summaries when I am not studying my butt off. Yes, I am that big of a nerd. 

Until next time, 
Tinkerty-tonk