outofshadows | Shipping Meme

Entry tags:

!meme

Shipping Meme

Welcome to the ToS Shipping Meme! The rules are simple.

1. Post your character/preferences.
2. Reply to other characters with one of the following scenarios
3. Ship it!

Remember, this is just a fun meme so you can ship things that would NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY in game. Yay for no in-character consequences to bad decisions.

SCENARIOS
1. Stupid Cupid Your characters stumble upon a room in the temple that is dedicated to Berkano, which is the rune of love and new beginnings. Think Midsummer Night's Dream. Your characters may be close friends, strangers, or sworn enemies. Whatever the case is, they are now suddenly and inexplicably in complete and total love. They may or may not be aware that this makes no sense, but they can't help themselves.

2. Some Like It Hot Forget love and new beginnings. Your characters have ACTUALLY stumbled upon a room in the temple that is dedicated to Kenaz, the rune of fire, passion, and sex. There's no stopping you, even if you tried. Luckily, the room is prepared for that, and comes equipped with a bed. Whether or not you guys make it that far across the room is another question.

3. I Can Hear The Bells Your characters are getting married. Maybe it's true love, maybe it's to get out of marrying Tristan, maybe you're being forced into it and this ship is a little dub-con, or maybe it's because you accidentally participated in some Nysgod ritual and weren't aware of its implications. Either way, the wedding is about to happen or just has. How do you feel about that?

4. I Don't Want To Go Your character has been determined to NOT be the one for Tristan. Whether or not they like it, they're being sent home. Do they choose to spend it with a close friend, with the one they love? Or maybe, do they decide to finally tell that person they've always had a crush on just how they feel? You only have one night left, what you do with it is up to you.

5. The First Time Your characters are interested in each other and it's time to do something about it. Either the first date, the first kiss, the first I love you....or some other significant first. Whatever it is, it's definitely time to take that step. So who's going to take the initiative?

6. The Morning After Your characters definitely went at it. Maybe it's the first time, maybe they're cheating on someone, maybe it was out of anger. Whatever the case, for some reason, it was significant and you're going to have to talk about it. Good morning, Starshine! The earth says it's time for some cuddling and/or awkward conversation.

7. Potpourri Have another idea? Pregnancy, proposal, accidental body contact, trapped together, caught in the rain, hurt/comfort, etc? Go for it! Make your own scenarios up and run with them.

NOTE: Feel free to throw any mirrors into play if you're interested!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Not as kinky as she'd expected. But somehow, way more disturbing than she could have anticipated.

She didn't love him, of course. Lust wasn't love. Attraction, intrigue weren't love. The compelling draw of good girl to bad boy was just a draw, in the end. Then again, she was an actress, wasn't she?

So Cordelia reached up, ran her fingers through his hair, settled a cupped palm against his cheek. Sweet and earnest and shy.

"I love you," she whispered, leaning in toward his ear. "I'm completely and totally in love with you."

It was a lie, and he knew it, of course. A lie or a game. Either way. He'd asked her--and not for the words themselves, not for an illusion, not to pretend it was the truth, but to hear the lie itself. He, a liar, had asked her to lie to him. And it was delightful. Liars lying to liars after lying together. So perfect. So circular.

"I always knew you were," he whispered back, "I could tell by the light in your eyes."

Another lie, but keep the game going.

She didn't respond for a moment.

Maybe this was a dangerous game to be playing, especially with a wizard. There was a lot of magic to be found in words, Wesley had warned her. A lot of power to take from them.

But no. Just like two kids playing house, right? It was silly.

"And do you love me?" Cordelia asked, eyelashes lowered.

He tipped her chin up to see her eyes under those long, fine, dark lashes.

"Of course I love you. I loved you from the first time we met. I loved you from the first time I saw you. I loved you from before I was ever brought into this world, and all my love was for you and only waiting to find you."

An excellent opportunity to use some of those stashed lines. Totally. Thick or not, he didn't care. They were the right script for the scene.

"I love you."

"Well, then. Aren't we just the luckiest pair?"

She rolled away, onto her stomach, breaking that moderately uncomfortable eye contact. Cordelia stretched out across the bed, peering over the edge, onto the floor below.

It would have to be done, she supposed. She would have to let her feet touch the floor, and somehow, she knew that the moment he stepped away from this blanketed cocoon, she would have to face the reality of what she had done.

"Maybe I could just stay here," she mused out loud.

He tumbled over onto his side--the better to stroke the line of her backbone, of course.

"You could just stay here. I wouldn't mind. I'd let you."

"You'd let a naked hottie stay in your bed?" Cordelia replied, dry as a desert. "Shocking."

But she turned her face, not quite to look at him, but to look in his general direction. He hadn't really done anything evil-y, after all, and all the petting felt good.

"How many women have you kept like that?" she asked. "Tucked away in some room, waiting for you to come back and fuck them? If you're all that old and all that evil, there have to have been some."

Wasn't it pleasant, wasn't it nice to be so sleepy and dreamy in the morning? To roll around aimlessly in bed for a while? To make idle conversation? To look for signs of what transpired the night before and, if necessary, kiss 'em and make 'em better?

He thought so.

"Of course there were some. But I didn't really keep them. They kept themselves. They waited for me. Just like you said."

They were more tamed than kept, really. Not prisoners but more at pets.

"Mmm."

A sleepy, absent noise of noncommittal. The best kind of noise to make in response to something like that.

"Do you rape people?" Another question best not to know the answer to, Cordelia. Then again, some villains were happy to rob and kill and cheat and lie, but not cross that particular line. "Or do you wait for them to let their guard down?" A gesture to herself there, a case in point.

"You're just going to ask me that?"

He laughed, quietly but brightly--genuinely amused, let it be known--and then sighed himself back into calmness.

"Oh... Why not both?"

"I always just ask questions. You must have not been paying much attention up until now. Besides, I already know you kill people and commit treason. Why not get the rest of the story?"

Cordelia rolled back on her back, stretching out, lounging across the bed as if they were chatting about where to go get brunch and not, in fact, his list of heinous crimes.

"Why? You can obviously conjure up a nice face. Why not just go into a bar and find some loose floozy who's a few sheets to the wind?"

Heva, naked Eve. She had no navel. Gaze. Belly without blemish, bulging big, a buckler of taut vellum, no, whiteheaped corn, orient and immortal, standing from everlasting to everlasting. Womb of sin.

He pulled himself close to her again, now resting a hand on her stomach, dipping an idle finger into her navel.

"Because if that isn't what you want, where's the enjoyment in it? I can do that any time I want. But it isn't what I always want."

Edited 2013-06-05 20:31 (UTC)

Again, she let him. She let him touch her and draw close and she even shivered at his touch.

"I knew someone once, someone you would have liked. Billy Blim. Belonged to an important political family. Bad enough to get a private room in hell, though also important enough to get pulled out of it. His thing was hating women. He would never lay a hand on one, of course, don't think he ever directly hurt them himself. But he would touch a guy and it would drive him to hurt and torture and kill women. Wives, coworkers, daughters, doctors, whatever."

She glanced up at his face, reached to brush some hair out of it, tucking the strands back behind his ear. "I was going to kill him. Showed up with a crossbow and had it pointed at him. But someone else shot him first."

He closed his eyes as she touched him, looking downright blissful.

"What a shame. What an absolute disappointment. What did you do?"

"Went home and slept like a baby."

She ran her fingers through his hair, leaning closer. "You see, Whatever Your True Name Is, it was my fault he was released. So I had to get involved. I see a lot of evil out there, and I can usually step away and wait for it to get its comeuppance." And there, her nails scraped against his scalp, only a bit too hard to really be called a massage.

"But when it gets involved in my own life, I'm not afraid of getting my hands dirty."

That felt good, that scrape of her nails on his skin, that bit of a sting to it. He grinned.

"But what a shame that you weren't the one to pull the trigger on him."

"I don't care who did it. He was killed either way."

Committing murder hadn't been the end goal, after all. She just wanted him dead.

"If you try to hurt me," she whispered, "Or if you go after my friends through me, I'll hurt you. I may not be able to kill you and a crossbow might not do much damage, but you and I both know I have my own ways of inflicting a wound."

Well. That did it.

He didn't tumble closer, didn't roll closer. No, it was more at a pounce. A pounce, and he was on top of her again, kissing her with a kind of insane ferocity that should be better left to long-lost lovers and not whatever these two might call themselves. Not that he cared. It was all lips and tongue and breath and teeth as far as he was concerned. And that was all he wanted.

Oh.

Oh.

Well that hadn't quite been the reaction she had been anticipating to her not-even-remotely-veiled threat, and for a fraction of a second, as he'd been throwing himself over, she had imagined he was going to choke her.

This was definitely preferable.

As she wrapped her arms around him, kissing and tasting and clawing and moaning, she wondered if he really was completely insane. And if so, what that made her.

For the moment, she didn't particularly care. Her legs wrapped around him, her heels dug against the back of his thighs, as she begun to slide back on the sheets, head lolling over the side of the bed.

If he was insane (which, really, let's be honest, he probably was--and had probably even been born insane), then she likewise must be insane too. That was simple enough.

It was just an animal response to what she'd said, how she'd said it. It takes all kinds and you never know what's going to turn a person (or wizard, whatever) on. Especially when everyone involved is probably not entirely in their right minds.

But enough consideration on the relative mental health of the two halves of this really energetic couple. She had her legs wrapped around him, which was proving mighty distracting.

He pulled back enough to breathe, enough to speak.

"You'll tell me you love me, you tell me you'd hurt me." He smiled. "Maybe that's why I can't get enough of you."

"One's a lie, one isn't. You're smart enough to figure out what's what."

Well, love, at least, was a lie. Love was too pure for this to come close to. Wanting him, lusting for him? That would have been the truth. Then again, he hadn't asked for her to say that.

She leaned up, licking his jaw, running her tongue up along the contour of his skin and bone and memorizing his taste.

She'll get a taste of scruff with that little gesture (he's fond of keeping this face a little scruffy--scruffier than some of his others, at least; it looks good, though, rather rugged).

"Oh, it's true. It's hard to lie to a liar, isn't it? But maybe I'll pretend the lie is the truth and the truth is the lie. What do you think?"

Past the scruff, on to skin, before she replies.

"I think," Cordelia murmured, "That you belong in a Lewis Carroll novel."

And she touched his chin, lowered it somewhat. "Give me your best Cheshire Cat grin."

He blinked a little, still only smiling and not yet grinning, but he crept a little closer.

"And should I make the rest of me disappear so that you can see the grin without the cat?"

And then he started to grin.

"We're all mad here."

A great crescent moon of a grin, full of too many white teeth (the teeth of a cannibal). A delighted grin, and overjoyed grin, the grin of a child on the verge of uncovering some wonderful thing or with some marvelous secret. There was a light in his eyes and it danced--like the feet of a newly-hanged man dangling through the trapdoor of the gallows.

There was a dark hilarity in his face, and perhaps in his heart, too, you would think--and you would be right. It was the face of a hatefully happy man, a face that radiated a horrible handsome warmth, a face to make water glasses shatter in the hands of tired truck-stop waitresses, to make small children crash their trikes into board fences and then run wailing to their mommies with stake-shaped splinters sticking out of their knees. It was a face guaranteed to make barroom arguments over batting averages turn bloody.

He grinned.

He grinned and she watched.

She had seen evil, and demons, and all the things that went bump in the night. And she knew, by now, that evil wasn't always evil looking. Yes, there were vampires that had aged and shriveled with time, and there were demons with scales and slime and crawling with maggots. But evil could look good and innocent and pure and could be hidden under the face of an Angel.

He, somehow, was both. She wanted to kiss him as much as she wanted to hide under the covers and get away from that expression.

Maybe that was where the attraction was.

Cordelia raised her finger, tracing his lips, half expecting to have the digit bitten off.

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