outofshadows | Shipping Meme

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!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!

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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.

Not bitten off, no, but he did set his teeth on her finger as it passed. And why not? It was there. Surely even Cheshire Cats like to chase and play as much as ordinary cats. And what was a passing hand or a wiggling finger besides a toy itself? And never mind any pain such play might give that hand's owner.

"I'm mad. You're mad. We're all mad here."

"I know."

She pulled her finger away, flexing it once and then twice, as if testing to be sure that it had not, in fact, been bitten away from the hand.

"If I wasn't mad before, I must be now. Because I'm curious." And she inched closer, eyes focused on his own. "What would life be like with you?"

"Life? With me?"

His gaze didn't waver, didn't shift. He kept his eyes just as fixed on hers.

He had a few notions, having lived the equal of several lives in one place or another. Some were better than others. Some were sweeter. Some were fuller. Some were dark and starving. But they all had their pleasures.

"What do you think it would be like? What do you see for it? What do you imagine?"

"I don't know. I guess that depends on how much of what Bert says is an exaggeration. The way he makes it sound, we'd be sitting in hell, on thrones made of baby skulls and dining on entrails of your enemies. But a skull throne sounds uncomfortable, and I'm not sure I'd be into entrail feasts..."

She kissed his neck, his shoulder, and then down his chest she crawled, her lips trailing along a winding path.

"I'd prefer a mobster theme. You would leave and do all your horrible little deeds and come home to wash blood off your hands, and I wouldn't know any of the horrendous details about your day. I'd just get to lounge on silk sheets, covered in expensive jewels and waiting for you."

"Baby skulls don't work very well for thrones anyway. They haven't fused completely, you know. So you'd have a throne full of holes. No, better to use those for details, not the main structure of one's throne. If you want my opinion, stick with fused, adult skills for that, braced well with femurs." A pause. "Not that I'd know of course."

He tangled his hands in her hair--gently, gently, but still a bit of a soft tangle.

"Is that what you'd prefer? Silk sheets and jewels? That's not too hard. And you can dine on foie gras and I'll pretend that geese are my enemies. I had a top-floor penthouse for a while. You would have loved it. It would have been perfect."

The slightest of sighs.

"But would you be content? No matter how bright those jewels might be, you'd still be in the dark. And not even the whole dark. You'd know I'd come back to you and you'd know without knowing, you'd wonder what I'd been doing. There might still be the smell of blood on my hands when I put a new necklace--emerald and topaz and diamonds, because it would suit your eyes--around your neck. Would you wonder, in those moments, if I was about to choke you? Or would that please you? Is that, I wonder, what you want?"

"I'd always wonder if you were about to choke me," she murmured against his stomach, breath warm as it tickled his skin.

Maybe it was what she craved. The darkness and the danger, the romance of holding your breath and wondering if it would be your last. But then again...

"Of course, I come with my own light." And her skin glowed at the words. Just a touch, just enough to maybe cause the same effect of static electricity. It was a reminder, not an attack. "Maybe you would try to choke me. Maybe I would hurt you back, and then we could nurse each other's wounds."

Her fingernails crept down his sides, scratching against his hips, as if to demonstrate a touch of the pain she referred to.

A hiss, not quite a gasp. Mmm, fingernails. Such a sharp, cold, stinging sort of pain--not quite a pain, even. Just a pang, a sensation, a reminder.

"Is that what you're into? I mean, I got the feeling you were kind of kinky, but..."

"I'm into a lot of things."

She brushed her nose against the stubble of his jaw, inhaling the scent of his skin. "Anyway, kinky is just a word people use when what they really mean is, they're not comfortable with the stuff you're into. It's just a way of saying someone's sexually weird. Anything can be a kink to someone."

He stroked her hair, wound his fingers through a little--gently, though. No need to cause that sort of pain at present.

"Okay, fine. So what stuff are you into? Besides, apparently, getting off on a kind of torture-and-comfort variation. Not that I mind that, of course."

"Walks on the beach. Romantic comedies and cuddling in front of the fire."

She gave him a look; the kind which clearly commanded him not to ask stupid questions. "I'm here, aren't I? I think you can at least guess what a few things could be."

The taboo, the forbidden, the shocking. Things like sleeping with the enemy.

The most casual, most innocent shrug.

"I'd figured you were the sort of woman who wanted to wear massive diamond necklaces and nothing else and fuck on top of a pile of money. But I've been wrong before. Once or twice."

He nipped at her, then, quick and sharp--playful, but still sharp.

"So you're saying I could tie you up? Blindfold you? Put ice cubes here there and everywhere? Make you leave your stockings and shoes on? Chain you to the bedposts with, oh, a little something humming away inside you and then leave you there until you were just screaming for mercy? Or is that all still too vanilla?"

He paused. And then, low, breathed only for her.

"Could I make you bleed?"

"I wouldn't say no to fucking on heaps of money," she said. "It just might get boring after awhile, that's all."

The rest, though?

Cordelia closed her eyes as he kissed her, squirming in a way that managed to draw closer and pull away, somehow at once, as if her mind and body were fighting against each other to decide what it was they wanted.

"Yes," she breathed. And, because that could refer to any number of sins previously mentioned, she clarified. Probably, really, with the worst clarification you could give a madman. "Yes, whatever you wanted."

He tumbled her over again, and caught her under him. No moving, no wriggling, no squirming. Just lie still. Hush now and lie still.

He held her there, kept her there, and whispered in her ear:

"I want everything."

Which was perhaps the greatest truth he could ever tell.

She remained still.

And Cordelia never remained still.

"That's a lot to want," the Seer pointed out. "How do you expect to get it?"

"However I have to. But I think--" he paused to breathe in the scent of her skin, "--for most of it--" another pause, another breath, "--I'll just take it."

She looked at him. Looked at him. She was still enough for long enough to take in his (false) face and the words and their connotation and everything she knew about him. To see it all as one whole package, on top of her, pinning her against a bed.

"You would kill me without a second thought," she spoke the not-really-a-question, "Wouldn't you?"

She looked at him and he smiled back--a bright, happy, gleeful, joyful smile.

"You're right. I would."

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Shipping Meme

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And now for something completely different from the Roland convo...

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