outofshadows | Shipping Meme

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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!

[ I totally stole the source code off the old one, so ALLLLLL credit goes to the mods.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The first sensations that crept through Bert's mind were perfectly normal ones. The warm, comfortable bed of Othala underneath him. The languid feeling that came in the morning after a vigorous night of activity - lovemaking, he assumed. There was a dull little twinge in his hips. The slight throbbing that told him he'd drank more than intended. A warm, naked body beside his own that he lazily curled against, fighting off the persistent fingers of wakefulness that prodded at him. Once he gave in, he'd have to start the day. And damn but his days were busy things now.

He was dimly aware that the bare back he was currently fitted up against didn't feel quite right. Cordy was built, say true, but she felt like a cord of wood! And had she always been this tall?

He was getting more accustomed to sleeping on beds again. Not that it helped him to sleep--he slept badly and had for years and there was no cure for that, so he made do with what sleep he got because there was little else one could do. But he was getting used to waking up on something soft--softer than the ground, anyway.

But...the reason he'd woken... No, the reason he had been woken, because he hadn't woken of his own accord nor been pulled to wakefulness by dreams nor been thrown into wakefulness by nightmares, was because of some...one pressing up against him.

It was too early for jokes.

He slid over, nearer on to the edge, his own edge, of the bed.

At first Bert protested, tossing an arm over the escaping form beside him and mumbling some entreaty.

And then his senses registered the fine details. He had come awake enough to tell this was man's back and a man's hip he was feeling. Which, in and of itself, wasn't immediately alarming. He was allowed some leeway, when it came to men. But...

What in hell fellow could he possibly have tumbled into bed with? His brain decided it wanted to ignore all the obvious clues that could answer that question easily; that was just madness.

He managed a questioning 'mrph?' noise, his hand slowly drawing back towards his own body. Just in case.

Yes, best to draw that wandering hand back. That hand had woken him more than he'd liked and he was glad to have to wander back to its own place.

He grunted in reply--definitely a grunt to the negative in reply to that questioning sound--and hauled himself up towards his pillow. (What it negates? Well, that could be one of many things.)

Well damn then.

Bert's hand was gone in a moment, then. He tried desperately to recall the night before but found it naught but a vague blur. Was...was Cordelia about somewhere? That didn't make terrible much sense either, but more sense than to think he and Roland had been alone in this bed.

Because that was an impossibility. Even when lust madness had held everyone in its grips that week, he'd managed to avoid ending up here. It was one bed he had no desire ever to share in more than the most platonic and fraternal sense. He could only hope that Roland could shed some light on their very strange circumstances.

He flopped over onto his back, eyes opening blearily to stare at the ceiling.

"...don't suppose you remember last night?"

He stayed there on his side, not quite curled around the pillow.

"So far as I can figure. You fought with Cordelia, she turned you out, and you were half-drunk already. So you finished that, and then came here. As she wouldn't have you in her bed last night," he said slowly.

He looked blearily over his shoulder at his bedmate, then turned back to his pillow.

"Or somethin' o' that. You slept the night there. I know that"

"Alright, that does sound like a perfectly reasonable night for either of us, but..." Bert frowned, eyes still cast to the ceiling.

"Doesn't quite explain why we're both starkers and I'm sex sated. Because that's what's really got me puzzled on this muddled morning."

Now Roland rolled over to join in the contemplation of the ceiling.

"No," he said at last. "I s'pose it doesn't."

And he frowned (at the ceiling).

"Nope." Bert sighed. He supposed he ought to look over the side of the bed, see if his clothes were there, but...

He didn't quite want to. If they were there, well...that didn't help matters. If they weren't...that just raised a whole lot more questions, really.

"Alright, let's be reasonable. I'm sure there's a perfectly normal explanation." A pause, as Bert recalled past experiences. How this world could do things to a person's state of mind. "...course, the normal explanation might not be one we'd like to contemplate."

He frowned harder at the ceiling. After a moment's contemplation:

"The normal explanation would be too much drink."

Obviously. Because an abnormal normal explanation would be inconceivable, especially in regards to the implications. Which was exactly what Bert wanted him to contemplate, and he knew that, but he would really...prefer not to.

"Aye. I think it's safe to say there was much drinking. I hope there was much drinking. Man Jesus, this is near as bad as...well, never mind what. Sometimes this place drives me mad. Literally and metaphorically." He laid there a moment, taking full stock of himself. It wasn't as though he couldn't at least rule some things out.

"In good news, my ass isn't sore."

If absolutely nothing else was certain, he was certain he hadn't actually fucked his dinh.

"I feel like there was much drinking."

And he did, really, with all the dull aches and soreness and displeasure that comes with it.

Near as bad as what, though?, he wondered. Some other ordeal, some other foolishness that would inevitably befall Bert--and only Bert. But the foolishness that befell him was sometimes a bit too much like a fire, and those nearby would sometimes end up scorched too. This might be one of those times.

"All right."

Because what else was there to say? There was no chance in heaven, hell, or this place that anything could have passed between them. Appearances are deceiving. And he'd rather like to try to sleep a little longer.

Aileen awoke groggy and a bit sore and with something large, warm, and naked next to her. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she became more aware of the situation.

...No, she must still be sleeping.

It was Roland. Roland, and all his sturdy muscle and easy breathing that came with sleep. Aileen was curled closely to him, her head resting on his shoulder and one arm thrown lazily over his chest.

Yes, she was likely to be dreaming. But she closed her eyes regardless, a small, weary smile on her face.

No, not yet. His grasp on sleep was tenuous at best in this early light, but he would hold to it. And to her (her? who? which? can't recall, but the scent was familiar). He pulled his arms across her back, around her waist. Still strange stirrings down in the depths of his mind and his gut, something settled like forgotten tension in his belly, something spent but present. The fog in his brain wouldn't clear. He turned, half rolling towards her and held her.

Aileen grinned, huddling herself closer, pressing against him and twining on leg lightly around his. The memory of last night was returning more the longer she was awake. She replayed it in her mind's eye, cheeks flushing and eyes sliding closed.

He was stirring, but she hoped he remained something close to asleep for a little while. He was peaceful, when he slept.

And he was close to asleep for the moment, dreaming lightly of other times and other places or old stories rewritten--all these things seemed true at once. How could they not be true? But though he slept or dozed or dreamed, he held her tightly, and sighed once into her hair.

Gods, there was the loveliest sense of bliss, lying with him. Clinging to each other, just bare skin and soft sheets. It was right. And it was so different from the limited sexual encounters she had experienced before... Holding onto him, resting against him afterward...

"You're a goddamn fool, Roland," she murmured, more to herself than anything, "but I love you."

Now he stirred, because there had come a voice--in his mind? No, more in his ear. And voice and dream suddenly seemed misaligned, or torn apart, or shattered. The truth of the waking world disagreed with the pleasing lies of sleep. And sometimes there's no way to hold to those lies. Not when waking truly takes hold.

He stirred against her, stroked her hair, opened his eyes...and frowned.

Aileen smiled in spite of the frown, lifting her eyes just enough to watch him. She didn't let go in the least.

"Sleep well?" She could ignore the frown. It wasn't unusual, and it didn't surprise her in the least.

"Yes," he said, flatly, because he seemed to have slept well though he couldn't recall much leading up to finding himself asleep and then waking from that sleep. And it seemed that much had happened before finding himself asleep and waking from that sleep. Much. And none of it--well, faint blurs, faint sensations, but more like dreams than memories.

He moved to untangle himself from her.

"Did you?"

Her answer might shed some light on things.

Aileen sat up as he pulled away, messy curls falling over her shoulders. No, of course he wasn't going to cuddle with her. She had had her one chance, and it was over now. It made her heart heavy, to think on it that way, but that was the only way she could look at it. The best she could do was to not be bothered by it, but that was harder than she told herself it would be.

"Slept like a babe." She knelt next to him, reaching for him in spite of herself. Aileen's hand came to rest lightly on Roland's arm.

He did not move away from her touch so quickly this time.

If he could have loved her in her lifetime. If he could have. He had realized it too late that he would have wanted that, to have loved her, if he could have. But he realized it too late and she had died with that confession unspoken and unheard.

And now here they were, she in this life-after-death. But he still could not love her, though he might wish it. Never could.

And now here they were, in the small morning after some great thing had passed.

"I don't recall..." he began.

Aileen blinked, that awful and familiar sinking feeling in her chest as he spoke.

"You don't remember?" That was it, then. One night of touching and kissing and holding onto each other and that was it, most likely brought about by some madness this place sometimes incurred in its residents. And nothing else. It didn't matter what passed between them. Roland would never care. Not the way Aileen so desperately wished he did. Her hand drew away, falling limp by her side.

"I'd venture to guess it was thanks to our hosts... messing with our heads again."

"Like as not."

No, he remembered, but vaguely, as though they were someone else's memories and he'd been given them--some boxful of something forgotten or almost forgotten and now opened again but not especially recalled. A story of a story.

He remembered wanting nothing so much as the curve of her neck, the hollow in her collarbone below it. He remembered feeling that want and knowing that it was not his, that it was induced and not of its own will (or his own will). He remembered wanting and resisting that want because he could not and would not love her--not like this nor like anything else (save as a sister). He remembered wanting to see her neck and her shoulder. And then seeing wasn't enough, he wanted to touch. And then touching wasn't enough, he wanted to kiss. And then her neck and shoulder weren't enough--he would have her hands and her ear and her jaw and her mouth. and more.

It was desire, perhaps, but it was not his own.

He remembered, but it was as if he had been watching himself from a great distance.

Shipping Meme

Roland Deschain | The Dark Tower | OTA

Variant of 6!

We're terrible people, and it's wonderful

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pfff I rolled a 6. We can assume Vent Event or something if need be

Ha ha ha--yeah, if something actually happened between them, it's probably got to be a Vent Event |D

|D

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