Oops double post.
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BHM That Befall Preposterously (~FFA, ~BHM, Romance, ~~WG, multi-part)
- Thread starter bayone
- Start date
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Part Va.
Godzilla lurked next to a couch; his tail evidently kept him from sitting, and after a while he leaned himself carefully against a nearby wall, narrowly avoiding a lighting sconce and an electrical switch.
“Hey, a lounge lizard,” chirped Karen. She wore black jeans and a bustier, and Colin had indeed decorated her arms and shoulders with elaborate tattoo sleeves in four colours of magic marker. She carried a leather motorcycle jacket, slung over one shoulder so as not to cover the artwork.
“What’s she supposed to be, a hipster?” muttered a voice behind Sally, who nearly answered “no, a biker,” before she recognized Gordon, in a t-shirt that said THIS IS MY HALLOWE’EN COSTUME. Damn, almost blew my cover.
“And what’s with the sexy nurse and the rectal thermometer?” Gordon added, pointing at Sailor Mercury Nadia. Biting her tongue, Sally shrugged as best she could in her cardboard exoskeleton and looked around for an escape route. Staying too close to her friends might clue him in. As she looked for an opening, someone knocked against her shoulder, throwing her into Gordon, who yelled at her:
“Watch it buddy! What d’you think you’re doing?!”
“Sorry, dude” interrupted the skunk, balancing a plastic cup in each paw. “It was my fault -- I knocked into the robot.” But Gordon remained determined to keep the blame where he’d originally aimed it:
“What, he can’t answer for himself?” At least the disguise works, thought Sally. It had been all she could do not to say Sorry automatically.
“There a problem?” Godzilla had left his corner and was ambling majestically towards them, the crowd parting before him like a special-effect Red Sea.
“I’m feeling really attacked here,” Gordon began, as the skunk simultaneously insisted:
“I accidentally dominoed the robot into him. I said sorry, but he wants an apology from the robot too.” Sally had a brainwave:
“Bleep bloop. Bleee-oop,” she squeaked in her best R2D2 imitation, hoping she sounded both contrite, and unlike herself. “Bleeee.” Gordon gave her a hard look, but Donald (it was Donald in the Godzilla suit, she was sure of it), laid a massive claw on her cardboard shoulder-pad.
“That sounded like an apology to me,” came his voice, slightly muffled by the plush mask. He must be baking in there, she thought. He must not have recognized her voice, for he lifted his claw and turned to go. She followed, reasoning that this pre-cleared path was her best opportunity to walk away and identify herself to Donald -- if she wished.
Godzilla lurked next to a couch; his tail evidently kept him from sitting, and after a while he leaned himself carefully against a nearby wall, narrowly avoiding a lighting sconce and an electrical switch.
“Hey, a lounge lizard,” chirped Karen. She wore black jeans and a bustier, and Colin had indeed decorated her arms and shoulders with elaborate tattoo sleeves in four colours of magic marker. She carried a leather motorcycle jacket, slung over one shoulder so as not to cover the artwork.
“What’s she supposed to be, a hipster?” muttered a voice behind Sally, who nearly answered “no, a biker,” before she recognized Gordon, in a t-shirt that said THIS IS MY HALLOWE’EN COSTUME. Damn, almost blew my cover.
“And what’s with the sexy nurse and the rectal thermometer?” Gordon added, pointing at Sailor Mercury Nadia. Biting her tongue, Sally shrugged as best she could in her cardboard exoskeleton and looked around for an escape route. Staying too close to her friends might clue him in. As she looked for an opening, someone knocked against her shoulder, throwing her into Gordon, who yelled at her:
“Watch it buddy! What d’you think you’re doing?!”
“Sorry, dude” interrupted the skunk, balancing a plastic cup in each paw. “It was my fault -- I knocked into the robot.” But Gordon remained determined to keep the blame where he’d originally aimed it:
“What, he can’t answer for himself?” At least the disguise works, thought Sally. It had been all she could do not to say Sorry automatically.
“There a problem?” Godzilla had left his corner and was ambling majestically towards them, the crowd parting before him like a special-effect Red Sea.
“I’m feeling really attacked here,” Gordon began, as the skunk simultaneously insisted:
“I accidentally dominoed the robot into him. I said sorry, but he wants an apology from the robot too.” Sally had a brainwave:
“Bleep bloop. Bleee-oop,” she squeaked in her best R2D2 imitation, hoping she sounded both contrite, and unlike herself. “Bleeee.” Gordon gave her a hard look, but Donald (it was Donald in the Godzilla suit, she was sure of it), laid a massive claw on her cardboard shoulder-pad.
“That sounded like an apology to me,” came his voice, slightly muffled by the plush mask. He must be baking in there, she thought. He must not have recognized her voice, for he lifted his claw and turned to go. She followed, reasoning that this pre-cleared path was her best opportunity to walk away and identify herself to Donald -- if she wished.
Hooray for an update 
(even if tantalizingly brief)
(even if tantalizingly brief)
Talk about whetting my appetite!
Love it, hope you post more soon!!
Love it, hope you post more soon!!
fat hiker
***
I can't wait to find out who is in the Godzilla suit....
Part Vb.
“Hey, Godzilla!” It was Colin who shouted. “Look who’s here!” Turning carefully, Sally was in time to see him gesture with his caduceus at the doorway full of… Mecha-Godzilla?
Uh-oh. Sally tried to size up the newcomer from across the room, and through the mesh of her helmet. Mecha-Godzilla was tall, wide -- she couldn’t tell how much of the lumpy silver shape was the person inside and how much was padding, or maybe exoskeleton. Beside her, Godzilla chuckled and then roared playfully — he’d spotted his rival. She still couldn’t tell if the voice was Donald’s or not. The crowd parted for Mecha-Godzilla who drew nearer, emitting a staticky recorded noise — robotic roaring, and a theme tune. The costume had a voice chip. Of course it did. No way to try and recognize the wearer’s voice. Should she reveal herself? A glimpse of Gordon in the crowd decided her against it. Instead she bleeped and waved her oven-mitt claws as partygoers snapped pictures with their phones and Andy Warhol pulled out his vintage Polaroid camera.
“Godzilla Vs. Mecha-Godzilla! Fight!” shouted the Sexy Highway, and the crowd cheered. A chant went up:
“Fight! Fight! Fight!”
“The robot can referee!”
Glancing fearfully between the two monsters, Sally saw they’d already turned to face one another, striking sumo wrestlers’ poses. There seemed no other course of action, so she waved a hand between them and jumped back as they charged. The Hallowe’en crowd went wild as the costumed behemoths grappled. Truthfully, she might have enjoyed watching it herself, had she known who to root for; and her chest tightened at the possibility neither beast was Donald — that he might for some reason have chosen not to come to the party at all.
The two continued to jostle one another, until Godzilla, getting the upper claw, pulled the other into a bear hug and lifted him bodily off the ground. The entire room roared. Godzilla took a few paces into the crowd, finally setting down the squirming Mecha-Godzilla on a patch of bare floor that had opened up for him. Deciding she’d better call it, Sally clutched Godzilla’s arm and lifted it in victory. Mecha-Godzilla accepted defeat graciously, backing away with a bow — and into Gordon just as the latter was bellowing:
“FINISH HIM — oh *%^& it you loser! Why’s everyone shoving into me tonight?!"
“Oh, not him again,” said Godzilla. “Maybe we should step out back till things blow over.” Nodding inside her robot helmet, Sally followed the giant lizard to the fire door and stepped out into the laneway behind the building, to find him removing his head. She’d braced herself in case he wasn’t Donald, but was surprised to recognize the football player from her English class.
“Hang on a moment,” she said. “We’d better not leave Mecha-Godzilla at the mercy of Gordon.” Even if it isn’t Donald in the suit. “Let’s get him out here, say it’s for a photo.” They doubled back into the heat of the crowded room.
“Hey, bro --” Godzilla, unmasked, caught the mechanical lizard’s arm. “Can we get a picture together with the robot?” They left by the front door this time, Sally glancing back. Gordon seemed to have got lost in the crowd. Mecha-Godzilla gave his lower jaw a tug and it fell open, revealing Donald’s freckled face. He heaved a sigh of relief and sagged against the entrance.
“Thanks for the rescue. That guy is… unforgiving.”
“I know. Why do you think I came in disguise?” Sally pulled off her own helmet and was gratified by the engineer’s look of surprise and delight.
“It’s you!” He grabbed her oven mitt. “Nice costume.”
“But not soundproof.” She rolled her eyes in the direction of the party and winced. “Do you want to, I don’t know, find a coffee shop and come back here later? Maybe he’ll have calmed down or left.”
“Sure.” Donald glanced at Godzilla but the latter shrugged:
“I’ll just have a beer and ignore him. See you two later.”
Somehow, during the subsequent discussion of what places might still be open, the topic of the crosswalks came up again; and it suddenly seemed to Sally like a really good night to paint them, seeing as how she and Donald were already in disguise anyway.
“I picked up some white spray paint when I ran out of black for the costume and had to go to the hardware store,” she said. “It’s in my room.”
Fifteen minutes later a large silver lizard and a black robot were clumsily attempting to unroll a long strip of masking tape, when a scream rang out.
“Was that a party scream or a someone-in-danger scream?”
“Better check. I think it came from near the student centre.”
It is not easy to run in most Hallowe’en costumes, and Donald was not built for speed in any case. Sally was a couple of minutes ahead of him when she saw the source of the screams. Someone with intentions much more nefarious than theirs had also reasoned that a night where everyone was disguised was a good night to break laws; someone had attempted to mug the old lady in the yellow flip flops (though she hardly looked the sort to be carrying a lot of valuables), and she was having none of it.
Call the police on your phone -- oh damn. Her phone was back in her room; Hallowe’en costumes usually don’t have pockets, either. Try bluffing.
“Hey! What’re you doing?!” Better get their attention before threatening to call the cops. There were two of them, in rubber animal masks, and both turned slightly at the sound of her voice. The old lady took that moment to kick one, and Sally promptly abandoned the thought of convincing anyone she had a phone -- they were too busy to pay any attention. She leapt at someone’s back and made an effort to pin his arms, but found herself thrown to one side, the mesh of her costume-helmet painful against the side of her face. The lady was still screeching. Sally made a second attempt to bring down at least one attacker, this time grabbing wildly at a foot she saw on the ground before her. It worked, and a figure in jeans and a horse-head mask dropped with a curse. She caught a glimpse of a yellow sandal kicking his shoulder, but he sat up and scrambled towards Sally.
CLANK!
“Unf!”
The second mugger, in a chimp mask, collapsed on Horse-Mask and did not get up. Donald had finally arrived, breathing a bit heavily but with inertia very much on his side. Horse and Chimp had not fared so well against him as Godzilla had, Sally thought. She crawled towards the old lady, now slipping her feet back into her yellow flip flops with a surprising calm.
“Are you alright dear? The bat was right about you, I see.”
What?
“Sally!” Somebody in unwieldy armour -- Donald of course -- was pulling her to her feet and hugging her breathlessly.
Afterwards, there followed police and an hour of bewildering questions before the two muggers (no one Sally recognized, when their masks were removed) were taken away and another officer saw the old lady safely home.
“Still up for coffee?” asked Donald. “I don’t much feel like going back to the party, or to the crosswalk. Just as well we hadn’t started painting -- it would have been awkward to explain to the cops.” They’d stripped off the more unwieldy parts of their costumes by then, and Sally had abandoned her cardboard armour in a trash bin, though she still carried her headpiece. There was a pink imprint of the mesh on her cheek, but nothing so severe it wouldn’t fade by morning. She suddenly found herself shaking.
“We -- we just did that,” she stammered. “We fought two guys. Two scary guys.” Donald put his arms around her, calming her with his size and warmth.
“Should I walk you home instead, then?”
“Yes. I -- I think the adrenaline’s worn off. Don’t really want to be alone right now.”
“What did the old lady mean about a bat?”
“A bat?”
“I thought I heard her say ‘the bat was right about you.’ Maybe I just misheard.”
So we grow together, Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,
But yet an union in partition; Two lovely berries moulded on one stem;
But yet an union in partition; Two lovely berries moulded on one stem;
“Hey, Godzilla!” It was Colin who shouted. “Look who’s here!” Turning carefully, Sally was in time to see him gesture with his caduceus at the doorway full of… Mecha-Godzilla?
Uh-oh. Sally tried to size up the newcomer from across the room, and through the mesh of her helmet. Mecha-Godzilla was tall, wide -- she couldn’t tell how much of the lumpy silver shape was the person inside and how much was padding, or maybe exoskeleton. Beside her, Godzilla chuckled and then roared playfully — he’d spotted his rival. She still couldn’t tell if the voice was Donald’s or not. The crowd parted for Mecha-Godzilla who drew nearer, emitting a staticky recorded noise — robotic roaring, and a theme tune. The costume had a voice chip. Of course it did. No way to try and recognize the wearer’s voice. Should she reveal herself? A glimpse of Gordon in the crowd decided her against it. Instead she bleeped and waved her oven-mitt claws as partygoers snapped pictures with their phones and Andy Warhol pulled out his vintage Polaroid camera.
“Godzilla Vs. Mecha-Godzilla! Fight!” shouted the Sexy Highway, and the crowd cheered. A chant went up:
“Fight! Fight! Fight!”
“The robot can referee!”
Glancing fearfully between the two monsters, Sally saw they’d already turned to face one another, striking sumo wrestlers’ poses. There seemed no other course of action, so she waved a hand between them and jumped back as they charged. The Hallowe’en crowd went wild as the costumed behemoths grappled. Truthfully, she might have enjoyed watching it herself, had she known who to root for; and her chest tightened at the possibility neither beast was Donald — that he might for some reason have chosen not to come to the party at all.
The two continued to jostle one another, until Godzilla, getting the upper claw, pulled the other into a bear hug and lifted him bodily off the ground. The entire room roared. Godzilla took a few paces into the crowd, finally setting down the squirming Mecha-Godzilla on a patch of bare floor that had opened up for him. Deciding she’d better call it, Sally clutched Godzilla’s arm and lifted it in victory. Mecha-Godzilla accepted defeat graciously, backing away with a bow — and into Gordon just as the latter was bellowing:
“FINISH HIM — oh *%^& it you loser! Why’s everyone shoving into me tonight?!"
“Oh, not him again,” said Godzilla. “Maybe we should step out back till things blow over.” Nodding inside her robot helmet, Sally followed the giant lizard to the fire door and stepped out into the laneway behind the building, to find him removing his head. She’d braced herself in case he wasn’t Donald, but was surprised to recognize the football player from her English class.
“Hang on a moment,” she said. “We’d better not leave Mecha-Godzilla at the mercy of Gordon.” Even if it isn’t Donald in the suit. “Let’s get him out here, say it’s for a photo.” They doubled back into the heat of the crowded room.
“Hey, bro --” Godzilla, unmasked, caught the mechanical lizard’s arm. “Can we get a picture together with the robot?” They left by the front door this time, Sally glancing back. Gordon seemed to have got lost in the crowd. Mecha-Godzilla gave his lower jaw a tug and it fell open, revealing Donald’s freckled face. He heaved a sigh of relief and sagged against the entrance.
“Thanks for the rescue. That guy is… unforgiving.”
“I know. Why do you think I came in disguise?” Sally pulled off her own helmet and was gratified by the engineer’s look of surprise and delight.
“It’s you!” He grabbed her oven mitt. “Nice costume.”
“But not soundproof.” She rolled her eyes in the direction of the party and winced. “Do you want to, I don’t know, find a coffee shop and come back here later? Maybe he’ll have calmed down or left.”
“Sure.” Donald glanced at Godzilla but the latter shrugged:
“I’ll just have a beer and ignore him. See you two later.”
Somehow, during the subsequent discussion of what places might still be open, the topic of the crosswalks came up again; and it suddenly seemed to Sally like a really good night to paint them, seeing as how she and Donald were already in disguise anyway.
“I picked up some white spray paint when I ran out of black for the costume and had to go to the hardware store,” she said. “It’s in my room.”
Fifteen minutes later a large silver lizard and a black robot were clumsily attempting to unroll a long strip of masking tape, when a scream rang out.
“Was that a party scream or a someone-in-danger scream?”
“Better check. I think it came from near the student centre.”
It is not easy to run in most Hallowe’en costumes, and Donald was not built for speed in any case. Sally was a couple of minutes ahead of him when she saw the source of the screams. Someone with intentions much more nefarious than theirs had also reasoned that a night where everyone was disguised was a good night to break laws; someone had attempted to mug the old lady in the yellow flip flops (though she hardly looked the sort to be carrying a lot of valuables), and she was having none of it.
Call the police on your phone -- oh damn. Her phone was back in her room; Hallowe’en costumes usually don’t have pockets, either. Try bluffing.
“Hey! What’re you doing?!” Better get their attention before threatening to call the cops. There were two of them, in rubber animal masks, and both turned slightly at the sound of her voice. The old lady took that moment to kick one, and Sally promptly abandoned the thought of convincing anyone she had a phone -- they were too busy to pay any attention. She leapt at someone’s back and made an effort to pin his arms, but found herself thrown to one side, the mesh of her costume-helmet painful against the side of her face. The lady was still screeching. Sally made a second attempt to bring down at least one attacker, this time grabbing wildly at a foot she saw on the ground before her. It worked, and a figure in jeans and a horse-head mask dropped with a curse. She caught a glimpse of a yellow sandal kicking his shoulder, but he sat up and scrambled towards Sally.
CLANK!
“Unf!”
The second mugger, in a chimp mask, collapsed on Horse-Mask and did not get up. Donald had finally arrived, breathing a bit heavily but with inertia very much on his side. Horse and Chimp had not fared so well against him as Godzilla had, Sally thought. She crawled towards the old lady, now slipping her feet back into her yellow flip flops with a surprising calm.
“Are you alright dear? The bat was right about you, I see.”
What?
“Sally!” Somebody in unwieldy armour -- Donald of course -- was pulling her to her feet and hugging her breathlessly.
Afterwards, there followed police and an hour of bewildering questions before the two muggers (no one Sally recognized, when their masks were removed) were taken away and another officer saw the old lady safely home.
“Still up for coffee?” asked Donald. “I don’t much feel like going back to the party, or to the crosswalk. Just as well we hadn’t started painting -- it would have been awkward to explain to the cops.” They’d stripped off the more unwieldy parts of their costumes by then, and Sally had abandoned her cardboard armour in a trash bin, though she still carried her headpiece. There was a pink imprint of the mesh on her cheek, but nothing so severe it wouldn’t fade by morning. She suddenly found herself shaking.
“We -- we just did that,” she stammered. “We fought two guys. Two scary guys.” Donald put his arms around her, calming her with his size and warmth.
“Should I walk you home instead, then?”
“Yes. I -- I think the adrenaline’s worn off. Don’t really want to be alone right now.”
“What did the old lady mean about a bat?”
“A bat?”
“I thought I heard her say ‘the bat was right about you.’ Maybe I just misheard.”
When is moar coming??
Such a good question!
fat hiker
***
Please do!
I have to say, the image of Donald the big guy in the Mecha-Godzilla suit being lifted bodily by the (presumably even bigger) football player in the Godzilla suit is, well, inspiring!
I have to say, the image of Donald the big guy in the Mecha-Godzilla suit being lifted bodily by the (presumably even bigger) football player in the Godzilla suit is, well, inspiring!
Part Vc.
As they turned back towards the campus, Sally stumbled and fell against Donald, who automatically threw his arm about her.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get you home,” he murmured.
“Actually, I’m starting to think I could go for that coffee after all.” Across the street, the lights were still on in a late-night cafe, and a pleasant dark smell of roasting beans drifted to where they stood under a light.
“Whatever makes you feel better,” Donald smiled.
The cafe looked like every pop-up urban coffee bar, but had in fact been there for many years and was the sort of local hangout that those other coffee bars aspired to be. Nonetheless, the management had recently caved to the popularity of seasonal drinks, and when Sally and Donald reached the counter, she was able to order a pumpkin spice latte from the menu.
“My treat,” said Donald hastily before she could pay. “And I’ll have a regular coffee and a slice of pumpkin pie, please.”
“Thanks,” said Sally.
“One pumpkin spice, one regular -- if you can stop arguing with my brother for two minutes” said the cashier loudly towards the other end of the counter, where an argument was going on between the barista and a man who gloomily sipped a double espresso as he leant on the bar.
“I admit the fair trade coffee may not solve all the world’s problems,” came the barista’s voice from behind the espresso machine, “but every drop in the bucket helps. It can’t be a bad thing if the workers are at least getting paid properly.”
“We should pay a proper price for a product,” agreed the other man, “but that’s to keep us honest. Anything more is just being patronizing towards people in another part of the — I think you’ve got a customer, Pete.” He stepped aside for Sally and the barista peered around the espresso machine.
“You’re the pumpkin spice?”
He was a tall stout young man in hipster glasses, and Sally couldn’t help looking him over appreciatively, only to immediately feel a twinge of guilt — true, she wasn’t exactly dating Donald, but it bothered her to think her affections could be so changeable.
“I’m the customer who ordered the pumpkin spice,” she said, determinedly, with a glance back at the engineer. Pete blinked, embarrassed, and she felt bad again, this time for snapping at him; but the cashier’s brother smiled for the first time. “Sorry, rough night,” she said to them both. “And Donald -- my friend here -- is the regular coffee.”
They took their drinks to a wooden table in the corner, and the young woman who’d taken their order brought over Donald’s slice of pie on a plate. The engineer ate it in silence, occasionally throwing Sally a concerned glance.
“I’m all right,” she said eventually. “Just -- I’ve never fought anyone. Well, not since middle school anyway. Thanks for the backup, by the way. I don’t think I’d have done well otherwise.”
“Any time. For what it’s worth, you did good.” He looked for a moment as if he was going to add something,then looked down at his empty plate.
As they turned back towards the campus, Sally stumbled and fell against Donald, who automatically threw his arm about her.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get you home,” he murmured.
“Actually, I’m starting to think I could go for that coffee after all.” Across the street, the lights were still on in a late-night cafe, and a pleasant dark smell of roasting beans drifted to where they stood under a light.
“Whatever makes you feel better,” Donald smiled.
The cafe looked like every pop-up urban coffee bar, but had in fact been there for many years and was the sort of local hangout that those other coffee bars aspired to be. Nonetheless, the management had recently caved to the popularity of seasonal drinks, and when Sally and Donald reached the counter, she was able to order a pumpkin spice latte from the menu.
“My treat,” said Donald hastily before she could pay. “And I’ll have a regular coffee and a slice of pumpkin pie, please.”
“Thanks,” said Sally.
“One pumpkin spice, one regular -- if you can stop arguing with my brother for two minutes” said the cashier loudly towards the other end of the counter, where an argument was going on between the barista and a man who gloomily sipped a double espresso as he leant on the bar.
“I admit the fair trade coffee may not solve all the world’s problems,” came the barista’s voice from behind the espresso machine, “but every drop in the bucket helps. It can’t be a bad thing if the workers are at least getting paid properly.”
“We should pay a proper price for a product,” agreed the other man, “but that’s to keep us honest. Anything more is just being patronizing towards people in another part of the — I think you’ve got a customer, Pete.” He stepped aside for Sally and the barista peered around the espresso machine.
“You’re the pumpkin spice?”
He was a tall stout young man in hipster glasses, and Sally couldn’t help looking him over appreciatively, only to immediately feel a twinge of guilt — true, she wasn’t exactly dating Donald, but it bothered her to think her affections could be so changeable.
“I’m the customer who ordered the pumpkin spice,” she said, determinedly, with a glance back at the engineer. Pete blinked, embarrassed, and she felt bad again, this time for snapping at him; but the cashier’s brother smiled for the first time. “Sorry, rough night,” she said to them both. “And Donald -- my friend here -- is the regular coffee.”
They took their drinks to a wooden table in the corner, and the young woman who’d taken their order brought over Donald’s slice of pie on a plate. The engineer ate it in silence, occasionally throwing Sally a concerned glance.
“I’m all right,” she said eventually. “Just -- I’ve never fought anyone. Well, not since middle school anyway. Thanks for the backup, by the way. I don’t think I’d have done well otherwise.”
“Any time. For what it’s worth, you did good.” He looked for a moment as if he was going to add something,then looked down at his empty plate.
It's always a good day when authors return to take care of their stories!
Bayone - I formatted your story a little to make it easier to read on screen (indenting for instance doesn't work here) - and took the liberaty of numbering the installments (summing together the parts of the story under one Roman number that fit chronologically), to give readers a better orientation where in the story we are. I hope you're okay with that.
Bayone - I formatted your story a little to make it easier to read on screen (indenting for instance doesn't work here) - and took the liberaty of numbering the installments (summing together the parts of the story under one Roman number that fit chronologically), to give readers a better orientation where in the story we are. I hope you're okay with that.
It's always a good day when authors return to take care of their stories!
Thanks, I figured it was time I finally got back to this.
Thanks, I'd been numbering the chapters on Tumblr but forgot to do it here.
Kompliziert
Agender, any pronouns
Your writing is amazing. It really couldn't be better. So much of it made me actually laugh out loud, and so much more made me shake my head in disbelief that you could so perfectly capture and replicate the eccentricities of life. Gordon is so exactly a person I tried not to know in high school, Donald's T-shirts the shirts friends have worn, and Sally's inner monologue has often been my own. The awkwardness of Thanksgiving with family for an (F)FA is SO DEAD ON! Oh my GOD! You reminded me how awful it was! And using my favorite Shakespeare play as a wonderful plot device to get our heroine's hands all over the handsome romantic interest--just perfect! And then just a dash of the supernatural to truly bring this story into a category all its own. I am sad there isn't more, but you have given my imagination and my heart something truly fantastic to chew on. Thank you so much for sharing your incredible talent with us all! If you wrote novels I would buy them all in a heartbeat, this is some of the best stuff I've ever read.
Thanks. Im sorry life has rather got in the way of finishing this one. If its any consolation, someone on AO3 is writing a delightful Regency romance (as in, the Prince Regent is the male lead, and the radically Whig heroine is attracted to him despite herself): Character & Caricature
Gordon is mostly based on someone in first-year English class at university, though thankfully he never actually noticed me.
Gordon is mostly based on someone in first-year English class at university, though thankfully he never actually noticed me.
Kompliziert
Agender, any pronouns
Hehe, to be honest, I'm just glad to see you still exist! I was worried you had quit Dimensions or something. I can understand about life getting in the way, and as much as I would LOVE to see more of your work, of course you are not a performing monkey for us! I hope that everything in your life is going well, and I will certainly check out that story.
Wishing you all the best!
Wishing you all the best!
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I’ve been writing some fanfic under my main online handle of moon_custafer, but it doesn’t really have any FFA content, except maybe this one if you squint (and it helps if you picture the characters as played by Rutland Barrington and Jesse Bond): https://archiveofourown.org/works/1368859/chapters/2861722
It’s in the Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Sorcerer fandom, though, which is maybe two or three people
It’s in the Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Sorcerer fandom, though, which is maybe two or three people
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