doctorlit: (Default)
Author's Note: Protectors of the Plot Continuum was founded by Jay and Acacia, and I write in their universe with permission.

Original post is here. I apologize in advance for this. G rated. Unbetad.

* * *

"Back!" Vania called as she stepped through the portal. "The HFA staff dude was way too excited to give these Muggle-use wands away, so I'm pretty sure they're going to cause some horrible problem at the worst possible time!"

"So, the same as everything else we use on missions, then."

"Oh, yes."

"At least we're being consistent, then." Doc grabbed all seven Harry Potter novels and began storing them in various pockets.

"Oh, you found a fish for the mini! Where'd you get that?"

"What?" Doc glanced towards the glow of their mini-Hound of the Baskervilles, which was gnawing on a long, greenish fish. "Oh. No, I didn't notice he had that."

"Ah. 'Cause it's . . . kinda getting fish blood all over the floor."

"Sorry, Vania. I really don't know where he got that!"

"Eh, it's been a while since a capillary towel had a cameo, anyway. We'll find one after we get back and clean up then."

* * *

Doc and Vania tracked two characters down a hallway in Hogwarts, followed by a mini-Aragog that had been created.

"A Leanne luster!" whispered Vania. "Got to give points for writing something original."

"Let's not call it 'lust' for underage schoolgirls," Doc muttered, writing down charges.

"Still, though, most people don't even know her name! She's just 'that-girl-who-was-walking-next-to-Katie-when-she-got-cursed.' Whoa! What?"

Leanne had just been smacked in the face with a fish.

"I wasn't watching the Words. What caused that, Doc?"

"I didn't catch it. Let me read it over again."

While he was doing so, Vania continued watching the students and frowned. Leanne was rubbing her nose, and the Sue had grasped her by the shoulders and was checking her face for injury. "Weird. Sues don't usually notice when their typos make stuff like that happen."

"I'm not seeing where—Raugh!" Doc jumped and flinched as a cold, wet something flopped against the side of his neck.

Vania bent down and picked up the flopping fish. "It's a salmon . . ." She shrugged.

The Sue called out in her off-timber voice. "What are you doing there? Spying on us?"

"Great. Stupid fish." Doc turned back to the first page of charges. "Carline Amanda Roberts, you are charged with—Agh, gosh darn it!" he yelled as a wet fish slapped the papers out of his hand and stuck them together. The mini-Aragog seized the fish and sunk its mandibles in.

Vania smirked. "'Gosh darn it?' Really?"

The hallway began to fill with the sound of splatters as fish began to pelt the bricks from . . . no clear source.

"Why are you doing this?" Doc asked the Sue.

"Don't look at me! My story did NOT include FISH RAIN."

"Come on!" Leanne shouted over the splats. "The Room of Requirement!"

"But you shouldn't know about that until sixth year!"

"Deal with it! I'm finally the main character in a fanfiction, and I'm milking it for all it's worth!"

* * *

As the four human characters had mutually needed a room with no fish as they approached the door to the Room of Requirement, that is exactly where they found themselves. (The mini-Aragog hadn't finished draining its fish dry yet, or it might have caused a problem.)

Yes, they found themselves in a tiny room with no fish. For about two seconds, before the salmon onslaught began again.

"They're coming from everywhere and nowhere!" Carline whined, as the spider scaled the wall behind her. Leanne was deflecting as many as she could with her wand; the agents' wands were, as predicted, useless.

"You're a Sue! Do with the plotholes or something!" Vania demanded.

"Huh? Oh, right!" Carline waved her arms and fingers in a swooshy motion. Some of the salmon began to disappear between wilvery lines in the air before they hit anyone. "Nice!" cried Carline.

But then, the salmon began bouncing in and out of the shimmers in the air, ultimately filling the small space with fish even more than before.

"Making it worse!" Doc warned.

"Ugh! Whatever." Carline threw up her hands, and the plotholes vanished. Some of the fish were tossed up into the air and landed in a web the mini-Aragog had spun.

"Yesssss, Precioussssss," the spider hissed as it closed its appendages around the flopping animal. "Tasssssty fishesssss!"

The PPC agents looked at each other. Doc turned to Carline. "For the first time in history, the PPC is requesting for you to make more typos."

Carline quirked her head. "Typos?" She glanced at her erstwhile girlfriend. "Like, Leann?"

A new mini-Aragog appeared, and immediately started to crawl up to its comrade's web.

"Whoa," said Carline. "I didn't know I could do that."

"More! Hurry!" Leanne called. "We're up to our ankles in fish!"

"And up to our noses in fish smell," Vania added.

"Uh. Dumbledoor? Minstery of Magic . . . Avada Cadaver!"

All the miniature Acromantulas set to work stringing the room with webbing. But it could only last for so long; soon, the spiders' webs began to bulge with weight, their bellies began to fill, the humans found the salmon reaching above their waists. Leanne was trying to reach the door, blasting at the thick wetness of the fish pile with her wand in order to walk.

"We have to portal back to HQ!" Vania said, digging into her pocket.

"It won't work," said Doc, shaking his head. "This is probably where the mini-Hound's fish came from."

"Oh," Vania said quietly. She had finally managed to get the RA out and above the line of sea life. "It's totally fried by all the dampness, anyway."

Suddenly, a blue doorway opened into the room. Fish began to spill out through the new entrance.

"We're saved!" Vania cried. She tried to jump for joy, but failed under the weight of the fish surrounding her legs. "SpecOps is here!"

"You are not needing Special Operations," Séverine said, stepping over the fish to show an army of agents bearing the same orange honeycombed fungus flashpatch. "The Cafeteria is here, and I understand we will all be having seafood this week."

Author's Note: Capillary towels were created by Sedri and Trojie. The Harry Potter series, Leanne, Acromantulas, Hogwarts, wands and the Room of Requirement belong to J.K. Rowling. Mini-Aragogs were created by Meir Brin. Obviously, none of the named minis in this story count as real, since they were made up by me, rather than being found in a badfic.
doctorlit: (Default)
Author's Note: This ficlet was written in response to a prompt posted to the Board by SeaTurtle: "One of your agents deals with one of their fears." It was part of a larger thread full of writing posts, which itself began as a writing game in the #rudi's room of the Discord chatroom.

Protectors of the Plot Continuum was founded by Jay and Acacia, and I write in their universe with permission. The Harry Potter series, Professor Lockhart, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and boggarts belong to J.K. Rowling. This interlude is rated G, unless you speak British English, in which case it contains a swear. This story had no beta.

* * *

"Augh, Merlin, the Professor has to be around here somewhere." Doc pulled one of Lockhart's larger portraits away from the wall to glance behind it.

"Have you noticed," Vania asked, "that you have a tendency to imitate the local speech style whenever we go somewhere?"

"I don't know what you're bloody talking about."

"Right." Vania rolled her eyes and continued checking the drawers of Lockhart's desk. "Why does this guy need so many copies of his own books?"

Doc dramatically threw open the door panels of a large cupboard in the back of the room. "Hey, I think I found the plothole! I can hear something . . ." He peered closely into the darkness.

A tumbling cloud rose into the air around his head, buzzing furiously.

"Aaaaaah! It was beeeeees!" Doc started a frantic run around the entire Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, flailing his arms in the air while the insect swarm pursued. "I thought it was a ploooooothole but it was only beeeeees!" Doc ended by flinging himself out of the huge window that dominated one wall of the classroom. The bees returned to the cabinet while Doc called, "Aaaaaah! Castles are actually kind of shaaaaaarp in placeeeeees. I feel like I should have knoooooown this alreadyyyyyyy . . ."

Vania gently closed the drawer she had just opened and started heading for the cupboard, a thoughtful look on her face. "You know, I can't for the life of me . . ." She frowned. "I just can't recall what my worst fear is."

She peered into the shadows of the cupboard.

". . . Huh. So that's what a boggart looks like."

* * *

Author's Note: Obviously, it's not entirely appropriate for a PPC agent to have knowledge of something that's never appeared in canon, like the actual appearance of a boggart. Don't worry; Vania will never tell.
doctorlit: (Default)
Author's Note:The Protectors of the Plot Continuum was founded by Jay and Acacia, and I write in it with permission. Epic Mickey was created by Warren Spector and Junction Point Studios and belongs to Disney Interactive Studios. The Poison Joke role play was started by Laburnum and kitsune106, and Poison Joke itself was created by Lauren Faust and belongs to Hasbro Studios and Studio B Productions. The fanfiction Epic Mickey with Millie belongs to Schoolie, and passages from it are bold. It can be read (now renamed) at The badfic has since been edited, and no longer syncs up with the lines quoted in the mission. (And it must be said, it has improved!) Thanks to the Irish Samurai and Ekyl for beta duty in an unfamiliar canon! This mission was first posted here.

Warning: Spoilers for the first Epic Mickey game.

This mission, and the badfic it sporks, were written before the release of the Epic Mickey sequels. Details in this mission may be contradicted by those later games, but the mission will only reflect information available at the time of its (and its badfic’s) writing.

Update August 10, 2017 I am embarrassed to admit I used to be far too obsessed with mini creation, and counted failures to use capital letters in proper nouns in minis. I recognize now that this is not correct, and am retconning my use of such minis in this mission. That would leave this mission with only a single true mini, "bolt;" however, having only one mini in this mission would change its plot significantly, so it will remain populated with a group of anonymous, unadoptable minis. I am also leaving "sweepers" on the PPC Wiki, as it was adopted by PPCer Outhra.


Pick Your Poison )

Post-Mission )
doctorlit: (Default)
Author's Note: This takes place during “The Adventure of the Misplaced Musical Miscreant” and was written as part of PoorCynic's second writing workshop on speech. Protectors of the Plot Continuum was created by Jay and Acacia, and I write in their universe with permission. The Hound of the Baskervilles was created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and belong to his estate. Mini-Hounds of the Baskervilles were created by Juliet Norrington. Mawgs and Spaceballs belong to Mel Brooks. The concept and naming convention of a “kitchen cat” was started by Hawkelf. The PPC was created by Jay and Acacia.

* * *

"Gris . . . gris . . . gris . . . everywhere is more gris!" muttered Séverine. She was only partially paying attention to her surroundings as she followed her partner through the hallways of Headquarters. "I am tired now of seeing so much grey!" She walked several paces behind Yoof, who was zigzagging back and forth as he walked, testing the air around them with his wet, black nose.

"Ha!" It was a sharp, high-pitched whine, more bark than laugh. "Your Idea!"

"I know," Séverine replied. Her eyes continued to skim over the RC doors, not really looking at them. "It is only that . . . walking in la Nouvelle-Calédonie, we would have the sky, the flowers, and people, and colors—"

Yoof stopped and turned to look at her, the bases of his long, floppy ears raising just a bit above his fuzzy brown hair. "I'm people!" he whined, his human hands held up to chest level in a begging posture. "Sort of! Half a people!"

Séverine shut her eyes and frowned. "I know, Yoof. I am sorry. That was not what I meant."

"Ha!" Yoof barked happily. He returned to sniffing his way down the hallway.

"Caught any promising scents yet?"

"Just chocolate and Bleep-things." Yoof stopped again and half-turned so that one eye was looking at Séverine. "I don't want to get in trouble again."

Séverine shook her head. "No. We will not try that again." As Yoof returned to sniffing, Séverine muttered to herself, "This ridiculous Département Médical, claiming cooking ingredients to be medical supplies."

Her words were still picked up by Yoof's sharp ears. "Ha. Shouldn't be stealing from RCs anyway, ha?"

"It is either this, or we return to searches through the worlds. Remember when the house elves discovered us in the kitchen of Beauxbatons? Or running from the Medusa spiders? And do not forget what nearly happened with James Bond."

Yoof's ears laid back against his head as he whined, "Hnnn, hnnn, hnnn." He spun around as he continued his nasal search. After a few more yards, the little black tail that hung down under his jacket began wagging.

"Ha! Ha! Something!"

"Bon, bon! Find it, Yoof, find it!"

Yoof kept his nose held high up in the air and began to walk more slowly, soon zeroing in on one RC door in particular.

"RC number two hundred fifty-one," Séverine read aloud. She interacted with agents in person far less frequently than she did with their stashes, and had no idea who lived where. She tested the doorknob and was surprised to find it locked—most agents didn't seem to bother. However, a quiet swipe of her PPC ID card through the space of the door-frame was all it took to force the catch out of its hole.

Séverine opened the door just slightly, scanning the room through the crack. The RC appeared motionless. She opened the door wider and shut it after both she and her partner were inside.

RC 251, like so many others, reflected the variations of its occupants' personalities. One wall held a long, low bookshelf, very obsessively neat. The wall opposite had a television set surrounded by a tangle of wires connecting it to various game consoles, with game discs and open cases covering the floor around a splitting bean bag chair. The green glow of a night light spilled from behind the mostly closed door to a separate bathroom.

It was the far wall, however, that held the prize they sought: on the platform below the portal's regular location sat a huge mound of golden-brown tater tots.

Séverine sighed. "I study to become a professional chef, yet I spend my life raiding the padded cells of lunatics for American junk food." Nonetheless, she took a roll of garbage bags out of her denim bag and tore off the outermost bag. She started towards the potato product, but stopped when Yoof began to speak strangely.

His ears were perked way up. "Early nineties model. Manufactured in NCIS continuum. One floor bolt loose. Back lid missing. Ceramic body, plastic lid and seat. Fill line down to ninety-four percent of full capacity."

"Yoof? What is the matter? What are you talking about?"

Yoof tilted his head. "Can't you hear it? Someone's drinking from the toilet bowl."

The green glow from the bathroom, which Séverine had mistaken for a night light, grew brighter and brighter as its source approached the main room. The door was bumped open, and a luminescent bloodhound puppy came out and gave a low, "Whuff."

"Of course," said Séverine, sneering. "Un petit."

Yoof began to growl, "Harrr, harrr, harr." The mini-Hound of the Baskervilles, 221b baker street, returned with its own low rumbling, a sharp contrast to Yoof's high-pitched yelps.

"Keep it distracted, please, Yoof." Séverine shook the bag open and kneeled down, scooping in the tater tots. "Little beasts," she told herself. "Bad enough to have a cat in the kitchen, but the whole of Headquarters is filled with monsters." Trying to ignore the growling behind her, she worked as quickly as she could, and tied off the bag when every piece was inside.

When she turned around, she saw that Yoof had dropped to his human hands and knees and was holding his head and shoulders close to the ground to match the mini's defensive posture. The two technically-canine beings kept feinting a charge, forcing the other to back up momentarily before it, too, lunged forward.

Séverine heaved the bag of tater tots over her shoulder Pere Noel-style and headed for the exit. "Heel, Yoof. We are done here! Stop that fighting; you are not even a real dog!"

"I'm half dog! Ha!" Yoof retreated from the mini anyway and stood up. "And half man! I'm my—"

"Own best friend, oui oui. But it is funnier when John Candy says it." Séverine held the door open for Yoof to pass, then clicked the door locked with the inside doorknob. She almost had the door shut when the mini-Hound of the Baskervilles let loose a howl worthy of its canonical namesake.

Séverine froze, almost feeling the sound physically travel up and down her spine, and then up it again. "Mon coeur," she swore quietly. She slammed the door and turned to Yoof, who had all of his hair and fur standing on end. "Let us return to the kitchens before that beast attracts attention."

221b baker street continued to howl as they left that hallway; preoccupied with worry, it took the pair only minutes to return to the cafeteria. On the way past the eating tables, the current cafeteria cat, Fr'sst, leaped onto one to watch them pass, unencumbered by the missing left foreleg he had lost during 2008's Sue invasion. The cat glared at the agents with deep, orange eyes.

"Do not look at me in that way, beast."

Yoof made a noise somewhere between a whine and a growl. Fr'sst hissed at their retreating backs in response.

* * *

About an hour later, agents were loading the newly heated and served tater tots onto their plates and splitting into various groups of friends to eat together. Yoof and Séverine watched from one of the doorways to the kitchen.

"This is a job well done, Yoof." Séverine crossed her arms and smiled contentedly. "Look how happy they are to have real food."

The happiness didn't last long. (It tends not to, in the PPC Cafeteria.) Soon, agents' eyes began to glaze over, multicolored stars began to spin in the air above their heads, and nearly everyone present stood and began to brawl with those closest to them.

Séverine stared, wide-eyed. Then she closed her eyes and said, "Food fights have never been uncommon here, after all."

Yoof whined, "Hnnn . . . hnnn . . . but they aren't even using the food."

"It is surely a coincidence," Séverine continued. "We have no reason to assume we are the cause. Nor should anyone else."

A sharp hiss drew her attention to the floor, where Fr'sst sat, black fur raised around his shoulders, mouth partly open to show off his shining white incisors. The cat stared directly into Séverine's eyes.

"Beast," she spat.

Author's Note: House elves and Beauxbatons belong to J. K. Rowling. Medusa spiders were created by Edward Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and belong to J. J. Abrams and Damon Lindelof. James Bond was created by Ian Fleming, and belongs to him, so far as I'm concerned. NCIS was created by and belongs to Donald P. Bellisario and Don McGill.
doctorlit: (Default)
Author's Note: Protectors of the Plot Continuum was created by Jay and Acacia, and I write in their universe with permission. The Sherlock Holmes characters and setting were created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and belong to his estate. Kelok, Unger, Miah and Cali belong to Miah. The Baker Street Fanfiction Academy belongs to Juliet Norrington and Lux Piper. The fanfiction “Walk though the fire” was written by MoonlightWonderer, and excerpts from it appear in bold. It can be read here. Thanks go to Miah for beta duty and general advice! This mission was originally posted here.

Update August 9, 2017: I am embarrassed to admit this, but in earlier years, I was rather obsessed with getting as many minis out of missions as possible. To this end, I was counting failures to capitalize letters in proper nouns as minis, but This isn't really considered appropriate. This mission originally produced ten mini-Hounds of the Baskervilles, but I have edited out the ones that only existed from capitalization mistakes. This means I have had to misrepresent the locations of certain typos to keep the original story flowing correctly; however, all remaining minis do legitimately appear in "Walk though the fire” somewhere. I have also kept ncis in, as there were no other mini-LEOs to substitute in his place.

* * *

The Adventure of the Misplaced Musical Miscreant )

* * *

Post-Mission )
doctorlit: (Default)
Author's Note: Protectors of the Plot Continuum was founded by Jay and Acacia, and I write in their universe with permission. The Fahrenheit 451 setting was created by and belongs to Ray Bradbury. The fanfiction My own match was written by Pele the Goddess, and passages quoted from it are bold. It can be read here. Thanks to Neshomeh for beta duty. Also, thanks to Aster Corbett for catching a charge I missed. This mission was originally posted here.

Warning: Spoilers for Fahrenheit 451.


May or May Not Be Non-Inflammable )


Post-Mission Notes )
doctorlit: (Default)
Author's Note: Written for Huinesoron's First Monthly PPC Writing Challenge. The Mysterious Somebody was created by Huinesoron.

“You know how it started, don’t you?”

Arvin paused, his hand fidgeting with the sonic screwdriver it held. He had been about to sit back down to his desk covered in malfunctioning CADs when the older man had spoken. As much as Arvin would have liked to get back to work, he supposed he owed it to Voctor Kamras to at least stop and hear what he had to say. After all, most of what Arvin knew he owed to Voctor’s careful training, back when a plothole had plucked the young Argivian out of his proper time and place and stranded him in the PPC’s original headquarters. Arvin placed his screwdriver down and leaned against the desk, watching the other technician.

Voctor relaxed as well, straightening his arms a bit before continuing. “You remember when you first arrived in part of the PPC?”

Arvin nodded. “In the museum.”

“Yes, the museum. Back then, that was the whole PPC. And that was where it first happened. The Mysterious Somebody.” Voctor started to smooth his hair away from his forehead, but seemed to think better of it and let his arm drop. “Three agents—very idiotic, susceptible to mind tricks—brought him back from my home continuum. A Sith Lord, lad, can you imagine?”

Saying nothing, Arvin continued to stare over Voctor’s shoulder.

“And all because agents were foolish enough to recruit characters from out of badfics back then! The Mysterious Somebody was the worst thing—the greatest disaster—to ever threaten the PPC. Certainly, there were others, though none as bad as the MS. And they were ALL badfic recruits. It’s amazing how long it took the Flowers to instate our current policy of only recruiting background canons from outside the influence of badfics. The chance is always present that we’ll wind up with Somebody Else just as bad.”

Voctor looked up at the ceiling, a bit longingly. “That is, after all, why we’ve installed all the departments on different worlds now. The DMS is, appropriately enough, in a formerly unsettled area of Middle-earth. Crossovers is stationed in Twilight Town in the Kingdom Hearts universe, and Bad Slash is in the old St. Mungo’s, before its staff joined together with that Muggle hospital. And, of course, we at DoSAT are currently in the former headquarters of the Men in Black, which was disbanded after the existence of aliens became common knowledge to the population of this world. We can accept applicants directly, and simply kill all the characters encountered in any badfic. It’s much safer all around.”

Arvin hung his head. “I know all this already.” After a pause, he added, “Sir.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course, lad!” Voctor chuckled in embarrassment. “I only meant—well, I wanted you to know that I’m proud of you for doing this. You must always be watchful for that next Somebody Else. And you mustn’t trust anyone…not even me.” Voctor gave a small smile, but Arvin didn’t see it.

He couldn’t bring himself to raise his head, to look his long-time tutor in the eye as the Weeds who had been restraining Voctor pulled him to the door and led him away.

Author's Note: Argive and Magic: The Gathering belong to Wizards of the Coast, while Sith Lords and Star Wars were created by George Lucas. Middle-earth belongs to J. R. R. Tolkien. Twilight Town and Kingdom Hearts belong to Disney and Square Enix. Men in Black was created by Walter F. Parkes and Laurie MacDonald. St. Mungo's and the term "Muggle" belong to J. K. Rowling.


Jun. 2nd, 2011 11:56 am
doctorlit: (Default)
Filker's Note: A filk after "Womanizer" by Britney Spears. Neuralyzers belong to Walter F. Parkes and Laurie MacDonald.

Character, why are you here, watcha doing?
I bet you have got no clue what is ongoing
You are in a new roll that's got you looking stupid
But I know who you were, who you were baby

Look at you, getting a complete makeover
You are like a puppet, strings tangled all over
It all seems so wrong, but baby, just keep going strong
'Cause I know who you were, who you were, baby

Neuralyzer, neura-neuralyzer, it's the neuralyzer
Oh, neuralyzer, oh, it's the neuralyzer baby
Yeah, it is the, Yeah, it is the
Neuralyzer, neuralyzer, neuralyzer

It makes memories go oh-oh
Of things you should not know oh-oh
It makes memories go oh-oh
Of things you should not know oh-oh
She's got you going
She thinks she's charming
But we can stop her!

It makes memories go oh-oh
Of things you should not know oh-oh
It makes memories go oh-oh
Of things you should not know oh-oh
You think you're crazy?
I'll fix your crazy
I'll do it with the

Don't forget! You were once a mighty champion
It's too bad, because your style she's a-crampin'
I have handled oh, so many. I'm glad to help you remember
Who you were, only who you were baby

Yes, you're out of your right characterization
But now she's gone, and there's no need for hesitation
It just takes a little flash, here, after I don my sunglasses
You'll be back, back for good, baby


Pretty soon you'll be back in your normal world
(Neuralyzer, neuralyzer, neuralyzer, neuralyzer)
Things will be all good, and you'll want to thank this girl
But you can't, 'cause you won't know


It makes memories go oh-oh
Of things you should not know oh-oh
It makes memories go oh-oh
Of things you should not know oh-oh
Neuralyzer, neura-neuralyzer, it’s the neuralyzer
Oh, neuralyzer, oh, it's the neuralyzer baby


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