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Role Reversal [Tugger/Misto, CATS]

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Sep. 11th, 2008 | 07:32 pm
mood: refreshedclean sweep
music: Goody Two Shoes - Adam and the Ants

Title: Role Reversal
Author: cooking_spray
Pairing: Tugger/Misto
Genre: PWP
Rating: R
Word Count: 3,769
Status: Complete
Summary: Tugger comes to Misto to complain, and ends up arguing. . . And then, of course, solves things in a way he excels at much better at than linguistics. Limey-ness abounds.





Disclaimer: Highlight address bar. Read carefully. Consult dictionary if necessary.


~*~*~*~*~



I was having an argument.

It was not really clear to me what the argument was about, exactly, only that the Tugger had started it, as he started most things. It was the sort of argument that had no foreseeable conclusion, nor justifiable premise - in short, just the kind of argument that the Tugger would prefer to engage in.

Of course, I was his first subject (or, more correctly, subjection) of choice. The queens liked his dirty talk too much, and in any event, he had his reputation to consider - always did, always had, damn him. And I was the only Tom he knew he could bait with fear of reproach, because I was Mistoffelees. But we won't go into that.

The "argument" wasn't really an argument, per se - rather, it was the Tugger pacing back and forth and whinging in my direction as I sat and listened, occasionally rearranging my eyebrows when appropriate. The gist of it was that some nameless queen had rejected him, or something along those lines. It wasn't really important.

I supposed now was the time when I should've said something reassuring (the Tugger is a pout-y kitten trapped in the body of a disastrously attractive tom, when it all comes down to it). Except, how is it possible to reassure someone who is already so sure of themselves?

He was scowling at me in silence now, though, and quite petulantly, so I knew I had to think fast. Really, didn't he get that I was radiating "I, in my completely unobvious Misto way, secretly think you are incredibly sexy, and wish you would shut up before I (affectionately) thrash you within an inch of your life"?

Eh, well. The Tugger sucked at subtext, and most other things that had Latin roots. But that was okay. I had more than enough for the two of us.

The two of us. . . quaint. Almost like we were friends or something. But anyway. Back to the story (if you can call it that), before I get too distracted (is that even possible at this point?). I'm quite sure I was about to say something Wise and Important. Always am.

I took an additional five seconds to gather my thoughts, amused by the look of imminent explosion that overtook the Maine Coon during this interim, and began. "Well, you know, she's just one queen. There's plenty more out there. . . probably not enough for your appetite, but the point stands."

The Tugger just gaped at me. What, had he expected more insight? Every genius has their off days. And he was such a piece of work that he should've known to give me a few days in advance to work up something really good.

"You're giving me that 'there's other fish in the sea' rot? Hotels, Misto, don't you think I know that already?" He fluffed his ruff, as he was prone to doing in these fits of indignation, as if taunting us short-hairs with his voluminous fur. "That's not the issue here. The issue is, she brushed me off, like I wasn't. . . like I wasn't me."

Oh, careless queens, casting away their one-time chance for a night of pleasure and a week of consequent heartbreak! Sensible as they are, though, I do kind of envy them. "Maybe it's the 'you' that's the problem, then? Believe it or not, some of the rest of us like some continuity with our romance."

"So, what you mean is, you think I'm old news," the Tugger accused, attempting a look of scrutiny that only made him seem like he could use a pair of spectacles, if such a thing could be fitted for a cat.

For all intents and purposes, the statement was true - though there was a small (and altogether minor, where I was concerned, as maturity and experience were surely negating) gap in age, we've still known each other for quite a while. Every little mannerism, every lure. . . every trick of the Tugger trade, you name it, I've probably seen it before. Blasé as this repertoire was, it still worked, though, because the Tugger was the Tugger (and some day, I'll find a better way to phrase this - the way I sometimes talk, one would think that "Tugger" was an adjective unto itself, and should be eligible for entry into a Human dictionary somewhere, which is not an altogether bad idea, actually). Even if you know all his moves, it is the fact that he has them down to such an art that it is hard to believe he didn't waltz out of the womb in possession of them - and perhaps that was the case. Besides, who didn't want to hear them from that face?

But the other thing about the Tugger was that you took him at face value (in his case, the appreciation was nearly always accurate), or you didn't take him at all. And there were some, believe it or not, who did not find the Maine Coon's unique blend of unapologetic sexuality and obvious complacence to their liking. While every Queen has secretly dreamt of a handsome Tom just like him (Tugger is a such a poster bad-boy that he should have his visage patented), he is only that to them - an appealing idealism, a long-outgrown daydream. A romance or fling with him would be thrilling, just for one to say they had been there, and done that. You come to the Tugger when you need a distraction, and everyone knows it. At the end of the day, he's not the sort you want to share a den with - in the rare event that he will not get bored of you, being shagged senseless is not the typical queen's idea of a healthy, long-lasting relationship, no matter how good the shagging actually is.

Not that I know one way or the other, or anything, but one can only assume. Why else would they keep coming back?

But yes. The Tugger package (and I mean that to be taken in the least suggestive context) is old news. Not yellowed or outdated, mind you, to continue with the news metaphor, but old in the sense that he is incorrigibly who he always has been, and who he always will be.

I sighed at this jumping of conclusion, never the less. "You're like a favorite edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica. A bit dated, but still worthwhile. . . When you're in the mood to peruse, that is." My analogies were not in top form today; but it's not as if the Tugger ever really understood them anyhow.

"And what, in all the basements of the Hotels, is an encyclopedia?"

See what I mean? "It's part of a set of Human books, Tugger," I sighed. "Just forget I said anything."

"I bet you read them all the time at your uppity little Human home, too," the Maine Coon sneered.

Wounded pride or not, I was starting to become aggravated. "It's a bit difficult to give advice to someone who mocks every word that comes out of your mouth, you know."

"I wouldn't have to mock you if you didn't keep feeding me such rubbish," he snapped back. "Maybe I should've went to Bomba, after all. . ."

Incensed, I hissed. "You know as well as I do that she'd have never let you live it down. Would it help if I was a queen, then? Are you truly that desperate to have your ego stroked? I'm only speaking the truth, Tugger, it's just that you don't want to hear it."

"You're girly enough as it is." The stab was mumbled, but not quietly enough. Somehow, this pathetic excuse for an argument had turned serious.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "So, it's all the same to you?" I advanced, and uncertainty flashed in the Tugger's eyes, although he remained stubborn.

"That's what I said."

I don't think he knew just what it was he was implying, exactly, but I could see the discomfort lurking behind the menace. He hadn't meant it - when he's angry like this, he never does - but he was unwilling to back down, just because that would mean losing, and two failures in a day was two too many. Still, he had said it, and I wasn't going to let go so easily, either. Maybe that made me equally guilty, but so be it.

I continued my progress in eliminating the distance between us, stopping just a hair's breadth away. Ordinarily, I'd have thought of something more creative than a standard face-off, but once again, the Tugger had the effect of eclipsing any sort of coherent thought. We both remained unmoving, obstinately standing our ground. In spite of his defensive stance, the Tugger seemed somewhat cowed - he liked to talk the talk, but when things came down to physical blows, he lost his nerve. His temper tantrums were really only a front, and when they were undisguised, he had a way of sobering in a heartbeat.

This time, though, I was not going to allow him to turn and tuck tail so easily. Every cat tires of playing the sounding board once in a while.

It would probably be an opportune time to clearly explain my relationship with the Tugger right about now. You see, I could go through the standard "we're all feline, and sexuality doesn't matter" spiel, but that's a little worn out. Frankly, what it all comes down to is this: I want him. (Tugger can turn the most aloof into common harlots. . . who's magical, again?) We have always been companions, of a sort - distanced, albeit, but my distinction as a magician has rewarded me the privilege of serving as the Curious Cat's personal advisor and confidante, even if we don't call it that. It's very clandestine, actually. I'm the mysterious, brooding genius (every tribe has one), and he's the flamboyant master of promiscuity. In purely fictional terms, it's perfect. Someone should write a story about it. (Except, of course, the first hundred pages or so would be composed of me bleeding angst-ridden drivel over my piteously unrequited love, and I think Shakespeare beat me to the punch.)

But, anyway. We were standing there. Standing, standing, standing. It was amazing un-boring, actually, although the proximity was causing my anger to begin to ebb. The interesting thing was that the Tugger seemed to be numbly rooted to the spot, looking terribly befuddled and uncomfortable. I stopped to consider a plan of action. It would be very amusing if another Jellicle decided to happen by and spot the two of us in our current position - we looked like two very confused fighters who, centimeters from making the first blow, had suddenly forgotten how to use our fists. It wasn't really that far from the truth.

"Do I remind you of a queen now, Tugger?" It was a ridiculously cheesy thing to say (not that my audience would know the difference), but I got such a giddy, wicked glee from forming the words. What's better was the fact that he still hadn't budged - was it possible to hope that, through some divine miracle, my point had actually gotten across?

I had begun to spin several interesting scenarios, the descriptions to which I will not elaborate upon, when the Tugger shoved me against the pipe. Needless to say, I hadn't really expected that exact move, not that it was unfavorable by any stretch. Isn't this how it happens in all of the good stories, the ones that queens relay to their friends with coquettish pride?

He seemed to study me for a moment (I almost laughed at the expression on his face), contemplative and seemingly uneasy, somehow.

And then (because this sentence deserves a paragraph unto itself), he jammed his lips onto mine.

I say "jammed" because that is, literally, what it felt like. When you are being kissed in an illicitly dirty fashion, you would think that your mind would concentrate on the sensory side of things; the contained, silently erupting explosion of (not firecrackers) pheromone cacophony. Instead, mine kind of floated absurdly through a string of narrative phrases - the "oh Cat, did he just do that?" to "pressure" to "tongue" to "feels nice", before finally becoming overwhelmed and at a loss of appropriate adjectives in any supple supply. I think I worked in a moment or two of disbelief, because no matter how fertile one's imagination is, you always doubt the physicality of something when it actually happens to you. It's funny how that works.

So, the Tugger was a little cliche. But, he was cliche in a good way, so I wasn't minding the lack of advant garde at the moment. And he gets major points in his favor for completely bypassing the "but no, I can't do this, it is oh-so biologically wrong!" moment (even though it would've never transpired anyhow, seeing as I'm quite sure the word "biological" is not even in his vocabulary). The bright side to Tugger's conceit is that it allows him to never question himself. Everything, so long as it served to further the end of sexual conquest, was able to be defended.

Well, maybe it wasn't always a bright side - but, for the intents and purposes of this narrative, it most definitely is.

Anyway, since he seemed to have no inclinations of disengaging the lovely snog he had initiated, judging by the direction in which his tongue was going, I decided to take full advantage of the situation (at least to a fuller extent than I had thus far). I allowed my paws to grip the sides of his face, reveling in the feeling of that sculpted jaw line beneath them. When you assign yourself to the lonely convent of unrequited love, you develop a list of sorts. A list of things you want to do, should the opportunity ever arise - lists of this kind seem to be quite fetishist and ever-growing, because of course, no one ever expects to ever get the chance to live any of them out. They tend to include embarrassing things like "rest head in that perfectly accommodating place beneath your chin", or "nibble on the fine fur at the end of your tail". In other words, things you have ample time to fantasize about because there's no way you'd even get as far as a run-of-the-mill kiss. But, here I was, getting just that far - and even someone as shy as me knows when to take advantage. I was more than ready to cross as many items off as possible, before Tugger stopped feeling charitable.

Tugger seemed amused by my forwardness, and dished out some of his own. He, of course, was much more practiced in this type of thing, and showed up my pathetic attempt at an advance with the typical Curious Cat bravado. Before I could get the chance to encroach upon Item Two on the aforementioned list, I found myself flat on my back on the and pinned to the ground, a large quantity of furry mane tickling at my face. I am a little ashamed to say that I might've squeaked, although whether it was from the shock of the actual pinning or of the Tugger looming over me in what was decidedly a much-practiced sexual position I couldn't tell you (well, actually, I could, but then I'd also have to kill you). Insanely enough, the first urge I received was to braid one of those annoyingly long strands of fur, just so I could giggle about it later. And I wonder why I never get this far.

Thankfully, Tugger didn't seem to suffer from such inappropriate distractions (and this is why he does what he does, and I stick to my sparkles and fail-proof "make things reappear with sheet!" act). Without wasting time on any sort of pillow talk whatsoever (and quite frankly, concrete made a rotten pillow anyhow), he went right about molesting me again, which I received with an amount of enthusiasm that was probably very shameful to exercise on what was essentially my own rape. But, if rape can be consensual, mine was - oh-so very consensual, indeed (and I sincerely hope that hormones make everyone describe things in such a cringe-worthy fashion, or the Tugger took much more than my dignity).

He crouched and flicked his tongue against the point of my ear, which had the effect of making my entire being shiver, and once he had determined my reaction to be favorable, he began to repeat the action all the way down my neck (I hope that the fact that I found this to be a turn-on doesn't say anything for my perversity towards the baths my mother gave me as a kitten). All the while, his paws roamed lower until they reached a place that I thought, in the depths of my sexual despair, that no other tom (besides myself) would ever touch. With the sensitive pads of his paws, he stroked my groin, even though my arousal was already very evident by this point. I am once again ashamed to admit that I probably made some noises that should only ever leave the jowls of six-pence whores during this process, which I did not even know I had the capability of producing.

And just when I thought that I had been too lucky already, and that my pleasure threshold could not be exceeded (again, excuse me - it's the daytime soaps, they sometimes get to me), the Tugger then sidled his own hips over mine, pressing the both of us as tightly together as possible. Almost tauntingly, he rubbed his own arousal into my thigh - unsurprisingly, it was several times more impressive than my own. I was briefly shocked that our "encounter" (or whatever other euphemism suits your preferences) had allowed him to get off as well, though. Then again, he was the Tugger (the subordinate clause to all subordinate clauses) - what didn't he get off on? In fact, I suspected that he probably frequently confused sex and breathing.

But then, just moments after and much too soon, he abruptly sat up, leaving me simultaneously frustrated, horny, and confused (yes, in exactly that order). It wasn't the most favorable bout of maladies to be suffering from, especially with the Tugger grinning down at you like the cat who'd eaten the canary, feathers and all, and wasn't the least bit regretful.

He rolled off of me, and we sat in silence for a few moments - presumably, he was letting me "contain" myself (how thoughtful). Only once I was good and semi-composed, though still no less irritable, did he speak.

"Any other advice you'd like to offer?"

I was scowling - I hated to be scowling, and confirm all of his intentions, but my sex drive, which only ventures out of heavily closeted hiding once every couple of years, had just been cruelly and abruptly thwarted. What other expression was I supposed to wear?

"I'm dispensable, but not that dispensable. And speaking of which, what was-"

A paw clamped itself over my mouth. "Hush, Misty-kins. I know what you're gonna say, and my answer is this - didn't anyone ever tell you a good feel-up didn't need any reasons?"

I growled. "Tugger, you're a damned tease." I kept the scowl intact. "And since when are you into toms?"

"I dunno - since when are you?" He laughed, and my cheeks burned in spite of themselves. Seeing my reaction, though, he clapped an arm onto my shoulder, and answered more levelly. "Don't worry it, Misty-kins. There's not a one of us who doesn't like another tom, on occasion - not even Munk, and that's saying something. Just because you like toms on all occasions is no reason to feel down about yourself."

Somehow, this was less than reassuring.

The Maine Coon lifted the paw and leaned back. "For me, though, it's mostly about the sex." He looked at me slyly. "And hey, it was easier than arguing, right? You were getting pretty intense there. It looked like you needed something to loosen you up."

"Glad to know I've just been manipulated and used." I couldn't help it - I was still pouting. How could he be so casual? Did he make it a habit to - oh, wait. Yes. Yes he did. Silly me and my emotion-blighted judgment.

"Aw, don't be that way. You know you liked it." He gazed suggestively at my lap, which was still mortifyingly incriminating. Damn you to the Hotels, Rum Tum Tugger.

"And anyway, I know you'd love me to stay, but I promised Bomby I'd swing by earlier - I hate to say it, but you're not the only one in need of my services."

He stood to go, but something about my minute-and-a-half of pleasure had awoken something in me I would not, in ordinary circumstances, have dared to succumbed to. However, we'd already gotten further than I ever would've dared on my own (admittedly less forward) terms, and I was hot, bothered, and damned if I was going to let him leave me to spend the night alone. There were too many items on that list that needed crossing out, and who knew when the Tugger would decide to indulge me again.

In a move that I look back on now with both embarrassed disbelief and a guilty pride, I swiftly straddled my philandering companion, preventing him budging. Role reversal was everything.

"To hell with Bomba," I hissed.

Tugger's brow raised. "Really, 'to hell with her'? That's some bold language for you, Misty-kins. Bomby's a fine queen, in her own right. . . I can't have you getting all possessive just because she has curves in places you don't."

"You said it yourself; I'm girly enough." I shut him up with something he could surely comprehend better than talk - another kiss, this one forceful. And when I felt him lose resistance, I knew he would agree. Think what you will, but sleight-of-hand isn't the only trick of my trade.

"Fine," he agreed a few breathless moments later, amusement still dancing in his eyes. "But for making me show up the lady, you're on bottom."

With no more genteel than I had shown him, he shoved me sprawling on my back again, and this time, made no hesitation in the exacting of my punishment.


. . . I really should argue more often.


~*~*~*~*~



I wrote this over a year ago for a friend, as a very, very belated Christmas gift. Since I'm terrible actually posting anything I write anymore online, it hasn't been seen by anyone excepting a minority of close friends. But, since blindswandive requested to so nicely to read it, I decided that I should just get up off my sorry ass, dust off this account, and post it for the benefit/detriment of the world.

Dedication: yaoiophile, your name goes down on the unofficial list of "People Who Corrupted My Only Slightly Existent Innocence" forever for making me write almost boy-smut, and actually almost liking it. XD You're a terrible person, and you'd better like it too.

You can show this to me in ten years, and we can giggle about the first time I ever used the word "groin" in a story.

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Comments {12}

Lauren or Lou, as you like.

(no subject)

from: blindswandive
date: Sep. 12th, 2008 02:01 am (UTC)
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Eh, well. The Tugger sucked at subtext, and most other things that had Latin roots. ::laughing so hard!:: I love it!

Oh, careless queens, casting away their one-time chance for a night of pleasure and a week of consequent heartbreak! <3 Mistoffolees snark! It's perfect.

(and some day, I'll find a better way to phrase this - the way I sometimes talk, one would think that "Tugger" was an adjective unto itself, and should be eligible for entry into a Human dictionary somewhere, which is not an altogether bad idea, actually)

"I bet you read them all the time at your uppity little Human home, too," the Maine Coon sneered. Love the state of his human home being a point of derision.

"You're girly enough as it is." The stab was mumbled, but not quietly enough. Somehow, this pathetic excuse for an argument had turned serious. Oh, yay!

but he was unwilling to back down, just because that would mean losing, and two failures in a day was two too many. Oh, goooodie.

the Tugger had the effect of eclipsing any sort of coherent thought. It seems like it.

I want him. (Tugger can turn the most aloof into common harlots. . . who's magical, again?) ::grins::

"Do I remind you of a queen now, Tugger?" It was a ridiculously cheesy thing to say (not that my audience would know the difference) Oh my god, I love how bitchy he is. Your characterizations are fantastic. (I know, it's Cats, I know it's PWP, but still.)

(even though it would've never transpired anyhow, seeing as I'm quite sure the word "biological" is not even in his vocabulary)

They tend to include embarrassing things like "rest head in that perfectly accommodating place beneath your chin", or "nibble on the fine fur at the end of your tail". I love you. I can't even quote all of the funny, snarky lines. I love it.

In fact, I suspected that he probably frequently confused sex and breathing.

Role reversal was everything.
"To hell with Bomba," I hissed.
Meow! Get her, Misto!

This was so fun! Thank you! I've only seen a couple of Misto/Tugger, but this is definitely my favorite. <3 ::hugs!:: Thank you so much for posting it!

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The Girl Whose Metaphors All Involve Breakfast

(no subject)

from: cooking_spray
date: Sep. 12th, 2008 04:24 am (UTC)
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I'm glad you found it to your tastes!

Misto was criminally fun to write, and this narrative was about the most fun I've had with first-person since Han Solo. XD I think it's because I was able to inject a little of my own sarcasm realistically to make the unabashed smut bearable, because I usually extol the virtues of porn with plot at every available opportunity, and I absolutely hate sexual cliches. So yeah, I had some wickedness with the monologue, let me tell you.

This comment totally made my night. <3

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Blackletter

(no subject)

from: blackletter
date: Sep. 12th, 2008 04:22 am (UTC)
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The Misto POV was fabulous! Great character voice.

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The Girl Whose Metaphors All Involve Breakfast

(no subject)

from: cooking_spray
date: Sep. 12th, 2008 04:25 am (UTC)
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Thanks! I took a lot of artistic liberties with it, since I knew I could get away with all the snarky subtext. =P

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The Mother Of The Dog Messiah

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from: ultra_lilac
date: Sep. 12th, 2008 03:05 pm (UTC)
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Awesome, as always. It's been too long since I read any of your fic!

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The Girl Whose Metaphors All Involve Breakfast

(no subject)

from: cooking_spray
date: Sep. 13th, 2008 06:46 pm (UTC)
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It's been too long since I wrote any of it! Glad you liked. =]

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(no subject)

from: tart_of_war
date: Sep. 13th, 2008 03:24 am (UTC)
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I like it.
More please. :D

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The Girl Whose Metaphors All Involve Breakfast

(no subject)

from: cooking_spray
date: Sep. 13th, 2008 06:50 pm (UTC)
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I lol'd at your icon. XD

Glad you liked. I can't guarantee there'll be more Tugger/Misto, although in my ongoing CATS fic, it's a plot point.

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(no subject)

from: tart_of_war
date: Sep. 14th, 2008 06:13 am (UTC)
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Thank ye kindly. :3

Still, still, if you plan on putting out more TuggerMisto stuff, I'd be happy to read.

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Alyssa

(no subject)

from: pyrokitten77
date: Sep. 15th, 2008 05:19 am (UTC)
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Ooh, I love this! Tugger is such a tease, but at least Misto got some. I love the way you wrote this, btw. You did such a fantastic job. :D

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The Girl Whose Metaphors All Involve Breakfast

(no subject)

from: cooking_spray
date: Sep. 15th, 2008 06:31 am (UTC)
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Thank you oh-so kindly!

Tugger is a tease, but we wouldn't have him any other way. =P

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light up the stage and watch me kick out the jams

(no subject)

from: openxthexbox
date: Apr. 19th, 2010 07:41 am (UTC)
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I realise this is really rather old, but I feel I must comment because this story is absolutley brilliant. I'd quote my favourite parts, but that'd be 90% of the text, and that would be slightly redundant.

I love love love your character voice. Your Mistoffelees is snarky and witty and just made of awesome, and I love that. Tugger, also, was made of all sorts of brilliance (In-character brilliance too, which is hard to come by these days.).

I cannot begin to list the innordinate amount of lines that made be laugh at loud in this fic. Decent humour is hard to come by, and clever humour harder still, and yet this fic is practically dripping in hilarious awesome.

Tl;dr - You're awesome. Have an internet.

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