(no subject)
This is for lalumena, who called me out for lowercase on capslock_hood and then SHOWED ME UP by writing mpreg in iambic pentameter. I promised an epic, so here you go:
THE THIEF
BEING
AN EPIC POEM FEATURING MPREG, DARING, AND DRAGONS IN BAD GERMANIC ALLITERATIVE LONG-LINE VERSE
(AKA BEOWULF-STYLE).
Posted here as well as capslock_hood because I doubt most people want to read 100 + lines (yes, 100 lines) in all caps.
Hark! Ye have heard tales of honor
songs of adventure and sweet romance, well
this is none of those.
Our hero, as he is called, a warrior not with weapons, but words
his tongue blade-sharp; adder-quick though a fair face also did him well.
Allan by name, Tom's brother, once denizen of Dale
now shareholder in Sherwood-metaphorically, of course-
wander'd the forest paths now light, now dark
dappled with sun-shafts, dazzling to unhoned eye.
But this doughty lad of eagle-sharp gaze
missed not the glint of gold half-hidden in the loam
but nor did he heed the path pressed into the earth,
the tracks trodden in a winding way through the wood-
the wyrm's mark.
For Allan knows himself to be clever and quick;
It would not be the first time he has brandished a blade.
Anyway, there's no such thing as dragons.
He clasped the gold in hot grasp, heart eager for treasure.
He followed those footsteps to a cave-mouth
set low in a hill-side, hot from dragon-flame (sunshine, he said to himself)
Yet empty-gold unguarded, glittering darkly.
With joy in his breast's treasure-cask; with a whoop of 'I'm about to be the richest man in England,'
Allan dove into the dragon's delight
Counting the red gold and judging gemstones
imagining the favors of comely wenches that would be his
But this mighty tongue-wielder, lost in pleasures not yet his
Heard not the heavy footfall, the hot breath of the treasure-guarder
Until he tipped back scaled head, gruesome, monstrous
and let out a shriek that shook the cavern.
“Hoshit!” quoth Allan, dropping diamonds and diadems,
and he scrambled back over the treasure-mound
fumbling valiantly for his sword.
But then came a roar of another kind, and the dragon reared:
it had come not to eat Allan, but to ward its wares.
Behind, boldly, came brave Guy of Gisborne
Not quite a ring-breaker, yet a splitter of shields
Black locks and burnished leather flying behind his manly stride.
“I shall smite thee, foul beast!” declared the dashing warrior
“Thy booty shall be bride-price; your gold shall adorn the fair figure
of Lady Marian, though she outshines its glow.
Thy head on my shield will be my fame!”
The serpent reared and roared; stalwart Guy shuddered not
but tried to find an opening through waving wings
darting daringly through blazing blasts of flame.
Allan, huddled deep in the how, went unnoticed.
Ducking treasure flying from the battle-storm
until a fist-sized fire-gem rolled within his reach.
He took a breath and steeled his heart
and lobbed the sparkling gem into the dragon's noggin.
With a roar the dragon reared and, bellowing, blast flames around the cavern
Yet wings held wide and gaping maw did not deter our hero, that hammerer of helms.
As the wyrm whirled round to face his hidden foe
Guy swung his sword, shining with flame,
That fierce abandoner of babes plunged his blade
into the bared breast of the beast.
An unearthly shriek echoed round the rock;
the wyvern burst into blood and flame-Allan may have cried a little-
and fell, felled, into little more than ash and soot.
Allan coughed, and wiped his eyes - soot had gotten in them, you see - and spoke:
“You get half, I get half? A bit generous on my part,
but I think you deserve it.”
His heart may have quailed then when
the voice spoke in the darkness, ice-cold, iron-hard,
but he'll never say (a thing wondrous in itself).
“Be on your way, you common thief, this gold goes
to adorn the fairest of women.”
Allan trudged along, sneaking silently
as many precious stones as his pockets could carry.
He followed the fearsome fighter out into the sunlight-and stopped.
For the sunshine shone on his unwitting rescuer,
Its rays illuminated noble sweat-sheened brow;
manly, leather-clad thighs.
Guy knelt at the bank of a nearby brook,
threw water on his face and shook his hair.
Allan squeaked. Guy looked back at the lithesome lad,
He saw for the first time that boy's beauty, and gulped.
“You rescued me,” spake Allan, and swooned into his hero's manly arms.
The story is not so clear from this point on,
But I heard that cave was occupied for awhile longer.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The year aged, and the golden light of summer afternoons
darkened and waned to the windswept days of autumn.
The king of Sherwood, outlaw, bowman,
sat and wondered where his nimble-tongued comrade
had gone off to.
Well, finally he found out, one golden evening.
The king and his jester man,
Robin and Much, meandered the forest paths
certainly not speaking of love.
No sweet nothings or soft caresses
fell from their lips or fingers
(though the rumors suggest otherwise).
When a figure came slowly into view
trodding and bent, a hand on his back
and a bulge in his belly.
Robin snickered and snorted, he bit his lip to hold back his laugh
But Much tried nothing of the sort.
Allan looked up, and just shook his head.
“I see you've been busy!” called Locksley, while Much rolled in the mud
“Yeah, well, least I'm rich,” Allan said, kicking clods of dirt
onto his former fellow outlaw-by accident, of course.
“When are you due?” quoth Robin, as Allan
Rubbed a hand over his rounded middle.
But his question was never answered, as the the thrumming of hooves
Rumbled and roared over the packed-earth road.
High on his horse, clad in shot-gold black silk
was Gisborne.
Too shocked to run, they stood, jaws hung as Sir Guy approached.
Coat flying behind him he reached out a hand and
hauled Allan up; in the saddle they snuggled
While Robin and Much, who had got to his feet,
stared after the pair as they galloped away-
And the sun set behind them: huge, bright, and gold.
(post edited to add a link to the iambic pentameter mpreg)
THE THIEF
BEING
AN EPIC POEM FEATURING MPREG, DARING, AND DRAGONS IN BAD GERMANIC ALLITERATIVE LONG-LINE VERSE
(AKA BEOWULF-STYLE).
Posted here as well as capslock_hood because I doubt most people want to read 100 + lines (yes, 100 lines) in all caps.
Hark! Ye have heard tales of honor
songs of adventure and sweet romance, well
this is none of those.
Our hero, as he is called, a warrior not with weapons, but words
his tongue blade-sharp; adder-quick though a fair face also did him well.
Allan by name, Tom's brother, once denizen of Dale
now shareholder in Sherwood-metaphorically, of course-
wander'd the forest paths now light, now dark
dappled with sun-shafts, dazzling to unhoned eye.
But this doughty lad of eagle-sharp gaze
missed not the glint of gold half-hidden in the loam
but nor did he heed the path pressed into the earth,
the tracks trodden in a winding way through the wood-
the wyrm's mark.
For Allan knows himself to be clever and quick;
It would not be the first time he has brandished a blade.
Anyway, there's no such thing as dragons.
He clasped the gold in hot grasp, heart eager for treasure.
He followed those footsteps to a cave-mouth
set low in a hill-side, hot from dragon-flame (sunshine, he said to himself)
Yet empty-gold unguarded, glittering darkly.
With joy in his breast's treasure-cask; with a whoop of 'I'm about to be the richest man in England,'
Allan dove into the dragon's delight
Counting the red gold and judging gemstones
imagining the favors of comely wenches that would be his
But this mighty tongue-wielder, lost in pleasures not yet his
Heard not the heavy footfall, the hot breath of the treasure-guarder
Until he tipped back scaled head, gruesome, monstrous
and let out a shriek that shook the cavern.
“Hoshit!” quoth Allan, dropping diamonds and diadems,
and he scrambled back over the treasure-mound
fumbling valiantly for his sword.
But then came a roar of another kind, and the dragon reared:
it had come not to eat Allan, but to ward its wares.
Behind, boldly, came brave Guy of Gisborne
Not quite a ring-breaker, yet a splitter of shields
Black locks and burnished leather flying behind his manly stride.
“I shall smite thee, foul beast!” declared the dashing warrior
“Thy booty shall be bride-price; your gold shall adorn the fair figure
of Lady Marian, though she outshines its glow.
Thy head on my shield will be my fame!”
The serpent reared and roared; stalwart Guy shuddered not
but tried to find an opening through waving wings
darting daringly through blazing blasts of flame.
Allan, huddled deep in the how, went unnoticed.
Ducking treasure flying from the battle-storm
until a fist-sized fire-gem rolled within his reach.
He took a breath and steeled his heart
and lobbed the sparkling gem into the dragon's noggin.
With a roar the dragon reared and, bellowing, blast flames around the cavern
Yet wings held wide and gaping maw did not deter our hero, that hammerer of helms.
As the wyrm whirled round to face his hidden foe
Guy swung his sword, shining with flame,
That fierce abandoner of babes plunged his blade
into the bared breast of the beast.
An unearthly shriek echoed round the rock;
the wyvern burst into blood and flame-Allan may have cried a little-
and fell, felled, into little more than ash and soot.
Allan coughed, and wiped his eyes - soot had gotten in them, you see - and spoke:
“You get half, I get half? A bit generous on my part,
but I think you deserve it.”
His heart may have quailed then when
the voice spoke in the darkness, ice-cold, iron-hard,
but he'll never say (a thing wondrous in itself).
“Be on your way, you common thief, this gold goes
to adorn the fairest of women.”
Allan trudged along, sneaking silently
as many precious stones as his pockets could carry.
He followed the fearsome fighter out into the sunlight-and stopped.
For the sunshine shone on his unwitting rescuer,
Its rays illuminated noble sweat-sheened brow;
manly, leather-clad thighs.
Guy knelt at the bank of a nearby brook,
threw water on his face and shook his hair.
Allan squeaked. Guy looked back at the lithesome lad,
He saw for the first time that boy's beauty, and gulped.
“You rescued me,” spake Allan, and swooned into his hero's manly arms.
The story is not so clear from this point on,
But I heard that cave was occupied for awhile longer.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The year aged, and the golden light of summer afternoons
darkened and waned to the windswept days of autumn.
The king of Sherwood, outlaw, bowman,
sat and wondered where his nimble-tongued comrade
had gone off to.
Well, finally he found out, one golden evening.
The king and his jester man,
Robin and Much, meandered the forest paths
certainly not speaking of love.
No sweet nothings or soft caresses
fell from their lips or fingers
(though the rumors suggest otherwise).
When a figure came slowly into view
trodding and bent, a hand on his back
and a bulge in his belly.
Robin snickered and snorted, he bit his lip to hold back his laugh
But Much tried nothing of the sort.
Allan looked up, and just shook his head.
“I see you've been busy!” called Locksley, while Much rolled in the mud
“Yeah, well, least I'm rich,” Allan said, kicking clods of dirt
onto his former fellow outlaw-by accident, of course.
“When are you due?” quoth Robin, as Allan
Rubbed a hand over his rounded middle.
But his question was never answered, as the the thrumming of hooves
Rumbled and roared over the packed-earth road.
High on his horse, clad in shot-gold black silk
was Gisborne.
Too shocked to run, they stood, jaws hung as Sir Guy approached.
Coat flying behind him he reached out a hand and
hauled Allan up; in the saddle they snuggled
While Robin and Much, who had got to his feet,
stared after the pair as they galloped away-
And the sun set behind them: huge, bright, and gold.
(post edited to add a link to the iambic pentameter mpreg)