This page is devoted to the *cough* “missions” of Agents Cameo and Supernumerary. They are not actual missions, but entries in the game Fill the Plothole, which involves selecting terrible, funny, or intriguing story summaries from Fanfiction.net and writing a short story that makes sense, or at least humor, out of whichever of them strikes your fancy. As such, the titles and summaries belong to their respective authors, but the rest is all me. Any similarities between the real stories and mine are entirely coincidental.
These stories were written between 2005 and 2006 and are generally rated PG-13/T for blood and the occasional swear word. Some of them became canon to the agents’ backstories as they evolved from stock agents into real characters; some didn’t. Please to not be taking any of them too seriously. Thanks!
|Published:||before June 17, 2005|
|Fic Title:||“A Tale of Two Prince’s”|
|Fic Summary:||Filled with despair Legolas takes something that does not belong to him. Will he find the courage to return the one thing that can help mend his broken heart?|
Unfortunately, I lost the text of this one and never got around to rewriting it. Basically, the gist of it was that Supernumerary loses his Bleeprin in Thranduil’s halls and Legolas picks it up. Being “filled with despair,” he is depressed and out-of-character enough to try eating something he doesn’t recognize, but the agents come back and take it away from him. Then they neuralyze him. Everybody wins!
Trivia: Cameo and Supernumerary were originally both female and virtually identical, with gray eyes and mouse-brown hair, and assumed to be in the Department of Mary Sues. Their names were inspired by a Star Trek fanfic about redshirts who all had names like Private Walkon and Ensign Extra. They were never meant to be serious characters, just practice for when I would eventually write a real PPC series. Between writing these and the AIM-based role-playing I was into at the time, though, they grew into the deranged psychopath and lovable jerkass we know today.
More Trivia: The events of this story have since been retconned such that, if they happened at all, they must have happened after Plothole 3, which is officially set in April 2004. If you’re confused,
you should be! go read this. It makes more sense than these spoony plotholes!
|Published:||before June 17, 2005|
|Fic Title:||“Born of Hope”|
|Fic Author:||Sierra Leone|
|Fic Summary:||Aragorn loves and marries another before Arwen. She dies during the birth of their child. Soon though the dangers of middle earth force the child to be hidden, even from Aragorn. What will happen to this hidden child and how will her existence affect the|
The woman strained and panted on the bed, clawing at the thin sheets in a vain effort to alleviate her pain. The two midwives paced frantically around her. It wasn’t supposed to go like this! All they could do now was watch and hope for the best.
Presently, the woman gave a monumental shriek that would have lifted her off the bed if one of the midwives hadn’t held her still. The shriek gave into a long, thin wail. It didn’t come from the woman—she collapsed with a sigh and moved no more. The wail came from the infant in the arms of the second midwife. The two women looked at one another with dread in their eyes. He was not going to be pleased. The first woman hastened to cut the birth cord, allowing the second to properly clean and swaddle the infant.
“It’s a little girl,” she said quietly to her contemporary. Indeed, the infant now sleeping peacefully against her breast was the most beautiful she had ever laid eyes on. But then, with such parents, it was to be expected.
The first woman nodded. “There may have been twins. The other didn’t make it, though.”
“Don’t tell him! It’s bad enough his wife is dead. You should go to him now.”
And so she did. There was a stunned silence—then a table went flying across the room amid unintelligible howls of rage and anguish, just missing the cringing woman. The Lord Estel had a terrible temper. He stormed off into the night.
At this point, the two PPC agents crouching outside the house—shelter—whatever the hell it was—exchanged looks.
“So it begins,” said Agent Cameo to her partner.
Agent Supernumerary rolled his eyes in response.
The midwife hurried back into the birthing room, where the second woman was rocking the baby girl.
“Ooh, it’s a bad business,” the first woman tutted. “You’d best get her away, and quickly. She’ll die without a wet-nurse, and he blames the child for killing his wife! Who knows what he’ll do?”
And so the newborn was hurried away, hidden from Middle-earth and her father. She grew up to be strong and fair, with a mind like quicksilver and strange powers that no one could explain.
“Blah, blah, blah,” said Supernumerary. “Can we just skip ahead? She doesn’t do anything but show off for the next five chapters, then she breaks the canon.”
Cameo nodded and pulled out the remote activator. The agents stepped through into the teenage girl’s angsty!confrontational!battle scene.
“I’ll never join you!” the girl was saying, holding her glowing blue sword before her with what was supposed to be defiance but looked more like an exaggerated pout. “You killed my father!”
“Leah,” said the Dark Lord Aragorn, “I am your father!”
The girl’s eyes went wide in shock. “NOOO! That’s not true! That’s impossible!”
“Oh, but I’m afraid it is quite possible,” said a new voice in a fair imitation of Darth Sidious.
Both Leah and Evil!Aragorn turned to see two figures in black step out of the shadows.
“Seriously, with the third Star Wars movie coming out this month, did you expect any less?” Cameo added. While Leah was still blinking in shock, the agent darted forward and hit her hard upside the head. Leah crumpled gracefully to the ground. Evil!Aragorn only blinked appreciatively.
“Are you servants of the Dark Lord?” he asked, then huffed. “I DID have everything under control.”
“Shut up,” said Supernumerary. “Leah: you are charged with using a really bad pun in your title, throwing Aragorn so far out of character his own mother wouldn’t recognize him (or, if she did, she’d die again of a heart attack), having uncanonical Jedi!Sue powers, breaking the canons of two universes, annoying PPC agents, being a Mary Sue—it’s spelled L-E-I-A, genius—and writing the worst crossover ’fic I’ve ever seen. How do you plead?”
Leah, who was just coming around from Cameo’s strong right hook, groaned.
“Good,” said Supernumerary. “Cameo? Would you like to do the honors?”
“Yes, please!” She picked up Leah’s “light sword” and drove it through the back of the Sue’s pretty head.
|Published:||on or before June 17, 2005|
|Fic Title:||“He’s Family”|
|Fic Summary:||Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin and Iris live in normal times. Iris is Merry’s adapted sister,and what happened when they found out something about her that could tear the family apart. OneShot|
“So, how’s your sister getting on, then?” Sam asked Merry between pulls at his flagon. The two hobbits sat at their ease in the Green Dragon, enjoying a slower hour at the inn. Times had been... well, normal, of late. There wasn’t much else to do.
Merry choked on his ale and looked up with a face like scrambled eggs—not in that it was yellow and blobby so much as it was all mixed up and confused about which way it wanted to pull. Merry’s face, that is. In any case, he soon cleared his throat and recovered his composure.
“Er, Iris? Well... she seems to be all right, I mean she was up and about not two days after visiting those elvish surgeons, you know, a really wizard job, and she went out to pick flowers this morning, I expect she’s—"
His face was composed. His sentences weren’t. In any case, he never got to finish the second one because just at that moment the door burst wide open.
A blur of wide eyes, dark hair, and wheeling limbs shot into the room and launched itself at Sam, landing solidly on his lap and tipping him over backwards in his chair. Once his ears stopped ringing, Sam opened his eyes and goggled at his assailant.
She nodded frantically, making her perfect black curls bob. However, he could barely see her manic grin above her pendulous chest.
“Do you like them?” she squealed. “I got them just for you, you know, my Sammie-kun! Aren’t elves great?”
“Wait, Sam?” Merry spluttered. He had gotten to his feet when Iris appeared in the room and now he was agog at the pair on the floor. “But... but you’re supposed to marry Frodo! What will the family say?”
“Nothing!” snapped a different voice. The three hobbits looked up to see two Big People in black, just inside the door. The man would have been imposing if he hadn’t been slightly bent over to avoid knocking his head on the ceiling. The woman was on one knee with an arrow nocked and trained on Iris. It was the man who had spoken. He cleared his throat and read from an open notebook in his hand.
“Iris Brandybuck, you are charged with being a Mary Sue and disrupting the canon of Middle-earth. To whit, being an uncanonical sibling of a canon character, using Japanese suffixes in Middle-earth, causing hobbits to set up arranged marriages, causing elves to be cosmetic surgeons, and employing stupid biology. I mean, just look at yourself. You shouldn’t be able to stand up!”
“And WHY can’t you leave the elves out of it? What is it with you Sues and the elves, huh?” Agent Cameo interjected. “Not to even mention the Japanese thing. You know, just for that—I was going to shoot you, but you don’t deserve it. YAH!” With swift, coordinated motion, she dropped her bow, whipped a pair of steel-tipped chopsticks out of her hair-do as she tackled Iris, and rammed them up the Sue’s nose.
Agent Supernumerary raised one eyebrow at the puddle of blood and brain fluid forming on the floor. “That’s disgusting.”
Cameo shrugged and wiped her chopsticks on the hem of Iris’ dress, then stuck them back into her fraying bun.
“You’re cleaning it up, you know.”
A brief debate and one flashy-thing later, Cameo successfully denied all such knowledge. She slid the neuralyzer back into her pocket with a smug grin and settled in to enjoy the spectacle of Supernumerary down on his knees in gore.
|Published:||August 1, 2005|
|Fic Summary:||After Legolas is nearly killed by an assassin, Thranduil hires a halfElf to protect his son. She is more skilled than any killer, but as the clues surrounding the attack are slowly deciphered, Thranduil realizes Legolas’s death is the least of his worries|
“Nume, you idiot!” Agent Cameo walloped her partner resoundingly about the head with her longbow.
Supernumerary, currently equipped with sensitive elven ears, flinched as he was struck. Normally he wouldn’t have taken this kind of abuse from her, but for the moment he only glowered reproachfully and made sure he wasn’t bleeding much.
“Next time,” Cameo raged, “you stick to your little black book and leave the shooting to me. Getting fed to the Venus Flytrap for letting my partner shish kebab canons is not favorite, got it? How’d you even get into assassination, anyway, can’t even shoot straight, poor elf....”
She descended into incoherent croonings aimed mostly at Legolas, who was currently lying across his father’s lap staring uncomprehendingly at the black-feathered arrow recently pulled from his shoulder. Thranduil glared at the agents with murder in his eyes whilst Supernumerary’s intended target peered haughtily down her nose at them.
“You see how you need me, my Lord?” the Sue simpered at Thranduil, then struck Dramatic Pose #36. “Anything could happen if I can’t stay always by Legolas’ side!”
“Yes, yes,” muttered Thranduil. “HalfElf though you may be, I shall allow you to prove your worth. You may begin by removing this filth from my halls!”
The Sue grinned and stepped toward the agents, drawing twin rapiers as she did. “As you will see, I am more skilled than any killer—!” Unfortunately, she slipped on one of the many clues littering the scene (they waddled around in circles and attempted to decipher one another), and cracked her head on the stone floor. She might have recovered, but Cameo wasted no time in slitting her throat.
“Stupid bitch,” she muttered, then turned an approving look on Thranduil. “Way to go, sire.”
The King of Mirkwood—who had known exactly what was going on the instant the agents appeared, having more experience with the PPC than most—smiled icily. “Get out of my halls before I forget all that I owe you.”
Cameo sighed not-quite-regretfully as she pulled out a pair of orange sunglasses and a silvery device about the size and shape of a nice ink pen. Supernumerary glanced at her, groaned, and turned away.
“Not in that order, sire,” said Cameo.
|Published:||December 11, 2005|
|Fic Title:||“The World As It Should Have Been”|
|Fic Summary:||Erick longed for her, Raoul was engaged to her, but Christine could never get her angel out of her mind, he had been her protector, whom did she really love? EC pairing, no Raoul bashing...hey they all loved somebody! My first FanFic, reviews please!|
Neshomeh, Jenni, Cameo, and Supernumerary read the summary in silence. A few seconds passed. The three women agents slowly turned to look at one another, grinned, and burst into song:
Oh, I don’t know why he’s leaving,
Or where he’s gonna go
I guess he’s got his reasons
But I just don’t wanna know
’Cos for 24 years
I’ve been livin’ next door to Erick—
Erick? Who the fuck is Erick?
The trio collapsed in a fit of mad giggles while Supernumerary looked on with a raised eyebrow and slowly shook his head. Meanwhile, elsewhere, the misspelled not-so-mini exploded in sheer shame, and the badfic peril was no more.
Note 1: Lyrics shamelessly snurched, parodied, and altered from the original song “Living Next Door to Alice” by Smokie.
Note 2: As of June 2020, this almost certainly never really happened. Maybe it was part of the same weird dream sequence as the next one?
|Published:||February 8, 2006|
|Fic Title:||“The Flames That Consume Us”|
|Fic Author:||stefanie bean|
|Fic Summary:||Raoul is dead, and a daughter of the Vikings seeks revenge. Placed 7th out of 24th in the Third Morbidity Contest. Definitely morbid and disgusting.|
Stefanie Bean sat back from her keyboard and grinned to herself. Was she not the Dark Mistress of Fanfiction? To be sure, she was. Now all that was left was to wait for the reviews to come pouring in.
A minute went by, and Stefanie passed her mouse cursor over the Refresh button.
The world reloaded.
When Stefanie could see again, she found that her environment had altered considerably. Instead of the pink and black gothic splendor of her bedroom, she was surrounded by lots and lots of true darkness, with cold stone under her bottom. Almost as though she was underground. In a cave. With water dripping somewhere off to her right, as into a vast, icy lake. In Paris, France.
She immediately had her wild suspicions about what must have happened. These things were common in fanfic, though she had never expected it to happen to her. What really clued her in, however, was the thin line of catgut around her neck and the cool, perfect male voice behind and over her head saying, “Explain yourself.” Her head was jerked painfully upward and a candle flared to life, illuminating the figure of a dark-haired girl, bound and gagged on a wooden chair.
Stefanie found that she could draw just enough breath to croak in an approximation of speech. “How did I—"
The Punjab lasso cut her off.
“Begin again,” said Erik. “From the top.” His English was flawless, of course, but his sarcasm would have transcended any language barrier.
Stefanie looked hard at the young woman on the chair. What was she meant to explain? She would have liked to know a few things, such as why Christine was tied up and gagged. She was supposed to go after the Phantom and lull him into complacency before avenging the murder (the bloody, bloody murder) of Raoul. She was not supposed to end up like this.
“I’ll give you a hint, shall I?”
Somehow, the lasso remained taut as Erik stepped into Stefanie’s field of vision, approached Christine, and jerked the gag loose. Two points of cat’s-eye gold bored their way through Stefanie’s eyes and into her brain as Christine spoke.
“Oh, well, I never! Didjoo have to be so gosh-darn rough, eh? It’s yust plain roode, dat’s waht it is. Yusjoo vait until I tell my fadder—he’ll sic da whole team on joo for sure, joo betcha, and den ve’ll see who has da last laugh, yah ve vill, mister grumpy-pants. Joo didn’t have enough ketchup as a child, didjoo?”
Erik continued to glare at Stefanie as he replaced the gag. “Well?”
“I—but—I—I—I didn’t—!” Stefanie stammered.
“Yes, you did,” said the Phantom. “And now you are going to pay for what you have done.” A lit torch appeared in his hand. “Au revoir, mademoiselle.”
He approached her and Stefanie, sensing that this could only be a bad thing, struggled. Unfortunately, that only pulled the Punjab lasso tighter around her neck. In the process, she realized that it was attached to a wooden post behind her. A wooden post that felt slick and, it occurred to her, smelled strongly of kerosene.
The last thing she heard before she blacked out, crescendoing over her screams of agony, was a triumphant, maniacal laugh. Then all was silence.
Well, not quite.
Agent Supernumerary sat bolt-upright in bed, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. He looked at his wrist chronometer, squinting to read it without his glasses. It was four-thirty in his personal morning. He had just had the craziest nightmare.
Before he rolled over and prepared to go back to sleep, he resolved never to eat lutefisk again.
|Published:||February 12, 2006|
|Fic Title:||“The Night Of The Killer Bunnies”|
|Fic Summary:||It’s about this liquid substance and whoever drinks it becomes a mass murderer, but since it’s about bunnies, they don’t kill, no, they DESTROY! Haha!|
When the console suddenly blared in RC 999, its inhabitants were caught completely off-guard. Agent Cameo had the chopsticks out of her bun and through the speakers before they got to the [—EEP], her eyes wide and almost rolling in their sockets. Agent Supernumerary, no less startled but vastly more composed, looked around warily from his seat on his cot.
“We aren’t suddenly in medias res. Why?” he wondered aloud.
“Don’t ask questions like that!” Cameo snapped. “Do you want an... an answer or something?”
[blizzpft?] the console volunteered. Cameo yanked out the chopsticks, which trailed a small spray of sparks, and stuck them back in her hair. She glared at the console. The console didn’t speak again.
Supernumerary put down the book he was reading. “Well,” he said, “there is the small matter of our job to consider. I suggest pushing the button below the flashing red light.”
After a moment’s hesitation (which, in Cameo’s case, could only be put down to rapid calculations of how much she would regret it vs. how much someone else would bleed), she slapped the big red button and watched the incoming mission fill the monitor.
There was a silence.
“ ... Nume, sweetie?”
Supernumerary swallowed the cold, hard lump of fear that had suddenly appeared in his throat. “Yes?”
“Do you know what I hate?”
“In order? Sues, disposing of bodies, tea, FicPsych, the color taupe, people who sneak up on you, people who touch your things, people who ignore you, people who think they’re smarter than you, people who make long lists....”
“I really hate fluffy white rabbits, Nume.”
“More or less than tea?”
“I don’t want to go on a mission with fluffy white rabbits, Nume.”
Cameo was a master of moving around HQ. She could get across a small space without seeming to bother with the tedium of passing through said space. Supernumerary didn’t even have time to blink before his partner was straddling his crossed legs, one hand fastened claw-like around a bundle of his collar, her breathing sending jets of steam across his glasses. He didn’t blink after that because you just don’t break eye contact with something that looks like it will rip your throat out the second you stop paying attention. The lump he had swallowed dissolved and migrated out in the form of an icy sweat.
“I want you to listen to me very carefully, Nume-darling. I’d hate to see you get hurt. So when the fluffy white rabbits show up, I’m not going to watch. I’m going to be moving very, very quickly in the other direction. Mm-kay?”
“I knew you’d understand.” All smiles, she patted his cheek and bounced to her feet, leaving him with only the strength that came from sheer relief at remaining intact. “Well! Shall we? You’ll love this mission, Nume, it’s got a bit of style in it.”
“Oh joy. See how I dance about for joy. The joy, it is so joyous as to be practically joyful.”
Cameo giggled as she opened the portal. “You’re so funny. C’mon, let’s go!”
Supernumerary got up and, leaning over to swipe up his shoulder bag, lurched through the portal after his partner.
It took him a moment to adjust to his new surroundings. The room was familiar, but he couldn’t quite get a handle on it. Something was very, very strange—stranger than usual, even for badfic. The light was wrong. It was dim, as though lit by dying oil lamps, perhaps, but somehow too distant. And the textures... the textures were too soft...
“En’t this a scream?”
“AAHH!” Supernumerary reeled backwards, arms windmilling wildly—or, as wildly as stop-action animation allowed.
Cameo was dressed in the costume of a late nineteenth century British maid. She grinned at him, plastic teeth making the expression unnaturally wide in her sculpted clay face. The bulging hemispherical eyes with the lifeless black dot in the center seemed to suit her. The accent didn’t.
“I told ye it ’ad style,” she said. “Get it? Styled?”
Nume shook his head. This was almost too much. He was a claymation figure. Clay-bloody-mation. With clay.
“It’s supposed to be plasticine,” he muttered.
“Yer gonna ask why.” Cameo danced around him. “Go on, ask.”
“All right... why in the name of canon are we in a Wallace and Gromit movie?”
“Because,” Cameo explained gleefully, “it’s a crossover.”
The moment he asked, he wished he hadn’t. The door to the room opened, and in came the fic’s principle character. The agents ducked behind a shelf of beakers, test tubes, and other scientific paraphernalia, and watched the white-coated figure shuffle about the laboratory. This was not Wallace, the inventor. This, Supernumerary realized, was Jekyll, the doctor.
Nume’s little black notebook was out before it consciously occurred to him to reach for it. He scribbled down charges (beginning with “Plasticine not clay dammit”) as quickly as he could manage with his flat, over-sized hands. He could feel Cameo’s delight in his agitation, but he didn’t care about that now. No one messed with classic literary figures and got away with it when Supernumerary was on the job.
He forgot about the fluffy white rabbits until clay!Jekyll spilled a decanter of “liquid substance” in the vegetable garden. The liquid was quickly lapped up under the light of the full moon. The vegetables didn’t last long, either. However, it was the string of murders by rabbit-bite that tipped off poor clay!Jekyll. Naturally, the only solution was Anti-Pesto.
“’Ere comes the Sue,” Cameo said to her partner. “Guess wot kind.”
“Right on! ’Ow’d ye know?”
“Because we’re dealing with the kind of author who would think Wallace would be much better off with a talking dog as a sidekick, never mind that Gromit communicates quite eloquently with his facial expressions and that making him speak would quite take away the defining spark of the entire concept, not to mention that....” He kept talking. The rest of the universe stopped listening.
However, he was right. When the motorbike pulled up in front of Dr. Jekyll’s house, Gromette jumped out of the sidecar. Words were exchanged. Charges were taken down. Night fell. And the fluffy white rabbits finally made their appearance.
The horde materialized from the alleys, the gutters, and the rooftops, mustering for a face-off with their creator and the one meant to be their destroyer. When Cameo saw them, she turned as white as... well, white clay.
“Gimme the charge list.” Without waiting for a response, she snatched the black notebook from Supernumerary’s hand and, as promised, ran away.
Suddenly, both agents were exposed to the fic. Hundreds of homicidal red rodent-eyes fixed on Nume. He was helpless. His fingers curled. His hands raised, palms forward. He bit his lip and shook.
The rabbits leapt, vorpal teeth bared for the kill.
“—and, last but not least, with being a bloody awful bloody fluffy bloody white bloody rabbit-spawning evil bloody Sue! Die!”
Nume didn’t see how Gromette died. All he knew was that he had felt teeth on his throat before all the killer bunnies vanished in a puff of glitter and faux fur. Then he quite happily passed out.
He woke up on his back on a FicPsych cot and blinked up at Nurse Jennifer Robinson. Something was off... the light was wrong, and things were too soft....
Nurse Robinson calmly slid Supernumerary’s glasses onto his face before he went into a panicked fit. “Bleepka?”
“Hook it to my veins.”
|Published:||February 15, 2006|
|Fic Title:||“Not Tom Riddle, Not Yet The Dark Lord”|
|Fic Summary:||Voldemort’s taken over, and everyone Hermione cares about is dead. So she uses a time turner and goes back to the start, to teach Tom Riddle to love, as he helps her cope with the loss of those who he would kill. Irony, trust issues, and new emotions.|
It took a day or two to adjust to a world in Flashback Grayscale™, but that was the least of Hermione’s worries. Fortunately, Hogwarts was much the same as in her own time. She searched the usual student haunts each day and finally found Tom Riddle torturing small furry animals by the lake.
“Tom Riddle?” she asked, annoying the readers by repeating the name when it had just been stated in the narrative.
“What do you want?” he replied without looking up from the shrew he was marring.
Hermione took a deep breath. “In the future, you kill everyone I care about! I have come back in time to teach you to love! There shall be Irony, Trust Issues, and New Emotions! I love you, Tom Riddle!” As the readers cringed at the abuses heaped upon the poor exclamation mark, she leapt at the future Dark Lord. Or the past Dark Lord, depending on one’s perspective. He couldn’t be the present Dark Lord, even in the sense of being present, because he wasn’t the Dark Lord just then.
The paradox inherent in the last three lines (and indeed the entire situation) decided to look the other way. Tom already had his wand out and wasted no time at all in dispatching the creature masquerading as Hermione Granger. He shook his head in clinical disbelief.
“When will they learn I’m incapable of normal human emotion? I’m a bloody psychopath. Even a Muggle could see that.”
The PPC agent assigned to take care of the Sue shrugged. “The world may never know. Now, if you’ll look this way, please, it’s standard procedure....”