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dclsbaby · 4 years

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mykonos-crossed lovers (part ii) 🦋

🎶 playlist for part ii

prologue

part i

part iii

part iv

Summary: When you drunkenly book a girls trip to a tropical Greek island to help mend your broken heart, you would never for a second think it will take you exactly to where he is. Him. A tale of the right person at the wrong time, an overused cliché made into plots of movies you never thought would live through in your reality. Two people, still madly in love with each other, hearts still broken, suppressed by the alcohol and distractions consumed on this trip. Will they let their egos get in the way, protect what’s left of their already broken hearts, or will let their hearts speak?

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: angst angst and more angst

Author’s Note: part 2 is finally out! thank you so much for the continued love on MCL, i can't accurately put into words how much it means to me seeing all the positive responses! i hope i haven't upset you too much on last chapter’s cliffhanger, and if so, i hope this one makes up for it a little bit 🤍 please let me know what you think! xx

Gif:

***

“It’s funny, I’ve flown out to this island to forget you, yet here you are. I can’t ever get away from you can I?” Dom asks, rather rhetorically. Shocked, you turn your head and see your ex standing in front of you, in Mykonos, of all places. You cringed at his honesty, but you can’t say you didn’t escape to the warmer climates for the same reason. “Hi, Dom,” you smile at him. “The boys are here?” you ignore his initial remark. “Yeah, Mase, Davo, and Ben are sat there,” he gestures to a table close by yours. “Luke’s flying out tomorrow”, he says. “So the full team,” you comment. “It seems you’re in for quite a holiday then,” you add.

He walks ahead to stand next to you, his toned arms resting on the white border, dangerously close to yours and he takes in the view you’ve been absorbing. Silence fills the space between you two. A little to quiet for both of your likings, you could’ve sworn you heard your heart beat out of your chest. You decide to break the silence.

“So, how’ve you been?” you asked, voice a little shaky, unsure if you even wanted to know. You looked up at Dom, and caught him sniggering at the question. “Never better,” he raises his eyebrows. “Got my call-up, ball finding the back of the net week in week out, all’s well. You?” he shifts his body to look at you. “Well,” you pause to face him. “I’m on a tropical island with my girls, away from work and grey British skies, so I’m enjoying it,” you replied.

“British Vogue is it?” he asks. You landed the job a couple of months after your breakup. It was the job you needed to make a life out of yourself, to have a career you loved. It was a job you left him for. So, to say that you were good at it was an understatement. If you had to endure the pain of a devastating heartbreak for your career, it had to mean everything to you. And it was. It had been your dream job for as long as you could remember, you have always loved fashion, and this love was complemented when you began dating your ex who has an eccentric fashion sense, always straying away from the mainstream mediocrity, which somehow, he always pulls off. It’s a gift.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”, you were curious. “Mum’s told me about it, she’s proud of you, by the way,” he stops to look at you. “Sounds like a big deal,” he says as he lets out a small smile. It’s the first time he’s ever shown some warmth since the conversation started. You smile back at him and nodded. “It’s been my dream since forever, if you remember,” you look up at him. “And that’s lovely from your mum, do let her know that I miss her,” your heart warms thought of his mum. “Of course you do, you two would gang up on me whenever she’s around,” Dom chuckles. “Only because we both know how obnoxious you could be,” you joke. “Obnoxious enough for you to break my heart I see,” he jokes as he smiles at you sadly. “I d-didn’t mean it like that,” you feel terrible. “I know, I was messing with you,” he lied. A part of him wants you to know that his heart is still broken.

Two people, former lovers, with so much shared memories, once each other’s worlds, reunite in unexpected circumstances.

“I miss you, you know,” Dom says. Your head turns to face him as you try to catch a look of his eyes that are looking down on his fingers. Standing at 6’2, you had to crane your neck to properly look at him. A painfully gorgeous man, his green-hazel eyes still shine so bright despite the evening sky, lips so full waiting to be touched, his curly locks tied up in a bun only to accentuate his perfectly sculpted jaws. He is so beautiful, the pain so visceral, so intense.

***flashback***

“It’s not fair,” your best friend said. “You two would make the most gorgeous babies,” you and Dom chuckled at her comment. “When they’ve got a mother with a face like this I’d imagine it to be difficult to not produce beautiful babies,” Dom says as he cups your face and plants a kiss on your forehead. “You did not just say ‘produce’!” you move away from him, jokingly made a disgusted face and laughed at his choice of words.

Later that night as you two were tucked in bed, you drift off into a daydream which caught Dom’s attention. “What are you thinking of in that little head of yours babe?” he asked. You softly smile at him. “You really think we’d have babies?” you asked as you look at him. “What do you mean?” he asks, shifting his body so it’s resting on his side, with his knuckles supporting his head up. “I mean, is this where we are headed?”, you clarified. Dom runs his fingers through your hair. “I absolutely wouldn’t mind having babies with you,” he pauses as he moves closer to you. “I want no one else more than you, to be the mother of my children, my partner through it all,” he looks at you with loving eyes. “You mean it?” you asked, a little surprised at his honesty. “I’ve never meant anything more in my life,” he says as he pulls your body closer to his.

***

Dreams of starting a family with who you thought was the love of your life quickly shatter as you realise where you were; stood in front of him, both with hearts that need mending.

“Don’t do this,” you quietly say as you stare into his eyes. “What? It’s true,” he shrugs. “I miss you and I thought you should know. You should know how much you’re hurting me by not being with me,” Dom confesses. The alcohol has definitely kicked in, Dom thought to himself. Liquid courage got him pouring out the subconscious thoughts he’d never unlock without a little help. “Dom, please. You don’t mean it, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” you close your eyes for a second. “You’ve had a lot to drink, you should go be with the guys,” you say as you take your arms off the wall. “Come, I’ll take you back,” you say as you lightly push his elbow to lead the way.

“What more do I have to do to show you that I am still in love with you? Fuck’s sake,” he says as he mutters the last two words. He quickly turns around to face you, shocking you in the process as you drop your arm. “I don’t know, Dom, maybe not have tabloids put pictures of you and different girls on its covers I’d assume?” you sarcastically said, referencing to the covers you have seen of him from the week before.

Dom cringed at your comment and shakes his head. “You seriously can’t believe what those tabloids say-they blow things out of proportion!” he says as he flails his arm out of frustration. “And did you expect me not to see other people? What was I supposed to do, sit and mope around, waiting for you to come back to me? Please, do enlighten me!” he encourages. “Tell me how I can get over you because I am desperate to get you out of my fucking head,” he rants angrily, loud enough to get the attention of several guests.

He pauses to catch his breath. Before opening his mouth again to spill his suppressed thoughts.

“You were my heart, my soul, my whole fucking body—my entire life revolved around you!” he yelled, not as loud, but his frustration was emphasised as he stresses every syllable. Every bit of pride he held onto dissipates, showing his true feelings that still held onto you.

Offended, you retaliated. “You act as if I didn’t do the same for you! But I’m not stood here telling you how much I’ve missed you after I’ve fucked about with random guys!” you replied, matching his volume.

“I’ve never fucked anyone since you, so don’t ever fucking accuse me of that,” he says in disgust. “And you have no right to tell me how I should cope, when you left me! You were the one who left!”, he points at you repeatedly. “You left me with nothing,” he says nearly out of breath, and drops his arms to his sides.

“It surely didn’t seem like it when you go through girls like they’re some kind of pitstop!” you angrily responded. “I was fucking hurt! You fucking broke me! I was sad and desperate, give me a fucking break!” he says as he brings his hands to his forehead. “And don’t act so innocent,” he spits out. You give him a confused face, unsure as to what he meant. “I know you’ve been out with him,” he emphasises. “Yeah, our friends talk,” he states the obvious.

You knew who he was talking about. The friend he fell out with, another footballer friend. Things got too competitive, the words exchanged at the end of a match too harsh to redeem with a handshake. The same friend who could’ve sworn he chatted you up first, but you and Dom’s connection was too strong to deny. Of course, it was nothing like he insinuated. His friend, or, former friend, rather, had dipped his toes into the world of fashion, which caught the attention of your seniors. They assigned you to an interview with him, knowing your connections in the sporting industry and knowledge of it, as you dated a footballer after all. “Th-that was nothing,” you shake your head in disbelief, shocked at what you’re being accused of. “Bullshit,” he curses. He still remembers the day he saw you two on the news. Dominic Calvert-Lewin’s Ex Moves On with His England Teammate?, the headline says. Beneath it were pictures of his former friend sitting opposite you, as you two enjoy each other’s company at his favourite breakfast place in London. It is your favourite too. He recalls trying to ignore the jealousy, he tried to stop reading gossip sites that had the tendency to over-exaggerate, but he couldn’t. It made him angry, so angry, he threw his phone across the room and smashed it into a wall, its screen shattering. Sick and nauseous, he ran to the bathroom and dunk his head into a toilet bowl, dispensing the contents of that day’s breakfast. The effect you had on him was still potent and undying.

Your conversation was interrupted when you feel a hand wrap its fingers around the back of your arm, surprising you as you jump a little. “Hi, hun, everything okay?”, asked two of your friends, who spotted you as they were making their way to the bathroom. You nodded and gave them a smile, “I’m okay,” you whispered. They were beyond shocked to have seen Dom, but they knew better than to mention the obvious. “Give us a shout if you need anything,” your other friend says softly. You nodded. Your friends waved at Dom, then walked to where they were headed, which Dom did the same before you two returned to your conversation.

You take a deep breath before speaking. “You know I never meant to hurt you, Dom,” you look at him with sad eyes. “You know why I had to end things with you, I honestly thought you understood,” you say as you try your best to blink the tears away. “No, I never understood, and I still fucking don’t,” he says as his large hand grips the surface of the wall.

“None of this makes any sense to me! I understand that it is important for you to prioritise your career, be in control of your life or whatever it was you said,” he throws a hand up. “But I will never understand why you had to sacrifice me in the process, of all things,” he replies with absolute honesty. “So, what? You expect me to drop every possibility of starting a career instead, and invest all my time and energy in you?” you ask in disbelief. “That’s not fair, Dom!” you argue.

Dom throws his head back out of frustration as you cross your arms. “I would’ve fully supported you every step of the way, given you the space you needed, anything!” he responds. “But instead you left, and took my entire life with you,” he argues back, panting as he tried to catch his breath. “You didn’t have to leave,” he quietly says.

You two look at each other in silence, both feeling the pain the other endured. The pain heavy, overwhelming, a sinking feeling.

“I wasn’t trying to compromise you,” you say softly. “I had felt so detached from myself and made you the centre of my life and I was fucking terrified, Dom,” you try to justify yourself. “Had you left me at any point, I wouldn’t have survived it,” you sigh.

“Had I left you? How could you ever assume that? You think I am strong enough to be apart from you for even just a day? For fuck’s sake,” he curses as he closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose out of frustration.

“I never said you would, I said if you did,” you clarify.

“So, you’re saying you left me purely due to a hypothetical scenario? Come fucking on. Don’t you fucking get it?,” he pauses. “You left me because you were afraid you couldn’t live without me, when that was never the case to begin with. If anything, it was the other way around,” he mutters the last sentence, just enough for you to hear.

“What?”, you asked, looking up at him.

“If one of us were to be too attached to the other person, it would be me. I’m not even fucking ashamed to admit that. I’m just pissed you assumed I could ever leave you. And that you broke my heart,” he reveals, a little too much for his liking but he didn’t care. You had to know.

“I-I never knew you were this upset,” you reply, still trying to process what he just said. “Clearly,” Dom says with sarcasm. “All you do is assume,” he comments. “That’s not fair,” you respond. “None of this is,” he quickly says. “I’m sorry I hurt you, I hope you know I would never intentionally do anything to make you feel that way,” you try to assure him. “Yeah okay,” he looks away.

Silence fills the room once again. What used to only be comfortable silence between you two turned into awkward, deafening silence. Silence between two people still in love with one another, both stubborn, both hotheaded, both their egos in the way.

You hated this. You wanted out. Your heart could no longer handle the different coexisting emotions, the sadness, anger, exasperation, confusion, equally intense, equally felt. It was all too much.

“I-I think I’m just going to go, it’s been lovely to see you, I'm sorry again Dom, truly. Have a great-“, “You’re fucking joking,” he cuts you off and shakes his head. You sigh, surprised at this interruption. “What now, Dom?” you asked, a little agitated.

“You’re leaving? After I’ve poured my heart out to you? Fucking pathetic that,” he said angrily. “What else was I supposed to say, Dom! I told you I was sorry, I told you I didn’t mean to hurt you! What more do you want?”, you responded with aggravation.

“YOU! I want you! How could you be so dense? Honestly, fuck this—you broke my fucking heart and I am not going to let you walk away from me again,” he gestures angrily. “This time I’m leaving you, have a great fucking night,” he says as he storms off, taking half of your heart with him.

At that moment, it felt as though every effort you had put into moving on, all your self-care nights, girls night outs, mental health days, music playlists of happy songs, immersing yourself in work, suddenly meant nothing. All your efforts were countered, destroyed after seeing him again for the first time in months. All you could do was stand there and watch him leave you standing alone, under the blue Mykonos sky with the most breathtaking view of the island, whilst heartbroken once again. The perfect irony.

You were left in shock. You could see Dom walking through the crowd where everybody was partying from your peripheral vision. It took him way too quickly for your liking to wrap his arms around a certain blonde-haired girl in a blue dress you recognised from tabloid pictures. You feel a sharp pain in your chest from a sight you never wanted to see. You knew you had no right to feel this way since you were the one who left, but it hurt you nonetheless.

Two things could’ve come out of this scenario. You could a) suck it up, take three straight tequila shots and party the night away with your girls, who are increasingly growing concerned about your whereabouts, or b) you could call it a night and figure your heart out.

After moments of deliberation, you chose the latter option. The intense conversation you had with Dom was too emotionally draining for you to continue on. Seeing your ex on the exact trip you booked with your girls to remedy your heartache, listening to him tell you how much you’ve broken his heart, how he wants you, but proceed to wrap his arms around another girl minutes after, all in one night... you could not bear it all. You quietly made a swift exit and made sure to text your girls’ group chat as you’re walking.

Babes, I’m heading back to the villa. Rough night. Details tomorrow. Will leave some paracetamol on the counter. Be safe and have a blast! Love you. X

You took the furthest route towards the exit door away from the party scene, not giving your friends a chance to even stop you. You wrap your arms around your body, holding yourself together as your heart crumbles. The only affection you could seek from is yourself. The pain of growth slowly paying off, as you manage to at least leave the scene in one piece.

However, despite extra efforts to not get noticed, Dom caught you slipping out of the club.

You stood outside the breezy Mykonos night and waited for your taxi to come. What just happened? You thought to yourself. You were a bit tipsy from the drinks, your tired body making you feel a little delirious. It seemed like it was all a dream, a nightmare perhaps, but it isn’t. That actually happened. You inhale the fresh air, and pace your breathing to calm your nerves. The background music spilling from the narrow gaps of the doors slowly fade as you close your eyes and focus on your peace.

Peaceful silence suddenly interrupted by a loud sound of doors bursting open.

What the fuck was that? you thought to yourself as you turn your head towards the loud noise. Your heart nearly stopped when you saw Dom clumsily stumble through the door. “What are you doing?” you asked, completely taken aback. “I saw you walk out,” he says out of breath. “And I know you like to go on walks to clear your head. I was making sure you weren’t, this isn’t the place where you could do that safely,” he continued. “I know, I’m waiting for a taxi,” you say quietly. Dom nodded. “Okay,” he looks away. “Be safe,” he says as he looks at you one last time. You look at him with a sad smile and nod.

As Dom retreats back into the club, he had to hold his chest, clutching where his heart is to contain the pain of seeing you force a smile at him, it was too intense, he couldn’t bear it. He wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms and tell you again how in love with you he is, but he knows his heart can’t take another heartache.

So Dom does what he does best, fake a smile, join his friends, and power through the night despite the building anxiety of being away from you. He feels sick to his stomach and would love nothing more than to call it a night. He goes on to reject every girl who threw themselves at him left and right, which Mason took notice of.

“Mate you okay? You don’t seem like yourself,” asks Mason. “(Y/N). She’s here. Well, she was,” Dom says. “Here? In Mykonos?”, Mason asks in disbelief. Dom nods his head. “Shit. What happened?” asked his concerned friend. “Told her she broke my heart. I lost my head. Told her I want her, then walked away,” muttered Dom as he looks down to play with his fingers. “Mate, I mean, do you still want her? Even after everything you went through?” Mason asks carefully, cautious to push any buttons.

Dom takes a deep breath.

“There is nothing in this life I want more than her,” he spills, looking at his friend dead in the eye.

“You know what you have to do, Dom.” Mason says.

#dominic calvert lewin #dominic calvert lewin imagine #dominic calvert lewin imagines #dominic calvert lewin blurb #mclfic

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clownhara · 4 years

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I've been following you for a while but I dont know all that much about your OCs so how about a big resume of them all?? :DDD

I haven't really posted much about them on this account until recently so that doesn't really suprise me 😅 but yeah I absolutely can! Warning though this is going to be unbelievably long

I guess I should start off with Zensuke because he is THE gay purple cat. I named this blog after this guy. I made him when I was probably like 12-13 or around there so he had all the things you'd expect a repressed edgy kid's of to have. He was basically a demon who managed to get out of thier world's equivalent of hell and instead of doing anything evil he just made cake and got married to the guard who was supposed to kill him. I don't really do much with him anymore but I still love him very much.

Corbinian is probably the character I talk most about and he's the one I edit to fit into different worlds the most. He was a normal doctor but he got his memory wiped by robots and ended up working as an executioner for the robotic mafia, but eventually got caught and had to hide out in Lobotomy (he was originally a Lobotomy Corp oc) where he discovered he can extract abnormality dna and with some altering the dna can be injected into humans causing a variety of different mutations and effects. He's usually very heartless and manipulative, but does have a soft spot, usually for anxious, soft spoken people, who subconsciously remind him of his brother (who is a friends if so I can't really get into him). He also was given a variety of nicknames by the higher ups, like Corb, Corn chip, Corb on the Orb, or just Corn. Je

Corble is the result of Corb trying out human cloning. He has the same general appearance as Corbinian, but with purple hair (hence the name, because he's porble corb) that's styled differently. Since the experiment was technically a failure Corb was going to kill him, but Corble was really sweet and innocent and Corb basically went "well great guess I adopted my clone then". Corb stopped messing with cloning but adores Corble.

Might as well get all of my Lobotomy ocs out of the way. Oliver is the first Lobotomy oc I ever made, which is funny because I may or may not constantly forget that he exists. Oliver is basically a five year old kid in an adults body, and I mean that literally, because his parents basically locked him in a room and ignored him so his mental age is basically that of a kids. He's very mischievous and loves pulling pranks on people, most of which are harmless. Unless it's Corb, whom Oliver gates with a passion. Then it's thinly veiled murder attempts disgusted as pranks. He loves Fairy tales, and only works with fairy tale abnormalities because he panics with any other kind. Only one person in the entire facility can even put up with him, and that's Mabel.

Mabel is trans lesbian who can find the good in almost anyone. She's optimistic, bubbly, and has a great sense of humor. She tends to get really flustered around women though. Is it obvious I kinda projected onto her a bit? Because I did. If she wasn't in Lobotomy she'd definitely be a streamer. I'm just now realizing I basically made snapcube before I knew who that was. Whoops.

Up next is Adam! Adam is quiet, nervous, and honestly just prefers to not be noticed. Their ability to almost seamlessly blend into thier surroundings is astounding. Most people (me included) tend to just forget they exist. Which honestly is funny because they end up dating the loudest, most cocky person in the entire facility. Adam loves horror movies and spicy food.

Kieth is the loudest, most cocky person in the entire facility. He's the adopted son of a sephirah and the leader of the Rabbit team so that much is unavoidable. He's quick to anger, blunt, and tends to underestimate other people. However, he's also loyal to a fault, and willing to back his friends up no matter what. He feels like his mom's are expecting him to live up to expectations that he can't (and that they don't have but he doesn't realize that), so he's constantly throwing himself in harm's way to desperately try to prove to them that they made a good investment by adopting him or die trying. His two passions in life are collecting weapons and tending to rabbits, two of which he managed to train to sit on his shoulders and attack people. Despite being total opposites he loves Adam very much and will endure any horror movie with them, even if he's a huge scaredy cat.

Damien doesn't gave that much development, unfortunately. He came from a very religious household, moved out, and frequently gets possessed by an abnormality who makes him act like a cryptid. Totally normal stuff. He also went to law school.

Zephyr is a very, very serious individual. They've got a completely monotone color palette, speak either in short, blunt sentences or long, fanciful paragraphs with no in between, and tend to come off as cold and stiff. They're completely devoted to work, which is how they managed to become a captain. Despite this, they're very kind and caring, but unfortunately rarely get to show that side of themselves unless it's with Jamison, thier partner, both in crime and in the romantic sense. They also have a love/hate relationship with Owen, basically openly hating his guts but also enjoys thier banter and would hate if anything genuinely awful happened to them or his family.

Jamison is the complete opposite of Zephyr. He's an open book, very colorful, and tends to slack of when Zephyr isn't looking. Not on purpose, he just tends to get distracted most of the time. He's quite popular because he's very cheerful, which is rare in the higher ranks of Lobotomy. He'd absolutely die for Zephyr, and us usually the one who patches thier wounds. He really doesn't like Owen and thinks thier a pain in the ass, but keeps that to himself most of the time.

Owen is..... Interesting. I kinda went buck wild with him not gonna lie. He's one of the oldest son's of the God of Nightmares and Fire, an absolute agent of choas, and a campy fashion nightmare. But... I love them. They're both unbelievably obnoxious and also very caring. He's the kind of character you'd love but also hate at the same time. He also ended up becoming the God of Death in one timeline. If he wasn't God they'd probably run makeup guru/cursed amsr YouTube channel. Honestly he'd still run those as a God though. Also gender is a toy store and Owen is a kid who broke in after dark and is running along pushing all of the assorted genders into a cart while laughing maniacally (they use any pronouns but I stuck to just he/him they/them for this little snippet)

Alright, Lobotomy ocs done. Up next is.... Ugh... Octavious. He's originally a Danganronpa oc, the shsl gossip, and he was made to be a villian and by God does it show. He's the most fake, back stabbing, two faced character I've ever made. He's also the most one dimensional, which was actually intensional. He has no personality beyond being a petty, lying bitch, so when he runs out of lies and rumors to spread he goes into an existential crisis about how he has virtually no identity until he makes some new lie up about some random person. He's also abusive towards his younger sibling Aspyn, whom he has both physically and emotionally scarred. And, the icing on the "fuck this guy" cake, he's incredibly obsessive over his "wife" Melissa, who wants nothing to do with him and never even dated him, let alone married him. Basically he's a horrible, lying, abusive stalker. He also dresses exclusively in eye burn pink since the most poisonous bugs are usually brightly colored. Fuck Octavious, all my homies hate Octavious.

Next is Melissa, who honestly wasn't much better before her arc. She was raised to believe that in order to truely succeed in life, you have to ensure others fail. She, unfortunately, took that advice to heart. Get arc consisted of learning that we all can succeed together and that actively fucking other people over just made her an awful person, so she changed her behavior and tried to help people from then on out. She's incredibly meticulous, organized, and really smart. She still has issues trusting, but she's getting better. She has a crush on Octavious's younger sibling, but absolutely despises Octavious.

Aspyn is a quiet, caring individual who has no confidence both due to Octavious and just how they were raised. They are an incredibly skilled doctor, however, managing to perform amazingly in several different fields. They are, however, very defensive about thier passions, quick to insult anyone who questions them, mainly due to Octavious. They have a huge crush Melissa, but is to afraid to ask her out. Also they wear an eye patch because Octavious messed up one of thier eyes.

Hooo boy where to start with Edward. He's really inconsistent between universes, but the main constants are his power (he can trade bodies with people), him and Max getting together, him being a huge bookworm, and somehow he usually ends up being my self inserts dad???? Hos other aspects tend to change. Sometimes he's a power hungry megalomaniac who's trying to take over the world and will crush anyone and everyone who gets in his way or isn't useful to him, using his power evily to stay young forever by trading bodies with his kids and killing them when they're in his body. Other times, he's a fairly calm, if not a little cold, man whos biggest crime is the occasional tax evasion, who's power is more of a curse, causing him to stay alive forever through a series of unfortunate coincidences. Either way he's fun to write

Max is one of my favorite characters. He loves baking, his friends and family, he isn't too bright but no one holds that against him. Unfortunately, no matter which side of Edward it is, he's hopelessly in love with him, which can lead to his downfall. He's very protective of his cousin Heron, and tries to protect the innocent, which he usually doesn't end up doing thanks to evil Edwards manipulation. I also somehow failed to mention he's a plant man and flowers sprout wherever he walks and he can control plants but I couldn't find a good way to fit that in naturally.

Heron is half a plant man, in the worst possible way. He has rose vines instead of blood, which feels exactly how you think it would. Magic keeps his alive luckily, but it's unbelievably painful. Most of him and Max's family died when they were young, and unlike Mac who ended up on the streets, Heron ended up in an orphanage, where he learned at a young age that he shouldn't get close to anyone because if he does, they'd die. He genuinely believes that, and the only person he thinks is immune, is his cousin Max, who he even still expects to drop dead. Heron mainly fights by breaking his skin so his vines will grow rapidly and trap and kill his attacker, which looking back is uh. Kinda symbolic. I didn't do that on purpose but it fits

Eden is an angel, who was outcasted from heaven after being framed for a crime they didn't commit. They don't understand how humans work, but is trying thier best to fit in. He's one of the few beings Heron trusts, and even still Heron doesn't trust them much because of Eden's ability, being able to control holy flames. Eden is stoic and aloof, with an odd sense of humor. He insists that him baking using his holy flames is a form of training. Despite them claiming to be above human emotions, they very much are not above them and he is actually quite emotional.

Avocado is one of Herons old friends, who fell victim to Herons "luck" (aka they died). They are a drider (basically spider centaur) who came from a large family of drider thieves. They are very quiet and kind, which they use to thier advantage, since one would thing they'd steal small objects from people's houses or pickpocket them, which Avocado very much does. While they're fairly weak in combat thier thieving skills are not to be underestimated.

Grape is Avocados older sibling, and they are very serious and quite rude. Grape wants to kill Heron to avenge thier sibling, but ends up getting caught robbing the wrong person and ends up having to join the person's kids adventuring party.

Apple is the oldest drider sibling, and ends up taking a motherly role for all of the younger kids. They had to grow up incredibly fast, and has to make all of the hard decisions in place of thier dying father. Desperately needs a break.

There's more spider siblings but there isn't much info on them

Both Sherry and Theodore Poser are mainly just there because I have them really fun designs and don't really have a personality. Sherry's kinda hard to draw though

#this took forever but oh well #im also not tagging every individual oc lol #asks #aki no nyo #gay purple ocs #gay purple posts #long post

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starspatter · 4 years

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Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 14

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2,526 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

Also on ff.net and AO3.

Lies, lies, lying little beast Lying little man on the corner of the street Singing "Why, I can't come out to play Can't come out and say that I'm afraid of what they'll say"

-Run River North, "Lying Beast"

————————–

Then.

Stephanie walked purposefully down the dormitory hallway towards her destination, which she had learned of through Cass after the other had shockingly announced she was now… “involved” with someone and asked point-blank for her advice. Steph had been surprised (not to mention maybe a tad jealous) that she had been granted visitation rights before her – especially when she herself wasn’t even sure if she had reached an official “dating” stage yet with her suitor- er, tutor (although they had undergone several “study sessions” together by this point) – but nevertheless was happy for her roommate. …Besides, her profile’s “single” status would hopefully change today.

Checking her hair and outfit, she nervously fixed and fidgeted a little in front of the doorway, before taking a deep breath and knocking on the entry. After a moment, it slowly creaked open a crack to reveal a rather confused-looking Tim.

“Steph? What are you doing here?”

“Hey! I just came to ask you something quick, if you’re not too busy.” She beamed her best and brightest.

Tim’s eyes darted anxiously aside as he swallowed.

“Uh, now’s not really a great time…”

“Who’s that, Tim? A friend of yours?”

Stephanie blinked as a stunningly beautiful woman unexpectedly emerged from behind Tim, ravishing red locks and coquettish lips smiling cordially.

“Ah, you must be Stephanie! Tim’s told me a lot about you.”

Steph’s gaze shifted suspiciously to Tim, who looked like his world had just come crashing down around him.

“…Has he now?”

The stranger grinned widely as she extended her slender palm, revealing twin rows of perfect pearl teeth.

“I’m Barbara Gordon. Pleasure to meet you.”

Tentatively, Steph took it.

“...Nice to meet you. Wait, ‘Gordon’ – as in the new Police Commissioner?”

The woman nodded.

“Bingo, you’re looking at her.” Her voice abruptly took on an authoritative tone. “I’m here on official police business, conducting a top-secret investigation. You wouldn’t happen to have seen any suspicious individuals around, would you?”

“Babs,” Tim cut in sharply as Steph started to sweat and panic. “That’s enough. Quit frightening her.” (Although rather than relieve her apprehension, it only increased further at such informal address.)

…On a first-name basis?

“Kidding, kidding. I’m giving a guest lecture on Criminology over in the West Wing. Speaking of which,” Barbara glanced at her wristwatch, “I should probably get going. Class starts in 10 minutes. I just came by to say ‘hi’ to Tim.”

She began to gather up her things, bustling out the exit with a wink to Tim on the way, who only winced and shrank further in response.

“I’ll leave you two kids alone. Take care, Tim. I’ll stop by again some other time.”

Steph watched her figure’s wake until it was gone, silently envying sophisticated style and… mature body shape as it sashayed away.

“She’s awfully pretty,” she mused aloud, suddenly feeling even more self-conscious. “What exactly is your relationship with her?”

Don’t tell me he’s actually into older women. There’s no way I can compete with that.

Tim rolled his eyes with a sigh.

“It’s not what you think. She’s like an older sister.”

“…Seriously?”

How strangely ‘convenient’ all his supposed ‘relatives’ seem to be gorgeous supermodels.

“Trust me, there’s nothing like that between us.”

She gauged his earnest expression, before accepting assurance.

“All right, I believe you.” Her smile returned as she relaxed. “In that case…”

She fished around in her pocket, pulling out two tickets she won at the Theta-Kapa-Gamma Harvest Festival last week.

“Ta da~! Tickets to see the monster movie marathon at the old Monarch Theater on Saturday! You are free, aren’t you?”

Tim blinked as she practically shoved the tiny pieces of perforated paper in his face, fanning gleefully in invitation. Temptation.

“I am, but…”

He gulped, hesitating as he seemed to desperately search for an excuse.

“I’m… not really a fan of old films…”

He mumbled lamely, appearing extremely uneasy for some reason.

Oh crap. Don’t tell me I screwed up again.

Steph’s confidence sank in disappointment, recalling how she had once enthusiastically tried to engage Tim in a spontaneous water pistol fight going on in the campus courtyard (despite the season being somewhat ill-suited for the sport), having snuck up on him whilst the victim was reading unawares underneath the shade of a nearby tree, hitting him with a lighthearted squirt. He had sat there, stunned, as he stared at the childish toy weapon in her hand, before wiping his soaked cheek with the back of his sleeve. Slamming his book shut, he stated with such startlingly quiet, intense anger it took her aback:

“I don’t like guns.”

…Before standing up and stalking off in silence.

Still, she had hoped this would make up for it, that it could be something they’d both enjoy, spend some real quality time doing together (besides studying anyway, which she was starting to get sick and tired of as tests approached). Who didn’t care for a good old-fashioned camp scare around Halloween? …Maybe he just needed to give it a chance.

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it. Have you ever even seen Dracula or Frankenstein?”

He shook his head.

“Whaaat, you’re missing out on some classics! Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ve both been working so hard, we deserve a break. Cass has a pair of passes too, so she and Conner are going to be there as well. We can totes double together.” (Incidentally, it had been a little odd how her partner had been so fortunate as to receive the exact same prize at the booth’s trivia guessing game right after her, but she’d learned not to question Cassandra’s keen – if sometimes creepily uncanny – sense of intuition.)

Tim bit his lip, but acquiesced at her pleading puppy eyes, which shone with eager stars of anticipation.

“…Okay.”

“Great! It’s a date then.” She exclaimed excitedly as she handed him his half of the voucher.

“A… date.”

He repeated robotically, surveying the stub as if in disbelief.

“I’ll see you on Saturday then.”

She waved as she skipped off, emboldened by sweet success. In her jubilee, she accidentally ran straight into Conner as he coincidentally came round the corner, heading back to his room as well.

“Whoa, watch it there!”

He caught her just before she fell (unlike before, this sturdy target was obviously a lot harder to knock over), and she blushed a tinge as she felt his huge, strong arms wrap around her shoulder.

Man, what is it with me and bumping into hot guys recently? …Not that I’m complaining, mind.

She wasn’t sure whether to be overjoyed or embarrassed by this recurring situation, but settled for leaning towards the former. Conner, on the other hand, seemed a little less thrilled upon realizing the person in his grasp.

“Oh, it’s you. …Actually, good timing. I want to talk to you about Tim.”

He raised her up, but kept a firm grip on her collar as he drew her back round the bend. …It was almost a little painful, the amount of pressure his paw was putting on her petite stature. His countenance was severely solemn as he stooped forward to meet her level.

“…Look, I’m just gonna come right out and say it so you don’t get the wrong idea. Tim’s… ‘delicate’. I mean, really delicate.” He frowned, icy blue irises flaring dangerously as his dense, digging fingers deepened into the folds of her blouse, contracting and contacting to the bone. “You need to watch what you say and do around him. I swear, if you ever do anything intentionally to hurt him, I will never forgive you. You got that?”

She recoiled, reasoning he was likely referring to the gun stunt.

Is he… making a genuine threat?

Steph was somewhat scared now as his shadow loomed over her, backing her against the wall. She nodded meekly.

“U- understood.”

“Good.”

He released her, and she rubbed at the sore spot on her skin, wondering if it was going to leave a bruise. She was also starting to wonder what the heck Cass saw in this big dumb brute. He was admittedly attractive, sure, but personality-wise he was Tim’s complete opposite: loud, brash, obnoxious – not to mention arrogant – basically your stereotypical jock. And yet…

“You really care a lot about Tim, don’t you?”

Conner sniffed. “Of course I do. He’s my best friend.”

…’Friend’, huh?

The way he behaved seemed to go far beyond mere “friendship” though. He was almost acting like an overprotective guardian. …Or a possessive one.

“Could it be that you’re… jealous?”

“Me? Jealous? Of you?” Conner scoffed. “Why on earth would I be jealous? Just because you’re the one getting him to finally open up and trust you, participate in a bunch of social activities he never normally would, even though I’ve tried so hard to motivate him to be more outgoing over these past few years? To convince him to talk to me about his problems? To be the kind of stupid-ass cliché you huma- people find so damn popular just so no one else would dare to mess with him?”

He laughed like a bark, though it sounded slightly strained. Pained. Stephanie softened at such a display of devotion.

…Maybe he’s not such an oaf after all.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’ve done a lot more for him than you give yourself credit for. I’m sure he appreciates having you as a pal.”

She cautioned a comforting pat on his broad muscle.

“Don’t worry, it’s not like I’m trying to steal him away from you or anything. Besides, you’re doing the same thing for Cass, aren’t you? Trying to help her break out of her shell? Heck, I’ve noticed she’s been a lot more vocal ever since you two started seeing each other.”

Conner rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“You think? I mean, I guess you could say that. I dunno, it feels like I’m not really right for her… She’s so serious and deep, and – and next to her I feel like a total doofus most of the time…”

Stephanie couldn’t help but sympathize. They were a weird couple, to be sure, but then the same could easily be said about her and Tim.

“Hey, far be it from me to judge, but even if it doesn’t seem like you’re made for each other off the bat, I think you owe it to yourselves to try and explore those feelings at least. You never know, maybe it will work out.”

…It might’ve been her imagination, but the margins of his mouth seemed to twitch a bit at the word “made”. He coughed as he replied contritely though.

“Thanks. And, uh, sorry about being rough earlier.”

“It’s all right.” She smirked. “You were just defending your ‘delicate’ flower’s honor.”

A humiliated flush crept onto his visage.

“Oi, despite what you may have heard, it’s not like that.”

“It’s okay,” she giggled in understanding. “I feel the same way about Cass. …I suppose you could consider it even then?”

“Um… I suppose.” He looked confounded by the straightforward confession, but shrugged, not wanting to think too hard about it anymore, lest things get overly complicated. “So… We good then?”

She smiled.

“Yeah. We’re good.”

…

When the weekend rolled around, Stephanie dragged Cassandra clothes shopping before the big day, insisting on doing her hair and makeup as well. By the time they arrived at the cinema, the boys were already there waiting, checking their watches out in the cold. While she sheepishly apologized on both behalves for being “fashionably late”, Steph figured it was worth it when she saw their slack jaws at how much fashion had transformed them. The guys were dressed decently to impress as well, both sporting smart leather jackets (although Tim’s looked a size too big for him, and Conner still had on that ruddy black Superman T-shirt underneath that seemed like it came from a little kid’s closet).

She took the initiative in lining up with Tim to order snacks and soda, in the meantime telling the other two to go find four seats together. Luckily they didn’t have to wait long, as there didn’t seem to be many customers despite it being a Saturday. (To be fair those tickets were probably pretty cheap and undesirable to given away free at some college fest.) Although she kept chatting cheerfully to try and pass the time, her other company seemed even more uncomfortable than usual in the lightly crowded lobby, hardly able to carry a conversation – let alone the food – all the way to the viewing room. She began to worry if this had been a mistake to bring him here, and prayed the darkness and drama onscreen would at least be able to distract him enough to loosen up a little.

Cass and Conner had saved them two seats near the edge, and she sidled in next to her girlfriend (for moral support) while Tim took the one closest to the aisle. He kept glimpsing tensely around though, still just as jumpy as before.

“Hey, chill out a bit, will ya? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he muttered. “It’s just, in my experience, this is usually the part where the place catches fire, or some punks try to rob the box office, or…”

She stared at him, shaking her head.

“You fret too much. Just try to relax and enjoy, okay? Here, have some popcorn.”

He passed on the salted kernels though, and she pouted as she popped one in her mouth, chewing over whether she’d made the right decision after all. He looked almost claustrophobic, stressed. In distress.

Things didn’t improve much as the motion picture started to play. The first feature presentation in the lineup was indeed Frankenstein, and although Tim managed to remain relatively calm enough throughout the monochrome, monotone introduction, he started to stiffen at the famous “awakening” sequence.

“Quite a good scene, isn’t it? One man crazy, three very sane spectators.”

Out of the crook of her eye, Steph sensed her companion cringe every time there was a thunderclap, as lights flashed and machinery sparked with mounting electricity, while the movie madman merrily turned the wheel to “adjust the batteries”. Together, he and his assistant unrolled the cloth covering the table to expose a humanlike form strapped to it, albeit with limbs limp and lifeless. Tim’s claw clutched at his armrest as the stretcher was gradually lifted up through a hole in the ceiling towards the stormy sky, where pulses of galvanizing lightning presumably struck the subject repeatedly.

Stephanie divided concentration back and forth between the increasingly agitated boy beside her and the big screen in growing alarm as his breathing accelerated, gasping and wheezing audibly as he bent forward and put his hyperventilating head between his knees. Cass and Conner were casting concerned looks as well, while other annoyed audience members revolved around and shushed to keep it down. As her attention was arrested by the scientist maniacally screaming “It’s alive!” over and over again, she turned back one last time to ask if Tim was all right in a worried whisper – but there was no answer.

Tim was gone.

————————–

Oh Lord, whatever did I say? Whatever made me think that this was all okay? No one held me to the flame The hell if I could take the dark from my face

#TimSteph #Tim Drake #Timmy Todd #Stephanie Brown #Conner Kent #Cassandra Cain #Barbara Gordon #Batman the Animated Series #Batman Beyond #DCAU #Return of the Joker #fanfiction #starstories #*picks up all her gay kiddies and puts in a protective basket*

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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you and i-- we're defying gravity ch.1 (scyvie) - amelieee

a/n:

hey, uh, new author here, hello! i’m amelieee (or amelie if you don’t like the extra two e’s) aka @and-oddly-enough!

yes, i know there’s already a wicked fic written for scyvie but i have talked with emowithoddsocks aka g about it and they allowed me to write my own fic for it! technically, we both made up the wicked au together with some other people but they were the first ones who wrote a fic for it! (please read that too, by the way, it’s really good!)

but anyways– don’t expect consistent updates, but i will try my best to finish this. i hope you enjoy this nonetheless! it’s also important to know the fundamentals of wicked or oz first before reading this or else it kinda doesn’t make sense. if you still don’t understand, i’ve included footnotes at the end to clarify some stuff!

also, this is not betaed because we die like elphaba being doused with water– so all mistakes are mine.

summary: Yvie was fortunate enough to be enrolled in Shiz, even if it was mainly to watch over her sister. Problem is, she was roomed with probably the most obnoxious student in Shiz, Scarlet Envy.

The walk from the train station to Shiz was such a pain for Yvie. The problem wasn’t about the length between both destinations but it was mostly because her father was a such a pain in the ass. While Yvie sulked and was alienated out of the conversation, her father endlessly supplied her sister, Brooke, with a million compliments. This was mostly a pain just because the compliments, after being used a lot, suddenly becomes jokingly redundant that Yvie could cringe while her father continued to praise Brooke.

But even if her father could cause Yvie to willingly rip her ears off, her sister, on the other hand, was the most angelic asshole she’s ever met in her life. Brooke, despite not looking similar to Yvie, was gorgeous with luscious blonde locks and glowing, flawless skin. Even if she spent most of her life on a wheelchair, Brooke didn’t seem affected by her disability. She appeared confident and was always courteous to everyone.

Yvie, on the other hand, felt that she was… a mess. She was the only person she knew who owned white hair that’d never stay put. The hair would also be put into two massive buns with stray hairs flowing below them. It looked like… a mop. Not only did she have massive, off-putting hair, she also had a strange face. No, it wasn’t deformed by any means but her eyes had no pupils at all. Oddly, they were plainly white and devoid of all color. If that weren’t unfortunate enough, she had permanent marks under her eyes that almost resembles dark thunder. The marks look like a three-year-old got a quill and jaggedly drew on some zigzags on her eyebags. And if you weren’t looking at the eyes, her sharp teeth would definitely scare away anyone if she sneered. A lot of people had mistaken her for a Lion at times.

Even if Yvie looked like trash compared to her gorgeous sister, Brooke treated her very kindly. Brooke was the world to her and she barely had any other friend out there. Her parents, especially her father, tried to hide her from everyone in Munchkinland most likely because she was a shame to their family. She was barely as stunning as how her mother looked and she wouldn’t be a great and punctual leader like her father was. She wasn’t even supposed to enroll in Shiz if it weren’t for her sister needing a bodyguard. There were no positives to her, really, except maybe she can do a split effortlessly. Other than that, she was nothing.

“Looks like this is where I drop you off,” Her father says, viewing the school’s vast entrance impressively. Shiz University was just like she expected— tall, a bit oldschool, and was dominated by millions of rich Gillikins that Yvie would rather much avoid.

“I’m not a preschooler, dad. You didn’t have to bring yourself along with us,” Brooke says and their father gave a chuckle.

“I didn’t want to let you get hurt on the way to school—“

“Please don’t insult Yvie again—“

“I won’t,” Her father says sternly but Yvie merely crosses her arms and chews on her lip. She’s used to her father treating her like this anyways. “I just wanted to be extra careful. And additionally,” Her father pulls out a fancily wrapped box from the bag he was carrying to show to Brooke. Yvie recognizes it— it’s a shoebox that probably contains something gaudy just for Brooke to enjoy. With an ecstatic smile, he reveals the contents of the box: ballet slippers that were coated with a few jewels. Yvie wasn’t into ballet at all since it was too graceful for her but she had to admit, those shoes look great.

And judging by Brooke’s face, she definitely enjoyed them. So whatever made her happy made Yvie happy, I guess.

“These— these are wonderful, oh sweet Oz, thank you, dad!” Brooke says as she holds and observes the slippers with glee, “I’m a bit… sad I won’t be able to use this, though,”

“You can just wear it and that’d be enough for me,” their father said as he repacked the slippers back in its box, “Save it for special occasions, okay sweetie?” he says as he shoves the box back inside the bag and forcefully thrusts it at Yvie’s direction. Yvie almost stumbles and grips on the bag with irritation.

“But I’ll be going now since we have a meeting in a few,” their father says as she plants a small peck on Brooke’s head, “Good luck at Shiz, dearie, and write to me when you can.”

“I will,”

“And Yvangeline—“ he points at her rudely, “And as she will be the future governor of Munchkinland, take care of Brooke.” he says sternly but Brooke nudges his hip, implying he should sound more polite, “O-okay! Write to me as well then,” he adds and Brooke looks satisfied. Yvie only clicks her tongue as she looks away. At least one positive thing about her soulless eyes is that people won’t realize when she isn’t paying attention to them.

“I will,” she says eventually and content with that answer, their father walks away. Immediately, Brooke’s lets out a relieved breath as she wheels towards Yvie with concern.

“Dad’s such a cunt, I’m sorry about it,” Brooke says, her kind façade slipping away. Yvie could never take that façade seriously. All the patronizing and polite compliments just want to make Yvie gag.

“Yea, I’ve known for a long time,” Yvie says then proceeds to hang the bag with Brooke’s slippers on Brooke’s wheelchair, “Nothing too bad, though, but the slippers looked cool, I guess.” Yvie says and Brooke just shrugs.

“Agreed but I kinda have no use for them. Dad keeps buying me fashionable shoes when he knows I don’t like showcasing my feet to the world. He’s weird.” Brooke says and begin wheeling her wheelchair going to the entrance. Yvie follows right beside her, struggling to keep up with the heaviness of her and Brooke’s suitcase.

Shiz was just as heavily decorated as she expected. Inside, there were already millions of posters scattered and hastily pasted on the walls. There were a million “Welcome Back!” banners that actually look pretty decent but were partially useless since mostly everyone loathed going back to school.

On the negative side, everyone that passed by them always would stop talking when they spot Yvie and would stare judgmentally towards her direction. Some would even gasp or screech as if she were carrying the plague. Beside her, Brooke looked at her sympathetically and worriedly, even reaching out to squeeze Yvie’s hand to show her empathy.

“Don’t mind them,” Brooke says but obviously, being the rowdy person Yvie is, she didn’t simply ignore them. As they walk further down the hall, Yvie would sneer and grunt at them whenever she hears a rude remark. A few people retorted back a half-assed insult but most of them merely kept their distance which satisfied Yvie. For Brooke, on the other hand, she looked absolutely embarrassed but tried her best to look fine.

Brooke was Yvie’s best friend and only friend but Yvie longs for the day Brooke wouldn’t be ashamed of Yvie. Although they enjoyed conversing with one another and spending time with another, Yvie could tell that Brooke would look a bit uncomfortable hanging out with her sister out in public.

At the end of the hallway, there was a gigantic room that could possibly hold lots of assembles or events. It was actually plainer than the rest of the university with its simple wooden floors and its white walls. The best feature of the room was definitely the enormous windows that showed the rest of the university past this building. Shiz was undeniably gorgeous despite it being a bit standoffish appearance.

Inside the room were many of the other newly enrolled students carrying their heavy suitcases while they talked to their close friends. Most of them, like previously mentioned, were rich Gillikins who Yvie mostly assumed were here because of their parents’ money rather than intelligence. If Shiz really cared to enroll the smartest of people, there would be much more Animals and Quadlings. But of course, they don’t care.

Suddenly, noise erupted behind Yvie. As she and Brooke were near the entrance, she heard shouts of “Get out of the way!” and cheers of this person named “Scarlet”. Immediately, she and Brooke stayed away from the entrance to avoid the commotion. Yvie didn’t look all too happy to move away just because of some popular person but Brooke tried to calm her down about it.

Eventually, a huge trolley with a ton of stylish suitcases rolled into the room. There were many students surrounding the trolley, all looking up at the one person who was dramatically sitting on top of all the suitcases. The woman on top was laying elegantly on the suitcases as if she were some celebrity and she was fanning herself with her own red, rose-print fan.

Most of the students seemed to recognize this woman, all shouting her name like cheerleaders. She even seemed like she had her own “bodyguards” which are mostly just her group of friends who want to fend off strangers. With a graceful tone, Scarlet speaks, “Settle down, settle down, let me get off this thing,” she says as she asks the help of a purple-haired girl to let her get down the pile of suitcases. Whoever she is, she obliged and helped her and Scarlet landed on the ground gracefully with her heels clicking upon contact.

“Thank you, Ra’jah,” Scarlet says and her friend simply shrugged, not making so much of a big deal of what was happening. Everyone began surrounding Scarlet again and began bombarding her with numerous question. Yvie thinks all of the attention she was getting was redundant with people tryharding too much. Even Scarlet’s other friends like Ra’jah and some two others Yvie doesn’t recognize look so uncomfortably bothered.

After Scarlet handles all the questions and conversations with admirable skill, she eventually pushes her and herself out of the crowd. When she stepped out, she and Yvie immediately lock eyes and before Yvie could look away, Scarlet exclaims, “What on Oz are you?!”.

It was a mistake for Yvie to think this redhead was respectable after that comment. Yvie squints and purses her lips angrily as most eyes turn to look at her. Everyone who turned all gasped when she saw how freaky she was and the room was silenced as they all anticipate for Yvie to respond. Beside her, Yvie can feel Brooke look mortified as stayed silent and even if she didn’t feel it, she can definitely imagine Brooke’s hand shaking in fear of being called out too.

“What? Do I have something in my teeth?” Yvie says with unwavering confidence. She’s been treated like this most of her life so she was used to the stares and insults. As Yvie spoke, it revealed her sharp, glistening teeth that caused people to gasp again and step further away from her. Unimpressed, Yvie grunts, and speaks again, “Okay, let’s get this over with— no, I am not an Animal, and no, I was never bitten by one. I am also not a grandmother, and yes, my hair’s always been like this.” she kept a stern face as she added, “And no, I am not blind. I can see clearly so don’t try playing any pranks on me. And no, none of this is makeup, and no, this is not gangrene.” she points to the black streaks under her eyes and immediately, there were quiet murmurs scattered across the room. Some even shared disgusted faces which were slightly more amusing for Yvie to see.

“You always do this— why do you always do this?” Brooke asks, evidently distressed as she tries blocking out the murmurs. While Yvie clearly is okay being called a freak, she often forgets Brooke has earn own set of insecurities. Yvie sympathetically reaches Brooke’s hand and murmurs a small apology to her.

Fortunately, the headmistress of Shiz has entered the room. She had a somewhat a strict and cunning aura about her especially with the dark clothing and the big hairdo. With two claps, she was able to silence the room immediately which relieved both sisters. With an classy strut and a clipboard in had, she makes her way to the center of the room unprovoked. She raises an eyebrow as she scanned through the list of what Yvie assumes must be the room assignments.

“Whew, okay, there’s a lot of you this year. Room assignments are never fun,” she says and some people chuckle at that. Yvie didn’t expect her to have a sense of humor but it was delightful that not all her professors are stern assholes. “Well anyways, welcome to Shiz, new students! I am Madame Visage, your headmistress, and in behalf of our faculty, I can safely that we have high hopes for all of you.” she says and she looks back down at the clipboard and squints as if she were reading gibberish.

“Now for the rechecking room assignments—” Madame Visage starts but is immediately cut off by both Yvie and Scarlet raising their hands in unison. She politely pauses herself to let the two address their questions. Scarlet glares at Yvie then begins to say her own concern first. “Oh thank Oz, only two issues this year—“

“Madame, I’ve already been assigned to my own private suite,” she says with a cocky grin that Yvie wants to slap off of her face. Everyone who admires Scarlet all sigh in disappointment at the same time.

Observing that she’s saddened her followers, she immediately adds, “Oh, but you can come over whenever you want!”. Yvie blinks once or twice as she stares at the redhead and her followers in disbelief. Three of Scarlet’s closer friends all look unimpressed but seemed to mask their own disappointment with compliments.

“Is that it, Miss…?”

“Envy! I’m Scarlet Envy and I’ve applied to your sorcery seminar— it’s the main reason why I’m here. If you recall, I have written an essay called—“

“Oh, you,” Madame Visage says but her voice wasn’t enthusiastic by the slightest. Scarlet’s face slightly crumbles by the off-putting tone, “Listen, I don’t teach my seminar every semester unless someone special were to come along,” she says and Scarlet’s eyes widen, obviously offended by what she said. Yvie, however, smirks at it.

“I— well am I not sp—“ before Scarlet could finish her question, Yvie abruptly interrupts her.

“Madame, we haven’t received our room assignments,” Yvie says and from the corner of her eye, she can see Scarlet look embarrassingly flustered. Madame Visage didn’t seem to mind though; she probably was going to reject every request Scarlet would give anyways.

“Oh, I recognize you!” Madame Visage says and Yvie almost felt flattered until she realized that she was referring to her sister. Yvie bites back an insult as Madame Visage comes closer to them. “You are Miss Brooke Lynn, correct? Future governess of Munchkinland? What a tragically beautiful face you have,” Madame Visage says as Brooke flashes a smile and thanks her kindly. Yvie merely rolls her eyes as their headmistress turns her attention to her. With an unfazed expression, she speaks, “And you must be…?”

“Yvie. The other daughter. I’m beautifully tragic, nice to meet you,” Yvie says sarcastically and Madame Visage snorts, clearly impressed by Yvie’s humor. It warms Yvie’s heart that their headmistress didn’t seem to care for how Yvie looks much different from the rest of the crowd.

“You’re funny, I like you,” Madame Visage says with a laugh and begins to check her files for their names. In the background, she can hear Scarlet mutter a “her face is too,” but she doesn’t bring it up just in case it will cause a big ruckus. “Are you both under the Hytes surname? I can’t seem to find Miss Yvie in this list.”

“Oh, my surname is Oddly.” Yvie says, “I took my mother’s surname since… uhm, I guess my father wanted to commemorate her.” Yvie lies, not wanting to mention how her father basically wanted to erase her name from the Hytes family. After a few page flips, Madame Visage still unsuccessfully finds nothing from her list.

“I don’t think we’ve arranged anything for you— but not to fret! That can be quickly fixed.” she says and Yvie’s heartbeat quickens as she realizes that she might have to move into another room with a person that’s not her sister. Brooke even seems perplexed that they weren’t assigned to the same room.

“I think father forgot I existed,” Yvie whispers to her sister and Brooke shrugs, “Actually, not forgot— I think he’s purposely trying to erase my existence.”

“I know— he’s a dick, Yves,” Brooke whispers back.

From afar, she notices how Scarlet seemed to still have an issue concerning her essay and getting into Madame Visage’s sorcery class. She didn’t even seem to listen to what was going down at the moment.

“Okay, so which one of you kind ladies would volunteer to room with Miss Yvie?” Madame Visage asks, and the room goes cold, everyone silent. Yvie crosses her arms and hopes that the headmistress would rearrange the room assignments just for Brooke to end up with her.

Then, surprisingly, Scarlet spoke up, raising her arm. Yvie’s blood runs cold, was she not paying attention to her question? Madame Visage took this opportunity and immediately assigned Yvie to Scarlet, “Ah, Miss Envy, you’re special after all!”

“Oh thanks— wait, what’s going on?”

“Miss Yvie, you may share with Miss Scarlet,” Madame Visage says and the room erupts into chaos as they all seemed to give Yvie a jealous death glare. Yvie and Brooke share confused and panicked looks, not knowing how to react or how to change the mind of the headmistress.

“But Madame, I’ve always looked after my sister—“ Yvie says, trying to sound as calm as possible despite the anxiety growing within her.

“The governer made his concern for your sister’s well being very clear. I think it’s best if I take her to my own private compartment where I can assist her whenever she needs—“

“But Madame—“ Scarlet even begins to protest with Yvie but she raises a hand to silence Scarlet. Scarlet and Yvie exchange scared glances before they try and protest again.

“No more buts, you two! I’m sure you two can manage. Now,” Madame Visage approaches Brooke and begins handling her wheelchair on her own as if Brooke was a child who didn’t know how to move herself around. So much for thinking the teachers here weren’t assholes. “Now, does anyone else have an issue with their rooms?” she asks, and everyone stays quiet, picking up their suitcases again, getting ready to leave the room. “Okay good, Miss Brooke, let’s take our leave as well—“ the headmistress says as Brooke awkwardly lets her push her wheelchair, looking very uncomfortable.

Yvie’s eyebrows knit as she watches this obscene situation in front of her. First she assigns her with probably the most obnoxious person in Shiz, and now she’s taking away her sister?

Yvie was not having it.

“Let her go!” Yvie snarls with gripped fists as she dark aura begins to surround her. Everyone gasps as they watch Yvie’s hair defy gravity and the dark aura surrounding Yvie grow larger and larger. Yvie raises her left hand and begins to pull Brooke away from Madame Visage through telekinesis. Brooke’s wheelchair rolled backwards until it was under the grasp of Yvie. Once reunited, the dark aura begins to disperse and Yvie began to calm down.

There was a pregnant silence as everyone eyed at Yvie with both terror and awe. Clearly embarrassed, Brooke covered how flushed she was with her hands, hoping everyone would stop gazing at them. Yvie places an apologetic hand on Brooke’s shoulder, hoping she wouldn’t be mad at her again while she waits to be scolded and expelled by Madame Visage.

“How— how did you do that?” Madame Visage asks and Yvie risks taking a glance at how Madame Visage looked. Surprisingly, she looked impressed, her hands clasped together in delight as he eyebrows were raised. “Oh my Oz, how did you do that?”

“H-how… did she do that?” murmurs Scarlet as everyone around her began whispering in each other’s ears.

Yvie was quiet, unsure of what to answer. This… magic she has is something she always kept secret and she never thought she would be able to showcase it so easily like that. While she wasn’t so ashamed of her appearance, she felt the opposite for her powers. The idea of being magical was nice, of course, but nobody ever mentioned how much effort it took not to accidentally unleash it in front of everybody. She can count how much she’s accidentally hurt people just because of how incredibly clumsy she was. She didn’t only hurt others but herself as well— if she suppressed her powers for too long, everything inside her body would ache, scream, and possibly morph. That’s why the streaks under her eyes just darken every now and then. This was also the reason why her skin was so stretchy and why her bones were so brittle that she can flex her body in every direction.

Not realizing she’s been quiet for too long, Brooke nudges her, “Yvie, speak up,” Brooke whispers, her face still super flushed.

“I—I uhm, I’m sorry. Sometimes it justs… happens. I promise I’ll try my best to control it—“

“What? Don’t apologize for that— that was talent! Do you ever consider taking a career in sorcery?” Madame Visage says and surprises everyone. Even Brooke looked shocked and maybe a little amused. Yvie felt slightly flattered; nobody in her lifetime would ever commend her on anything.

With a shy smile, Yvie says, “S-sorcery?”

“Yes, sorcery! I shall take you under my wing and will accept no other students.” Madame Visage states and everyone collectively gasps. If people weren’t envious enough that she gets to room with Scarlet, people were definitely envious now that Madame Visage gave her such a precious offer.

“No other students…?” Scarlet whispers in a blue tone and Yvie smirks to herself.

Madame Visage claps twice again, immediately silencing the murmurs, “Okay, everyone’s dismissed. Miss Oddly, I’d love to have a word with you,” she says with an enthusiastic expression. While Yvie was glad she finally got complimented on something, everyone else looked aggravated as they picked up their suitcases and left. Scarlet definitely looked the most irked with her deep frown and quiet stature.

Once everyone left except for the headmistress and the two sisters, Madame Visage made her way to Yvie with excitement. Brooke wheels away slightly so she couldn’t get in the way of their conversation. “I have waited for so long to find a student just as special and gifted as you are.” she states and it was music to Yvie’s ears.

“Uh, thank you?” Yvie says, unable to contain her happiness. Brooke’s shame slowly evaporated as well as she looked more proud of Yvie now.

“No, Yvie, you don’t get it— this gift can make you the Wizard’s grand vizier!” Madame Visage says as she reaches out to reach both of Yvie’s hands.

“Grand vizier? Like, the Wizard’s grand vizier?” Yvie says as joy bubbles in her chest. The Wizard was such an inspirational person to Yvie and unquestionably to everyone else in Oz as well. He is a great leader and always pushed Oz towards the right direction. Yvie would kill to assist the Wizard but now, she guesses she doesn’t have to.

“Yes, and I promise I will guide you and train you so that you can use those powers for good. Then maybe, I can write you to the Wizard to notify him of your talents,” Madame Visage says and beside her, Brooke squeals cheerfully, shaking Yvie’s arm with utmost delight.

“I—I don’t know what to say, Madame,” Yvie says with a bright smile, “Is there a catch? There should be some catch.”

“No catch; just be a great student, make me laugh at times, and everything’ll be good.” Madame Visage says but Brooke clears her throat loudly, implying that there was definitely a catch with Yvie not being able to room with Scarlet. Madame Visage gives a sorry expression, “I’m sorry but I can’t do anything else. I would never lie to the governor.” she states and Brooke sighs disappointingly.

“Well, it was kinda expected anyways,” Brooke says, “But uhm, Madame, I can push my own wheelchair, if that’s fine by you,”

“Oh, of course! But still, I’ll do my best to help you whenever I can.”

“Thank you.”

“Uhm, excuse me, Madame Visage?” someone reenters the room, shyly staying by the entrance. Recognizing the red hair, Yvie denotes it was Scarlet. “I was thinking whet—“

“Perfect timing, Miss Envy, you can bring Miss Oddly here to your private suite.” Madame Visage says as she approaches the exit holding Brooke’s suitcase while she signals her to come with. Madame Visage undoubtedly wanted to avoid Scarlet’s inquiries and Yvie thinks it was quite entertaining, “I’m expecting a lot from you, Miss Oddly. I’ll be seeing you,” Madame Visage says before leaving and ignoring the presence of Scarlet. Brooke waves a hurried goodbye towards Yvie before leaving alongside Madame Visage.

Then, Yvie was left with Scarlet, both quite speechless because of the situations that just happened this morning. With a pissy expression, Scarlet speaks, “Ugh just… come with me. The room’s not too far away if you don’t consider stairs.”

Yvie then nods as she picks up her suitcase and follows Scarlet silently. Inside her, the excitement still hasn’t faded as she ponders of what her future could possibly hold for her.

But before the Wizard, she has to deal with her insufferable roommate.

footnotes: — yes, brooke is on a wheelchair, i know. she kinda needed to be because the character she’s based on (nessarose) is on a wheelchair. — yvie and brooke’s parents are not based on their real parents; they’re based on elphaba’s real parents, frex and melena. though i made melena a bit kinder, frex is still as douchey as ever. — since i’m using michelle visage as madame morrible, i hope it doesn’t look like i’m villainizing michelle, lmao. i just thought she’d fit well as the role. — yvie’s appearance is her witch outfit from the monster ball and scarlet’s is that outfit of hers in a red wig and red, rose-coated catsuit. though, imagine that she’s wearing her legendary look first. — there are four main places in oz i decided to include (not including emerald city) which are gillikin, quadling county, the vinkus, and munchkinland. scarlet and many others will belong to the gillikins (they dominate the university because they’re privileged af) while brooke and yvie are from munchkinland. their father is the governor of munchkinland. — honestly, i don’t even know if they say ‘oh my god’ in oz just because their religion is sorta confusing but just know the characters will say ‘oh oz’ or ‘oh my oz’ a lot. — some events will directly mirror the musical so if you wanna try getting into that, that’ll make a lot of the scenes understandable.

#rpdr fanfiction #scarlet envy #yvie oddly #michelle visage #brooke lynn hytes #scyvie #wicked au #college au #yaiwdg #amelieee #s11 #ra’jah o’hara

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thefilmfatale · 5 years

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Always Be My Maybe and How to Ruin a Rom Com

There is an art to a good romantic comedy.

Let me preface this post with a confession: I am a rom com enthusiast. Go ahead, turn your nose up at me, you snobs! But I unabashedly love romantic comedies. Yes, I’m aware that the genre is much maligned for being painfully predictable and vapid, but it would surprise you how tough it actually is to produce a solid rom com that hits all the right notes.

You see, there’s a formula. Boy Meets Girl (yes, I’m being deliberately heteronormative for this example, put your pitchforks down). Girl plays hard to get. Boy persists and wins her over despite how much the lady doth protest too much. A conflict introduces tension and separation (”Gasp! This was all part of a bet?!”), throwing the relationship into jeopardy. Boy performs Grand Gesture™ to win back Girl’s heart. Girl forgives Boy and the two gallop into the sunset. Cue Third Eye Blind’s “Semi-Charmed Life” as the credits roll.

The formula works, but only if the filmmaker can trick the audience into believing that this on screen romance has real stakes. To do that, you have to have a script that at least pretends to explore an interesting relationship which, as it unfolds, gives the audience butterflies and makes them want to root for the star-crossed lovers. Without audience investment, you have no rom com.

To get the audience to invest, you need likeable leads who have great chemistry and just enough tangible sexual tension to create that air of “Will they or won’t they?” After all, no one ships a couple who are devoid of personality and lack chemistry. Most of this sexual tension is physical—in the way the actors interact with each other—but what can really help establish this is verbal, by way of witty repartee.

Think of some of the classic rom coms, like When Harry Met Sally. Why does it work? Sally is a Type A personality. Prim, proper, particular, and uptight. Harry is more laid back, casual, and candid— unafraid to tell it like it is. He’s also a bit of a troll who enjoys getting a rise out of someone. Throw the two on a road trip together and you have a recipe for romance (or disaster—however you want to look at it). As a viewer, you begin to root for them because we’re told that opposites attract and complement each other. Harry softens Sally’s rough edges, Sally helps Harry realize he needs some maturing.

And you all know the Big Gesture™. A New Year’s eve confession that inspired a thousand sappy rom-com speeches.

What makes When Harry Met Sally successful?

Harry and Sally are different enough from each other that there is enough sexual tension and push and pull to make their interactions interesting.

Each half of the couple has their own personality that feels authentic to their character. They have their own ambitions and goals. They also have traits and quirks that uniquely position them to attract each other.

The relationship does not seem guaranteed—the audience has to have a moment of doubt or uncertainty that makes them will the couple back together.

Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal have fantastic chemistry.

It seems pretty straightforward. Follow the formula, and you’ll be fine. In fact, it’s hard to screw up a good rom com if you just imagine unconventional ways to put two individually interesting but opposite enough people together then lean back and watch the sparks fly.

So all this to say that nothing could have prepared me for the soul-sucking awfulness of Always Be My Maybe, the Netflix flick starring comedian Ali Wong (know for her Baby Cobra Netflix special) and Fresh Off the Boat’s Randall Park.

The story follows Sasha Tran (Wong), a renowned chef and restauranteur, who rekindles a romance with her childhood best friend Marcus Kim (Park) when her marriage engagement suddenly falls through. Tran is portrayed as ambitious and driven, while Kim is unmotivated and immature, using his widowed father as a crutch to not follow his dreams. In its purest form (this summary), the gist of the story seems fine. Nothing to write home about (certainly not novel), but this is romantic comedy and the bar is more of a footstool so no one’s begrudging sticking to convention. But Always Be My Maybe takes that convention and, in true Asian fashion, approaches it with textbook diligence that just sapped the joy and life out of what should have been a fun, light-hearted romp. So much for subverting Asian stereotypes!

Now I’m a fan of Ali Wong and Randall Park’s, but this movie was so mind-numbing, it made me physically ill. Ali Wong? Hilarious! Randall Park? Extremely likable and has great comedic timing! Together you would think they would be dynamite. Fireworks! An explosive affair of epic proportions! And for those of us who’ve had a hankering for a rom com with Asian leads (and God knows we’ve waited a long fucking time—thank you, Crazy Rich Asians) we know about the demand for one.

Alas, what a disappointment. A telephone pole and I would have had more chemistry than Ali Wong and Randall Park. As much as it pains, I have to say that Always Be My Maybe just might be one of the worst romantic comedies I have ever watched.

Not only did this movie put two leads together who had zero chemistry—or at least enough sexual tension to help the audience suspend their disbelief that these aren't just actors—but the story unfolds in a fashion that actually makes the audience keenly aware of the formula. I know I said if you just follow the formula you can’t go wrong, but Jesus they didn’t have to make it so obvious! It’s like Fight Club, you know? The first rule of making a good rom com is YOU DO NOT MAKE THE AUDIENCE AWARE THAT THEY ARE WATCHING A ROM COM. I mean, at least try to approach it like it’s actually an interesting story about two people.

Instead, the movie followed story beats that seemed to exist for the sake of moving the story along instead of actually selling us on the relationship. The beats were so obvious that you can actually pinpoint where they begin and end because they were helpfully (and often unnecessarily) bookended by old school hip hop songs. Cue music! Here comes the conflict, the part where Boy and Girl rekindle their romance only to find that the years apart have made them different people. Boy judges Girl for being pretentious and obnoxious. Girl judges boy for being immature and unmotivated. A big fight ensues! Insults are hurled at each other that are so truthful they hurt! But it’s only a sign that they are meant to be with each other because they can trust each other to be this honest!

You know your movie is bad when your story beats are so obvious that they take the viewer out of the movie. You know your rom com is bad when Boy’s Big Gesture™ felt like a very clear When Harry Met Sally rip-off with dialogue that makes you want to get a lobotomy. There’s certainly nothing wrong with being referential or, even better, deliberately parodying romantic comedies. But Always Be My Maybe wasn’t really trying to be either. It was just stuck in this weird gray area of trying to be a romantic comedy and failing.

Always Be My Maybe’s biggest problem is in its turd of a script. It was so cringeworthy, filled with inauthentic lines and tired Asian jokes (the joke about Asians hating tipping was played out to the point of exasperation). Even their attempts to make fun of woke culture (which is an effort I wholly endorse) felt contrived and flat, which is such a bummer because that would have been a cool differentiator. Even the promising jabs at the pretentiousness of haute cuisine were awkwardly executed. Most of all, it didn't do its lead actors any favors, turning them into cartoonish cardboard cut-outs that were designed to follow the formula of a rom-com without putting in the work to earn the audience’s investment. Performance-wise, Wong did a passable job, but there were times when it felt like she was reciting a line that was clearly more apt for a comedy skit rather than a piece of dialogue that a character in a movie is saying. Park’s attempt at faux awkwardness, on the other hand, was excruciating to watch. Couldn’t he just be a dude in a rap band who happens to live with his dad? That's a decent enough back story. There really wasn’t a need to give him a personality quirk that seemed put on rather than authentic.

The film’s most promising moment was a Keanu Reeves cameo. And it’s only because Reeves was so game at poking fun of himself and the pretentiousness of celebrity that it worked. But just like the tired Asian jokes, at a certain point the humor was played out to the point where it became unwelcome. I also want to give credit to the film for portraying an Asian American upbringing that wasn’t the Fresh Off the Boat variety. While there isn't anything wrong with that portrayal, it’s also a treat to be able to see a different dimension of Asian culture, one that shows how typical and relatable it is to the average American’s upbringing. Premarital, promiscuous sex! Rap music! Being into pretentious food! Much as I hate to admit it, the whole “Asians—we’re just like you!” approach is kinda needed in film and television because it removes this layer of exoticization that can be restrictive to Asian characters.

While not tokenizing Asian characters is a positive, it still doesn’t make Always Be My Maybe a good movie. While I did watch it all the way to the end (despite my body’s vehement protests), it hurt my soul in ways I didn’t anticipate. How did they ruin this rom com? First, and most importantly, there was a shocking lack of individual character development. You don't get a sense of who these people are individually. Instead, they just seemed to be characters created for the sole purpose of putting them together and contrasting them enough to where they should have some sort of chemistry. But you can’t manufacture that. Each actor has to go through the work of making their characters likable. If I like the characters individually, I like them even better together! See how that 2+2 worked? But without dedicating the right amount of time and space in the story to showing their inner lives and what makes them tick, you’re setting them up for failure.

Second, and on a related note: there were no real stakes to the relationship. because setting up Sasha and Marcus to be together just seemed like a given from the get go. There didn’t seem to be any real jeopardy to their relationship, even once the conflict was introduced. The forced repartee between the characters came off like lines of dialogue instead of natural conversation, not to mention the very apparent lack of chemistry between Ali Wong and Randall Park. So much so that you didn’t really want to see them make out, let alone root for them to end up together. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you ruin a rom com.

If you, a friend, or family member just watched Always Be My Maybe and are experiencing similar symptoms of nausea and misanthropy, may I direct you to a Netflix original rom com that is actually good? Go check out Set It Up, if you haven’t already!

What did you think of Always Be My Maybe? Am I full of shit? Did you like it? What are some of your favorite romantic comedies? Sound off in the comments below!

#always be my maybe #movie reviews #Ali wong #Randall park

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toasttz · 6 years

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Photon Breaker Zechs: Through the Window

Chapter 2: Video games are best enjoyed with your friends. After composing myself from my initial shock, I realized I was able to call up the familiar menus and interfaces as I saw them in-game. A swipe of my hand and a little willpower would call up my inventory, status menu, skill tree, and anything else I could normally access at button prompt. Once I was aware of this, I tried to find the “Log Off” or “Exit Game” option but was unable to call up that one submenu despite having all others at my disposal. Silently cursing, I called up my friend list and saw a few active profiles – namely that of Deegal. If Dieter was playing, then I would at least be in good company to figure out the situation. If he was outside the game, perhaps he could give me valuable insight for how I would get out of this mess or, if he too were suddenly in a similar situation, we could at least bask in a shared misery. I tapped his name in my list and saw he was in Strattburg as well. Which was good, as this new body felt awkward, like I was standing on stilts that I couldn't remove, as they were now my own legs. I had made my avatar as tall as a Loppo could possibly be – not counting his... my... ears I believe the game told me I was about 6'10”, or about 8 inches taller than I was in the real world. This made my gait clumsy and awkward, so I wasn't in any rush to go bolting out of the village on some half-baked effort to find him. Then the options came up: Message, Voice Chat... Wait, voice chat? How would that even work without a headset or a mic, I pondered. Either way, it would at least work to grab his attention and I could think of something else. I pressed the option and heard a strange ringing sound, like a telephone I could hear but not see had begun to ring for him. After waiting for what felt like a small eternity, but was really just a few seconds, I heard the other side answer. “Hi?” I heard a... weirdly feminine voice chime in answer. “Uh, Dieter?” I hesitated. “Jake,” the woman's voice confirmed. At this point, the only thought that ran through my mind was, Hell with it. I'm just gonna roll with this. “Can you come over here? We have some things we need to discuss,” I tried to play it off like I was in control of the situation, even though it was apparent to all involved I totally wasn't. “Okay,” the woman's voice replied, “But there's one thing...” “What's that?” I pried, beginning to walk down the main street of Strattburg, moving my eyes from side to side as I went. “Where are you?!” they snapped. That confirmed it for me – female voice or no, that was Dieter's usual level of patience. I recalled he had made a female avatar and, while the idea repulsed me in every way humanly possible, I had to conclude that his vocal chords were now physically different, much as my legs were now. “We're both in Strattburg, so we can easily meet up,” I said, as reassuringly as I could. Just as the words left my mouth, my eye took note of a player character with green text over her – the color the player's text would appear to those on one's friend list. “Deegal”. That was her... or rather, him. “How do you know that?!” he barked. “Dieter, I can see you. Turn around,” I explained. He turned around, revealing his avatar as I recall him building her – a ludicrously voluptuous Floof clan woman, barely passing for PG-13 with a karate gi that seemed to desperately strain against physics and logic to stay covering her body. Like Neeku, she had pointed, animal ears atop her head and a bushy tail waving behind her – which I would later learn wagged when Dieter was excited about something – with brown hair and bright eyes. The fact that this form was easy on the eyes made me want to throw up a little. It made sense, of course. No anime-inspired MMO would make characters less than at least conventionally attractiveness. I recall I gave my own avatar ridiculously huge, flowing golden blond hair as a joke before it immediately was concealed below the bucket helmet that all Bunkers began with. Around this time, I noticed someone had been following me and with a quick glance I was able to identify it as Seamus. It wasn't hard, not only did the green nametag prove it, but also that, unlike Dieter and myself, he made himself a human avatar and then went to great pains to make it look as much like his actual real-world self as the system allowed for, though with some embellishments all his own. I silently wished he hadn't added the weird, whispy mustache to his avatar. It was creepy and unsettling but I didn't have the heart to say so at the moment. I nodded to him, a gesture he returned as we all seemed to arrive at the same conclusion. “Well, why didn't you tell me sooner?!” Dieter grumbled as he approached us. The call, once we stopped focusing on it, seemed to hang itself up. What a courteous invisible phone line. “I was trying to,” I returned with a half-truth. As if I had any idea what the hell was going on in the first place, “It seems we're all of the same opinion,” I trailed off, unable or unwilling to state the obvious. We made an odd trio, a modestly short, immodestly-dressed Floof woman, a towering giant made up of plate-mail to the point where my sex and species were, frankly, irrelevant, and a dark-haired anime protagonist with a long, flowing white coat and the mustache one would associate with wanted posters. We really could've passed as a trio of estranged characters from an anime. “Oh, hey, Dieter! It looks like you’re here, too! Fancy that!” He beamed with entirely too much enthusiasm granted our current situation, “I woke up from a cheese poof nap and here I am. I don’t think I’m dreaming, am I?” “No, Seamus, I don't think so,” Dieter frowned dramatically at his junior. Dieter always complained of Seamus's high-pitched voice, but I just didn't have it in me to tell him that was actually deeper now than it had been in years prior. Not that I think he'd believe that assertion anyways... “Oh boy! Does this mean you’re going to call me by my actual name from now on?!” Seamus beamed, pulling his hands up to his chest in surprise and elation. “Don't count on it, Zechs!” Dieter grinned, baring fangs, “Anyways, do you guys have any idea why or what we’re doing here?” Before I could posit my theory about Satan being alive and well in the world, or monkey's paw wishes, or gypsy curses, I was headed off by a newfound intruder, “Isn’t it obvious? You play the game,” a woman, clad in a flowy, purple robe approached us. “And... who might you be...?” I became incredibly aware of the weight of the warhammer slung over my back and felt a need to have it ready, just in case. Something about her just never did sit right with me, but I maintained my stance. “I’m the administrator of Slidelands. It is by my power that you’re here now, as you are,” she explained simply. The three of us stood opposite her, at a loss for words. I could think of nothing else but to beg for whatever she had done to be undone but before I could even get that far, it was Seamus, or rather his avatar, Zechs, who spoke first. “Whoo-hoo! Thank you! I love Slidelands, and now you need us to save the world or fight some great evil, or take on a nearly impossible quest, right?” he whooped with joy. It was everything in my power not to deck him for that. Dieter seemed to share my frustrations, but I held my silence, hoping that some good news would come of this exchange. The strange woman grinned slyly at us, “See? I knew it, ever since I met you, that you’d be perfect for my purposes,” She reached out, patting Zechs's shoulder, which would later cause Dieter to joke about it being 'the first time a girl touched him' but I awaited her answer with baited breath, “No, my dear Zechs, your task before you that I wish you to complete is to conquer this world. Defeat all others with your group and realize your potential as your titles as No-Life Kings,” I was visibly crestfallen – or would have been had my helmet not hidden my face – as I let out a sigh. Ultimately, all that told me was that we were screwed and she lacked either the will or ability to set things to right if we didn't cooperate with her sick little game. “That’s pretty flowery language,” Dieter observed, making a rude gesture with his off-hand. “That's hardly the problem here,” I growled, barely above a whisper. Come to think of it, I doubt anyone heard it outside my helmet... “It’s critical to your mission. Death has no hold over you now, not that you were paragons of life anyways,” the admin smirked in a truly obnoxious fashion. She held the power in this struggle and knew it too, the smug snake. I grit my teeth in response, willfully ignoring the inherent futility. Dieter folded his (her? Never mind. Not thinking about that anymore.) arms across his chest, “Is that so?” “I guess you’ll have to see!” she again grinned at us, “In any case, I hope you’ll enjoy and explore my world, and eventually, fulfill my task,” She then, without warning, faded from view, becoming little more than a hologram before vanishing completely. So that was our challenge. We were being asked to complete an MMORPG. She might as well have handed us a spade and asked us to count the grains of sand on a beach. Online games are, by design, endless. They are designed to be unbeatable, not because you'll hit a wall at the opposite end, but because you'll never run out of doors and hallways. As I said before, Slidelands has undergone over 15 major expansions and add-ons not to mention smaller bugfixes and minor content upgrades. Even if a player soldiered through the enormous swaths of content – or simply cherry picked their favorite bits and focused primarily on the story quests – the difficulty eventually begins to scale on a logarithmic basis, meaning no amount of grinding will ever be enough to satisfy the difficulty demands of the next steps. In short, you either undergo, frankly, ungodly amounts of side content, spending enormous amounts of your life doing quests that are, by and large, unnecessary, or you get hard denied by the obscenely high numbers of late game content. Most players simply reach a saturation point and drop off, stop paying their monthly fees, and allow their accounts to be soft-locked by the administration until they either pick it up again or delete it from their hard drives. Telling me to “beat an MMORPG” is akin to telling me to tear down Mt. Everest with a shovel. Doable only in theory. My theory-crafting train of thought was derailed when Zechs pumped both fists skyward and shouted, “Well! Time for us to explore, you guys!” His boundless optimism would be admirable, were it not so misplaced. Dieter mumbled something incoherent, prompting Zechs to ask him what was wrong. “I… don’t know how really to play this game,” he confessed. “You serious?” I was incredulous, “But you spent like four hours on it before, didn’t you?” “Well, yeah, but I spent most of that time actually making my character. I only actually played the real game for about twenty minutes. Well, twenty minutes after I finished the tutorial. I know how to use items and all, but I’ve seen combat tutorials online, and I am not ready to say I would wager my life on the byzantine, comprehensively dense pile that is Slidelands combat,” Dieter had a bad habit of stuffing 20 dollar words into 10 cent conversations, but it was a welcome change from the 2-bits one was more liable to receive in an MMO. But I digress. Placing an armored hand to the helmet-equivalent of my chin, I said, “Well, I guess the best way to understand it is to undergo it yourself, then!” “Hey, yeah, we can go out into the forests,” Zechs suggested, “You can level up and learn the ropes. We’ll be nearby and there’s nothing that could possibly hurt us there. Well, not hurt me. There are still elite critters who can give you a hard time, there, Jake,” I shot him a look, but I doubt the meaning found its mark as he just grinned in response. “Fine, fine, I suppose, if I’m going to be stuck here for the time being, I may as well get the low-down from the “expert” here. First things first, though, I, uh...” Dieter trailed off again, looking awkward for a moment. Again, Zechs had to prompt the follow-up, “I…uh, need to powder my nose, or whatever!” “Is that it, why didn’t you just say so? There’s one over there. Although, it’s cool. Why didn’t you just say you needed to go?” Zechs managed between his hysteric laughter. “Because dude or no, I’m not going to out and say I need to take a crap to you, Zechs,” Dieter demanded, then hurried off, clearly not perfectly in control of his new frame. “We have to use the bathroom in an MMO?” I pondered aloud. “Well, since we're in the game world now, I guess we still need to do those things. Y'know, like eat and sleep,” Zechs returned, “What are you gonna do with all those layers of armor when nature calls, anyway?” “Hardly seems like your concern,” I growled, “Moreover, I can just open the interface and unequip anything, as needed. Though I suppose since I can fiddle with the latches, I could do it the old school way,” I reasoned, best as I could. It's not that Zechs's logic was wrong. It's more that I just couldn't put my head around this 'world' being 'real'. As far as I was concerned, this world was a game, a 'fake' world that somehow impeded me from returning to the 'real' world. We stood idly. Or, rather, Zechs leaned against a fence and I practiced walking in my new body by pacing, trying to adapt to just how bizarre it felt to suddenly be as tall as I was. I had been the same height since I was 13 years old – to suddenly have 18 years of muscle memory pulled out from under me was quite a shock. “Sure is takin' her sweet time,” Zechs observed. “His time,” I corrected his nomenclature, aware of how much triggering that would cause, should it have been broadcast in the server's public chat feed. But honestly, I couldn't say I would've cared, as I tended to mute that when this was all just a game. “Looks like a duck, quacks like a duck...” Zechs giggled. “Eww. Gross. Barf,” I replied, “I'm putting a moratorium on that line of thought right now,” As I was practicing my steps, I felt one leg fail to connect and I went face-first to the ground. I sighed deeply as I glanced up towards a densely wooded area, just behind a nearby tent. I then witnessed Dieter walk into the bushes and... offer up a prayer to the porcelain god there. Well, never getting that image out of my head, no matter how hard I try. I pushed myself to my feet and walked back to Zechs, pretending I hadn't just seen that as Dieter quickly jogged back to us. “Okay, okay, I’m good, let’s go,” Dieter said, looking quite flustered. Zechs nodded and I offered Dieter an unheeded glance of pity. We ventured into the first forested zone outside the town, where Dieter had briefly started doing some simple quests and got to level 3 before losing interest in the game. Dieter was a Jetter, a class that specialized in speed and attack at the expense of all other stats, and it suited his impatient, impulsive personality type quite well. Explaining to Dieter the Three Rings Theory of party formation was just a waste of breath, as he would just rush all of his problems and hope that the limited sustain talents of the class could carry him. Not that Zechs was any better, but at least the Breaker wore medium-class armors and therefore could soak hits better. But what do I know, I'm just the party tank. I suppose now is the time to explain Slidelands and her namesake. Imagine a slider puzzle, made up of square pieces that can be rearranged to form a picture. That's how the map of the game looks, when taken as a whole. The game is made up of moving 'pieces' that follow set rotations, linked by warp gates at the extreme edges of each. On each tile are a series of zones, broken up into towns (safe zones), field zones (like the forest, where monsters spawn), dungeon zones (small, self-contained areas full of monsters and loot), and raid zones (essentially, super dungeons). If it sounds like this game has entirely too many systems crowbarred into it... well... you're right. Once in the forest, Dieter set to work, randomly punching and kicking critters, screaming his attack names like a man possessed. Or perhaps, a woman possessed by a man, I guess? I chose to ignore him in order to check a theory he caused me to consider. That, instead of using an interface, we could use our abilities by simple verbal command. Zechs and I tried this a little while Dieter sent furry bodies sailing through the air. I found a spot in the menu called 'Journal' I had previously ignored while playing the game where I could focus my thought on it and they would manifest as text memos. I thought about making a memo about it, but reconsidered when I realized it might come off as redundant. “So, uh, guys, I see some squares in my vision,” Dieter shouted over to us, “Whenever I do attacks they fill in. They seem to erase themselves after a few seconds, though?” “Oh, those?” I looked up from my memo, “Those are your Art Cells,” “And what are those...?” Zechs raised a hand to emphasize his point and began to explain, not unlike a college professor, “It’s a way that the developers found to halt the excessively fast attacks of the Jetter. In vanilla Slidelands, the Jetter’s actions were limited only by the action speed of the user. Because of this, people would overdose on coffee, ritalin, and sometimes… other things, in order to increase their reaction speeds and solo even the strongest known raid bosses. To counter this, the 1.1 patch replaced the Jetter’s action set with the Art Cells, forcing them to pause every so often and wait for further attacks,” “So, I got nerfed then?” Dieter balked. I rolled my eyes. Only he would view something that stopped players from actively breaking their finger bones as 'I got nerfed'. “Well, not really? This was back like… twelve years ago? I doubt you would’ve cared back then,” Zechs nervously grinned with a shrug. Dieter then went back to punching the squirrels as I briefly removed my gauntlets using the interface. “What're you doing, Jake?” Zechs pried. I silently grabbed a fistful of grass from the forest floor and let the blades cascade into the breeze as they wafted by. “I couldn't do this when it was a game,” I observed, seeing small amounts of the chlorophyll stain the white fur of my paw-like hand, “Weird,” “Uh, are you getting existential or something?” Zechs was clearly uncomfortable with this. I sighed. My attempts at parsing this world piece by piece was soundly defeated by someone who simply chose to embrace a world with no real accountability like a manchild. “Uh, guys? I found this weird monster statue. It also has a weird exclamation point over it,” Dieter shouted over to us. “Monster statue?” I wondered, sliding through some of the in-game menus in front of me over to the in-game encyclopedia, a disgustingly comprehensive guide to anything one is liable to encounter in the game. After using the search function, I found it. “Ah. Here it is. It must be a Master Statue. Given location, probably the World-Devouring Ogre subclass,” Oh, right, subclasses. Those are yet another means by which to customize your characters. You can level them up to your heart's content, but you can only have one active at a time – thereby only receive the stat bonuses of one at a time. Broadly speaking, these fall into one of four families: crafting, collection, combat, and hobbyist. Crafting classes, like blacksmith and seamstress, create useful tools, weapons, armors, and other things adventurers can immediately put to use. Collection subclasses, like miner and woodcutter, are for the gathering of raw materials. Since raw materials will be used in recipes well into the endgame sections, there is always a demand for their services. Combat subclasses, like the World-Devouring Ogre and Vampire, supplement combat talents and can even grant additional combat skills. And hobbyist classes, like Beekeeper and Qwibon Rider, each have unique abilities all their own. “Are you sure?” Dieter called back. “Yeah, dude,” I returned, re-equipping my gauntlets, “You like massive damage dealing, this subclass’ll give you that. Go for it!” I looked back down to my memo-to-self as I jotted down my observations. “Wow, look at them go,” Zechs admired, evidently watching Dieter's battle against low-level fauna with great interest. I hummed a reply, wondering vaguely if our memos could be seen by other players. Last thing I'd want was for some passers-by to read that I had been sucked into a game and assume I was crazy. “Up and down and up and down and...” Zechs chanted rhythmically for a time. “Uh-huh,” I managed. “It's like watching gelatin bounce!” he sputtered and salivated. “Yeah, well, I would assume... Wait, gelatin?” That was what commanded me to look up at the fight again, as Dieter was dancing furiously against a crimson-colored critter. I then watched on as it sunk its teeth into Dieter's arm and I saw a green bar sink slowly downward and change to an equally-red color as the monster in question. “The hell?” I whispered. I watched as he activated some buff or the other, punching the critter out of the air and throwing it back as it unleashed a mortifying scream. “Dieter! That cry! That’s a roaming boss! Oooh, I was afraid of this!” Zechs exclaimed, running towards our companion, “Don't worry, we'll help you!” A boss? Surely Zechs had misspoke. Could boss-tier monsters spawn in the very first field zone?! I briefly pondered just how sadistic the devs of Fairy Land were in their design philosophy, but then I remembered these were the people who sent a giant crab riding atop a giant turtle after Neeku and I for sitting in the shade for too long, and I quickly pursued after Zechs. When I caught up, I bent down, halting his advance, “No, no. He's... he's got this. I think,” He and I took a step back to watch what would happen next. What unfurled next was a truly impressive and acrobatic display of combat prowess. Not hindered at all by his new physique, Dieter deftly dodged and dished out damage with deadly devastating decisiveness. I was legitimately impressed. At one point, it seemed like he had the monster on the ropes and would force it to retreat – many monsters in the game were actually given pretty advanced AI routines to dynamically react to how a battle was going – but Dieter would not grant it the opportunity. He brutally grabbed it out of the air and began squeezing the life out of the thing by crumpling it into a ball as it was originally a piece of furry origami art. And, much to my horror, stuffed the thing in his mouth and ate the damned thing. I don't know if it's the fact that the taste of paper triggers my gag reflex or if I was just too stunned to even comprehend this, but I just stood there, stunned at the display. Dieter then turned to us, a crazed bloodlust burning in his eyes as he unleashed a fell and terrible howl, throwing his head back like a wolf. Just in time for his oversized chest to follow-through and bash him in his own face, throwing him head-first to the floor below. “Whoa,” I heard Zechs admire, barely above a whisper. I sighed and walked over to my stunned companion and glanced down at him. He blinked a few times, presumably trying to shake the haze off, as he groaned, “C-can you help me up?” he weakly offered. “Got a bite to eat and you think you could take me on?” I chuckled, then gestured with my free hand to the area on my helmet where my mouth would otherwise have been, “Oh, you got some Critter in your teeth,” I heard him mumble his reply, “Oh, good. I could still take you. I'm level 75 now!” “Oh, well, that’s good.” I nodded as I called up my menu before my hand and flipped a few settings, “However, still, let me put my profile on public,” Windowz, Proton Bunker, Level 237. “Oh. Wait, levels in the hundreds? What the heck is up with that?!” he grunted, in a way not entirely dissimilar from how I had reacted to the same realization. Zechs walked closer to us to explain, “This is a MMORPG, and one of the worst about grind. Of course this game is going to have a stupidly high level cap. In fact, in the fifteen years that Slidelands has been up and running, no one has hit the level cap. Ever,” I didn't have it in me to mention I heard previously heard rumors about the game's level cap going up with each expansion, either, so I simply assisted Dieter in getting to his feet and helpfully said, “Here, let’s get you back to town,” Not long after, we sat down in the biggest tavern of the first town. I was skimming menus still as we found a table and sat down together. I admit I was only half-paying attention as Zechs and Dieter engaged into a conversation about the latter's recent stat point gain and his wanting advice on where to distribute them. Like there was any doubt, since the min-maxing scrub was already following a meta build I had heard of – where the Neutron and Jetter had insane power/speed builds that had surprising amounts of self-sustain. It struck me as absurd that he'd follow a guide and then suddenly stop midway in. In the back of my head, I could hear Neeku's condescension of “But... but the meta!!” I chuckled when the thought crossed my mind. My focus returned midway into the discussion with Zechs gawking, “So, you're telling me that you made a nearly perfect min-maxed character without trying to do so?” “I guess?” Diegal shrugged. “Wow, man, just, wow,” Zechs shook his head in disbelief. “Like you have room to talk,” I scoffed, “Your build is a Photon Breaker, a middling all-rounder 'Tron alongside a middling all-rounder front line combat class. Face it, Zechs, you're a jack of all trades, master of none,” The Photon Breaker lacked major, crippling weaknesses, which made it noob-friendly and a 'safe' choice for the noncommittal sort. “So? What's your build then?” Deegal challenged. I sighed, pressing the tips of my gloved fingers together before my helmet. I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off, “Dude, you seriously need to take off your helmet. At least in here. You can't be a big, scary space marine guy all the time!” I sighed again. I guessed he couldn't see my nonverbal cues and figured he might have had a point. I yanked the bucket off my head and shook my sweaty hair free as it carelessly tumbled down around my head. As I mentioned earlier, my hairline in the real world was... unsatisfactory. So as a bit of an in-joke, I gave my character a ludicrously massive pompadour worth of blond hair that flared a bit in the front, in traditional anime-esque fashion. Deegal made a strange face at me, perhaps surprised I was playing a loppo race, but allowed me to speak, “I, Jake,” I deliberately hammed up my delivery, “am a Proton Bunker. Proton is a physically inclined 'Tron, while Bunker is the epitome of defensive field control and enemy direction. I ensure that enemies focus on me and me alone,” He nodded wordlessly at me, but seemed a bit startled by something. He knew I played a tank, so I guess it was the loppo thing. Weird. “Here are your orders, sirs and madams,” the waitress stepped over to our table. She smiled at me, almost apologetically, as she spoke, “The, erm, meatball sandwich for you, sir Loppo,” “Indeed,” I chirped merrily, “Excellent!” I was excited at the prospect, having not eaten at all this day and, frankly, I figured fake food could tide me over until I figured out what was going on. Right up until the blinding, searing agony surged through my entire being with a force that felt as if a heavy weight boxer had just checked my solar plexus. Every iota of willpower in my entire being had to be forced to a singular point in the back of my throat to stop myself from vomiting what contents may have been in my stomach prior. I spat out the sandwich in a mixture of feral terror and mortal shock. What the hell had just happened?! I cursed and sputtered desperately. I think I managed to get some words out, but couldn't swear to it at the time. Zechs shrugged and grinned nervously, “W-well, buddy, I didn't want to tell you this, but Loppo, your rabbitman race, are all strictly vegetarian. They can't digest meat, like at all,” I struggled to recover my breathing as Dieter riotously cackled at me, “Hey, can you get my friend a new sandwich, with... Hmm. Kale, pickles, oh, lots of pickles, lettuce, and tomatoes? Oh, and some carrots on the side, too?” I barked something obscene under my breath that, in retrospect, shouldn't be transcribed here. As if I need to explain further, I don't care for bitter tastes or certain textures – of which the above order falls neatly under. The only reason I didn't say more was because I stopped to run my tongue along the tops of my teeth. In the front were pronounced, sharp teeth for cutting. Next to them in the human jaw would be canines – designed for tearing. But in place of them were flattened teeth, like a vegetable-eating species would have. I was unsettled by this, to say the least. The waitress was uneasy, simply giving us an, “Okay,” before pulling something from her pocket, “Oh, and before I forget. I was told to give this to you.” She then handed Diegal an envelope. Out of reflex, I shot her a nasty glare, indicating that her presence was no longer welcomed at our table. I then extended the same to the laughing hyena-bitch who sat opposite me. I must have said something, as Diegal fired at me, “Don't hate me, hate yourself for opting for a vegetarian race. I'll be taking your sandwich, now, too,” As he slid the plate across the way. “You wanna fight?” I whispered, as I felt Zechs grab my shoulder, clearly telling me to knock it off. I knew he was right but in that moment, I was pretty mad, to put it gently. “Who's it from?” Zechs cut me off. “Does it matter?” Dieter shrugged carelessly. I snatched the letter from him and opened it forcefully. I scanned it for a second before reading it aloud, “Dear Zechs, Windowz and Deegal, My apologies for earlier. I didn't realize I hadn't installed proper toiletries for you before. Hopefully, everything is fine and dandy now that the latest patch-mancy has been implemented. Well, I wish you luck and hope for your success, Sincerely, Administrator Catalina Ur-Grafzou,” As I finished I thought back to what I saw and decided to take jab back at my dear friend, with the opening now presenting itself, “Wait, toiletries weren't implemented before? What the heck? Was everything right before, Dieter?” I saw the color drain from his face, “Uh, sure?” he offered, biting into my sandwich anew, “Why do you ask?” “Oh,” I hummed, “No reason. It just seemed odd she'd send us a message for that if everything was fine before, but whatev—Ohgodammit.” The waitress returned, having taken Dieter's faux-order seriously. I swear to whatever demon rules over this world, the NPCs were just as stupid when I was trapped with them than when I skipped their dialog with the Escape key. I said some... words one really should not say to someone in a service industry job to make her leave. The weird part about it was... I think I made the NPC cry? I told myself it was a trick of the lighting. Nothing that rock-stupid would happen in this world. My appetite completely destroyed by what just happened and my enthusiasm a distant memory, I put my mug to my mouth to the good old reliable taste of city tap water. Well, it tasted like the tap water of the town I lived in. I stopped halfway. This is all fake anyway, so who really cares? I reasoned. Diegal and Zechs continued talking but I had stopped listening. It was immature and stupid and I should've let it go, but I sat there and stewed in my anger instead. Setting my cup down, I interceded into their conversation, “Anyways, enough of this stupidity, let's get out there. We need to get ourselves up to snuff so we can complete this dumb quest thrust on us,” I went to stand, only to see the damned waitress was back again, but this time to hand me a bill. God damn NPCs... I fished for the coins, dropped them and cursed the brainless AI one last time for good measure. Afterward, we were heading back to the Forest of Beginnings. Putting my helmet back on and getting to move around freely helped me burn off some of the stress – in addition to the primitive catharsis that was smashing monsters who we hopelessly outclassed in single blows. I must say, it made me feel pretty cool to know I'd come such a long ways in a short time, for what it was worth. However, the resounding gong of falling hammer blows came to a stand-still – in fact, all three of us did – when we heard a sudden cry: “He-e-elp!!!” “Did you all hear that?” Dieter cried out. “It's coming from ahead of us, by about a mile,” Zechs reasoned with startling levels of precision. Dieter seemed to think so too, as he shot back, “That's pretty impressive. How did you figure that out so quickly?” “Oh,” Zechs sheepishly grinned, “I took ten levels in the Stalker subclass, and I can track anyone I've ever messaged, and that's coming from one of my friends.” Dieter and I awkwardly exchanged glances as I offered a shrug, “All the more reason to help. Let's go!” I brandished my hammer and shield, as something occurred to me. An odd bug I discovered in the game due to my particular build. And it didn't take long for my friends to notice it either. “Uh, Jake, man? You're, um, how do I put this... You're running backwards,” my floof companion offered. “I know. Because I can't move that fast forward. My armor load is too high for my weight bearing, and so my walking speed is cut in half. You could give me a five minute head start and you'd probably still beat me in the hundred yard dash as I am now. However, movement speed doesn't factor into defensive evasive maneuvers, so...” I trailed off. I learned the trick while goofing around, finding my back-step dodge command, which was technically on a 1-second cooldown, moved my avatar faster than walking forward. Weird ninja-solutions to these kinds of problems were lauded by Fairy Land developers and, thus, usually were not patched out. He seemed satisfied with my explanation, “I see, then. Well, don't hit any trees.” I swiftly explained a talisman I used for 360 vision. While the game was viewed 3rd-person style, wearing certain equipment would have secondary effects and bucket helms would shadow the world behind my character as a means of expanded role playing. The talisman in question was a reward for tank classes who reached certain level thresholds and did a particular questline. But it worked for my needs. Which is good, as we soon ran into a complication in our impromptu search-n-rescue mission. There, at a lake somewhere near the forest's center (where subsequently stronger monsters tended to gather) was a Boss monster. Zechs broke the awkward silence, “Oh, geez. I didn't realize it was the new moon,” There before us, center of the lake was a truly impressive sight to behold: from the waist up, one could be forgiven for mistaking it for a 30 foot tall woman, blessed by her creator with an unnaturally acute beauty and an otherwise-inviting smile and posture. The devs even rendered her a belly button, which barely floated above the waterline. However, there was no mistaking the lower half for what it was – a terrifying amalgamation of aquatic animal body parts. Where hips should have been was the body of a cuttlefish or a particularly sponge-like snail, with tentacles extending every which way not unlike a squid. Around the water's edge were smaller, cuttlefish-squid monsters, called Lesser Omens, patrolling nearby. When Dieter demanded to know what the lunar phase had to do with anything, Zechs shouted back, “That's because that's the only time that this monster, the Neptunine Omen, appears. Be on your guard, Dieter!” “Yeah, yeah, I've seen enough weird Japanese porn to know what to expect if I fail,” Dieter, in a bout of infinite class, responded coolly. Surrounded by the Lesser Omens, there stood a lone adventurer: a Squerran female who looked to be some sort of mage-class based on her ill-fitting, baggy robes that made her already-petite frame look even smaller. My natural instinct was to protect her first, but if we broke rank and got swarmed, we wouldn't be doing her any help at all, so I motioned for Zechs to stay close as we advanced. I dropped my hammer down atop a Lesser Omen as Zechs stayed by my side, slashing wildly at the slimy little piles. I figured we could stay in standard 3-Ring formation and force the upper hand by weeding out the smaller ones faster than the big mama could generate them. Dieter, of course, had other plans. She leaped over us, sailing into direct contact. Zechs briefly reached his free hand out, as if to call for him, but I motioned for him to... let it unfold. There was no use in trying to stop him now. “Dude, if she dies, there goes my chance!” my short friend hissed at my side. “It was funny the first time. Now it's just creepy, man,” I shot back. I had to admit, his surprise attack gambit caught the boss off-guard, so I saluted Dieter somewhat for taking initiative. Or, rather, I did up until one of the tendrils grabbed him around his midsection and began slamming him to the ground, much akin to the old Saturday morning cartoon slapstick sketches I used to watch. I admit it: I smiled a little. “I'll help you!” The Squerran girl suddenly started, “I call upon the Gnosis of the Soldonna! Tiny Puttirim!” I glanced over just in time to see a tiny, cherubic angel figure appear and began shooting small jolts of lightning into the horde. This served to provoke every last one of them – including ones that I had previously focused on me – as they dog-piled onto the poor thing. As I looked back to see Dieter's health (unsurprisingly in the red) ticking downward, as he unleashed a roar, fell and terrible, as he proceeded to tear the tentacle from its original owner and began bashing the lessers into oblivion. I was a bit at a loss as I watched the scene unfold. Just then, I heard the boss's low laugh echo again and looked her way, just in time for Zechs to take to the air, slashing wildly. Before I knew it, he had pureed a hole straight through her, dropping the boss where she floated. “WHOO-HOO! Oh, yeah, Dieter! Good job on distracting her so I could finish her off!” Zechs cheered wildly. “What?” I heard Dieter barely mumble. “You think you won? Lady Neptune will devour your... guts,” the barely-hanging-in-there boss gurgled. Feeling the day's mounting frustrations and my own helplessness mounting up, I whipped out my hammer and proceeded to exert all those feelings all over the boss's skull, quickly demolishing it into a semi-consistent pudding-like mixture. “My heroes,” The Squrran mage teased as she approached us. Zechs took it to the mug like a champ with a big grin, “No worries, there, Errin. Say, how have you been?” She shook her head, “Not terribly good, I'm afraid. At first, I was enjoying myself being so immersed into the game, as I was collected quite a bit of excellent data, and then... I realized I couldn't get out. Is this what they call losing touch with reality?” “Dude, who is this?” I asked, leaning down closer to Zechs. “Oh, my apologies. I am Dr. Erin Sanderson. You may call me Erri or Errin, too, if you prefer,” She introduced herself politely. I was considering why the name rang a bell, but Dieter beat me to it. “Really?! You know Erin Sanderson?” he growled. “Is that a problem?” Zechs squeaked. “She only wrote the most inflammatory documents on the internet, only after that one guy who wrote the hilariously incendiary 'Everything you like is shit' trollpost,” I had heard of her. I had actually even watched a couple of her ZoomTube videos where she talked about social systems in games. Sure, I disagreed with her take that every game needed social elements crammed into them, but I didn't find her all that offensive. Compared to how my day had been so far, I considered her a step up. “Yes, well, please, forgive Seamus, or Zechs. He was quite a gentleman to help me before as he did, and now. He has been invaluable to my research into online interactions, and now, what with this bizarre happenings before me, I'm sure his help will be invaluable once more,” “Now, you need to fill me in,” I offered. I wanted to hear the other side too, just to be sure I didn't step into a minefield. “I'll tell you when we get back to town. I need some new clothes. I got squid slime all over these ones,” Dieter wrinkled his nose in distaste. Which was fine by me. I was already exhausted after the day we'd had.

#Photon Breaker Zechs #Comedy #Fantasy #Action #Adventure #MMORPG

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gaychoices-stories-you-pay · 7 years

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The Pillow Fight (Becca x MC)

Alternate title: How Many Alternatives To “Frat-Bro” Can Abby Come Up With?

Can you name them all?

Anonymous prompt: “Jealous MC”

Paring: Becca x MC (Jordan)

Words: 1,113

I have two more fics coming tomorrow. I said I’d have them up by today but...life happens, you know?

That being said, thanks for the prompt, and feel free to send more! Enjoy!

“Wanna chill out, maybe?” Zack murmured.

I scowled. “I am the epitome of chill!”

“Oh, yeah,” he snorted. “You’re the chillest person I’ve ever met.”

My scowl deepened, but I didn’t avert my eyes from the eyesore in front of me. The nerve of some people, I swear-

“You have no reason to be jealous, you know?” Zack tried to comfort me.

My heart dropped to my stomach. “You’re right. I have nothing to be jealous about. It’s not like we’re officially exclusive or anything, we’re just having...” I swallowed the pain my own words caused, “...fun.”

“Jordan-”

“I gotta go.” I tried to keep my voice from cracking, but failed. With no small amount of effort, I tore my gaze away from the sleazy dude-bro grinding all over my g...Becca. I slammed my unfinished Old Fashioned on the counter and made a beeline for the exit, bursting out into the fresh night air.

Footsteps followed behind me and I rolled my eyes, plopping down on the curb. Out of my peripherals, I saw Zack sit carefully next to me, but I didn’t acknowledge him. I was content to sit and stew in silence.

Zack gave me a few minutes in my own head before he spoke up. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

I sighed. Zack was the only one of our friends who knew about this...thing that Becca and I had going on. He found out by accident; he walked in on us in a particularly compromising position. As scarred as the incident left us, in this moment, I couldn’t help but be glad he knew. I was grateful to have someone to talk to.

“We had a stupid fight,” I grumbled. My head dropped in my hands. “We had a stupid fight and now she’s in there with Mr. Beefy McBiceps and I can’t even fault her for it because we’re not official and...” I trailed off, mumbling unintelligibly into my hands.

Zack rubbed my back soothingly. “What was the fight about?”

I sniffed. “I don’t wanna say.”

“Why not?”

I lifted my head with a groan. “You’re gonna laugh at me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Okay, now I have to know.”

“Fine,” I sniffed again. “It was about pillows.”

He was silent for a moment before he erupted in obnoxious laughter. I pouted until he took the hint and composed himself.

“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckled. “It’s just...we’re sitting on a gross curb in front of a club because of pillows?”

I glowered at him. “It’s not just the pillows, Zachary. It’s the principle of the thing!”

“Okay, break it down for me,” He said mock-seriously.

I eyed him suspiciously and huffed. “Okay, look. I don’t mind that we always end up in my room. Really, I don’t! And I love falling asleep with her! It’s just...”

“Just what?” he teased.

“She only lets me sleep with one pillow!” I whined. “It’d be one thing if she was the one using the pillow, or we were in her bed, but no! She always uses me as a pillow! But I can only use one pillow because apparently, she ends up laying at a weird f-ing angle if I’m too propped up! I mean, honestly, who the hell does she think she - stop laughing!”

Zack was bent over at the waist, body convulsing as he laughed silently, tears in his eyes. I slapped his arm and he tried to calm himself down, but a few giggles slipped out as he caught his breath.

“Jordan,” he giggled. “Did you hear yourself just now?”

I groaned. “I told you it was stupid, but I snapped! I need two pillows to sleep, Zack, I just do!”

He sighed and stood, holding his hand out to help me up. “Come on, pillow queen! You’re gonna march back in there right now and get your girl.”

“I am a top!” I exclaimed indignantly, taking his hand and rising from the curb.

“Service top, maybe,” he muttered under his breath. I pretended not to hear him and let him lead me back inside the club.

The noise hit me like a slap to the face in my current state, but I shook it off. With a deep breath, I made my way over to where I’d last seen Becca and her hanger-on. When I didn’t see her there, my throat closed up. Was I too late? Did she go home with Daddy-Douche?

My jaw clenched at the thought as I weaved through the sweaty bodies and into the bathroom. As soon as the door shut behind me, I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against it.

“Jordan, there you are!” My eyes snapped open.

“Becca?” I crossed my arms and leaned my hip casually against a sink. I knew I should apologize for our fight (if you could really even call it that), but I couldn’t get the image of her grinding with the Douche-canoe out of my head. “Where’s your man candy?”

Her head tilted in confusion and her hands froze where they were fixing her makeup. “My what?”

I scoffed even as my brain yelled at my mouth to shut up. “You seemed pretty cozy out there, that’s all.”

A sly grin grew on her face and she sashayed around me, coming up behind me and wrapping her arms around my waist. I huffed and tried to shake her off, but she just tightened her grip and rested her chin on my shoulder.

“Jordan, are you jealous?” Her voice was a little too teasing for my taste.

It took all my willpower not to melt against her. “Of course not. Why would I possibly be jealous about some baby-man grinding on your ass? That would be silly!”

I felt more than heard her giggle. “It would be silly.” I rolled my eyes and she squeezed my waist. “Baby, you were refusing to dance with me. You were too busy being mad about fucking pillows. What was I supposed to do, pout in the corner all night?”

“Didn’t have to grind with some meathead,” I mumbled halfheartedly.

She sensed my resolve crumbling and kissed up and down my neck. “You’re cute when you’re jealous, you know that?” I bit my lip. “You think I wanted to dance with that walking meat sack?”

I turned in her arms angrily. “You made me jealous on purpose?”

She smirked, resting her brow on mine. “So, you admit you’re jealous?”

I pouted. “Stop being mean.”

“Stop being mad at me about pillows,” she countered.

“Fine,” I grumbled. “But you’re coming home with me.”

She laughed lightly, kissing my nose. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#becca x mc #prompt #fanfic #becca davenport #playchoices #choices stories you play #the freshman #the sophomore #becca choices #choices #please give me feedback

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hotchocolateandbookreviews-blog · 7 years

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Heartless by Marissa Meyer Review

Starting now, I will have two sections for my book reviews. There will be a safe section, where if you have yet to read the book, and then the Real Section, the area where it happens. (No, brain, stop running the song Room Where It Happens through your head). So let's begin! Remember, I am just getting started in this, and I am learning as I go. It may not be the best, but with more practice, I sincerely hope I may one day meet your standards. -----------SAFE SECTION----------- FIRST THOUGHTS: I am a big fan of the Lunar Chronicles series by Marissa Meyer. (If you are a fan also, comment below. More posts coming later). When I heard that Marissa Meyer was coming out with a new book, I was obviously overjoyed. Following her twisted fairy tale theme, her book is a twist of the infamous character, the Queen of Hearts. OffWithHerHead-SW Yeah, this woman, who's anger issues are like everlasting PMS. (She kills criminals all while assaulting us with that dress. I don't heart her fashion sense.) She enjoys long walks on the gallows and screaming at her poor husband. That woman. I had never been too into Alice in Wonderland, I haven't even seen the Disney animated film (I have read Alice's Adventures in Wonderland). All you diehard Disney fans, please don't kill me. But Marissa Meyer is one of my favorite writers, so I had to read it. However, in this book, Marissa Meyer takes this story and puts a spin on it. Instead of the royal pain in the butt (or the head, or no head, whatever works) we know her to be, she starts out being a young girl named Catherine Pinkerton who is the daughter of the Marquess and Marchioness of Hearts. However, she isn't into fancy parties or politics (me neither, I get you) but is instead really into baking. In fact, she is called the Best Baker in Hearts. You would think that her mother would be proud of her, but apparently, in fantasy stories, family support doesn't always go far, just ask Harry Potter. Her mother does not approve of her baking habits, for her mother wants her to be Queen. (Your loss, woman, there's free cake), and for the longest time, Catherine listens and does what she says. She dresses like a lady, she follows her instructions, until she attends a ball. At the ball, she interacts the King, who is described as an always giggling clumsy person (like me), who has a fondness for the little things, and is smitten with her. However, she does not share his affections, especially when the court joker, Jest comes in. Catherine is immediately smitten with his mysteriousness, (picture Tuxedo Mask dressed as a Jester), and the two enter a secret relationship while Catherine maintains her situation with the King and her dreams of becoming a professional baker with her own bakery. However, will Catherine go along with her family's opinions, being a Queen, or follow her own heart, a baker and a life with Jest-and suffer the consequences? Overall, this book was excellent. Not as great as the Lunar Chronicles, but a wonderful story. Honestly, I love villain backstories, especially one well done, such as Regina's from Once Upon a Time. This book was incredibly well written, and did an excellent job of incorporating things from what I have read of Alice of Wonderland into this book, so it flows and isn't too obnoxious. The only flaws of this book is some characters and sideline stories really do nothing for the plot and kind of clutter it up, and Cath always came across as a bit arrogant to me, but hey, we all have our flaws. Trigger Warnings: None really, except for violence. There is killing, fighting, and some creatures that may be scary. May be intense for younger viewers. I'm afraid that this is it for the safe section, and sorry that I make dumb jokes. I don't want to give too much away. NOW FOR THE REAL ACTION *megaphone* IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THIS BOOK, YOU SHALL NOT PASS! OR IF YOU DO, DO NOT BLAME ME FOR BEING SPOILED! THIS IS NO LONGER THE SAFE ZONE! CONTINUE AT YOUR OWN RISKS! CLOSE THE BACK BUTTON AND GO BACK TO WATCHING YOUR CAT VIDEOS! (SORRY IT'S SO FAR DOWN, I DON'T WANT ANYONE TO SEE ANYTHING BY MISTAKE) My favorite characters in this book were probably Mary Anne and Jest, and the poor Turtle that becomes a Mock Turtle. Honestly, I hated Jack the Knave, and that whole side plot about him being rude to her despite slightly having a crush on her felt so unnecessary to me. Jest's death was sad, but not terrible for me, and I appreciate how the prophecy didn't end up turning out exactly like they said, because first of all, I didn't want Raven to kill Jest, and second of all, there would not be enough build-up for that to happen. The evolution of the Mad Hatter and his whole escaping time and madness ordeal was excellent, and I love how they actually made him, well, mad. Not "just look at the little crazy guy", but actually mad, making you feel uncomfortable and kind of creeped out like you should be, and especially with the raven riddle. I love the plot twist that he was supposed to steal her heart, but fell in love with her anyway. This type of thing has been used before (with variation, of course, it doesn't always involve using a literal heart) but is oddly romantic every time. Remembering back to what I know about Alice in Wonderland, the King of Hearts was a very timid man who was always overpowered by his wife. They do a good job of this, basically introducing him as a bumbling fool, but a happy one, but eventually becoming timid because of Cath's fury. That whole Cath giving away her heart thing really gives me a Once Upon A Time feeling, and I love how it makes the book title not just a random title. It shows how ruthless she can be, ordering executions left and right with nothing on her conscience. The love story was kind of rushed, but in all the right ways, showing it was never meant to be, and in some ways was mysterious, and well, mad. In the end, like I said, I loved this book and would love to discuss more about it. If you have anything comment below, and maybe in future posts I will bring that back up. I hope you enjoyed this review!

#yabook #heartless #marissa meyer #book review

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justanotherwaywarddaughter · 8 years

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Hell On Heels

Characters: Cas x Sister!Reader, Sam, Dean, and a bit of John

Word Count: 4443

Warnings: Sassy reader, Cas is an awkward little nugget, canon typical violence

Summary: This is part two to “Spread the Word Around– the Girl’s Back in Town”. The reader reveals a bit of her history. Meanwhile, Team Free Will, along with its newest member, set out to take on what should be a relatively easy case. Things do not go as planned, which works to the benefit of a certain shy angel.

A/N: So this is long overdue. Sorry. It’s a bit disjointed because I started it and then stopped and worked on something else... Apologies for that. I started out with this imagine in mind, and it kinda grew from there. Italics are reader’s thoughts. Thinking of making this a series. Let me know what you think. Hope you enjoy! As always, thanks for reading! Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated.

Read Part 1 here.

The protesting creak of a nearby door coupled with the muted sound of feet thudding down the hallway pulled you from your midnight reverie. Making your way quietly to the open doorway of your room, you scanned the hallway for the source of the noises, your eyes landing on a retreating figure of over six feet. With an annoyed groan, you made you way closer to the hulking mass that was trying to sneak down the hall like a teenager after curfew.

Let’s play guess the idiot. Too tall to be Cas. Can’t tell if it’s Sam or Dean yet from this far away, though he’s stumbling, whoever he is. Most likely Dean, in from a night out that hopefully won’t make me an aunt.

“Have a good time, did ya, brother mine?” you asked with a smirk, switching on the overhead lights. At the sound of your voice, the figure spun, albeit clumsily, to see who made the noise. With one hand to his head and the other groping the wall for support, Sam took a less than elegant stumble backward.

“Y/N? What’re you doooin up ssso late?” he slurred with a bleary smile. Sam was apparently a happy drunk, you mused, shaking off the surprise of being met by your youngest brother rather than your oldest one. Moving toward you, the moose of a man began to teeter.

“Whoa, there, Sammy. Slow your roll. There’s no way I can pick you and me both up off of this floor if you go all timber on me,” you cautioned. “Let’s get your ass to bed. I’ll lecture you in the morning.”

“Mmmm’kay, Y/N. I’m ssleeepy anyway,” he said in an exaggerated whisper.

How much liquor does it even take to get Samsquatch here drunk? Dear Lord, I hate to even imagine.

You trailed a tromping Sam back to his room, made him take off his shoes before he got in bed, and sat the ibuprofen he kept in his nightstand out for him when he woke up.

Damn grown man needs to be told to take his shoes off before he gets in bed. How the hell did he even get this drunk? And how can a guy that hits his head on ceiling fans regularly look so much like a little kid?

Sam was snuggled under the covers with a peaceful look on his face. Cracking one eye open, he attempted to whisper again, “Y/N, why were you even up? Ssssssssomething wrong?”

And on that he chooses to have a little clarity. The man that didn’t even remember his head– not his feet– goes on the pillow has the sense about him to ask why I’m up at this ungodly hour. Figures. Intuitive little shit.

“Shut up, Sammy. You’re drunk. Go to sleep,” you grumbled, hating that your little brother, even in his inebriated state, had managed to see that something was wrong.

Sighing, you made your way back to your room and plopped down face-first on the bed. You’d had a lot of these nights lately.

I am normally not a philosophical person, but there’s something about randomly escaping hell that makes a person ponder a few things. It all started when I was born… Kidding. Kinda.

Mostly, you thought about what had gotten you to this point. As Dean often reminded people, hunters never got to be kids, and you were no exception. From the moment you’d been big enough to carry a sawed-off, you’d been sleuthing, shooting, and salting. That’s not to say you didn’t enjoy it– most of the time.

Despite growing up a hunter, you’d been relatively sheltered from heartache until your mom had passed. She went down in typical hunter fashion, sacrificing herself to kill the demon that had possessed her. I come by this hero complex honest.

You did the best you could after her death, giving her a hunter’s funeral in the sticks somewhere in Alabama. It was the first time you were truly alone, and you didn’t know how to handle it. Cue obligatory reckless streak.

Amidst said reckless streak, you’d come upon daddy dearest. Yes. None other than John Winchester. You’d planned to ignore him, laying low until you knocked off that vetala. Well, as per usual, things didn’t go as planned; one vetala turned out to be two, and you were in need of a little saving. Enter John. He’d been on the same hunt– Shocker– and had come prepared. Curse you and your research, John Winchester. Needless to say, he saved your ass. What stung was that he had no clue who you were.

Well, as the whiskey got to flowing that night– Don’t judge me. I had a rough day. Whiskey is the grownup version of a blanky– so did the truth bombs. One right after the other. By the end of the night, you were both spent. He had a daughter. You had a near-death experience. I feel like we were pretty equal there. You know, on the whole shock factor thing. You agreed to stay in touch.

And so you did. You’d occasionally update each other on your cases, swapping information and tips, sharing about your lives and the years you’d missed together, and growing comfortable enough to joke around. It was all fine and dandy until your old man called you up for a little help on a case. Sam and Dean were in school, and he needed an extra pair of hands.

Probably just a couple of vamps, he said. Probably new changelings, he said. We’ll probably be done before lunch, he said. It’ll be easy, he said.

Turns out John was wrong. What he thought was a small nest– one, maybe two, tops– turned out to be about fifteen. Why they were all together and how they managed to tolerate each other is still a mystery.

Nest, my ass. Frigging hive is what it was.

You two gave it your damnedest. You held your own for a while, the quick movements of your machetes creating a steady rhythm of whooshing sounds punctuated by the sickening crunch of metal on bone as they sliced through the air and hit their targets. The two of you moved in tandem, as though you’d been working together your whole life.

Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I suppose.

Things were going great. Until they weren’t. All it took was a slight hesitation; one small slip of the hand. You were down to the last two; one for each of you. You squared up to smaller of the two, leaving John with his more even match. The fights that ensued were anything but easy. The two of you were already exhausted, covered in blood, and running on fumes. To say you were less than sharp was more than fair. You were both sloppy, but you managed to get the job done.

You got all the way back to the impala, congratulating yourselves on a job well done, before you noticed the blood seeping through the left leg of John’s jeans. And, holy hell, was there a lot of it. Femoral artery injuries can be a bitch. Exsanguination is not a painful death, but it’s a slow one; a death that fills its victims with a sense of hopelessness.

No matter how tightly you compressed. No matter how many layers of bandages and fast food napkins and shirt hems you piled on. No matter how fast you drove. It didn’t make a difference. That was the palest you’d ever seen him, his head lulled over, his short, rapid breaths creating little puffs of fog on the window. Your first thought was about the boys. You thought, I can’t let them go through what I went through. They already lost their mom. What’ll happen to them?

In your muddled mind, there was only one valid course of action. You found the nearest crossroads and did what had to be done. You made a deal– his life for yours. And the hero complex rears its ugly head, yet again. Here’s to hoping Sam and Dean never find out. But, if we’re being honest here, I was pissed as he– well… You get the point. I was really mad when he ended up down under literally right after me. I mean, how is that fair? To him, to me, to the boys? Fate has a twisted sense of humor.

This hunt and the literal hell you’d gone through after plagued your dreams when you did sleep.

When you couldn’t sleep, which was most of the time, you wondered who pulled you out of hell and why. At the same time, you were trying to adjust to life with your two hulking brothers and their ever so heavenly resident angel.

My brain has too many tabs open. I even think about overthinking.

Sam and Dean were loud, obnoxious, and messy. The bunker had been their man cave until you came along, and they were still getting used to how the fairer sex preferred to live. You know, sans unpleasant aromas, constant nudity, and leftovers that could be mistaken for a science project. I know, I know. It’s a lot to ask. Apparently I’m high maintenance.

To add to your frustration, Cas would not speak to you. Would. Not. Do. It. He still popped in from time to time. He just never spoke to you.

Okay, buddy, I’m not sure what your definition of ‘later’ is, but it’s been like a month, and I still have no clue who this damn pizza guy is and what the hell he taught you. Am I allowed to cuss at a celestial being? Ah, well. Who cares? What are they gonna do, send me to hell?

You snorted at your own joke, noticing the time flashing on your alarm clock. It’s an acceptable time for a normal human being to be awake. I need coffee.

You padded down the hall to the kitchen, grumbling greetings at a half-asleep Dean. You sat down with your oversized mug of coffee– Ah, sweet nectar of life–and skimmed the local newspaper. Seeing an article detailing a possible serial killer that had targeted upper-class men in swanky bars, you sighed, thunking your coffee cup down on the scarred table. You read further into the article, which chronicled methodology– cracked chests, hearts squeezed to mush, and bodies drained down to the last pint.

This is our kind of weird. At least this one is close to home.

“Sam. Dean. Wake up. Rise and shine, boys!” you shouted from your seat.

“What the hell do you want at seven in the morning on a Saturday? This is my day off,” Dean grumbled as he entered the room. Sam, who had skipped his morning run– probably because of the massive hangover he had. No judgement. Just saying.– came in just moments after, his hair sticking up in wild tufts, eyes matted and sleepy.

“Do you have to be so loud? Let’s all use our inside voices today,” he suggested, moving to the coffee pot.

“I think I have something. It could be nothing, but it’s at our back door, so I’d rather be safe than sorry. Police are investigating a possible serial killer, but I’ve never heard of a serial killer that squeezes hearts and sucks blood just for shits and giggles,” you explained.

“We can think about it when we get there. We need see more of what’s going on before we jump to conclusions anyway,” Dean replied, leaning on the door jamb.

“Finally learn your lesson about being prepared, eh, Dean?” Sam mocked, wincing at the bitterness of the brew in his cup.

“I HAD THE DAMN SIREN I WOULD’VE BEEN FINE,” Dean insisted. Seeing Sam’s wince at his volume, he asked with a smug grin,” DOES MY YELLING BOTHER YOU?”

“Boys, boys. Settle down. If you keep this arguing up, I swear to you, you’ll regret it,” you cautioned, your lack of sleep causing your already thin patience to wane further.

“Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do?” Dean tossed over his shoulder as he went to get his grab bag.

That is it. Last straw. Overgrown brats of brothers. You will rue the day you didn’t heed my words, Winchester. You asked for this.

Seeing your glare morph into a smirk, Sam must’ve known you were planning to make Dean pay in a big way, because he said, “You two are so much alike.”

“I know. It’s like we’re related or something,” you quipped, jumping up from the table to stash your go bag in Baby’s trunk.

How can two people make such a short car ride so unbearable?

From the second you shut the car doors– slammed, according to Dean– your brothers had been bickering. The music was too loud. The sound of Sam’s keyboard clicking was annoying. The heat was too hot. The air was too cold. Dean’s driving wasn’t up to par. The list goes on. Any attempts from you to referee were promptly shut down with a double brother glare.

Oh, Castiel, mighty angel of the Lord, with your majestic and fluffy wings, please, if it’s not too much trouble, CAN YOU GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE AND USE YOUR PROFOUND BOND WITH DEAN TO MAKE HIM SHUT THE HELL UP? Thank you.

You praised the gods when you pulled up in front of the county courthouse, parallel parking on Main Street. Gee, thanks for the help, Cas.

You stopped and spun around, taking in your surroundings. Blink and you’ll miss downtown.

Putting on your best confident I-belong-here-I’m-in-charge look, you strode purposefully through the door, approaching the sweet-looking old secretary sitting behind the front desk. “Hi there… Margery,” you said, reading her nametag. You flashed your forged credentials. “I’m Special Agent Page, and these are my associates, Agents Bonham and Plant. We’ve been called in to have a look at this series of murders you have. Could you please point me in the direction of some case files? We just need copies. We wouldn’t want to trouble you all. Be in your hair and all that.”

“Why, of course I will. Let me just grab those for you. It’s no trouble at all,” she said with a smile.

You twiddled your thumbs waiting for Margery to come back, hoping the bickering would hold off at least until you left the courthouse. No such luck. Apparently, Sam was too close to Dean and was breathing down his neck. Amidst their squabble, Cas decided to make an appearance, earning a muffled scream from you. Margery chose this moment to reappear.

“Weren’t there only three of you before?” she asked, beginning to look suspicious.

“Yes, ma’am, but this is our new trainee, Agent Jones. He was letting our supervisor know we’d arrived. Isn’t that right, Jones?” you replied, elbowing the angel in the ribs to cue his response.

You honest to God chose this moment to show up? Say something, dammit. Before she realizes we’re frauds and calls us on it. It’s not that hard. Open your mouth. Use your words.

“That is correct,” he grumbled.

“I’ll just take those files from you. You should hear back from us within a few hours,” you said, prying the files from her still suspicious hands and making a beeline for the door.

“The next time you all pull something like that, I will end your lives, bring you back, and end them again. Am I clear?” you huffed, slamming the door to the impala, on purpose this time. Seeing Cas reluctantly slide in beside you, you addressed him. And you! I asked for your help earlier, and you left me high and dry. They are driving me insane in the membrane. Insane in the brain! Shit, now I have that song stuck in my head. Now see what you’ve done?

The car ride to a local diner was blissfully quiet. Apparently, death threats have a calming effect on this crowd. Duly noted.

After poring over the files Margery had been so kind as to give you, you all decided you were dealing with a lamia. You discussed the best means of disposal over your pie, ignoring the stares of the other patrons. Your rag tag little team had noodled out a tentative plan: you’d get all dolled up and go into the bar, look around, and signal the guys when you saw anything suspicious; one of the guys would act as bait, luring the lamia into a conveniently secluded alley, and the other two would be ready with a blessed knife and some rosemary, just in case. Sounds simple enough. I am gonna need some supplies though. I tell ya. I can’t even remember the last time I got all dolled up.

“Oh, brother mine!” Your sing-songy tone was bound to get on Dean’s nerves, but you needed a ride. “How much do you love me?”

“Depends on why you’re asking,” he said hesitantly.

“Oh, it’s nothing major… I just need a ride to town. I have to grab a few things before we head back out for the hunt tonight,” you said sweetly, twirling a lock of hair around your finger, trying to look innocent. Okay. Cue puppy dog eyes.

“Fine,” he huffed. “Let me get my keys. Sam! Ca–“ He cut off abruptly when Cas, ever ignorant of the concept of personal space, popped up comically close to Dean’s face. I thought I was your favorite Winchester? Too bad, angel boy. We could’ve had some fun.

Apparently Cas hadn’t headed your warnings to stay out of your head. He turned a deep crimson, cleared his throat, and stepped back from your eldest brother, leaving a very confused but relieved Dean to wonder what could possibly make an angel blush. Still, all you got was side eye.

“You were about to call for me?” Cas asked Dean, his gaze flitting around the room, landing on anything but you.

So that’s how it’s gonna be. Alright. Let me think about what I want to get while we’re out. A short dress? I think yes. Tight or loose? Who am I kidding? Tight it is. I’ll need some new underwear… These aren’t really suited for a tight dress– unsightly lines and all that. Where will I keep my gun?

The angel’s complexion rivaled that of a tomato at this point, and bless Dean’s soul, he spoke up. Spontaneous combustion isn’t easy to clean up, and you didn’t relish the thought of scraping bits of Cas off the wall. “Yeah…” he started hesitantly. “I just wanted to let you and Sam know Y/N and I are headed to town. Keep us posted if anything changes.”

“We will. I believe Sam and I are about to depart to ask for the blessing of a priest on your knife,” Cas said in reply.

As Dean nodded and turned to go, you mirrored his movements, throwing a wink over your shoulder at the flustered angel. I’m on a roll. Got Cas on my way to get Dean.

The unshakeable, unphasable Dean Winchester was shell shocked by the end of your little trip. He’d been subjected to horrors even his stint in hell hadn’t shown him. The dad bench at Victoria’s secret? Yeah, he’d been plucked from that with an, “I need your opinion, little brother.” The lounge chairs outside Sephora? Yeah, he’d been jerked from those to “help swatch”. The cologne display in your favorite department store? Yeah, he’d been yanked from there to assess which dress was “sexy but not slutty”. Even the sanctuary of the food court, practically holy ground, wasn’t safe. Apparently, a sale on shoes trumped his nachos. He drove home on autopilot, eyes focused on the road, doing the speed limit for once. You chuckled to yourself. Serves him right.

As soon as you pulled in the garage, you hopped out of the car, dashing toward the bathroom with your new purchases. So much to do, so little time. I’m not usually a frilly person, but doesn’t every girl get a little excited when she has an excuse to shake it up every now and then? You passed a very confused Sam and Cas, who questioned Dean about the haunted look in his eyes. Putting on your playlist and laughing when “Hell on Heels” came on, you settled in for the long haul.

Three hours. Three hours is how long it took to create your cascading ringlets, to carefully carve your face with the sticky tubes and pots you’d tested on Dean’s forearm, to strap on those ungodly undergarments, and to stuff yourself into a dress that left very little to the imagination. Now if you could just figure out how to fasten your shoes without busting out of said dress like biscuits out of their can. “Help! I need someone to…” you trailed off, seeing your brothers, shadowed by their angel friend, come crashing through the door.

“You said, ‘help’ and we assumed the worst,” Sam shrugged.

Dean let out a whistle. “Damn, Sam, our sister is a girl after all. How nice. Now cover up.” His glare rivaled the one he’d had in place when you dragged him to look at earrings, insisting he hold them up to his ear so you could see how they hung. He shed his outer shirt, wrapping it backward around your chest.

“This is the point, Dean. Gotta blend in; make ‘em think I’m a working girl,” you chuckled, tossing the flannel off. “You know, the classy kind.”

“Can you even sit down?” Sam asked.

“No. Sitting is for quitters.” You snatched your shoes from the box, and asked sweetly, “Now, who will be a dear and help me put these on?”

How many Winchesters does it take to get a pair of shoes on?

Castiel did his signature head-turn-squint, and you exasperatedly answered his nonverbal question, “It’s a joke, Cas. Take my word for it.”

You shakily walked around, testing your balance. You know how sailors get sea legs? I think women get heel legs. Someone make me one of those honorary pins.

Meanwhile, the heavenly being in the room had yet to take his eyes off you. You’re giving me siren flashbacks here. Stop being creepy and say something, weirdo. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, my fine feathered friend. This confused squint you ignored, opting to hobble to the garage.

You piled into the impala, praying the whole way the stitching in your dress was as strong as your love of your modesty, what little you’d preserved, anyway. The ride there was short and silent, oddly enough. You’d been over the plan at least a hundred times in your mind. You knew exactly what to do.

But, because nothing can ever be simple, especially when Winchesters are involved, things got messy. Long story short, you ended up flat on your ass in the alley behind the bar, the lamia above you. “Come on, now. Let’s settle this like adults. Woman to woman,” you choked out. It’s rather hard to speak when there’s a Grecian monster limiting your air supply.

“I can’t let some hunter ruin my fun, now can I?” she trilled, releasing her grip by a fraction of an inch.

“I mean, you can do whatever you want,” you said with a wink.

“What I want to do is this,” she said with a crooked smile. You could feel the skin on your chest tightening, being pulled taut as your chest began to crack open, ribs straining and bending before snapping. You choked out a half-formed scream as your air supply was firmly cut off. The edges of your vision tinged black as you struggled to hang on to consciousness.

The cavalry has arrived! Your little team made quick work of killing the lamia, Sam landing a solid stab to the back of her neck while she was focused on you, Dean and Cas not far behind.

“Damn it, Sam! Did you have to go for the throat? I’m covered in blood,” you grumbled as you swiped at the sticky rust colored liquid before deciding it was hopeless. “Where were you all? Better late than never, I guess.”

“What a shame. I guess that means your dress is donezo.” Dean grinned at the thought, ignoring your question.

You just rolled your eyes, and hopped up, taking inventory of your injuries. Seeing that you’d only sustained some broken ribs and shallow scratches, you celebrated. “Bam, bitches! Me, two. Death, ZERO. Sorry I couldn’t be your main squeeze, sweetie,” you spat at the lifeless lump of a lamia.

“SHHH DON’T SAY THAT HE’LL HEAR YOU!” Dean cautioned with wide eyes.

“Good. We can go for pizza. I hear he’s into that. I’m starving,” you replied, kicking off your shoes for the walk back to the car.

“When are you not starving?” Sam and Dean asked in unison.

“Stop that. It’s creepy. Just shut up and feed me.” You looked around, wondering aloud, “Where’d angel boy go?”

“Guess you scared him off, Y/N. Shame. I’d like to have him for a brother-in-law,” Sam teased, attempting to ruffle your hair.

Joke’s on you, dude. My hair is so full of hairspray and blood, I’m pretty sure you couldn’t get it to mess up if you took a belt grinder to it. You chuckled, seeing Sam’s disgusted look when he pulled his hand back and wiped it on his shirt. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Seriously, though, we’re getting food, right?”

Post pizza pitstop, Dean, who was keyed up from the hunt and his near death experience at the mall, decided to burn some rubber. Partially to burn off steam; partially to get back at you. You were white-knuckling it on the bench seat. Cas, take the wheel.

“I do not understand why you feel as though I should pilot this vehicle,” your resident angel said dryly, appearing in the seat next to you.

“God! You scared me,” you squealed, your fist connecting with his upper arm, your attention quickly returning to your brothers in the front seat when Dean swerved in reaction to the new addition to the car.

This is it. This is the end. It won’t be a monster that gets me. It’ll be a damn tree.

“We have been over this. I am no longer God,” Castiel huffed, rubbing his shoulder. You looked over to him, catching a glimpse of the look he was giving you.

Did he just roll his freaking eyes at me? Are you serious? Like, I’m the one that taught him that. Oh, he’s gonna pay for that one. And not in the good kind of way.

At that, the angel blushed, turning his head to look out the window, his hand tentatively finding yours in the backseat. You laced his fingers with yours, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

Sure took you long enough.

At that, Cas laughed, bringing the back of your hand to his lips, earning a groan from both of your brothers.

“Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives,” Dean mocked.

“Wait, how do you know that quote? It’s from a daytime soap opera. Dean, are you cheating on Dr. Sexy?” Sam snickered.

“You realize that understanding the reference indicates that you also enjoy daytime television, right, Sam?” Cas interjected.

“Sometimes it pays to know a guy that can read minds,” you said with a smile, bursting into laughter, stopping short when your ribs protested. It was worth it. High five for making them squirm.

Your brothers in the front seat and your angel in the back. What more could a girl ask for?

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tsaritsa · 8 years

Text

the healers have the bloodiest hands

this fic can also be found on ff.net and ao3

I have survived, but I have not been spared. - Catherynne M. Valente

In the months following the end of the Ishvallan Civil War, both Hawkeye and Mustang come to grips with the choices they have made, and will need to make.

Rebecca Catalina was everything Riza Hawkeye was not. Their personalities, sense of fashion, upbringing, even their colouring were extreme opposites. Rebecca was warm and vivacious and untameable where Riza was muted and plain and reserved. It was a surprisingly soothing balm in the wake of the Ishvallan Civil War and the atrocities that had occurred and the individual ones that she had caused. It was a balm Riza didn’t think she needed in the beginning.

However, the sheer amount of suicides and attacks on military encampments from disenfranchised citizens and soldiers alike had ushered in a new policy when it came to dealing with the shell-shocked returning soldiers. A buddy system had been established, with less working hours and more individual therapy allotted to each veteran soldier – it was not the best system, but it was a hell of a lot better than what they had in place before (which was nothing, if the rumours were to be believed).

Rebecca had not been in the thick of the war – though she certainly had the talent to be considered. She wasn’t particularly fond of talking about her work in general, Riza found, instead preferring to focus on the gossip at the training barracks and dragging Riza out to bar after bar in her apparently never-ending quest to find a wealthy young man to marry so that she could quit her ‘boring job’.

It was exhausting, but Riza rather suspected that was the point. It wasn’t enough though – nothing would be enough to rid her of the guilt that ran as deep as the ink in her skin. She could feel the stress creeping upon her now, though – it had been nearly a month since she had returned from Ishval, a month since she had last seen Mr Mustang (who, if Eastern City Command rumours were to be believed, was assembling a hand-picked team to work under his command). It had been a month since she had asked him to burn her back, but he had all but disappeared from the face of the earth.

“Well, duh,” Rebecca said, rolling her eyes as she began digging into her rare steak. “Technically we’re still in training. We’ve got like, what, five months left? He would want an experienced team, right?”

Riza shrugged, picking at her chicken pasta with disinterest. “Who’s to say we’re not as experienced as others? Hell, most of the senior officers weren’t even at Ishval. It just seems a little strange, that’s all.”

“He’s a guy, Riza. I wouldn’t expect too much of him,” Rebecca replied dismissively, pouring herself another beer from the jug between them. “Besides, I thought you were mad at him because he broke a promise with you?”

Riza sighed, putting down her cutlery and resting her head in her hands. “It’s a bit more than just a promise, Rebecca,” she said wearily. “Bar the girls I went through boarding school with-” – “explains a lot,” Rebecca muttered under her breath – “-there wasn’t really anybody else I was friends with – we weren’t a very popular family where I grew up – and he sorted out my father’s funeral arrangements; he didn’t have to do that. He…” she stumbled a little here, “he’s a good person. Not entirely heartless like you’ve painted him out to be.”

“But now you’ve got me,” Rebecca said simply. “I don’t mean to walk all over your complicated history with the man but it’s not just you and him against the world now, yeah? You can rely on me as well. I’m not going to try and replace him – wouldn’t want to, alchemy is ridiculous – but you need to stop being so hard on yourself. The war was shit – but you’re coping, yeah? You’ve got me. Maybe he isn’t doing so well, y’know?”

Riza nodded, not trusting herself to speak as she felt her eyes prickling. For all the reservations she had going in to this essentially military-mandated forced friendship, Rebecca was a breath of fresh air that Riza desperately needed.

“Anyway,” Rebecca continued, laying her cutlery neatly down and reaching out for her hands, grasping them tightly. “It’s not like you to sit around and wallow. Why don’t you find him and talk to him if you’re so desperate to clear the air?”

“What, at work? Yeah, that’d work out wonderfully,” she replied sarcastically, carefully removing her hands from Rebecca’s and speared some chicken onto her fork.

“Better than you just sitting here and moping about it,” Rebecca retorted, frowning. “I won’t force you, Riza. But you won’t be happy until you sort this out, yeah?”

Riza nodded, chewing on her chicken thoughtfully. “Would it even make a difference?” she asked after swallowing her mouthful.

“You seem to think so, otherwise you wouldn’t bring it up,” Rebecca replied, shifting her chips into the puddle of gravy on her plate. “I honestly think you should just take the bull by the horns and talk to him yourself – he might be too scared to talk to you – I was, in the beginning-”

“Rebecca!” Riza laughed, scandalised. “I wasn’t that bad!”

“You were awful,” Rebecca shot back, grinning widely. “The rumours were growing worse by the day and by the time you had turned up I was certain I was going to die the minute I spoke to you!”

Riza buried her head in her hands, shaking with laughter. “Let me guess,” she managed, after a long drink of beer. “Those rumours have only grown worse as well.”

Rebecca nodded, shoving gravy-ladden chips into her mouth. “But now they fear me too,” she said, swallowing. “So I’ll let you off for taking ten years of my life in unneeded stress.”

Riza ducked her head, hiding a smile. She might not enjoy every night she was dragged out by Rebecca – but there were always exceptions, and tonight was proving to be one of them. She mentioned this to the dark-haired woman, who only smiled beguilingly in return, fluttering her eyelashes obnoxiously.

“So you’ll think about it, yeah?” she asked, finishing the rest of her beer. “Or better yet, actually agree and say ‘sure Riza, whatever you say’-”

Riza held up her hands in surrender. “Fine, fine, I will think about it but I swear if you start ‘accidentally’ dragging me towards East Command then-”

Rebecca suddenly shushed her, holding up a finger and looked past her for a second, eyes narrowing. “I don’t think that’s going to be an issue, Riza. I think he just walked into the bar.”

She craned her neck past the partition that separated the booths apart. “Speak of the devil,” she murmured. It was unmistakably him – he always looked so confident even when he simply standing. There was a pretty brunette thing on his arm, her curls flawlessly arranged and her dress screaming of wealth. They looked good together, Riza noted, a heavy feeling settling low in her gut.

Rebecca must have seen the look on her face. “Do you want to go?” she asked softly, reaching for her hand and squeezing it lightly. “My mate Amber’s dog had puppies a few weeks ago – we could drop in and visit them?”

“No, it’ll be okay,” she replied a little hoarsely, squeezing back. “I just didn’t expect him to appear quite so suddenly like th-”

“You look like you’re going to hurl. C’mon – I’ll cover dinner tonight.”

Her shoulders slumped, and Riza nodded, suddenly exhausted. “I’ll go grab our coats,” she said quietly, scooting out from the booth. “I’ll meet you outside?”

“Yup. See you in a sec.” There was a warm hand on her shoulder, and then Rebecca disappeared towards the bar in a flurry of riotous dark curls.

She was walking past the main bar when she heard a voice call out.

“Riza?”

fuckfuckfuckityfuckityfuckfuc-

She froze, and turned slowly, a pained smile growing on her face as the dark-haired man quickly caught up to her, an unidentifiable look on his face.

“Mr Mustang,” she said as way of greeting, avoiding his eyes as much as she could. “I didn’t realise you were here.”

Mustang raked a hand through his hair, messing it up awfully. Even like this he was still achingly familiar – the awkward apprentice who had snuck out to shoot rounds with her when her father wasn’t paying attention. “Aurélie had said that this place came well-recommended for the food.”

“It certainly is. Is she one of your ‘sisters’?” Riza asked carefully, trying to ignore the curling in her gut. He still smelled the same, for crying out loud. All warmth and the soap that reminded her of earl grey tea. Mustang shook his head, suddenly looking as uncomfortable as she felt. “Ah – no, but she went to the same school that Vanessa and Brigit went to. She’s not involved in the ‘family business’, so to speak.”

She tried her hardest not to grimace. “I see. I won’t delay you any further, I’m sure your date will be wondering where you have gotten to-”

“Riza, I-”

“Riza!” Rebecca cried out, linking their arms together and eyeing up Mustang suspiciously with a raised eyebrow. “I thought you were grabbing our coats?”

Mustang smiled apologetically. “Ah, I believe that’s my fault, Miss...?”

“Catalina,” Rebecca supplied briskly. “Is he bothering you?” she asked bluntly, turning to Riza. She laughed a little at the indignant look on Mustang’s face.

“No, he was a pupil of my father’s. I hadn’t seen him for a while. It was nice to see you again, Mr Mustang,” she said, schooling her features to stay neutral.

Mustang looked positively bewildered as Rebecca firmly towed Riza away towards the cloakroom, only relaxing once they were outside in the cool night air.

“You okay?” Rebecca asked, shoving her hands deeps into her pockets, shivering slightly at the sudden temperature change. Riza sighed and nodded her head.

“That didn’t go as badly as it could have,” she mumbled, wrapping her scarf tightly around her neck.

“He was on a date, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she replied shortly. “A legitimate one too, not with one of his ‘sisters’. Her name was Aurélie.” The name curled around her tongue sourly. “Pretty young thing like her is only interested in him because he’s a war hero.”

Rebecca shuffled uneasily, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “He didn’t look awfully pleased with how coolly you brushed him off.”

Riza rolled her eyes. “He’s used to attention. I doubt it was because of me personally.”

Rebecca pursed her lips, looking like she was going to say something before shrugging, dropping the matter. “If you say so. Puppies?”

Riza nodded, shivering against the cold. “Puppies.”

The next few weeks passed uneventfully. Rebecca and Riza continued their training at the academy – by this point it was just sitting in a room and listening to an old man drone on and on about military regulations and where to stick your complaints if you had any. It wasn’t a particularly interesting or intensive part of her day, but nonetheless she’d come back to the dorm she shared with Rebecca and would immediately fall asleep on her bed, waking up hours later when the sun was setting and a sick feeling deep in her gut.

All thoughts of contacting Mustang were ignored, even as she could feel the ink on her back prickle uncomfortably. Rebecca had dropped the matter, for now, but Riza knew it was only a matter of time before her stubbornness would prevail. To be honest, she was surprised that the topic hadn’t been brought up before now – but Riza wasn’t going to complain.

It was easier than the confrontation she knew was coming.

Every other Thursday she had a mandatory therapy session, which was more trouble than it was worth, in Riza’s opinion. Doctor Petyr Gower was an awkward man who clearly was out of his depth – by Riza’s reckoning he was only a couple of years older than her, and obviously had little practical experience. He apparently had no idea how to talk to another human – or how to approach a conversation with someone suffering nightmares and near-crippling anxiety. He would be better suited as an interrogator rather than as a doctor she thought, sitting down opposite him in the small room that served as his practice – every time she spoke with him she felt more stressed rather than comforted (something Riza was fairly certain wasn’t meant to happen).

“You seem happier than the last time we spoke,” Dr Gower commented, adjusting his tie as he sat down, notebook and pen in hand.

“Last week wasn’t too bad. I went out for dinner with a friend.” She shifted in the uncomfortable chair, twisting her fingers. This room always smelled like cigarettes and a fake floral scent that was more cloying than relaxing. She supposed it was like the smell of newly-stained wood – if you spent enough time with it, you didn’t notice the pungency anymore.

It just gave her a headache and made her feel ill.

“Are you finding it easier to deal with larger crowds of people in public now?” Dr Gower asked, scratching his neck.

Riza thought for a moment before answering. “I suppose so. East City isn’t really a place well-known for crowds, though.”

“I suppose not,” Dr Gower replied, writing down something in his notebook. “But for the sake of a hypothetical scenario, how would you fare if I put you on a train to Central right now?”

“I wouldn’t get on the train,” she answered firmly.

There was an awkward silence as Dr Gower wrote down some more in his notebook. The chair she was sitting in had somehow become even more uncomfortable.

“I see you’re wearing your mother’s ring again, Miss Hawkeye.”

Riza paused in her fiddling of the diamond halo, looking up at Dr Gower.

“It’s a nice ring,” she replied absently. “It was one of the few things I could find of hers after she died. My family wasn’t particularly wealthy.”

Dr Gower made some notes. “You don’t usually wear it on your left hand, however. Should I be congratulating you?”

Riza sighed. “There have been a couple of times where men don’t quite understand the meaning of ‘I’m not interested, thank you’ – a ring apparently does a far better job than I can.”

“Have you found yourself in that situation more often than you would like?”

Riza scoffed a little. “No lady likes to be harassed, Dr Gower. And the illusion is nice – people treat you differently if they think your attention is always focused on somebody else. They’re more likely to be themselves.”

“Do you think people are lying to you, Miss Hawkeye?”

“People always lie. They lie about how they feel, they lie about you, they lie to you and you both know but accept it anyway. The idea of honesty is a carefully constructed lie. Even here-” she gestured to the doctor, to the room they were in “-you say that what we talk about is utterly confidential, but we both know you have to report to my higher-ups to make sure I won’t go off my head. Can’t have any more casualties, can we?”

“You must know that is simply not true, Miss-”

“It is, Dr Gower. Please don’t piss on me and tell me it’s raining.”

The doctor made some more notes. “Do you always distrust people so?” he asked quietly. “It must be exhausting to be on edge all the time.”

Riza shrugged noncommittally. “It’s not that hard. Lowered expectations are easier to achieve, harder to fail.” She stopped here, fiddling with the antique diamond ring once more. “You weren’t there Dr Gower, you don’t understand – you will never understand. We were fed lies at every turn. I killed people and I felt good about it. If I start being honest with myself, I won’t be here much longer, I can assure you that much.”

There was a strained silence and Dr Gower made some furiously scribbled notes. “Has the medication I prescribed for you not working?”

“It doesn’t feel like anything. Is it meant to work that way?”

The man sighed. “It will not be a replacement for your emotions. It’s not designed to be-”

“Some days I can’t feel anything, doctor,” she replied bitterly. “And I don’t know if I want to anymore.”

There was a pause. “Why?”

“If I…” she sighed, twisting her fingers together almost painfully. “I don’t want to feel what I am feeling, doctor. I get dizzy all the time, and I want to sleep but it’s never restful. I have nightmares where I am literally drowning in all the blood I spilled. Would you want to feel that?”

She glanced up at Dr Gower, who was looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face. “Of course not, Miss Hakweye. But you feel the guilt, don’t you?” he asked simply. “You want to feel it because you think you are guilty but you don’t want to feel it because it hurts to do so. This is normal for returning soldiers, Miss Hakweye-”

“Of course I don’t want to feel the guilt!” she cried out, flinging out her arms. “Who would ever want to? But I should-”

“You need to calm down Miss-”

“SHUT UP!” she screamed, standing up, her back suddenly feeling like it was on fire. “YOU WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND HOW IT FEELS TO SHOOT AND KILL INNOCENT PEOPLE! I HAVE KILLED CHILDREN AND FELT GOOD ABOUT IT! GOOD! I HAVE KILLED HUNDREDS UPON THOUSANDS OF ISHVALLANS BECAUSE I THOUGHT I WAS PROTECTING-”

The doctor was suddenly next to her and she felt the sharp prick of a needle in her arm and she tried to jerk back but it was too late – the man was surprisingly strong for his stature and she could feel her throat closing up, the over-white room was swimming before her eyes and there were so many voices and hands on her and she was drowning she was drowning shewasdrowninginbloodandmarrowand –

She woke up in a dimly-lit room, a thin blanket draped over her, and the overwhelming smell of antiseptic.

“Hey, you’re up” a voice said to her right.

“Roy?” she asked groggily, turning slightly in the bed towards the source of the voice.

“Guilty as charged,” he replied a little sheepishly, sitting up a bit straighter in the chair next to the bed she was in. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t wake up at all.”

Riza frowned, trying to see his face in the dark room. “What do you mean? Where- where am I?”

There was a beat before he answered her, not meeting her eyes. “You’re at the Parkview General – nearby Auntie Lee’s Bakery, the one with the good custard squares. What do you remember?”

She struggled with words for a moment. “I was with Doctor Gower and- I fainted?”

“He thinks you had a panic attack,” Mustang replied carefully, adjusting his cufflinks. “They had to give you a sedative – so he said. You don’t generally faint when you’re having a panic attack but –” He stopped himself, sighing and shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. You’ve been out for a while.”

“How long?”

“Eleven hours, I think. It’s three-fifty in the morning.”

“What?” she cried out, jerking up into a sitting position, pain shooting through her torso as she suddenly twisted her body. “Why on ea-”

He placed a hand on her arm to stall her movements, shushing her while glancing to the door. “Hey hey, easy, Riza, easy. Don’t want the night nurse coming in here. I might get kicked out.”

She looked at him properly then, eyes having adjusted to the low light in the room. “Why are you here, Mr Mustang?” she asked, accepting a pillow from him and hugging it slightly. He frowned a little at the use of his last name, hands fiddling with his gloves.

“To make a long story short, I was in a meeting with your grandfather when he got the news. It didn’t take me long to put two and two together.” Mustang ducked his head a little, rubbing at his eyes.

Riza narrowed her eyes in confusion. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here now.”

A nervous smile came across his face. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours about me getting my own team out here at East-” she nodded slowly, “and it was during these talks that your grandfather heard from the hospital. We were actually discussing you, at the time.”

“Why?”

He looked at her, a little bemused. “Those drugs must’ve really knocked you,” he said, fondness seeping into his tone. “For my team. I’ll need a personal adjutant.”

“Why me, though?” she asked, shaking her head a little. It felt like there was cotton wool in her head, muffling sound and making it hard to concentrate.

“Why wouldn’t I have you? You know me best out of anybody I know – you’d keep me honest amongst all the wolves. Besides,” he continued, shifting in the uncomfortable-looking hospital-issued chair. “It’s all theoretical at the moment – I won’t presume to know what you want to do once you’ve finished your training. But it’s your decision, in the end. You don’t have to decide for a while yet.”

She was silent for a moment, counting her heartbeats and willing herself not to cry. This was not the confrontation she wanted – all hushed whispers and fond looks, like nothing had happened since he was shipped off to war. She could almost remember the warmth of his hands and the feeling of those hands – covered in blood and still dripping, tracing over the words of her back and the ink and blood mixing and seeping and-

She bit her tongue and took a deep breath, wincing a little at the sharp scent of lemon in the antiseptic. First breath to remember to breathe; second breath to remember who you are; third breath to remember where you are. “So you know about Grandfather,” she began quietly.

“Yeah. I feel like an idiot in retrospect though – I think I gave him way too much ammunition when it comes to us. He- the General asked me if I would stay behind to keep an eye on you.” He broke off, leaning forwards towards her. “I remember you saying that you were estranged from your relatives. Did he find you?”

Riza nodded. “He found out at the end of the war, when he was signing the promotions that were being given out to everyone. Apparently my mother eloped with my father and they lost contact. Grandfather didn’t approve of him. He didn’t even know I existed until my promotion came through.”

“Hell of a reveal,” he murmured. “He seems very fond of you, but he thought it would be better if I stayed here overnight. The day nurses said it was likely you could wake up a bit disorientated – they thought a familiar face would be appreciated.”

Riza nodded slowly, fingers gripping the edges of the pillow she was holding tightly. “Thank you,” she said quietly, willing herself to calm her breathing. The next sentence was vomited out before she could stop it. “Does Aurélie mind that you’re here?”

He at least had the good grace to look properly guilty, bowing his head and laughing awkwardly.

“That was an idea of Maes’,” he began, rubbing the nape of his neck, avoiding her eyes. “He thought a civilian would do me some good. Get my mind off – y’know-”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know, Mr Mustang. You’ll need to enlighten me. I was under the impression I had done something wrong – I don’t hear from you for a month and then you turn up here like nothing is wrong?”

He sighed. “Yeah, I’ve been an arse about that – the whole- everything. I just…I’m sorry.” He glanced up at her, properly meeting her gaze for the first time since she had woken. “Truly. I shouldn’t have called out to you that night. You didn’t look happy to see me. I should have been in contact sooner but I got busy and-” he cut himself off and shook his head. “Excuses won’t make any difference. I fucked up, and I’m sorry.”

Well. “I think I was more surprised than anything,” she responded quickly. “But I guess I wasn’t very happy to see you as well. And it’s not- I shouldn’t have expected you to act better than me. I haven’t been well – and neither have you.” The bags under his eyes were easy to see now, his shoulders betraying exhaustion and she could tell even from here he was trying his hardest to put on a brave front. “We’re still both idiots.”

He smiled thinly. “You’re too easy on me,” he replied quietly. He reached for her hand and for a split second she considered pulling away – but the moment passed and his hand was warm and familiar in hers and Riza couldn’t help but relax a little.

“What else did grandfather say?”

“Not much else,” he replied, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. It was so familiar a gesture she could almost forget where they were, surrounded by antiseptic and the hushed sounds of a hospital early in the morning. “He was definitely worried about you, but there were a lot of people around. I guess he just wanted to treat you like any other soldier in his care.”

Riza nodded. “I don’t think we’ll ever be comfortable with one another…but that’s okay. I’m not sure I could deal with somebody claiming to be family and suddenly inserting themselves into my life.”

“Have you talked?”

“A little. He wanted to know about mum.” She shifted on the bed, crossing her legs and shrugging off the thin blanket. “She ran away when she was nineteen with father, but I was too young to really remember her – he didn’t realise she was dead. I think he was expecting it – but he still cried. It was quite…strange.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Roy commented.

Riza laughed quietly, letting go of his hold to stretch her arms over her head. “His intentions are good. I just wish he had tried to find us earlier.”

Roy made a noise of agreement, leaning back in the chair. “Tell me something,” he began, resting his head on his hand. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“What?”

Roy gestured to the room. “Do you want to get out of the hospital? That doctor of yours was talking about all sorts of tests he wanted done on you – none of them sounded very nice. We could make a run for it if you want.”

“Tell me you’re joking,” she replied, sitting up a little straighter.

“I’m deadly serious. Aunt Chris has got a saloon near here that she’s managing at the moment. You could have a shower, some nice food – a bed that doesn’t look like it came out of a horror serial.”

“How would we even get out?” she asked, frowning and crossing her arms over her chest. “There’ll still be staff here.”

“Way I came in – the back entrance. I think it’s just meant for employees but it’ll be the skeleton crew here anyway. We’ve got-” he checked his pocket watch, “-about ten minutes before they come to check on you again.”

“What’s the time now?” she asked.

“Nearly four-thirty,” he replied, standing up. “You in?”

She looked at him carefully, with his hand outstretched and a warm smile on his face. “You won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, will you?” she asked, trying her best not to smile.

His smile grew. “You know me too well. I’ll make you pancakes.”

She finally nodded, and took his hand, grasping it tightly. “Roy, if we get caught by a nurse it’s all on you,” she warned, trying to ignore the dizziness as she stood up suddenly, blood rushing back into her legs. He kissed her knuckles softly, before grabbing his coat from the chair and placing it on her shoulders.

“We’ve never been caught before, and I don’t plan on starting now,” he murmured, linking his hand with hers. “Let’s go.”

Their escape, in the end wasn’t that interesting – it was simply a matter of getting to the emergency stairwell and then slipping out a side door into the cold, frosty morning. The sky was becoming lighter and Riza could hear the birds beginning to waken, their faint songs echoing in the streets. It had been a quick drive to the saloon and she had wound down the window and leant her head on her arm, enjoying the cool air in her face. Little pleasures like these were becoming increasingly rare in her life, she realised with a sinking feeling in her gut. Maybe Rebecca had been right about some stuff.

The girls who were on the night shift at the saloon greeted them with warm smiles and drinks – Riza sat at the bar with Claudia and a cup of strong tea while Roy tried to rustle up some pancakes. Claudia was a sweet young thing – long golden blonde hair and a smile that was well-practiced in hiding secrets and intentions. She had fussed over Riza the most when they had arrived, all but dragging her into a shower and making sure she was wearing at least three layers of wool before letting her back into the saloon proper.

“He has been so worried about you,” Claudia said to her softly as she finished shaping her nails – apparently they had looked ‘awful’ and she wouldn’t stand for a potential hangnail to appear. “Like a duckling without his mother – it drove the Madame quite batty.”

“Really?” Riza asked, withdrawing her hands from Claudia’s and wrapped them around the mug of steaming tea.

Claudia nodded. “We knew the war was bad for everyone involved but-” her voice became all but a whisper, “- I’d never seen him quite this bad before. I won’t pretend to understand what you’ve had to endure but – I hope for both your sakes that you won’t go ignoring each other anymore. I don’t think the Madame could take it.”

Riza laughed a little shakily. “We needed the space but…” she struggled for words here – she herself didn’t quite understand what had changed between them but deep down she knew it had been necessary. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said finally, taking a sip of tea.

Claudia pursed her lips. “I guess not. You’re here now, no?”

Roy appeared then, with a plate full of pancakes and bacon. “You hungry Claudia?” he asked, ducking under the bar for a moment before surfacing with cutlery and plates. Claudia smiled indulgently. “I couldn’t say no to any of your cooking, Roy,” she replied, winking at Riza. They ate in companionable silence – the other girls that were working had dropped in to nick a fewpancakes of their own before disappearing once more – before Claudia wandered off to see if the Madame wanted any before they were gone. It was just past five in the morning, and the rising sun’s light was filtering through the front windows of the saloon, drenching the bar in a hundred shades of yellow and gold.

“You okay?” Roy asked quietly, cleaning up the used cutlery and placing them in the washing bucket. “You’re not regretting it already, are you? Leaving hospital?”

Riza shook her head, trying to stifle a yawn. “I’m just…thinking.”

“May I ask what?”

She passed him the empty mug of tea, her eyes meeting his. “Was she ever an option?”

He stilled, before smiling wanly and leant his arms on the bar. “Of course not,” he murmured, carefully tracing her fingers with his own. “I was hurting. We all were. You had asked me to do the impossible and-” he raked a hand through his hair, mussing it up terribly. “It was nice to pretend that I wasn’t me, even for a few hours. Be without the power that you gave me – that you asked of me. But I chose this path,” he continued, grasping her hands firmly with his own. “For better or worse I chose it and I will not disrespect you any longer. As hard as that will be for more.”

Roy exhaled heavily, moving from behind to bar to meet her in front of it. “I have been researching what I will need to get rid of,” he began, squeezing her hands tightly. “Thankfully it will not be a lot. But it will be – the burns – they will have to be deep. There is every chance this could kill you.”

Riza smiled warmly, moving one of her hands out of his to cup his face gently. “You won’t,” she said confidently. “I trust you.”

He sobbed a little at this, shoulders trembling before he crumpled in her arms, his whole body wracked with sobs and shaking like a leaf. It was a while before she felt she could move under his weight, guiding him to the piano stool at the side of the bar.

Riza opened the lid to the piano carefully, fingers caressing the ivory keys and inhaled deeply. Roy’s arm had snaked around her waist and his face was buried into her neck, whispering words over her skin.

It had been years since she had last played the piano – the one in the house had gone out of tune a long time ago and getting it re-tuned had never been a priority. This one was beautiful. It gleamed and glinted in the early morning sun.

She hesitated, before beginning an old piece she remembered from long ago.

the piece Riza plays is Henryk Pachulski’s Opus 8, No. 1, Prélude in C minor.

#fma fanfiction #royai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #rebecca catalina #fullmetal alchemist #fma #my fanfic #angst ahoy

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for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride · 4 years

Text

An accident? (Semi-Completed Roleplay between Traxex and Abaddon)

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The Lord of Avernus turned sharply as he heard a crash of flesh and wood off to his right. "Who's there!?" He called in an authoritative tone; slowly walking towards the sound of the disturbance with his mace drawn.

silentasmist:

“Son of a…” Traxex grumbled, standing up again and brushing herself off. Hearing the familiar voice of Abaddon, she was troubled by the thought of meeting him while she was cursed like this. “…Uh…” She said, hopefully loud enough for him to hear. It was embarrassing enough that clumsiness was what she was cured with, but she didn’t think it was bad enough that she’d end up tripping on a root and falling, and probably having some other marks on her from the other falls and scrapes she’d gotten from walking through the forest.

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Pausing for a moment as he heard a shred of a familar voice, the Lord of Avernus rounded a large tree, his mace still held tightly in caution. Rounding the tree he was met with the sight of a somewhat bruised ranger standing just a head of a large tree root, her skin was blemished with minor scratches and bruises, a large bruise was evident upon her tight and a small scratch across her left hand. Lowering his mace slowly Abaddon nodded to the Ranger, “are you okay Traxex? It is not like you to make even the faintest noise.” The Lord inquired, somewhat concerned.

silentasmist:

Embarrassed to be in his presence looking like this, Traxex removed a twig caught in her hair and cleared her throat. “…I’m fine. I’ve been visited by a rather obnoxious grey mage… Came and took away my finesse, if that makes any sense.” She sighed loudly, attempting to regain composure. “…so, of course, in these kinds of woods, I’ve been falling left and right. That’s why I look this way… Worse than usual, if I might add.” She snickered.

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Abaddon quickly stifled a chuckle as the Ranger spoke. Grey mage magic? That would explain her disheveled state certainly. Relaxing, Abaddon cast his mace away in a swirl of mist and magic.

"The grey mage are renowned for their trickery and their might. But to take your finesse, that is a cruel joke in these forests." The Lord remarked, stepping closer to the Ranger. "Though, you should not fret, it is not half as bad as you think, you look fine Traxex."

silentasmist:

Traxex rolled her eyes. “You’re telling me… I’ve tripped so many times today already, as if that wasn’t obvious.” She laughed, paying more attention to brushing her hair back into place than the lord walking closer.

“I guess being prim and proper in the woods isn’t something I can keep up forever, is it?” She said jokingly. “I should try not to make any sudden movements… I don’t know.” Saying this, she turned around, stepping on another root, putting her foot at an odd angle, and she fell over against the tree with a thud. “…That grey mage should hope I never find them…”

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Smiling beneath his helm as the Ranger began to run her elegant fingers through her snow tinted hair, Abaddon could not help but enjoy the sight of the beauty, it was almost a spell to him. Yet as the lord opened his mouth to speak, the Ranger turned and fell.

Rushing forward the Lord navigated the forest floor with ease, his armored boots crushing debris beneath him. “Traxex!” He called, concern evident in his voice. “Are you alright?” He questioned, placing an arm on her shoulder.

He had been about to compliment the ranger on somehow always looking presentable despite her occupation as a ranger of the wild woods.

silentasmist:

She shook herself off, still against the tree. It was a rather painful fall compared to her previously taken ones, and she was tired of this spell already. Seeing the lord so concerned made her smile.

“I’m fine, it’s just the damn grey mage is gonna be the death of me…” Thinking about how long this could last, she shuddered and cursed under her breath. She adjusted herself so that instead of laying against the tree, she just sat on the ground, obviously in a small bit of pain.

She could tell he was about to speak, and looked to him to tell him to continue, but she found herself distracted by the gleaming spheres that were his eyes. “…What were you…” Was all she managed.

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The Lord smiled as the Ranger did, her smile was bright, it wasn’t a full smile that one might expect from a beautiful woman, but it was beautiful and infectious it its subtle curve. “Allow me…” the Lord began, beginning to gently hook and arm around the Ranger as she asked her sudden and surprising question.

“I…” the Lord began, freezing mid motion. this was unexpected, why did Traxex suddenly ask something so random and so personal? and in such a manner as well? did she think him so far beyond what he use to be? did she fear him even? he did not know. Sighing audibly Abaddon finished his hold around the Rangers waist and began to lift her up from the ground.

“I was a stranger, now I am a friend” he responded simply, he knew it was not the answer she wanted, nor was it the answer he wanted to give, but he was not ready to remove his helm just yet. Beyond the fact he did to an extent enjoy the mystery it offered, he barley knew Traxex, she could react in any fashion.

silentasmist:

Feeling his arm around her, Traxex was all for being lifted while she was under this spell. She was the only way she’d be getting hurt, of course. Hearing him sigh, then answer a question she didn't think she asked, Traxex cocked a brow, shortly before realizing how she must’ve sounded previously.

“No, not like… Ugh.” She cursed herself for not finishing her question, and making one that was meant to be so simple into something so personal and perhaps uncomfortable for the other to answer. “…What were you going to say, was what I meant… Sorry.”

Now resting in his arms, she awkwardly looked away to the forest and let her eyes dart around. “…Did you have something planned, or…?”

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The Lord remained silent for a moment as they stood their, the rangers frame supported against his own; she wasn't heavy for him, though she wasn't a feather either, wearing a full suit of leather armour and being fighting fit definitely made the Ranger an actual weight.

Yet, it was the rangers words that the Lord focused, she hadn't meant to be so invasive, or was it a quick save be her quicker tongue to mellow him? he could not be sure, though he wanted to believe in the honesty of her words. One would think that seeing fates would put an end to such worries, but it did not; lies and deceit grow in every corner of the world and not all can be seen. In truth, all he could was trust in his actions.

“Well as to your first question, I honestly do not recall at this point” he admitted sheepishly, generally having forgotten his point, but quickly moving on. “As for my plan, I thought we could ride?” he grinned beneath his helm, reaching out his spare hand and pulling Netherax from the very air itself. Rising from the Earth itself the might war beast of Avernus gave a whine and stomped its hoof as it was called by its master, its tall, mighty form an intimidating horned behemoth that the Lord favoured riding into battle.

silentasmist:

The situation was awkward, to say the least. Traxex was sitting in Abaddon’s arms, and had completely screwed up whatever question she’d try to ask because of sheer embarrassment; being one who prided herself on being well-spoken when she did, she found it difficult to look the Lord in his eyes, making how she felt incredibly obvious.

She shrugged as a response to when he first spoke, as she didn’t see any better response. When he spoke of them riding, and when she saw Netherax appear out of nothing, she was delighted, and her wide grin expressed that better than anything else could.

“…I’d love to.” She whispered. She hadn’t been able to get around the woods at all by herself, and the idea of something else ferrying her around for leisure rather than work sounded simply divine.

for-the-haunted-mist-i-ride

Abaddon couldn’t help but smile as the Ranges loathsome mood lifted as her smile spread across her face like a wave. Taking a small step closer, with the ranger on his arm, Abaddon pulled Netherax by the reigns to him, the ancient creature grunting as it came to stand beside them, her luminescent skin shimmering in the dying light as Abaddon gently stroked the mighty beast.

He couldn’t felt but feel pride as he looked at his lifelong companion upon the battlefield, Netherax had never failed him or even given him cause to question her loyalty and tenacity. That, and as he looked to Traxex he could not help but become excited as the rangers eyes darted about Netherax, she was clearly excited.

“If I may, my Lady Traxex, will you allow me” he offered, lowering his hands and cupping them to allow the ranger to step up with ease; he was on one knee. “I assure you all will be well.” he reassured her, looking up at her still beaming smile.

silentasmist:

How a day like this- one cursed by the magic of the ever-obnoxious grey mages- turned around as it did was unexpected, while at the same time being exactly what Traxex needed. She smiled lightly while looking at the impressive beast known as Netherax, taking note of how it gleamed with the same eerie light that surrounded Abaddon wherever he went.

She almost thought herself to be unworthy of riding on the back of it, hell, anyone would feel that way when they looked at the stead. But when she remember just who had told her that she might, those feeling quickly left her. She nodded in agreement, and stepped up on Abaddon’s waiting hands to rest on the back of the beast. But, by some otherworldly- or grey, rather- magic, she lost her balance, and toppled over onto the ground next to Netherax, eliciting a concerned sound from the creature.

“…” Traxex was embarrassed, and seething with anger at the very same time. She wanted to get up, to run off and never be seen until this awful magic wore off, but knew what if she even tried to do so, she’d just end up hurting herself more. She merely sat herself up, still too ashamed to speak, and turned her head to face the woods, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

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The ranger fell too quick for the Lord to stop her, crashing into the Earth she sat their slumped for a moment, he pride obviously hurt far more than her body. His eyes narrowing as he turned, standing up to look down at the ranger, she was clearly upset, though Abaddon did not know what he could say to console the ranger’s pride.

Quickly an idea occurred to him and the lord of Avernus turned subtly and patted Netherax on her back, without a sound the mighty beast lay down upon the Earth, tucking her legs beneath her. As she did so, Abaddon turned swiftly and kneeled before the ranger again and without a word scooped her up in his arms before standing up. She was lighter than he had expected, her frame was clearly toned and he armour well made. Ignoring any sign of protest Abaddon placed Traxex upon Netherax, who gave a whine of approval. Once he had Traxex in place over the beast Abaddon mounted Netherax himself, swiftly and expertly he climbed up, making sure not to knock the ranger. Smiling beneath his helm Abaddon grabbed a reign either side of Traxex, her body against his. She may not have been much smaller than him in height but Abaddon was broader by far, something that became evident with her placed before him.

“Where to my Traxex?” the Lord inquired happily.

silentasmist:

“Go on… Ride off; I wouldn’t want someone like you to be embarrassed and burdened by me…” Traxex thought to herself. The mist had already begun to roll in, slowly as always. Though, it barely managed to touch her at all before Abaddon took her into his arms, both surprising the ranger and causing the summoned mist to vanish almost instantly.

“…I… Um…” Traxex fumbled around with words for a moment. Perhaps the magic had effect her speech too? No, no. This was how she’d always been! “…Thank you, first of all.” She muttered, trying hard to regain whatever composure she could, though that was made difficult by both the humiliating fall she’d taken previously, and how she was in closer contact with another person than she’d ever been before. “…Anywhere is fine. I’ve been everywhere around… here… Surprise me.”

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Abaddon smiled as the ranger lent against him for the moment, she was clearly embarrassed but he was quite confident it would pass, she was an independent woman and asking for assistance was clearly not her strong suit. Humming, the Lord of Avernus tugged at Netherax’s reigns and directed her towards the outskirts of the forest, “Take us somewhere good my dear” he called to Netherax’s who called in agreement, her call echoing lightly, similar to Abaddon’s own voice. “And go slow!” Abaddon added quickly, not wanting Netherax to throw Traxex accidentally.

Setting off at a steady pace, the Lord of Avernus settled himself into the saddle as best he could, the ranger not much shorter than him meant he had to lean a little to the right to see where they were riding, a force of habit in truth as Netherax could be trusted to lead him anywhere safely.

As the moments ticked on by Abaddon decided to speak, “Traxex, are you okay?”

#Silentasmist #Dota 2 #dota 2 roleplay #Abaddon

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russellthornton · 7 years

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How to Be an Alpha Male: Unleash the Irresistible Inner You

If you want to know how to be an alpha male, it can’t be faked *not for long*, here are some alpha tendencies that women won’t be able to resist.

Here’s a secret – being the alpha male isn’t really about the girl. It’s about you, being the You Without Cages – the bad-boy who can’t be bottled in.

So how do we do this?

Your 6-year-old you knows your natural alpha

Wanna know how to be an alpha male? Well, let’s go back to your inner bad-boy beginnings. Literally.

Remember when you were 6? An uncontrollable, let’s be honest, obnoxious little tyke. It was normal then to hear your mother screaming, for the umpteenth time, for you to settle down and stop causing chaos.

At 6, you didn’t need to be told HOW to be an alpha male. It was your natural state.

So where’s my alpha gone?

As we get older, society stamps down on our inner alpha bursting through the seams. And at some point we trade our alpha essence for a sense of peace and acceptance. The alpha becomes a stranger.

But he doesn’t disappear. Like Jekyll and Hyde or Bruce Banner and ‘the other guy,’ he’s just waiting under the surface…

So how do we bring our Hulk out?

First, eliminate your doubts.

Let me answer your real question – what if I get the girl by being alpha but get beat up by other alphas?

Ever seem rams butting heads in the wild? Painful.

There’s a good reason for doubt. Violence is generally far less common in modern society that it once was. However, we’re still wired to lower our charisma in situations where there could be ‘superior,’ dangerous competition.

Imagine tribal days of humans. Being an alpha male would potentially have meant competition, in the form of a stick aimed at your head. But actually embracing chaos is good. Chaos provides opportunities that your safer competitors won’t have. [Read: 30 alpha male characteristics that make you a real alpha]

Those who play to win, end up the safest bet in the game of attraction and success. They learn the fastest, through feedback. As the world now is far less dangerous than it was, being alpha offers enormous opportunities with far reduced risks to mortality.

The key motto here is: play it to win or be average.

Okay I’m bought-in – how do I reconnect to my Inner Alpha?

#1 First, know there’s not one alpha.

Alpha can be: skinny or overweight, loud or quietly simmering, outspoken or a man of action. Jump ahead to the part of this feature subtitled ‘look for what makes you feel free’ to see how this can be possible.

#2 Refrain from judging your inner alpha. Instead:

– Embrace your inner 6 year-old, no matter how silly this feels

– Embrace chaos, discomfort and criticism

– Discard what mummy and daddy told you made you a good boy

#3 Know your emotions can’t be civilized.

So listen to them. They know where your alpha is. Dive into the deep-end. It’s the feeling of pressing the buzzer before you have the answer. [Read: 12 Prince Charming traits that make girls swoon]

Screw answers, put some gel on, slick your hair back, and rev up your motorcycle *what badass-ness feels like to you: fashion, edgy jokes, swearing, being a dick, being narcissistic – fill in your own blanks*.

Alphas have fun. Lots of fun.

Enjoy the process. Everything in this feature should be absorbed with the aim of increasing personal pleasure – doing what truly feels fun TO YOU. If you’re not having fun, you’re doing something wrong.

To paraphrase marketing-pitch expert and alpha, Oren Klaff: ‘this isn’t a dog and pony show, it’s for your own personal enjoyment.’ The key here’s to learn to connect with that place inside where your heart skips, adrenaline pumps, and you feel inner freedom.

Note – at first when you’re learning how to be an alpha male, you may mainly feel fear, anxiety, or doubt. All of those pent up emotions are the close cousins to excitement and freedom. You’re just interpreting them upside-down. [Read: How to be a badass in 25 awesomely bad ways]

Watch a movie with a romantic alpha lead and take note

The key thing to know is whatever you resonate with, admire or fear in OTHERS is also inside YOU.

For example, whenever I watch a Leonardo DiCaprio movie I see aspects of my own alpha traits, such as:

#1 Is impetuous

#2 Goes after the girl he desires even at risk to himself and approaches her directly, playing it to win

#3 Has a look in his eyes that he will go to any lengths to win

#4 Obsessive and borderline crazy

#5 Unable to process the meaning of being balanced or average

#6 Dressed to kill

#7 Speaks with authority and skill

What alpha heartthrob or movie star do you resonate with?

[Read: How to be a much better man using the right role model]

Practice fearlessness

No one’s born fearless. Fearlessness is a practice. Some begin this practice young, others at an older age. Some people never do and so live restricted by their fears. Here’s 2 ways to go about it:

#1 Know fear will always be there.

Fearlessness is being bold in the face of fear-emotion. Rise to the occasion. When you have the urge to back down, to pump the brakes, to play safe – do the opposite!

#2 Surprise yourself often.

Walk into a room and greet your spouse by opening your throat, and speaking at the top of your lungs. Damn you, yell as if singing – ‘hey-yoooo’

There’s a whole field about this called bioenergetics.

The idea is, when you behave in ways that are striking, your mind can’t help but follow suit. Your mind notices a difference between its old assumptions about you, and your new behaviors *and your mind doesn’t like dissonance*. So therefore it shifts its beliefs to match your behaviors.

You’ve been holding your natural alpha in for so long, that you need to retrain yourself to express it. You can create genuine fearlessness by doing what doesn’t feel natural at first. This will open you up over time, until boldness becomes second nature again. [Read: How to be dominant – 15 calm and firm ways to be the real alpha]

Eat and sleep like an alpha

Here’s where movies trick us – alphas always seem to have a beer nearby, to smoke like a chimney, and eat greasy burgers all day. There are many, many alphas like that. But there are also many alphas in jail. I’ll assume you want to be a non-self-destructive alpha.

So play it to win long-term, treat your body like a temple. Sleep in a pitch-black room, take cold showers, lift weights, anything to pump up masculine hormones of wellbeing. Put natural stuff in your body to crank up your vitality and sustain it. [Read: 12 tips to transform you from a nice guy into a real man]

Always look for what makes you feel free

Not what might appear as free to others, but what makes YOU feel free.

If you try to rationalize what should make you feel free, you’re moving away from your natural alpha. For the alpha there is no reason needed for his behavior. He expresses what feels most natural, free, fun, exciting, interesting, all of those engaging feelings.

Your ability to express freedom turns the girl on, and makes her trust and prize you. Why? Because expressing freedom is such a hard thing to fake. This might mean making others uncomfortable. If making someone uncomfortable makes you feel uncomfortable, then this is the reason why you can’t connect to your natural alpha.

Alpha is situational

Knowing how to be an alpha male is situational: if you’re father to a 3 year-old, you’re the king in that environment. In your office with your boss, you probably aren’t. But you can always find ways to maintain a sense of freedom. [Read: 15 reasons why nice guys finish last all the time]

Here’s 7 keys to maintaining an alpha mind-set, in any environment:

#1 HAVING GENUINE FUN *not for show!* Maintaining a sense of playfulness even under pressure

#2 Erect positive posture

#3 Not nodding excessively

#4 Using words such as ‘sure’ and ‘I see’ and ‘right’ rather than ‘yes’ and ‘ok’

#5 Being honest with what you think

#6 Be unafraid to disagree

#7 Not being perfect

Understand who is in control

Two people are talking. It’s a movie, action packed. One of the people is Leonardo DiCaprio. Who is reacting more to the other person?

Pretty obvious, right?

Alphas focus on moving their own energy, rather than dancing to another person’s tune. If you find your focus is on what the other person thinks of you during an interaction, this is the problem.

Like a mental discipline, you can train your focus on things that support your goals and self-esteem instead. [Read: Here’s how to be masculine without being a jerk]

If a girl told an alpha he was an asshole, he’d focus on the fact that she was emotionally engaged by his presence *a good sign* and not on her words. He’d be more likely to persistently stick around, focusing on being playful and connecting with her, knowing she may be simply testing his steel, and not internalize her negative comment.

Embrace your ‘Inner A-hole’ with persistence

That brings me to another point about how to be an alpha male. Too many guys just can’t take rejection. Well, let me point out a shocking truth.

Watch movies with a male alpha love interest. The girl usually doesn’t give in to him right away. She might even say they could never work – ‘he’s just a player,’ or to her friends – ‘he’s so full of himself,’ or to him just – ‘I can’t,’ followed by a curious glance back and exit.

When we try to be the nice guy, this can just make us seem ingratiating. We’re forgetful. [Read: Nice guy syndrome – 16 reasons why girls find them so boring]

Instead, get attention like a 6-year-old. Let yourself screw up. Be crude, obnoxious – the key is for it to feel playful and fun for you. The girl is more interested in your energy than your words. She wants to see a full person with oomph, not a tap-dancer.

This CAN’T be faked. The sooner you accept that you can be a bit of a dick at times, the sooner she can let you know she’s also a bit of a bitch at times too. No judgement, just free expression and experimentation.

[Read: 15 things women look for in a man before falling for him]

If you’ve been wondering how to be an alpha male, remember this – you already are an alpha. And a bit of an asshole; and free; and badass – you just need to express this more to remind your body and mind, and the rest will take care of itself. The girl will be completely hypnotised by your sincerity and unapologetic boldness. Now fly my young alphas!

The post How to Be an Alpha Male: Unleash the Irresistible Inner You is the original content of LovePanky - Your Guide to Better Love and Relationships.

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