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crashdevlin · 4 years

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Another Second Chance 1- Black Hole

Another Second Chance Masterlist, Happily Ever Eventually Masterlist

Author’s Note: The final (hopefully) installment of the Happily Ever Eventually RPF series.

Summary: It's been five years since Jensen broke Y/n's heart and she's avoided him completely, but avoidance only lasts so long.

Pairing: past Jensen x Reader

Word count: 2302

Story Warnings: past cheating, little bit of background angst, mostly no warnings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things change. Either gradually or in catastrophic leaps, things change. Fact of life, unfortunately. Songs have been sung, books have been penned, movies have been made, all centered around that single inarguable fact.

When I was a younger woman, I thought that nothing really ever changed, that the facts of my life were that I was weak and stupid and I was always going to be in love with people who didn’t want me and were too good for me, that I was going to be miserable and alone forever. I was certain that I was the same person at 26 that I was at 16 and that’s just how things were always going to be.

I can honestly say, at 34 years old, I’m a different woman than I was at 16 or 26 or 30...and I may be alone, but I am not miserable.

I’m successful. I’m happy. I have friends and I have fans. I am well-rounded and, despite a hundred things working against me, well-adjusted. I’ve learned that I don’t need to be dating someone to be happy. In fact, without all the drama surrounding me whenever I do date someone, I’m happier. I have my children and I have my friends and I am happy. 2025 is shaping up to be one of my best years yet and I am ecstatic to see where it leads.

I’m sitting at my computer when my phone goes off. I don’t recognize the number so I Google it. King Woods Private School, the school Jensen wants to send Mav to. Weird that they’d call me when Jensen has primary custody. I answer immediately. “Hello?”

“Is this Miss Y/l/n? Maverick Ackles’ mother?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Hi, Ma’am. I’m Caroline Smith, Dean of Admissions for King Woods Private School. Your son’s father applied to our institution for the Fall semester for Kindergarten.”

“Oh, yeah. He told me. Said his father is very excited to get him in there.”

“His father didn’t tell you?”

“Mav’s nanny mentioned it, too, but...Jensen and I-”

“Had a very public falling out a few years ago, we’ve done our research,” she interrupts me. “But the thing is, King Woods is a very family-oriented institute and we need both parents to participate in all activities like monthly PTAs and volunteer nights. We need to make sure that both active parents can work together amicably. On that note, we have an admissions interview with little Maverick on Friday and we require your presence. Can you make it? 10:30 am.”

“Ten-thirty on Friday? Y-yeah. I can...I can totally do that. I will...see you then, Mrs. Smith.”

“See you then, ma’am. I’m looking forward to meeting you and your son. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” I set my phone to the side of my laptop and take a deep breath. Jensen and I haven’t been in the same room since NolaCon 2020. We’ve emailed a few times, but haven’t even spoken on the phone...in several years...and that’s better. It’s better for everyone if we don’t talk because then we don’t argue and we don’t fall into patterns that leave us in bad shape.

But for Maverick’s future, for Maverick’s good, I will have to do it.

I call Misha. He encourages me and tells me it’ll be okay. He supports me. He’s an amazing friend, has been for years, one of the few I got in the breakup. Most of our friends specifically didn’t take sides. Kim and Briana and Misha, they sided with me...the girls a little more vocally than Meesh, but it ended up a small rift between Misha and Jensen. I put an end to J2M and it hurts a bit when I think about it. They still talk sometimes but nothing like they used to.

Jared still talks to me every once in a while, but he sided with Jensen. Of course he did. Jensen’s his brother. But Jared tries to keep me involved in his life, he tries to stay a friend...but he’s Jensen’s first, always has been.

“It’s gonna suck,” I say, shaking my head.

“Yeah. But still. You gotta do it, right?” Misha says and I chuckle. To the point with Mr. Collins.

“Yeah. I gotta do it. It’s just...I haven’t seen him in years. I mean...except pictures on Instagram. It’s gonna be weird.”

“You know what I say about weird, right?”

“Yeah. But this isn’t the GISH and Random Acts kinda weird, this is...a pit in my stomach that feels like a bowling ball and a fear of reversion to the person I was in the past kinda weird.”

“You’ve grown too much to revert and that bowling ball will go away when you get comfortable again.”

“That’s…that’s the problem. What happens if I get comfortable with him again, Misha?” I’m scared of it. “He’s like this black hole that sucks me in every time and the only way I’ve been able to stave off the destruction of my universe these last five years is to keep my distance. I don’t know what to do when I’m in close proximity to the black hole.”

“You can do this, Y/n. You won’t have any problems...and maybe Jensen’s grown over the last five years, too.”

“Well, you’ve talked to him more than I have. You’d know how much growing he’d done.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like we’re spending all our time together anymore.”

I nod. “So...hope for the best, that he’s grown and things will be okay, and keep my distance from the dark vortex.”

“Exactly.” Misha smiles and looks directly at the camera. “You got this.”

Yeah, I do. I got this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wear an embroidered black silk Joanna Mastroianni dress to the interview. Not a lot of makeup, but enough to accentuate my features. I keep my hair out of my face and I wear sensible, cute shoes. I look good, but not like I’m trying to look good. I look like I’m trying to look presentable and classy for the people in charge of my son’s education.

I make it to the school first and I sit in a plush chair in the waiting room and wait with my legs crossed neatly to the side. I pull out my phone and start playing a game of Solitaire.

“Mommy!” Maverick’s voice pulls my attention away from the Seven of Hearts that is stuck behind the Six of Diamonds that is arresting my forward momentum in the game. I smile as he runs at me, full-speed, and I slip my phone in my purse as he throws his arms around my neck. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too, Mav!” I exclaim. I lean back and look into the beautiful green eyes he inherited from his father. “Have you been having fun with Daddy?”

“Yes! All the time!” Mav says.

He turns his head to look at the door to the lobby as Jensen walks in. Holy shit. He let his hair grow out a bit...little longer than when he was playing a demon. It's multi toned, what would be called 'Salt and Pepper' in any other man, but it looks more like 'Walnut and light Roux' on him. He's rocking his ginger beard and it has some actual salt in the color. He's wearing a blue suit...a masterpiece tailored to take away your breath. The man knows how to make an entrance.

He's still gorgeous...and I’m still stuck on him. Fuck.

I stand and take Mav’s hand as Jensen steps closer. I focus on his forehead. I can’t look at those eyes. I can’t look at those lips or those freckles on his cheeks. Forehead is safe. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his slacks and licks his lips. “Hi,” I greet him, and my voice sounds awkward, too high-pitched.

“Hey,” he responds and oh, God, that voice.

Breathe. Stay away from the singularity, avoid being pulled into the black hole. “You doin’ good?”

He nods. “Yeah. You?”

“Just fine.” Dying, being sucked into a vortex in space.

He opens his mouth like he’s gonna say something else when a tall brunette woman in a smart pantsuit walks out of the office. “Mr. Ackles? Miss Y/l/n?” We nod as she drops to kneel in front of Mav and me. “And this must be little Maverick.”

Mav turns and hides his face in my skirt. “Sorry. He’s a little shy around new people. He’ll warm up to you.”

“It’s okay. It’s natural.” She stands and extends her hand to me and then Jensen, shaking our hands. “Good to see you both here. So, we’re going to take Maverick in and watch him play a bit, get a sense of his social and developmental placement and if he’s a good fit for King Woods, then we will make that happen.”

Jensen and I nod, then I gently pull Mav away from my legs. “You’re gonna go with the nice lady and play with some toys, answer some questions, okay? You can rock that, right, buddy?” Mav nods and smiles at me and Jensen.

“And you two will be just fine out here together, right?” Mrs. Smith says. She’s making sure we won’t freak out on each other. Freaking out on each other is not the problem.

“Of course we will,” Jensen answers. “We’re gonna park ourselves right here in these chairs and wait for you to tell us how brilliant our boy is.” He winks at the woman and she swoons a bit...I have to stop myself from doing the same as I step back toward the chair I was sitting in before. She offers Maverick her hand and he looks back at me before he takes it and follows her as she leads him away toward a playroom. I play with the hem of my dress for a few moments as Jensen takes the seat next to me, his bowlegs stretching out in front of him a bit. “So...listened to that cover album you did...with, uh, Rob, Rich, and Mark. It came out real good. ‘A Little Dive Bar in Dahlonega’ was perfect.”

I look down and my cheeks heat up. “Thanks. Uh...you and Steve are working on Volume Four, right? How’s that comin’?”

“Pretty good. Not bad at all, actually.” There’s a moment of silence and I sneak a look at him. He’s biting his bottom lip. Black hole, black hole, black hole. “Oh, and how’s that Shakespeare thing goin’?”

My eyes light up and I look over at him. “Midsummer! Yes. My pet project! It’s coming. Rich has signed on to direct a few episodes and Matt signed up to be my Puck. I’m really excited to see what we can do with that universe. Fairies are so my jam!”

“Are you just producing and writing it, or are you gonna be acting in it?” he asks, leaning forward, showing interest, active listening.

“I’m Hermia, actually. It’s coming along very well.”

“That’s really good. I’m...happy for you.” He smiles and I bite my tongue. God. This is bad. This is so fucking bad. I look away from him. “So, uh, I heard that you RSVP’d to Padalecki’s July Fourth barbecue, but you never showed up.”

I shake my head and sigh. Of course Jared told him I flaked on Independence Day. “Yeah. I was, uh...I was gonna go but-”

“But then you heard my shoot in Georgia got rescheduled and I wasn’t gonna be in Atlanta like I planned so you decided not to risk runnin’ into me?” he guesses.

“Yeah.” I nod and look over at him. “It was fine. I ended up watching fireworks with Nova over Skype.”

“You know...it’s been years. You don’t have to avoid me. We can be adults. Jared misses you.”

I lick my lips and nod. “It’s just hard for me to be around you. I miss Jared too, but I can’t be around you. It’s too hard.”

“This is hard?” he asks. I open my mouth to respond ‘Unbelievably’, but he keeps talking. “Because it’s not hard for me. It's the most natural thing in the world to me.”

I close my eyes and shake my head, settling back in the chair to lean away from him. “This is why it’s hard.” I open my eyes and pull my phone out to finish that game of Solitaire.

He doesn’t say anything else until Mrs. Smith walks out with Maverick fifteen minutes later. “They had a lot of toys in there!” Maverick shouts.

“Indoor voice, Mav,” I say as I stand up. I focus on Mrs. Smith. “So?”

She smiles brightly. “He’s a brilliant child. We would absolutely love to have him here at King Woods.”

“That’s great news!” Jensen exclaims.

“Indoor voice, Jay,” I joke before it hits me that I just called him ‘Jay’ and teased him. Slippery slope. Don’t get comfortable. “Uh, a-anyway. That is great news.”

“We’ll send you the information for tuition and supplies. It was wonderful to meet you both,” Mrs. Smith says.

I bend down and give Mav a hug as she walks away. “You’re awesome, kiddo. I’ll see you this weekend, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy!”

He runs to his dad and I pick up my purse, stepping toward the door. Jensen puts his hand out as he picks Maverick up to hold him on the other side. He pulls me into a half hug and I go stiff as his hand lands on the small of my back. God, he smells so good...and his hand is so big and…

I pull away and lick my lips. “You and Daddy have fun, Mav!” I almost run out of the lobby and into the parking lot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Kitchen Sink - @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva @wasabiwitteks @rainbowkisses31 @rissbennett @mariekoukie6661 @officiallyunofficialperson @dolphincliffs @mrs-meghan-winchester @gayspacenerd @foxyjwls007 @ilovefanfic86 @marvelfansworld @f-yeahfandoms @wonderlandfandomkingdom @hhiggs @sev3nruby @hobby27 @paintballkid711 @divadinag @thewhiterabbit42 @fantasymyth-1 @queenoftheunderdark @cosicas-cuquis @superfanficnatural @letsby @supernatural-bellawinchester @onethirstyunicorn @swinchester27 @chalicia @sunnyroadtrips @screechingartisancashbailiff @death-unbecomes-you @dayasvalkyrie Hunter Tags - @atc74 @sandlee44 @spnbaby-67 @kalesrebellion @tumbler-tidbits @hoboal87 @stoneyggirl @kbl1313 @cookiechipdough @mrswhozeewhatsis @winchesterxfamilybusiness @holylulusworld @pretty-fortune @screechingartisancashbailiff @we-are-all-a-bunch-of-idjits @imperiusimpala @supernaturalenchanted Gaga For Green Eyes Tags- @typicalweirdbookworm @deanmonandnegansbitch @jadesupernatural @stoneyggirl @4fareader @squirrelnotsam @lyarr24 @akshi8278 @pretty-fortune @we-are-all-a-bunch-of-idjits Happily Ever Eventually Tags- @deanmonandnegansbitch @jamielea81 @xhannahbananax03 @traceyaudette @fabinaforever11 @pretty-fortune @vicmc624

#cassie writes stuff #spn rpf #jensen ackles #reader insert #jensen x reader #happily ever eventually

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starlocked01 · 4 years

Note

“All I do is drink coffee and say bad words.” Remile?

Carnations and Bad Boys

Words- 1,448

Summary- Remy decides his recent behavior doesn't warrant his fiance's kindness and decides to get Emile a sight-shopped gift

Content warning- Knife, Injury, blood, hospital mention, food mention, swearing, referenced animal death

"Shit!"

"Darling? What's wrong?" Emile stood quickly from his desk cramped in the corner of the living room, rushing to the kitchen where his fiance was cooking dinner/breakfast.

"Damn it I cut myself chopping the onion. Look at this mess- it is too early for this. Fuck!" Remy groaned around the wounded finger stuck in his mouth.

Emile jumped into action, rushing to the bathroom for the bandages and disinfectant, "Rem, you know I could have made dinner."

"No, babes. You've been at work all day. That's not fair to you," Remy whined softly as Emile directed him to wash the injury in the sink, "I'm fine, just fucking frustrated."

"You're half asleep still. When did you get to bed?" Emile asked gently, tugging Remy's finger from his mouth and rinsing it under lukewarm water, "this is the second time this week, darling. I'd rather do it myself if it means you don't end up in the ER from cooking while drowsy. You know this reminds me of an episode-"

"Yeah, like every cartoon ever has an episode about sleep deprivation. I know." Remy scoffed and grabbed a paper towel to dry his still bleeding finger, "do we have any leftover cold brew? I can't remember what I left in the fridge this morning."

"I haven't checked," Emile shook his head and maneuvered so Remy could reach the fridge and pull out a half-drunk cup of Starbucks. He pursed his lips with a quiet command to hold still as he poured anti-bacterial disinfectant on the cut.

"Damn it that hurts, Emile!" Remy snapped, pulling his hand away and frowning as he sipped on the old coffee.

"I know. Please let me finish," Emile replied gently, one hand rubbing the other man's shoulder.

Remy sighed and gave his finger back to Emile who wrapped it up efficiently, kissing the bandage when he finished.

"Gawd, you're so... so precious," Remy murmured, staring at his finger and taking a long sip of coffee.

"Thank you. You're welcome," Emile chuckled, turning to the mess on the cutting board.

"No, babes. Go rest and I'll finish dinner. Just.. sans onions. Overrated little bitches," Remy pushed Emile away from the mess with a bump of his hip.

Emile stayed and watched as Remy finished their meal, talking softly about small incidental stories from the office, of course, nothing that would breach doctor-patient confidentiality, and even made his fiance laugh a few times as they sat down to eat.

"I just want to go one night without an emergency or having to call an ambulance, you know?" Remy whined, poking at his onionless taco.

Emile nodded thoughtfully, "but I bet the residents are glad to have you there."

"I guess," Remy shrugged, "it's just been crazy the past few nights and Rob refuses to schedule more people because it's not supposed to be crazy at night. I can't stop three different grannies trying to get out of bed and find their cat that is definitely at least a decade gone."

"You know they don't know better."

"I know, Mr. Psych Eval. Sorry, babes. I just want a calm night for once. Don't you ever wish your patients came in to just.. chat instead of bringing every single problem in their lives to you?"

Emile hummed in response to that, thinking the question over, "I don't know. What I do know is that you need to get ready to go in." Remy groaned and shoved the rest of his dinner in the fridge, sauntering back to their room to change for his shift. He came back out and finished the coffee, determined to grab a new one on his way in. Emile smiled and handed him a bagged lunch and gave his fiance a sweet kiss on the cheek, "I hope it's a quiet night for you, darling."

"Have a good night, babes. I'll see you tomorrow after work," Remy smiled at the kiss and pulled his fiance into a proper kiss before leaving for the night.

Remy hadn't realized a quiet night at the assisted living home would mean plenty of time to think. He sipped his iced coffee and stared at his bandaged finger, wondering how in the hell he got so lucky with his fiance. He also wondered why Emile hadn't realized his horrible decision yet and broken off the engagement. Several hours later when the morning shift came in to take over, Remy was dead on his feet from making rounds all night and convinced Emile could do one hundred times better than him.

Remy stopped at a gas station on the way back home, preoccupied as he shopped for a snack and grabbed a cup of hot coffee to get him home in one piece. On a display near the register, a small yellow teddy bear with a red shirt smiled absent-mindedly at him. Remy smiled and grabbed the little Winnie the Pooh and set it on the counter with his snacks. He glanced around and found a nearly decent-looking bouquet of carnations in reds, pinks, and yellows that he snatched up as well, setting it on the counter before an exhausted-looking cashier.

"In hot water with your girl?" the cashier asked to make conversation despite looking like conversation was the last thing they wanted to make.

"Nah, he just deserves better than me so why the hell not?" Remy laughed to himself as the cashier rang everything up and bagged it all except the coffee, "thanks, babe. Try to make it a good day, yeah?" Remy glanced at them from over his sunglasses.

"Whatever," the cashier waved Remy off and went back to stocking the shelves behind them.

Remy hurried home with renewed purpose, running inside as soon as he parked the car. He found a vase, trimming the stems and setting the flowers in the vase, and adding water. He set up the flowers and teddy bear on Emile's desk and turned to video games to relax after the long night and feeling pretty good about his little surprise for his fiance. Before long, Remy passed out on the couch mid-level.

Emile came home after a long day at the office, several of his clients had had particularly difficult weeks. He quickly noticed Remy asleep on the couch and made an effort to be quieter as he unpacked everything and started dinner. Once he got a chance to relax, Emile turned to his desk and gasped at the flowers and Winnie the Pooh.

"Remy! Oh, dear, wake up! did you do this?"

"Wha- you can't pin anything on me!" Remy bolted up with a start, "what? What did I... do?"

"Did you get me the flowers and little buddy?" Emile asked with a broad grin.

Remy shook the sleep out of his head and sat up. He blinked a few times and saw the gifts and nodded, "oh yeah, actually yes. Those are for you, babes. I- I just thought you deserved something for.. ya know. Don't read into it."

Emile tilted his head in confusion, "I- what do you mean? Thank you, I very much appreciate it. What do you mean by 'read into it'?"

"The bear reminded me of you, especially since you said your little Stitch got misplaced. I thought you'd like him- I just- babe, why do you like me? I'm an asshole. All I do is drink coffee and say bad words. I'm like the antithesis of everything else in your life- the cartoons and toys and your sock collection and all that. Why do you like me?" Remy looked up at his fiance, unusually open and vulnerable.

Emile nodded thoughtfully and sat down on the couch next to Remy, running his fingers through his fiance's messy hair. He glanced over at the flowers then smiled at Remy, "darling, I like you because I like soft things."

"Soft things?"

"Soft things, like carnations and bad boys. You care for people who are so often forgotten and neglected by their families, and you do it every night. You bring me toys because you know I'll enjoy them. And most importantly, you are always authentically yourself. You aren't afraid to show your rougher edges, and that makes you very soft indeed. I don't just like you, Remy. I love you. That's why I asked you to marry me and why a few curse words are never going to change that."

Remy stared at his fiance, mouth agape for a moment before pulling Emile into a tight hug, "I love you so much."

"I know. You show me every day," Emile hugged him back, resting his chin on Remy's shoulder with a happy sigh, "I know."

#sanders sides #remile #ts emile #ts remy #tw knife #tw blood #tw injury #tw hospital #tw animal death mention #tw swearing #I swear this is actually fluff #with a small bit of hurt comfort #asks #ace asks #thanks angel

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talesofpanem · 5 years

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The Interview

Author: @xerxia31

Rating: T for potty language, adult situations, mentions of substance abuse and minor character death.

Summary: This has all the makings of the most uncomfortable job interview of all time.

Author’s note: This is for the prompt ‘work’, but I just couldn’t get it done on time. Thank goodness for make-up week!

————

It feels like entering another world, driving through the grounds of the west campus. Everything is wide open, lush, green, alive, a huge contrast to the dirty and crowded city where I’ve been living for the past two years.

There are young people everywhere on the expansive lawns, throwing frisbees or leaning against trees with books or binders in hand, and not a cellphone to be seen. It’s like a utopian fantasy world, on the surface.

But I know better.

I pull up to the building where my appointment will be. Grey stone, old, but not yet old enough to be considered classic. Its architectural failings have been compensated for by brightly-painted window trim and shutters, and climbing vines clinging to the stones, bursting with purple flowers. Elegant, but only if you don’t look too closely. For all of its window dressing, it’s an institution.

I’d been instructed to wait in the lobby, arranged as a waiting room of sorts. It’s little more than a dozen chairs ringing the area, facing the double set of interior doors, faded industrial carpet underfoot. I settle into one, the sun-hardened vinyl squeaks in protest. The walls are covered with inspirational posters, pictures of sunsets and mountaintops with words of wisdom in bold print underneath. Motivation. Persistence. Achievement.

“Mr. Mellark?”

I jump to my feet as a young woman with glossy black ringlets enters the room where I’ve been cooling my heels for twenty minutes. She smiles at me. “They’re ready for you now.”

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I wipe my hands on my suit pants before picking up my portfolio. I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous about anything. Young Peeta Mellark was an outgoing, gregarious fellow. But I haven’t been that guy in a very long time.

The doors close behind me, electronic locks snapping ominously.

The young woman, Rue, she tells me her name is, leads me along a dim corridor, the floors polished to gleaming, reflecting scattered pools of light. “We only use emergency lighting in the offices on the weekends,” she confides. “Budget…” I nod. The schools where I worked while finishing my master’s degrees had all struggled with budgets too. Education is not a career that is steeped in money.

But working with children is what I’ve chosen. And this job, at this particular school, is the one I want more than anything.

Art therapist at the Panem Institute.

The Panem Institute is the preeminent residential facility for kids in trouble, kids struggling with substance abuse issues or mental health disorders. And unlike most centres of its kind, lack of funds is not a barrier to admission.

I can’t help wondering how different my life might have turned out if I’d had access to a place like this when I was a teen. Would I be established now, with a life I could be proud of? A wife, maybe even a family of my own?

Instead, I’m thirty, with a shiny new double MA in social work and art therapy, and precious little in the way of resumé experience. That the institute is even meeting with me is almost miraculous. Apart from student placements and volunteer work, I have almost nothing to show for my life.

But I want this job so badly I can almost taste it. This job, this place– this is why I’ve worked so hard the past six years, for the chance to make up for my own failings.

My childhood wasn’t fantastic, but it was typical by most measures. The youngest of three children, I was born upstate, in a quintessential white-washed all-American small town where everyone knew everyone else. My parents didn’t get along, but they stuck it out for the sake of us boys, which is retrospect was probably far, far worse for us than if they’d simply split.

Instead, beaten down by a life she hated and a town she couldn’t escape, my mother was cold, and often rough with us. Rye, Brann and I learned young to hide from her temper. She, in turn, hid in a bottle.

My dad, though, was my hero, mine and my brothers’ too. He coached our little league teams, came to every one of our wrestling matches, filled our lives with cookies and hugs. Shielded us from mother’s ever-increasing drunken and violent episodes.

Then midway through my senior year of high school, the unthinkable happened. My father, my kind, generous father, was murdered. Shot by some punk barely older than I was, killed for nothing more than the two hundred dollars in the cash register of the small family bakery my father owned.

I was devastated.

There was no one left to moderate my mother’s behaviour with my father gone and my brothers away at school. Down to one final obligation, freedom in sight, she made it her sole purpose in life to be rid of me as well. Or maybe she was just drowning in grief and alcoholism and wasn’t even aware of how she was acting, a theory my brother broached at the time. Whatever the reason, life at home deteriorated. Badly.

And like my mother, I sought refuge in a bottle. Or many, many bottles.

I’d already been offered a college wrestling scholarship based on my earlier performances. A good thing since I showed up at the state wrestling championship - my last ever high school wrestling meet and the first one where my father wasn’t a spectator - hungover as hell, or maybe still a little drunk, and ended up placing second.

College was supposed to be my escape, but by the time I got to State that September, I was far more interested in getting bombed than in studying or practicing.

Over the course of a year, I destroyed every dream I’d ever had, every hope, every plan, every relationship. I alienated every friend, every mentor, even, eventually, my own brothers.

And I hadn’t even cared.

Twelve years later, I’ve clawed my way back, one sober day at a time, through more ups and downs than I can even remember. Fought to become a man my father would have been proud of. But I didn’t do it alone. Therapists and counsellors helped me heal, and in doing so showed me how satisfying it could be to guide someone back from the brink, to help set them on the right path.

And that’s why I’m here now, standing sweaty-palmed but hopeful at the door of a boardroom. Interviewing for a job where I could change the lives of troubled young people like I once was.

My escort, Rue, pulls the door open and gestures for me to enter. The room is small and much brighter than the hallway, with a pair of large windows and pale wood reflecting the warm afternoon light. It takes me a moment to adjust to the brightness, to focus on the group of people waiting for me.

Then the bottom drops out of my stomach, and out of my world.

I never got blackout drunk. Consequently, I remember every stupid decision I made, every assholish word I said. And the recipient of one of the tirades I regret most is sitting across the table, her ebony hair pulled back in an elegant chignon.

Katniss Everdeen.

She and I went to school together, from kindergarten all the way through until I ruined my life. I had the worst crush on her back then. But until after we graduated from high school, she didn’t even know I was alive.

Imagine my shock when, a few months into my ill-fated college career, I ran into her at a party on campus. I’d had no idea she went to the same school. But I was well into a bottle of Bombay that night, and what should have been the start of an epic relationship, or at least a chance for me to talk to the girl I’d lusted after always, turned into a nightmare.

I was already slipping then, already on academic probation, already suspended from the wrestling team and constantly in trouble with my coaches. I was weeks away from losing everything - my scholarship, my sport, my friends. And every encounter with my professors, with my academic advisor, with the counsellor the athletic department had insisted on, every single one had impressed on me that I wasn’t good enough, though I am, in retrospect, certain that’s not what any of them had meant. But I’d had so much anger in my system then, so much loathing.

And Katniss, beautiful, seemingly unattainable Katniss, for some reason seeing her there triggered the deepest well of self pity to open in my chest. She was, in that moment, the embodiment of everything I’d been told I could never have. My gut clenches and my heart hurts as I remember the vitriol I’d spewed at her that night, the accusations about her character and motivations, every one of them utterly untrue. I’d called her stuck-up, selfish, a bitch, among so many other words. Katniss, beautiful, stoic Katniss hadn’t reacted at all, apart from a widening of her eyes and maybe a slight trembling of her lower lip. When I’d run out of filth to throw her way, she’d simply blinked and said softly, “This isn’t you, Peeta.” Then she’d walked away.

I have heard those words in my head a thousand times since that night.

It had taken another three years of couch-surfing and homelessness, of lying and begging and stealing to feed my addiction, before I finally hit rock-bottom. In an alley in the Capitol, with a bunch of other low-life scum just like me, I’d listened as they made plans to rob a convenience store a few blocks away. So desperate was I for the few bucks it would have garnered me that I was ready to go along with them… until I saw the gun.

The idea of robbing a little mom-and-pop convenience store at gunpoint was my come to Jesus moment. I was hunched in filth, hungry and so desperate for a drink that I was steps away from becoming the man who had killed my father.

The road back from that point wasn’t straight, and it wasn’t easy. I’d like to say that I never had another drink after that, but it’d be a lie. But I’ve been sober now for seven years and forty-four days, a purple medallion in my pocket reminds me every day how far I’ve come.

As does Katniss’s voice in my head, reminding me when I feel weak, when the cravings hit hard, that I’m not that person.

But she doesn’t know that. Looking across the table, she must be seeing the asshole who treated everyone, and especially her, like dirt.

“Please have a seat, Mr. Mellark,” an older, balding man says, smiling. I recognize his voice, Plutarch Heavensbee, the institute’s director, with whom I’ve spoken on the phone several times before today. I hesitate though, steeling myself to meet Katniss’s eyes. If she looks uncomfortable I’ll leave. It wouldn’t be fair to her if I stayed. As disappointing as it’ll be to walk away from this opportunity that I want so damned badly, I have only myself to blame.

I catch her gaze, silver pools in the sunlight, expecting her to be glaring at me. She’s not though, her expression is carefully neutral. But as if she sees the question in my glance, she nods.

Plutarch introduces the others in turn; Reza Seder, head of counselling services, Dr. Lavinia DeSantis, head of medical services, Alma Coin, head of security. “And of course you know Ms. Everdeen,” Plutarch says, his smile widening, and I can feel my eyebrows crawling up to my hairline. She knew I was coming, told the others that she knew me, and yet I’m still here. They’re still going to interview me.

“Hello, Peeta,” she says, in that smoky smooth bourbon voice that has acted as my conscience for years. And, okay, has narrated my fantasies too, if I’m being honest.

“I’ve already disclosed to the board that we grew up together,” she continues, “and they’re okay with my presence. But of course I’ll leave if it makes you uncomfortable having me here.” Her words and delivery are coolly professional, but beneath them I hear a faint note of pleading. She wants to be here, I just know it. And though I’m likely signing the death warrant on this job, I find myself asking her to stay.

This has all the makings of the most uncomfortable job interview of all time. But if I’ve learned anything from my primary therapist, Dr. Aurelius, it’s that I can’t run from my past. And if I’ve learned anything from AA, it’s that I can’t ignore my shortcomings.

Each member questions me, softballs to start - my education, my job experiences, my plans. I pull out my portfolio, walk them through the educational and therapeutic programs I’ve developed, outline what worked during my previous placements, what innovations I’d like to employ. They seem impressed, and I start to relax.

“You didn’t go to college right after high school, Mr. Mellark?” Alma Coin asks, her strange, pale eyes cold and judgemental. I stiffen; this is where previous interviews have gone off the rails. I’d never outright lie about my addiction, but I’m not keen to bring it up either. Even seven years sober, people are reluctant to entrust an alcoholic to watch over children.

“That’s correct,” I tell her. “I didn’t start my undergrad until I was twenty-four.”

“Why is that?” I could tell her that I couldn’t afford it until then, that’s true, or about my father’s death throwing a spanner in my plans, also true.

Katniss is looking at me, grey eyes wide and guileless. She nods again, and it feels like encouragement. I know what I have to say.

“I’m an alcoholic,” I tell them, bracing for their reactions. But nobody flinches. “I’ve been sober for seven years. But I started drinking in high school, and I lost a lot of years to the disease.” Across from me, a hint of a smile graces Katniss’s pouty peach lips. I take it as my cue to keep going. “That’s why I went into social work, and why I want to work here so much. To help kids like me. To maybe save some of them from the mistakes I made.”

There are nods around the table, no one looks particularly surprised. I don’t know whether Katniss has told them, or if it came up in my background check.

“And you’re not concerned that working with addicted children might trigger you to revisit your own demons? Your CV is completely lacking in experience with troubled youth.” It’s true, my field placements were all in middle schools, my experience as an art therapist mostly with kids with ADHD or autism spectrum disorders. The kids here by and large have much more complex issues, abuse and addiction and mental illness all compounded, often violent and criminal backgrounds too.

“I’ve spent years in therapy learning to cope with my triggers,” I tell Coin.

“That’s not the same as real-world experience,” Seder interjects. “These kids, the things they tell you, the things they’ve seen. It’s gutting.”

“I realize that,” I tell her, affecting the most professional tone I’m capable of despite the cavern that’s opened in my stomach, the knowledge that I’m nowhere near qualified enough in their eyes. “I completed a research project on intergenerational addiction in college and interviewed hundreds of young addicts.”

“That’s really not the same as interacting with them day to day,” Seder says, and it’s not cruel, but it feels dismissive.

“I also observed troubled youth in counselling during my practicum while I was in graduate school.” They know this, it’s in my resumé, along with letters of reference from the clinician supervisors. But Seder is shaking her head and Coin looks unimpressed and I can feel the opportunity slipping away.

“Peeta has volunteered as a mentor at the Children’s Hospital’s substance abuse treatment program for more than three years,” Katniss interjects, and every hair on my body stands on end. Because while that’s true, it’s also something that’s not in my resumé, something I’ve avoided self-reporting because it’s common knowledge that the program volunteers are all addicts in recovery themselves.

I have no idea how she knows that.

My gaze snaps to Katniss. Her expression remains carefully neutral, but there is the barest hint of a smile in her silver eyes.

“That’s an excellent program,” Dr. De Santis says, looking up from her notes for the first time. “They’re incredibly selective about who they choose to work with their clients.”

“They are,” I agree. The screening had been brutal, but it had been necessary, so many of those kids have lead lives that make mine look like a walk in the park and many are not shy about sharing all of the horrific details. “They can’t risk having the volunteers drop out or relapse. The kids need the stability of knowing that they can’t scare away their mentors. So many of them have had everyone else in their lives give up on them.” I swallow hard; it’s the reason I volunteer there. I’ve seen myself in so many of their faces, kids who use alcohol and drugs to escape the pain, kids who lash out and push away the people around them before those people can abandon them. Like I’d done to my teachers and coaches, my friends and my brothers.

Like I’d done to Katniss, all of those years ago.

“How do you find your personal experiences impact your work with those children?” Katniss asks, a gently leading question, and one for which I am so grateful.

“I can empathise with them in ways that their doctors and case workers often can’t,” I say, mostly tamping down the waver in my voice. Four sets of eyes watch me intently. “It’s the whole basis for the program, giving these kids not only guidance, but hope for their future. If I can succeed after all of my mistakes, after all I’ve done, then they can too.”

“And you intend on continuing to volunteer there?” Coin asks.

“I do.” I’ve already checked with the hospital about whether this job would constitute a conflict of interest, they assured me it would not.

Across the table, each of the interviewers smiles, even Coin, though her smile looks a little less genuine. But I only have eyes for Katniss. Because her smile feels like forgiveness. And though this is my dream job, I feel like even if I don’t get it I’ve accomplished something monumental here. I’ve shown Katniss that she was right, that nasty boy who hurt her, who made her feel small and alone, that person wasn’t me.

Plutarch claps his hands. “Excellent, my boy,” he says. “Now let’s talk salary.”

“I… what?”

“For the position.” At my expression, he laughs. “The interview is really just a formality,” he says, mirth twinkling in his eyes. “The job is yours if you want it.” He pushes a couple of papers across the table. A contract. “I know it’s a little less in salary than you’d make in private practice, but we offer a comprehensive benefits package. Take a couple of days to look it over and let us know.”

I don’t need a couple of days. I don’t need a couple of minutes. “I want the job,” I tell him firmly.

“Well then,” Plutarch booms with evident pleasure. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Mellark.” He reaches across to shake my hand firmly, and I can’t help my goofy grin. I got the job!

Plutarch informs me that their admin will get in touch with me over the next few days to file the tax and legal paperwork they need, and then I’ll begin at the start of the new term, some four weeks away. And I nod in all the right places, but my mind is spinning so fast I’m almost dizzy with it.

I shake each of their hands in turn, lingering just a bit longer to squeeze Katniss’s hand tightly. I thank each of them, but my gratitude to her means more. I think she can tell.

“Could you see Mr. Mellark out?” Plutarch asks Katniss, and she agrees, though she doesn’t meet my eyes.

I follow her silently down the corridor, towards the exit, the delicate tapping of her heels on linoleum almost drowned out by the pounding of my pulse in my ears. Katniss was a cute kid, tiny and scrappy, and she had morphed into a fierce and self-possessed young woman by the time we’d graduated high school. But now, at thirty, she’s an absolute bombshell. Still lean, but with delicate curves that her pencil skirt and blouse highlight perfectly. She walks with confidence, back straight, head held high. She’s more intimidating than ever.

At the electronic doors, she pauses, hand poised just above the lever that would release the locks. Then she sighs, and glances back at me over her shoulder. “Would you like to have a cup of tea with me? Catch up?” I’m nearly rendered speechless; not only is Katniss Everdeen willing to work with me, she’s willing to talk with me too.

“I’d like that,” I rasp, the first words I’ve spoken directly to her in twelve long years.

She leads me back into the building and up a set of stairs. Another corridor stretches in front of us, windowless doors set close together. “Our offices,” she says. Partway down the hall, she stops and pulls a set of keys from her pocket. A small brass plate on the door reads Katniss Everdeen, Lead Addictions Therapist.

Her office is small, and appears to be set up for both paperwork and individual counselling sessions with a tiny desk tucked back into the corner but comfortable looking couches dominating the space. She confirms my guess. “I see the lower risk kids here,” she says. “It feels less institutional that way.”

I can only stare, stunned, as she unlocks a cabinet and withdraws a tea kettle. I knew Katniss’s title here from Plutarch’s introduction of course. But until now, it hadn’t really sunk in, what she does. She’s an addictions counsellor. How utterly incredible that she went into the very field that eventually inspired my own career path.

“Sit, please,” she says over her shoulder. I slip off my blazer, draping it over the arm of the couch, then sink into plush microfibre. The ceramic clink of teacups and spoons and the sultry sway of her perfect posterior as she putters, preparing tea and humming just faintly are almost hypnotic. For all of the times I’d thought about Katniss Everdeen, I never imagined I’d ever actually see her again, and good lord she’s so much hotter than even my edgiest fantasies. “Black, right?” she says, snapping me out of my lurid thoughts.

“Uh, yeah,” I say after a moment’s pause where I try to pull myself together and remember that she’s making tea, so that we can talk. So that I can apologize to her. As glorious as her ass is, I have no business looking at her that way. I lost any possible chance I might have had a dozen years ago.

But she knows how I take my tea. The last time I saw her, gin was the only thing I was drinking.

She sets a red mug in front of me, on the low table between the couches. But she herself sits beside me, instead of across from me, which surprises me. Though maybe it shouldn’t, since she’s a therapist. Knowing how to set someone at ease is part of her training. It’s backfiring in my case though, since her closeness feels intimate. I catch a hint of her scent, something fresh and green but with a little bit of spice, like a campfire in the woods. So perfectly Katniss. “How have you been?” she says, sipping from her own mug.

“Better,” I tell her, because she’s not asking to make small talk. In addition to knowing everything I confessed in the interview, she was there when my world fell apart, she saw first hand how shitty I was.

“I’m glad,” she says softly, and she smiles, and it’s so beautiful and sweet it nearly breaks my heart.

“I am so sorry,” I tell her, but the words are completely inadequate. How do you tell someone that they are not only your biggest regret, but also your biggest inspiration? “For how I treated you when I was drinking. You didn’t deserve any of that, and I have regretted it every day.”

“I know,” she says.

“And what you did for me today,” I continue before my nerve runs out. “I can’t begin to thank you. You not only gave me this chance when you could have told any of them I wasn’t worth considering, but you actively helped me in the interview.”

“You earned the job, Peeta. Plutarch was already convinced before you even walked in the door.”

“The others weren’t.”

She laughs. “I knew Lavinia would love you. And Alma, well, she doesn’t really like anyone, but I have a feeling you’ll win her over eventually.”

“What about you?” I can’t help asking. She’s treating me so kindly, but she can’t possibly have forgiven me. I know she hasn’t forgotten.

“I believe in second chances.” Her smile is softer, a little pained. “I knew you’d find your way back.”

“I was such a dick.”

“You were,” she agrees. “But I knew that wasn’t you.”

“You said that back then too,” I tell her, my tea forgotten. “I, uhm.” My neck feels hot and I rub it distractedly. “I hear you saying that, when I’m having a difficult day. It’s helped me so much over the years. You’ve helped me more than you’ll ever know.” It’s embarrassing as hell to admit that. But she deserves the truth.

She snorts, and it’s a sound so at odds with her elegant presentation and with the seriousness of our conversation. My gaze snaps up to her face, she looks amused and abashed.

“You’re the reason I went into psychology,” she says, and my eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. “I was a biology major first year. But seeing how everyone failed you after your dad died, and how easy it was for you to fall…” she trails off. “And then when you came back to school to try again, sober and working so hard, I knew I’d made the right choice.”

“You were there?”

She nods. “Just for a semester. I was finishing my masters. I saw you a couple of times on campus, but you never noticed me.”

Honestly, that’s probably for the best. That early in my recovery I was still so fragile, just getting through classes took every bit of effort I had, and I spent so many hours with my sponsor and therapist back then I had no time for anyone else. “I wish I’d known,” I tell her. “But I had my head pretty far up my own ass.”

“You didn’t though.” She looks away, towards the tiny, narrow window on the exterior wall, barred, like all of the windows I’ve seen in this building. “I watched you. I’ve kept track of you over the years, when I could. Even then you were already working so hard to make amends.”

I was. And I can tell by that specific word that she knows why. One of the steps in AA is making amends for the shitty things we’ve done, at least where doing so won’t cause any further damage. In those early years, I’d concentrated mostly on my brothers, and earning their trust again. But I also spent time speaking with professors and coaches who I had alienated. It would have been far easier to start over at a different college, and likely would have been less triggering. But it’d have been a coward’s way.

“I never got a chance before now to apologize to you,” I whisper. She’d kept track of me, but I hadn’t made the same effort. Before the booze, Katniss Everdeen was that perfect, unattainable fantasy woman I put on a pedestal and never approached. And after, I locked her away, so terribly ashamed by my actions that I never sought her out, even though she would have been easy to find. I was terrified by how she might look at me.

But she’s clearly a much bigger person than I could ever be.

“I think the time wouldn’t have been right before now,” she says. “For either of us.”

We lapse into silence, Katniss still staring out the window, me fiddling with the mug I’ve picked up again. “Can I ask you something?” she says, and there’s something in her tone that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Of course.”

“That night… why me?” She’s trying to keep her voice even, I can tell, but the slight waver slays me.

“You were there, and I was a drunken asshole,” I rasp, but she shakes her head, glancing at me.

“It was more than that. The things you said…” she looks away, but not before I see the shine in her eyes. Not before I see the hurt I had been expecting all along. The knowledge that even all of these years later, my words continue to bother her is gut-wrenching. I feel like the biggest piece of shit.

“It was all bullshit, Katniss, the ramblings of an absolute lowlife shit of a human.”

“There’s always truth, even in ramblings,” she says softly. “It certainly wasn’t the first time I’d been called those things. But we’d never even spoken before then. I didn’t know you even knew my name.”

“I knew you, Katniss. I’d always been watching you.” She turns back to me eyebrows raised, confusion in every line of her beautiful face. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, and I don’t want to make excuses for my absolutely inexcusable behaviour. But she deserves the whole truth. I drop my gaze to my lap. “The truth is, I had a huge crush on you, nearly the whole way through high school.”

She makes a little choking sound, and I can’t bear to look at her. I know I’m doing unfathomable damage to our potential working relationship, confessing like this. I’ll decline Plutarch’s offer, if being here will hurt her. But I can’t let her think that any of the awful things I said had even a speck of truth to them. I can’t let her take any blame.

“In senior year,” I continue, “I had finally convinced myself that I was going to talk to you, to ask you to the Valentine’s dance. But then…” I trail off. My father had died at the end of January, and everything else in my life had fallen away, sucked into the black pit of grief.

A soft, cool hand lands on my forearm, and I glance up. Far from looking disgusted, as I was expecting, Katniss is looking at me with compassion, even through her confusion. “When I saw you that night,” I whisper, barely able to get the words out. “I had already screwed up everything else in my life. I was just so angry at the world, but mostly at myself. I was drowning in regret and self-loathing. And you were there, and you were every bit as beautiful as you had always been. And you just represented everything I wanted so badly and had fucked up. My father was gone, my sport was gone, and the girl of my dreams was completely out of my league. And I lost it, lashed out at you instead of at the person who really deserved it. Me.”

“You didn’t deserve it either,” she whispers, and her eyes shine silver under a film of moisture.

I place my hand over hers where it still rests on my arm, and she doesn’t pull away. “I’m truly sorry, Katniss. Hurting you is the biggest regret of my life.”

“I accept your apology.” I squeeze her hand in gratitude, and a sad half smile ticks at her lips.

“I won’t take the offer,” I murmur, and her brow furrows again. “This is your career, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, being here.”

She shakes her head. “You won’t,” she says. “I’ve been watching you for so long, cheering for you from the sidelines. I feel like I know you. And I know you won’t ever repeat that mistake.”

“I won’t,” I swear. “I’ll always be an alcoholic, and there will always be a risk that I’ll relapse. But I’ve learned so much in therapy, about communication and managing my emotions. About coping. I have better mechanisms now, and a really great support group behind me.” It had taken a long time to make things right with my brothers, but they are my staunchest supporters now. And my sponsor, Haymitch, is a crusty old bastard, but he’d rip out someone’s throat before letting me down.

“Then stay,” she says. “I’d like to start again, if it wouldn’t make you uncomfortable. Build up that friendship we should have had.” She looks down at our hands. At some point, she’d flipped her palm and I’d entwined my fingers with hers.

“Always,” I whisper in awe, and she smiles, that beautiful, elusive smile that I know will be the stuff of all of my future fantasies. And maybe, just maybe, the stuff of my future reality too.

#talesofpanem #tales of panem #makeup week #work #xerxia31 #submission #week 10

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supercasey · 6 years

Text

RvB Character’s SSBU Mains

BGC CREW ---------------- Church: Sonic main. Is convinced that playing as Sonic is "meta" and that somehow it means he's a pro. Sore loser. Swearing and screaming the entire match, even if he's winning. Caboose: Kirby/Incineroar main. People tend to leave him alone during matches because he seems unskilled/too sweet, but if he gets his hands on you you're fucked. Tucker: Classic Link main. Has mastered bombs, up B, and nothing else. He'd be better at the game if he focused on fighting rather than flirting. Sister: Pikachu/Isabelle main. Down B is life as Pikachu. Closest of the BGC to pro other than Tex. You think she'd be flirting but she's here to win. Abuses the Isabelle glitch for as long as she can. Tex: Dark Samus/Falco main. Will backhand you if you mention Zero Suit Samus. Is a pro but also a show off in the most subtle of ways. Is the only one who's beaten Carolina and she's way too proud of it. Sarge: Bowser/Ridley main. Suicides as Bowser and side B's himself to death constantly as Ridley. Will complain that there's "too many fighters" and mutter about how he misses the N64 version (despite not maining any of those characters). 1v1’s Grif and loses every time. Simmons: Chrom/Roy main. "Roy's our boy!" Can't get himself back on the map to save his life. Waits for everyone to thin themselves out before swooping in to finish them off. Gets mad when Grif mistakes which character he is. Grif: Wario/Yoshi main. Plays Wario when he's just goofing around, but he'll switch to Yoshi if you piss him off/challenge him. Used to be pro but hated how competitive it was. Typically takes second or third place in full BGC matches, but almost always first in Red Team matches. Donut: Peach/Kirby main. Can play fairly well on most of the characters but he loves Peach the most. Has mastered charge attacks but rarely uses them. Side B is life as Peach. Endless vore jokes as Kirby. Lopez: ROB main. Would be a lot better if he gave a damn, but he's typically just a stand-in player. If left alone, he'll rewire his controller into something else entirely. Hogs items. Can't land his FS for shit.

Doc: Dr. Mario/Mr. Game & Watch main. Pretends to think that the game is too violent but secretly loves it. An unforgiving monster as G&W. Sucks as Dr. Mario but refuses to give up on him. If he gets an item run away at all costs. FREELANCERS ---------------------- Carolina: Fox/Zero Suit Samus main. Primary plays Fox but will switch to ZS Samus for shits and giggles. Is impossible to get off the map and will bully you into a corner. Hates items. Will get pissed if killed by items. Washington: Villager/Wolf main. Only mained Wolf in PFL, now he plays as the Villager because he finds it fun. Absolute monster if he's put into a small space with someone. Can switch to Random and still get in the top three. York: Duck Hunt/Pit main. Is just here to have a good time/troll. Loves when items are on. Spams his FS and always gets someone with it. Actually not that great with his A moves but he still gets by. Maine: King Dedede/Meta Knight main. Cannot believe no one got the Meta joke until it was too late. Terrible in the air but terrifying on the ground. Hogs all the items. Mad that no one wants to play with Spirits on. North: Ice Climbers main. Never loses his other ice climber. Will throw himself off the map if he loses his other ice climber. Arguably the least aggressive player but he's still fairly good. Misses when his main was OP back in Melee. South: Bayonetta main. You know why she mains her. Fucking incredible with her side attacks but falls off the map a lot. Doesn't pay attention to surroundings. Will deck you irl for spamming items. CT: Sheik/Snake/Greninja main. Loves the "stealth" characters even though there's no stealth. Hides for most of the game before jumping in at the end, only to lose. If she goes down, you're coming with her. Wyoming: Ryu/Snake main. Hates the game but hates sharing a main with CT even more. Spams aerial moves until he accidentally falls off the map. Fairly decent aim, but still can't land a single FS.

Florida: Wii Fit Trainer/Pac-Man main. Terrible at getting back on the map but even worse at melee fighting. Is arguably the worst at this game but the scary shit he says while playing keeps anyone from saying anything about it. CHORUS KIDS --------------------- Felix: Bowser Jr/Shulk main. Insufferable asshole who targets whoever's losing and destroys them. Lands FSs without even trying. Tried going pro but got banned from all the tournaments. Locus: King K Rool/Lucario main. Really fucking good at the game because it's all he plays. Has unlocked all the spirits. Refuses to use spirits. Waits until there’s only one person left so he can 1v1 them. Kimball: Palutena/Samus main. Is here to have a good time. Didn’t grow up with a lot of video games but she’s still fairly good. Enjoys ganging up on Doyle. Can actually take Carolina in a fight but doesn’t want to.

Doyle: Luigi main. Has never once played a video game but is still reasonably okay. Runs away at the first sign of a FS. Spams items out of fear. Humble loser.

Dr. Grey: Jigglypuff main. Acts like a cryptid for a majority of the match (you only see her when she’s grabbing items). Manages to catch everyone- even in an eight player free for all- with her FS. Worryingly quiet.

Palomo: Captain Olimar/Young Link main. Isn’t even good with YL but he wanted to match Tucker’s main (much to Tucker’s annoyance). Terrible at refreshing his Pikmin stock. Brags hardcore when he wins (not that it happens a lot).

Jensen: Daisy/Lucas main. You’d think she’d take it easy on people but she goes for the kill. Unabashedly goes for Palomo out of anger and spite. Do not test her. Forgets to use her FS despite being reminded that she has her’s ready.

Smith: Mario/Pokemon Trainer main. Doesn’t care that Mario’s FS is shit, he’s here to have fun. Will back off if he’s wailing on someone too hard. Cries on the inside when his Pokemon are knocked out as PT.

Bitters: Ness/Mewtwo main. The best out of the Chorus Kids, it isn’t even much of a competition anymore. Loves taking on Grif and/or Carolina because it’s a challenge. Sometimes shows off but he earned it tbh.

Matthews: Kirby/Little Mac main. Just here to have fun. Will hide by Bitters even if it’s not a team match. Side B’s to his death as LM. Really good with items and cries when Bitters won’t turn them on.

BONUS EXTRAS ------------------------

The Director: Mario/Cloud main. Only playing because Carolina guilt-tripped him into it. Gets upset when he can’t figure out where he is in a crowded brawl. Is decent at the game because Allison made him play the older versions back in the day, but still not great. Yells a lot.

The Counselor: Mega Man main. Only plays MM because he recognizes him. Refuses to switch despite sucking as MM. If he lands a FS he gets way too proud about it. Low-key threatens to fire any Freelancer who really gangs up on him.

The Chairman: Ganondorf main. Hates this game more than anything else. Is infuriatingly slow and even when he reaches someone, he forgets to attack/misses. Doesn’t know how to FS and everyone hates him too much to explain it. Rage quits.

Sharkface: Inkling main. Blue Inkling all the way. Keeps forgetting to reload his ink. Stays as a squid and hops around the entire game. Surprisingly wholesome and has more fun than anyone else playing, despite never winning. Paints people blue and laughs.

Vic: ??? Random main. Talks non-stop the entire game and it’s the most infuriating thing. Wonderful at recovery, even on characters with shit recovery. FSs way too much.

((I’m fine with constructive criticism, but this was all made in good fun, so please don’t flip out about who plays who too much. Please note that I’m not caught up. I’ve only seen up to RvB13 and a few RvB14 episodes, but not many. Feel free to add future characters. Hope you all enjoy this!))

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mightyjemma · 7 years

Text

(ready to run) through the heat of the sun

"You need to stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen," Dolls said. The words were directed at the thief who currently robbed his cereal collection. "And you need to stop eating all my Count Chocula cornflakes."

---

{Wynonna x Dolls} - prompt from this list (x)

read @ ao3 or under the cut:

There wasn't much Xavier Dolls wanted after a long tiring night of chasing the demons and ghosts of New York City. Coffee would be nice, since it was closer to another dawn than it was to midnight and he had to catch up on quality binge watching.

The soft cushions of his premium couch were another point on his wish list. Some of the Swiss Chocolate his mum always sent over from there. And finally getting out of his shoes, letting go. The job was hard, but it was worth it. He would always work the hours if it meant protecting the people of this city.

He unlocked the door to his apartment, put the jacket on the coat hanger on the wall and then he kicked off his shoes. Amazing.

A sudden noise had every single one of his cop instincts on full alert. Dolls still had the gun in the holster slung around his hips. He pulled the gun and walked towards the source of the sound: the kitchen.

There was no point in being silent, he had been loud enough just a few moments ago. He could see a pair of men's shoes look out from under his dining table. And there was a body connected to those shoes, carelessly dropped on the floor.

The body was pale and eerily glowing, almost translucent. Dolls put the weapon down and entered his kitchen.

"Twough sshwit," Wynonna answered with a full mouth. She swallowed it all with a big gulp from a beer bottle. "You know he isn't really a dead body."

She was dressed in a tight red top that left her midriff bare and even tighter leather pants, which left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her hair was a little messy and she had even painted her nails black again.

He liked the look on her, even if he didn't tell her so.

"Same difference."

"Nope."

"He's dead."

"Yeah but technically that's not his body anymore."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. You couldn't win an argument like this. The grim reaper always had the last word. At least this one. "What are you doing here?"

"I was hungry and in the neighbourhood. Mr. Jameson died one block away. And I thought to myself, 'I haven't visited my dear friend Xavier in a while. Let's go and see if he's got some food'."

"You were here just two nights ago and ate all my leftover pizza."

"Great taste, mate. Did you miss me?" She fluttered with her eyelashes, trying to appear coy. But he didn't miss the sarcastic undertone in her voice that was so typical her.

Dolls didn't answer her immediately. He was well aware of the sparks igniting between them every time they spent more than ten seconds in a room together. It felt like pouring endless streams of alcohol into open fire, intense and all-encompassing. And he knew that Wynonna knew too.

"Who wouldn't miss your fabulous humour," he said eventually and winked at her. Wynonna smiled at him.

"What are you doing? Don't wanna to impose myself on you and interrupt your beauty sleep."

He could sense the hesitation coming from her. The dark shadows under her eyes spoke volumes. Dolls still remembered their first meeting like it was yesterday and though it had been worse back then, the steps to a life Wynonna herself considered worth living were baby steps.

But to be honest, he couldn't even understand what kind of life she was living. All the demons and witches he dealt with during his job and his own unpleasant shape-shifting ability were nothing compared to Wynonna's task as a grim reaper.

"I started Daredevil and need to catch up. I've only watched one episode yet. You can stay and we could start together." She stared at him with an undefined look in her eyes. "Only if you want to of course," Dolls added.

"I'd like that," she announced softly. Wynonna's gaze turned towards the dead man on his kitchen floor; the physical manifestation of the soul. It was left in the world, to be taken care of, to be taken care of by Wynonna, to be specific.

"I have to ---," she pointed her thumb at the man while only looking at him.

He nodded. "Sure, take all the time you need. I'll wait here for you."

In the blink of an eye she had vanished the Mr. Jameson's body with her. It was convenient ability to posses, but the disadvantages outweighed the benefits by far.

Dolls knew how much she hated her job. She hadn't taken it for shits and giggles, he knew as much. The grim reapers were rare, they liked to be among themselves. The few he had met were nothing like Wynonna. One guy he had talked to months ago had decided to go to trial because he was bored. He had regretted the decision rather early on.

Wynonna never had explained her reasons to him, but Waverly had in vague terms and he had filled in the blanks to the story. He was a cop, after all.

Through the window he could see the early signs of the sunrise behind the skyscrapers, the rosy horizon and the first rays of dawn. He quickly smelled his arm pits and decided he really needed a shower even quicker, before she came back.

Afterwards he took the rest of his cereals and put them on the small couch table. Wynonna came back just as he plugged in the laptop and loaded the episode.

"Done?" he asked.

She hummed in answer from behind.

Dolls turned his head around and raised an eyebrow.

"He had two teen aged son and died right in front of them. Heart attack. What the fuck."

"You didn't ---"

"I didn't kill him, I know." Wynonna materialised a bottle of very expansive whiskey out of thin air and took a healthy swig. Her empty beer bottle from before still stood on his kitchen counter. "But I took his soul and it doesn't make it better."

There was no good or acceptable answer to give, not for him. No empathy in the world could make him understand how she felt day in, day out.

Dolls got up from his crouched position and wrapped his arms around her body. Wynonna was tall, but she was also lean and tiny compared to him. Her whole body fell against his chest. He massaged soothing circles onto her back, until the tension left her body.

Artists could have carved them into marble; they stood as still as time felt to move. They stood there for ages, well until the sun had risen and it was another day. It didn't matter, no then.

"Better?" he asked. "Yes," Wynonna answers. She let go of him and wiped a few stray tears from her face. "Not gonna happen again."

"I don't mind."

"Being a shoulder to cry on?"

"Being your friend," Dolls clarified.

It must have taken her by surprise, because Wynonna's eyes widened like a deer's caught in the headlights. As if she had never considered him to be her friend. Well, he hadn't expected her to become one either and here they were.

"Let's watch that show."

They got comfortable on the couch, a healthy distance of space between them, even after what had just happened between them. Dolls pressed play and things slid back into how they were supposed to be.

"I like your shirt," he said because he thought he should.

She threw some chocolate rice crispies at him in return and Dolls just grinned to himself.

"You need to get an outfit like that," Wynonna told him at the first appearance of the Daredevil suit.

"Never."

"We'll see."

They didn't even make it to the end of the first episode. Noon came and had them wrapped in each other's arms, protecting the other one from the demons even in their sleep.

#wynonna earp #wearp #wyndolls #wydolls #wynonna x dolls #super vague and super quick #im gonna change all the grammar mistakes tomorrow #it's too late now #my writing

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borkasaurusrex · 7 years

Text

(D·N·C) SEASON 1 | EPISODE 2 | "S&S"

With a high-pitched Doo-Doo! a pair of double doors swung open, and a tall, brunette teen strolled into the establishment, taking in all the atmosphere... and mediocrity.

Well, mostly that second one.

The shop was mainly white and gray, royal blues accenting the corners and farthest wall away from the entrance. Shelves, of both the wall-mounted and in-the-middle-of-everything sorts were scattered about, said shelves chock full of containers colored green, blue, and other similar schemes. Judging by the signs above each cabinet (Xbox Classics, PS3 New Arrivals, PC Exclusives, etc), they were video games.

Axel took a little stroll through the section labeled 'PC Exclusives', eyes grazing the colorful selections and dramatic (often lewd) promotional art next to the bigger displays. He looked up and down, left and right, sideways and longways... but he never reached out to any of the boxes, didn't even lean in for a closer look. He didn't do anything... but sigh.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Axel whipped his head around, towards an older man that, if he didn't know any better, would've thought was Adam Savage. Said man was tall, slim, blonde hair cut and glasses propped in almost a perfect replica of the Mythbusters (arguable) frontman. Judging by his pale blue uniform, nametag, and fake grin, he probably worked at the store.

Axel smiled weakly back, stammering, "Uh... nah, I'm okay. Just... just browsing."

"'Just browsing', huh?" the employee repeated. "Well, what kind of stuff are you browsing for? Anything specific?"

"Not really," Axel said. "It's just... with school started up and all... and homework being... well... homework, I'm trying to find something to..."

"Tide you over?" The man suggested. "Distract yourself from the monotony and boredom that is the American school system?"

"... Yeah. Pretty much."

"Well, we've got you covered!" The fellow craned his head over the aisle, eyes scanning the selections all squinty like... until, with a low "Aha!" he said, "Black Ops 3's coming out in a few months, maybe you want to pre-order that?"

"A few months?" Axel echoed. "I was kind of hoping for something..."

"Now?" The employee finished. Axel nodded.

"In that case, we have Evolve, the Witcher, Battlefield: Hardline..." the man continued, looking down at Axel. "... Still nothing?"

"Maybe something a little less popular? Something... indie?" He went on, "Y'know, like Undertale, Life is Strange, Pillars of Eternity, Swords & Sorcerers... that kind of - "

"Wait... what was that last one?"

"What? Swords & Sorcerers?" the guy repeated. "Surely you've heard of it."

"I... I don't think so," Axel said.

"Well, it's a MMORPG, see? Like... Guild Wars, or Everquest. You know Everquest?"

"I didn't understand anything you just said in the last five seconds."

"Well... uh... how can I explain this?" The man turned up his brows, obviously thinking. "Think of... uh... oh! World Of Warcraft! You've gotta know what that is at least, right?"

"Isn't that, like, a movie?"

"Okay, well, before it was a movie, it was a video game! A wonderful, powerful, incredible video game that had more fetch quests than I have friends.

"But... Swords & Sorcerers, S & S, it's like WOW... but, like... a Banjo Kazoolian times better! Everything better, from the art design, the aesthetic, the ASS-stetics... yknow, it has it all: swords... sorcerers... uh... servers, anything you could want. And it's free, too!"

Axel's eyes widened at that. "It's free?"

"Pretty much! Or... well, until you hit level 10, in which case it's just a... well, small fee..."

"... How long does it take to reach that?"

"Five minutes."

Upon seeing Axel's face, the man quickly stammered, "But it's not even that much money, if you think about it. $39.00... why, I... uh... spend more than that on condoms every day!

"That... that was a lie... but it's not the point!" He continued, "For such an exciting and enticing adventure... what's wrong with giving the company a little "tip" once and a while, huh? Like, so what if it costs almost half a Benjamin to unlock the 2nd area, or twice that for the next? So what if it you gotta fork over a little dough to sprint, or to get something better than the starting pants? It's all worth it, really, in the end. It... this game - nay, experience - is a phenomenon, a fucking legacy-in-the-making. It's amazing, a truly original miracle of modern art!"

Axel looked up at him oddly, the edges of his lips in a pretty clear frown. "I... I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or not."

"No sarcasm, all truth!" The bespectacled employee said. "I assure you: this game will be the single most fantastical, addicting experience in your entire (possibly disappointingly short) life, or my name isn't Marvey!"

Axel's eyes traced down to the man's nametag. It said 'John'.

"Come on, kid. Whadd'ya say, huh?"

"..."

"...!"

"... Fine. I'll try it out."

"Excellent! I'll ring you up, over there." He pointed to the front of the shop, near the suspiciously cluttered cashier counter. "Do you want to purchase the eight DLC that come with the game too? Only $89.99!"

"Eight DLC? Really?"

"Well, nine technically, but since you missed out on the exclusive pre-order DLC when the game was announced, you're going to have to settle with that... or, uh... you could hypothetically buy it, but it'll be a bit pricey. $30.00."

"$30.00? On top of the other, what, sixty?" Axel asked.

"Ninety, actually," the man said, "Don't think I'll give you a discount, now.

"But... look, you can just buy the base game, I guess, but..." he sighed, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "You'll be missing out... on the whole experience."

Axel paused, mulling thoughts over in his head while the employee just stood there, rapping his fingernails on the counter impatiently.

"Well, what's it gonna be, kid?" He asked.

Axel turned to him, shifting his jaws as if tasting his words first.

Finally, he said, "... Fine. I'll take it."

"Awesome sauce! Here, let me package it all for you..." The man pulled several discs from under the counter, wrapping them together, grinning all the while. "A ha ha... and they say capitalism doesn't work! Heh, idiots!"

~-~

Axel rolled the game case between his hands, feeling the course plastic against his skin. He stopped playing with the box and instead held it up, getting a good look at its front. The cover art was minimalistic, the silhouettes of a heavily armored man, a robbed guy with a beard, and a woman with a bow, a boobplate, and not much else stood in heroic poses, under an almost cheesy medieval font reading "SWORDS AND SORCERERS".

Axel's eyes grazed around idly, connecting with the stack of papers (homework, most likely) on the desk below him, next to a surprisingly clean all-in-one PC.

His eyes went to the homework... then the computer. And back to the homework again.

I should do my homework first... He thought, placing the plastic case on the desk lightly. Then maybe I could... uh... play for an hour... or two...

He reached out to a mechanical pencil, at the edge of the desk... but stopped.

He looked back to the computer, and the game besides it.

His eyes furrowed, looking down at the box desperately.

"..."

"... Maybe just one quick game..."

~-~

Ding-Dong!

Mr. ElRite slipped right off the edge of his loveseat, smashing his face hard into the carpet below - and his finger, on the remote, shutting off the fleshy tones and moans from the TV above.

"... Uh... coming!" He shouted, pulling himself - and his pants - up to his knees at a rapid pace. He jumped to his feet, making his way quickly across his rather plain living room. It was... nice. Warm colors, pale reds and browns, made up most of the area with the occasional family portrait or window interrupting the flow of the wall. It was nice. Very plain... but nice.

Mr. ElRite stopped in front of the front door. No decorations at all, not even a different paint job. Just a clothes hanger, and an empty one at that. He leaned up against said hanger, slicked a few strands of hair behind his ear, and pulled the doorknob open.

The light from outside, not even that strong (due to the cloudy sky above) was like staring directly in the sun for the older man, and he squinted his eyes in as if staring into Ra's gaping man-beak itself.

Standing on his doorstep was a teenage girl. She was wearing a burgundy hoodie, her long red hair tucked neatly under a beanie. Her skin was pale, her eyes a particularly bright enough shade of amber they almost looked yellow. Mr. ElRite had to look twice to make sure they weren't.

But yet... he recognized her. She was...

"- Oh! You're, uh, one of Axel's pals, right?" He asked. "Uh... Anna, right? Or Ana?"

She huffed out a sigh. "... Evanna."

"Oh, right! You're Seelig's daughter! Well, uh, I was close at least! Ha ha... ha..." He coughed, clearing his throat. "So... uh... what can I do for ya, Evanna?"

"Is Axel home? He hasn't been to school in... well, ages."

"Oh yeah, he is! He's... he's in the study right now, actually."

"..."

"... Can I see him?"

"Oh, of course! Come... uh, come right in!" Mr. ElRite took a step to the side, leaving the clearing open. "Do you want anything? Refreshments, perhaps?"

"Some tea would be great," Evanna said, closing the door behind her.

"Uh... is Diet Coke okay?"

Evanna pulled her hoodie off, revealing a band t-shirt with more pentagrams and guys with makeup on than Mr. ElRite's usually comfortable with. She brushed back some spare hairs, giving him a surprisingly condescending look for someone 15. "Hrmph... I guess..."

"Alrighty... I'll... uh... get that for you." He walked away, turning around a corner and shouting, "Oh, the study's at the end of the hall... to the left! Just make yourself comfy, okay?"

She didn't respond. After a low slam! from the corner Mr. ElRite turned around was any indicator, she was now probably alone.

Without wasting another moment, Evanna walked down the hall at a slow pace, using her spare hand to feel the grooves and bumps of the nearby wall.

"Jesus Christ..." She whispered, squinting her eyes. "Is it always this sodding dark?"

She made her way down, the hallway becoming even somehow darker as she went on. She took a couple of steps forward tentatively, about to pick up her pace until she banged her shoulder hard. She slipped a "Shit!" out under her breath, rubbing the shoulder gently. She turned her head towards the object she hit, her eyes adjusted to the dark enough by now to recognize the silhouette of a door. She grabbed the edge and swung it open, taking a step inside.

The room was incredibly shadowed, so dark it was near impossible to make anything out at all. There was a faint silhouette of a desk, a bookshelf. Maybe two. This wasn't just regular darkness.

It was advanced darkness.

Evanna's traced the surface of the wall, trying to find a switch, a button, anything. She fidgeted a bit farther, feeling a slight changed texture until she hit her knee, a sharp pain rocketing down her calf like a waterfall. She cursed again, loud.

"... Where is that bloody...?" She muttered, stopping when she felt some kind of switch under her fingertips. She flicked it up.

Bright yellow light exploded into the room, flooding the entirety and even outside into the hall. Evanna squinted her eyes hard at the sudden rays from above, gritting her teeth from surprise.

She wasn't the only one in the room who was surprised.

"JUMPIN'-FUCKING-JAHOSAFATS, I'M BLIND! I'M BLIIIIIND!" With a loud Crash! the office chair in front of the desk smashed onto the floor, its sitter spilling onto the carpet like an overly moist Greek yogurt.

He covered his eyes with both hands, curling into a ball on the floor whole muttering over and over under his breath, "I'm blind... blind... bliiind..."

"... Axel? Are you... uh... okay? Evanna reached a hand down, towards her whimpering friend. Upon touching his arm he let out a literal hiss, clamoring forward onto the fallen over chair and curling up inside, like a wounded animal into their cage.

To say Evanna was weirded out would be an understatement.

"... Uh... Axel?" She stepped forward carefully, making sure to not get too close. "You...uh... okay, mate?"

"It's... so bright..."

"Compared to before? Uh yeah, it is..." Evanna craned her head, seeing the bright colors and scantily clad women from on the nearby computer screen. "What... uh... have you been doing?"

"... What?"

"What. Are. You. Doing?" She repeated.

"Oh. Uh... S & S. Y'know, Swords and Sorcerers?"

"... I've heard of it."

"Oh, Evanna, it's... it's so incredible, like oh my God, it's amazing..." Axel said, a blissful grin creeping up his lips. "The gameplay, the open world, the aesthetic, all of it. It's... it's the greatest game ever conceived by mortal men. Nay, after this, the men and women of Froststorm Games aren't just mortal... they're gods. Immortal."

"That sounds nice..." Evanna's bespectacled eyes glanced around the room, noticing empty wrappers and bottles littering the floor under the desk ahead. "Uh.. hey Axel?"

"Hmm?"

"How long have you been playing? S & S, I mean."

"Oh... uh, a couple hours I think?" He snatched his phone off the carpet, double checking the time. "Yeah, like... Maybe a few hours, I think. It can't be anymore than that."

"Why?" Evanna asked.

"I would know. I started playing at 2:30 today and now it's 4:47. And it's Sunday, anyway. I wouldn't miss school."

Evanna raised her eyebrows, like she was confused. "... But Axel, you did miss school."

"What? No I didn't."

"Yes, you did. I haven't seen you in at least a week, so I'm having trouble believing that you just conveniently forgot the ti - "

"A... a week? Axel echoed, grin quickly turning to a frown. "But... that's not possible. It's... it's still Sunday."

"Yeah, it's Sunday. A week later."

Axel's eyes were stuck on his phone screen, staring at the time as if in shock. He didn't say anything for a good moment.

Then, he whispered: "Crap."

"You should stop playing that game," Evanna said, "Maybe then you'd have a better grasp on reality."

"I... I do have a grasp on reality."

"You missed an entire week and didn't even notice it," She said, "I think you might be lying to yourself, mate."

"I am not!" Axel cried, slumping his weight upward to sit up. "You've taken a week off from school once, didn't you? Huh? What makes you any different?"

"I had pneumonia!"

"Pshuh..." Axel scoffed, crossing his arms. "Excuses, excuses..."

"Look Axel, you need help. And, if you're not gonna listen to me... then I'm not gonna waste any more of my time with you." Evanna turned back around the way she came, disappearing out of the doorway before Axel could even realize she just walked out on him.

"Alright, fine!" He shouted at the wall. "I... I don't need your help anyway! Unless you can somehow solve a Level 25 Apothecary Puzzle and get the loot before it despawns which... which I'm sure you can't! Suck on those lima beans and roast 'em!"

He looked down at his hands, them lightly shaking. In a tone barely louder than a whisper, he said, "I'm okay. Axel, you're okay. You don't have an addiction, it's just an...an obsession. That's all. An obsession, alright? You can quit, you can quit anytime you want. Anytime you need."

"..."

"... After one more puzzle."

-~-

" - so brace yourself, kiddos: pop quiz incoming."

Loud and long groans erupted everywhere, to which Mr. Davidson held up his hands defensively. "Hey hey... I know it blows, I do. But this is is state required, so... y'know, pretty dang important."

"Besides, it'll be easy..." He continued, taking a stack of freshly printed papers off his desk. "... if you've done the studying, that is."

Davidson's classroom was big. Bigger than your usual Midwestern high school classroom, anyway, who's thirty or so desks barely filled up half the room. Mr. Davidson gave a couple of sheets to the front of each row, the students (begrudgingly) passing them to the student behind them, and the student behind them, and so on.

With sheets passing by him left and right, Axel ElRite wasn't paying much attention. Mainly because he was asleep.

From out of nowhere a sheet smacked against his face, the boy's bloodshot eyes shooting open, wide with surprise at first until he looked around.

Davidson classroom. Paper on desk.

'Lang. Arts 4B' the sheet read. 'Lesson 3 Pop Quiz'.

Wait.

Pop Quiz? Oh, crap in a hat.

Axel sighed, picking up a mechanical pencil and squeezing the rubber bit between his fingers.

It's okay, it's just a quiz, Axel thought to himself, loosening his grip. You've got this, man, you got thi -

... Wait, we're studying Austrian history? I thought it was Australian!

Ugh... it's gonna be a long day...

-~-

"So... uh... how bad did you bomb it?" Weston asked.

Axel's mouth shifted into a hard frown. "Like... on a scale?"

"Yeah, a scale. On a scale of Family Feud hosts, ten being Steve Harvey - obviously - and zero being... uh, let's say Richie... how'd ya do?"

"... Louie Anderson."

"Oh. Shit."

Evanna peered from across the table, clearly confused. "Family Feud? What's that?"

Weston slammed his milk carton on the table, twisting his face into a look of disgust. "You don't know about the majesty, the awe, the sheer brilliance that is the 1976-to-present iconic staple of American history? Ugh, try reading a book sometime!"

"... Isn't it a sodding TV show?"

"Bah, whatever!"

The three students were sitting smack-dab at the end of the farthest (or closest, it depends) table in the Calcheri Valley High cafeteria. One that was the most empty of all six tables, and the most dirty. The two probably went hand in hand.

The cafeteria was like a photograph of high school mediocrity, beige tabletops and floors complimenting the faded reds and blues of the room's accents. Promotional posters of upcoming events and even corporate sponsors (if the large Dwayne Johnson 'Got Milk?' ad next to the garbage cans were anything to go on) were plastered on almost every wall, the entire room alive with the clunking of chairs, the laughter of children, and the faint despair from the nearby kitchens. How beautifully American.

Weston kicked up his sneakers on an empty chair which, well, wasn't hard. There were a lot around. He plunged his fork into a piece of broccoli on his tray, not eating it but just kinda squirming it around, like some sort of veg puppet. "Well, uh, anyway. How's uh... crap, what's that game called? Saints and... uh... no, Swigs and... oh fuck, dude, I don't know. What's that game you like called?"

"... Swords and Sorcerers?"

"Yeah, that's it! Swords & Sorcerers! You're uh... you really like that shit, huh?" Weston asked, digging the blades of his fork deeper into his branched victim.

"Well... I did," Axel said.

"You did?" Evanna asked, leaning up from her seat. "What happened? I thought you were addicted or something."

"I wasn't addicted, Evanna. I just - "

"Yes, focusing your attention and entire life focus on a single game for 168 weeks - plus! - isn't addiction. Of course not, how foolish of me."

"Yeah, Eve," Weston said, "Don't be stupid,"

She sighed, fingers tight around the nose of her glasses like a facepalm. Weston snickered.

"Look, it doesn't matter anyway," Axel said, "I'm away from it now, like completely."

Evanna chuckled, to which Axel added, "I'm telling the truth! I can't... I can't even use it anymore anyway, so like... hey. That's that, right?"

"What happened?" Weston asked. "You banned or somethin'?"

"Oh God I hope not... look it's... it's not that bad," Axel said, "I wasn't very careful, didn't lock my account good enough and I got hacked, it's no - "

"You got hacked? Seriously?" Evanna asked.

"Seriously. They must of figured out my info or something, I don't know, but now I'm locked out for good," Axel said, "It's... well, it sucks, really."

"What are you gonna do 'bout it?" Weston asked. "Track down the hacker, find their city, job, all of it, and blow them the fuck up?"

"What? No, I wouldn't do that," Axel answered, frowning. "I mean, who would?"

Evanna's eyes immediately went to Weston, who just cleared his throat in reply.

"So what are you really going to do about it, hmm?"

"Well, since I can't get my account back, not easily anyway, I thought I might as well tell a couple of my friends in-game about what happened," Axel explained, "I was the leader a pretty big guild in S&S - they're like, uh, special teams - and if the hacker uses that for their own gain, it can get... uh, messy. So I wanted to clear my name, before they ruin it."

"Cool, Ax. Cool." Weston took a nibble of his destroyed broccoli, asking, "So... how ya goin' to tell them the biz? Facebook? Instagram? Dare I say... MySpace?"

"I have some phone numbers, actually, of some of the other higher-ups in our guild," Axel answered. "I wasn't very close to some of them but there was one, the guy directly below me actually, that I've already called and asked to meet me... like, in person. We're meeting today around... 1:00, I think? I dunno, it's a short day anyway today so I thought - "

"Wait... 1:00? That's in eight minutes," Evanna said.

"Crap in a hat!" Axel cried, clenching his fists. "But I... even if I leave like right now, it'll take me like thirty minutes to get there! So, well, unless the bus is running today, but even then that's like twelve minutes to get there, and considering I don't even have any freaking money I - "

"Dude, here. I'll drive ya," Weston said, "No problemo."

"Really?! But... you don't have your licence yet."

"The cops don't know that."

"Well, I..."

"C'mon dude, it's me! Y'know, Weston, your best buddy? The greatest friend in the whole-freakin'-world? No offense, of course."

"Some taken," Evanna said.

"Well?" Weston leaned close to Axel's face, waiting with (literal) bated breath.

"... Okay. Fine."

"Whooo! A'ight, let's go boy! No time to waste!" Weston practically scooped Axel out of the seat, the far smaller man carrying his friend bridal style across the crowded lunch hall, wailing "WHOOOOOOO!!" at the top of his lungs.

Evanna sighed, taking a sip from a straw. "You'd think I'd have better friends by now. You'd think. You'd think..."

-~-

"He's late. He's not gonna show."

"Give him a second, jeez," Axel said "He's just a couple of minutes late, that's all... give the man a little time."

"Alright, fine..." Weston grumbled.

"..."

"... He's not gonna show."

"Oh, brother."

The two sat in silence, the faint wind brushing through the area was hitting Weston the worst, him constantly smoothing out any knocked-out-of-place hairs on what parts of his cornrows his beanie didn't cover. The two boys were sat (somewhat) comfortably on a wide metal bench, a couple of passersby and a winding array of aging, crusting antique stores their background. There was also a tree, small but sturdy to their right. It was the only flora for what seemed like miles. Hell, probably more.

Weston shifted himself to Axel's side, propping his elbow up and saying, "Look, Ax. If this kid doesn't show up in, like, three seconds, I'm gonna shit."

"Please don't actually do that."

"It's a figure of speech, y'know? Like... eating your hat. Or fucking a truck. Or fucking the milkman."

"I've never heard of any of those things."

"You will." Weston looked deep into Axel's eyes, adding, "Trust me. You will."

"But seriously," Weston said, "If this turns out to be a scam or somethin', I swear I'll fu - "

"Wait! There he is!" Axel pointed forward where, walking off the nearby crosswalk was a tall figure, obscured by a long coat and hat. "There, with the velvet coat and everything!"

"Uh, Ax... I think that's a drug dealer."

"No, it's the guy. The same coat, the same hat... everything's the same as he said it was going to be."

"Alright, fine... but if you get a dimebag we're going halfsies on it, a'ight?" As the coated man approached Weston put his hand on Axel's shoulder, adding, "I'll... uh... let you guys catch up. Later."

Weston jumped off the bench, walking off and disappearing into the oncoming crowds. Axel stood as the man approached, saying in almost a whisper, "PolkaDot1108?"

The man nodded. "LongJacket02?" He asked, putting a weird emphasis on 2, as if shaken.

"Yep, that's me. Is there something wrong?"

"It's just... I didn't expect the leader of the greatest clan in S&S to be... one of my students."

He took off his hat with one slow swoop, letting his long curly hair spill out into the world, along with his face.

It can't be, Axel thought, mind racing, There's no way that my raid partner could be...

It was Mr. Davidson.

The coated man, Mr. Davidson, let out a small sigh.

"Hey, Let's get a coffee or something..." his English teacher said. "You're going to want to be sitting down for this."

-~-

The only coffee shop for miles was a quiet little place called Smol Bean, owned by a couple of young'uns who somehow named their cafe after a meme and surprisingly no one's said anything about it. It was, as the title suggested pretty small, barely big enough to fit half a dozen tables into the shop. And, as the title also suggested, it had beans, or at least the smell of two day old coffee ones. The entire place was lit a little dim and, with practically everything being some shade of brown, black, or just straight up wood, it looked almost like a bar at times (if you squinted just the right way). As its owners were clear internet dwellers, pop culture posters and cutouts lines the corners and halls of the place, enough taped-down memes and movie posters the walls looked like a IRL version of a Tumblr dashboard.

Next to a particularly moist cardboard cutout of Danny DeVito was a single table, where Mr. Davidson and Axel sat across, sipping their various drinks. Axel had an espresso, two shots. Mr. Davidson had a drink that was so long Axel couldn't remember it to save his life.

Axel took a sip, almost cautiously, despite the drink already starting to get cold in his palms. "So... how's the guild going? Y'know, what's the status?"

"It's grim," Davidson replied, taking his own sip. "We've been losing raids left and right, the community mine's gone dry... hell, we've been losing our general resources pretty fast too. I had Pix track the goods back from who sold them and, well... he said it was you."

"I haven't played S&S in, like, a week. I... well, I got hacked," Axel said.

"You got hacked?" Davidson echoed. "Well... um... that definitely makes more sense now."

"What?" Axel asked. "Did... did something bad happen?"

"Well, not quite 'ruin your guild' bad so much as 'ruin your rep' bad but... you were flirting with Jogo, hard. Y'know, that annoying rogue who types way too quickly? You were flirting with her, talking dirty... you even sent her nudes, if you can believe it."

"Nudes? Of me?! How'd they get those?"

"I don't know but... damn. And now, looking back... crap, no wonder she was so freaked out," Davidson said. "If I saw an unfiltered of that under the bridge, I'd probably quit the guild too."

"Ha ha. Funny."

"But seriously, though. They, the fake you, has sold almost all our keeps, all of mounts... hell, he even sold Mr. Jibbles."

Axel looked at him, eyes wide in fear. "No, don't tell me... Mrs. Jibbles too?"

Davidson closed his eyes... and nodded. Axel groaned weakly, like a croak.

"So... do you know who hacked you?" Davidson asked, changing the subject. "Or an idea at least?"

"The only thing I have to go on is the account they linked with mine when they hacked me, but even then... it's completely blank, no name or nothing. Just a purple sugar skull as the icon. I know, it's weird."

"Huh. Well... if you really think about it..." Davidson said, leaning back in his chair, "... Maybe... maybe it's for the best."

"What? Not knowing who the hacker is?"

"No, being hacked in the first place. S&S, it's... it's ruining your life, Axel," Davidson said, "It's consuming all your time, your focus. School too. Hell, you were never very good in my class - nay, you were just straight up bad - "

"Thanks."

"- but even I can tell you that your life is going down a deep, deep Coachella porta potty, and no amount of chorizo mounts are going to get you out of this one, my friend," Davidson continued, "You've got this chance to let this game pass you by, to finally let you free of its addictive, addictive clutches. ElRite... this game was like a disease and your (probably) Mexican hacker your cure. Maybe... maybe it's for the best, you know?"

Axel didn't respond at first. He pondered, staring down at his drink in long thought. He did, however, look up at the English teacher across from him, and said, "... You know what? You're right. You're right, Mr. Davidson!"

"See? I didn't spend all my college funding for Yale on just potato latkes."

"... Potato latkes?"

"Axel, you have a chance to improve your life back to, no, better than what you had before," Davidson said, "Don't waste it."

"Don't worry, Mr. Davidson," Axel said, smiling wide. "I won't!"

-~-

Mr. Davidson's eyes traced the laptop screen in front of him, the bright golds and blues of S&S taking up most of his strangely erotic Yanni desktop. His little avatar, dressed in a long flowing white robe, walked around the cityscape, going from NPC to NPC to gather quests to gather things to gather experience.

I know, compelling stuff.

On the chat window to his bottom right the text was highlighted purple, reading 'GUILD CHAT' in bold letters while various members of the clan talked over a general box. In big white letters, a message popped up, saying:

NOTICE: LONGJACKET02 HAS LOGGED IN

Davidson rolled his eyes, fingers about to pound a warning to the rest of the guild on his keyboard before another message popped up, reading large:

LONGJACKET02: HAHAHAA

LONGJACKET02: THAT FUCKTRUCK THOUGHT THEY COULD KEEP MY ACCOUNT FOREVER THEY DIDD THEY DID

LONGJACKET02: LITTLE DID THEY KNOW I HAD A SECRET WEAPON A PLAN B A TRUMPPP CARD

LONGJACKET02: PASSWORD RESET BIOTCHHHH

LONGJACKET02: HAHAHAHAHHA

LONGJACKET02: I LIVED BITCH

Davidson couldn't help it, he let out a long, deep sigh.

"Something the matter, Richard?" a teacher from behind him asked, strumming his hand idly on the table nearby.

Davidson didn't respond. He bend over in his chair, pulled open a drawer, and took out a bundle of papers. Nothing on it could be read coherently, except for a name printed in the corner: Axel ElRite. He crumbled the papers together, shoving them into the nearby trash bin.

"Whadd're ya... what are you doing with all those papers?" the teacher asked.

The English teacher couldn't help it. He sighed again.

"One of my student's school career is going down the fucking garbage. I'm just... giving him a head start."

#dnc #school shenanigans #circumcision

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