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omgnsfwisnsfw-blog · 5 years

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The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning: Second Chapter Prologue

It was nighttime, and the waning moon was, for some reason, vividly bright. Mike McGuire was laying in the middle of the ring in their backyard, staring up through the branches. The leaves had yet to sprout, but the buds were set to start opening up anytime. Same could be said for the young plants newly set in the soil near the back porch- a small plot of land freshly tilled up, planted with varying marigolds, daffodils, impatiens, and centered in it all, a rosebush received for Valentine’s. It was nice and neat, every plant perfectly arranged. The same could not be said for the garage.

--------------

It had all began not even a few days ago. A few days ago after losing their beloved tag team championship belts at the biggest show of the year. They had spoken little. They showered, dressed, went to the hotel, slept, got on the plane the next morning. And somewhere over the ocean, John had turned to Mike, and in a rare initiation of conversation…

“Mike.”

John was looking out the window, like he did with every trip, and there was a quiet mesmerization about it. Mike startled a bit. He didn’t usually initiate conversation. Sometimes early on they wouldn’t speak for hours, and when Mike asked why he wasn’t talking to them he simply replied ‘you didn’t say anything.’ Him breaking his ‘speak when spoken to’ habit usually indicated he had something important on his mind, so they’d shifted and given him their full attention. “Yeah, bud?”

“I turned 42 two weeks ago.”

He didn’t sound overtly happy about it. John’s emotional inflection was a subtle, nuanced thing, but by now Mike had become very attuned to picking it out. Still, they offered him a wavery little smile, probably in an attempt to cheer the both of them up. “You shoulda told me that. Woulda made you a cake.”

John shrugged.

“Better stuff to celebrate.”

His hand touched the window briefly.

“Like us.”

He turned to Mike in his chair and spoke low.

“But what I mean is that … maybe I can continue to do this. Maybe my body holds up a little longer. But I’ve come to realization that I don’t want to.” They sat up bolt upright, their head tilting to the side. For a moment they resembled an Irish Setter who just heard a far-off dog whistle and was trying to process what in the world that sound was. “You wanna stop? Like… this minute?” It wasn’t accusatory- more like confirming that the sounds coming out of his mouth were forming words that they were understanding the meaning of.

“Yes.” “You sure?” “Yes.” They sat back in their seat, expression a little dazed, as if showing mild signs of shock. Then they closed their eyes, inhaled, exhaled. Managed a smile, wobbly for a different reason than their previous one, and reached over, giving his wrist a squeeze. “...okay.”

The declaration had caught Mike completely off guard. In a way, they thought, they should’ve seen it coming at some point- he’d made some remarks about the ugliness of the business, beginning to think past it. But they hadn’t thought it would happen so suddenly. It was like driving at 60 MPH and then suddenly slamming on the brakes, the sudden jettisoning into the seatbelt knocking out all your breath and leaving your insides hurting. They went home. He planted his garden, seeming serene and perfectly content. Mike gave Alundra a once-over- they’d had her painted in their absence, the vivid yellow and red flame paintjob traded for an emerald green with orange flame one. The new vanity plates installed- NSFW 1. Something stabbed inside them. The next day. Grocery shopping. Mike going over their particulars. So much had been provided for them that had to be taken into account now. Health insurance- the extended coverage wouldn’t last forever, and though they could easily afford it, plans for two people in their shape wasn’t going to come easily. Something pricked at their eyes. Mike kept staring at their phone. It would ring eventually, they just knew it, a gruff voice on the other end demanding what in the blue hell they thought they were doing, is this what I wasted my time on you for, pulling yourself out of obscurity and stumbling into the perfect partner just to vanish like a fart in the wind? They weren’t sure the old man would say that. But what would they think, when they heard? How would they explain ‘he wanted out and I couldn’t deny him that and I can’t keep going in good fucking conscience without him’? And so on till today. This evening. Just now. Mike found themselves in the garage. They looked around. A small box was on the table- a prototype of a new piece of merch. A snowglobe. Little figurines of them under a dome of glass filled with water. They held their title belts. Shake it, orange and green confetti glitter swirled around. Pieces of fanmail, notes on their Twitter, asked where they’d gone. Some wished them well. Some worried that they were hurt or worse. Some said they felt betrayed. Why couldn’t you have even said goodbye? We believed in you. Quitters. Mike’s grip tightened on the snowglobe, their teeth gritting together hard. ‘It got taken from me and I wasn’t ready, and it fuckin’ sucks. So bad.’ Their own words from a year past slam into their brain and with a roar, they throw the snowglobe down, sending a shatter of broken glass and glitter water splatting over the concrete floor. A t-shirt snatched from a box, the phoenix that’d been emblazoned on their viking flags torn in two with an obnoxious ripping sound, the rest of the box kicked over. Their head whipped around, glaring viciously at the cardboard face of David Scott. Screeching, all but consumed by their fury, they dashed forward, grabbing him by the top of his large, scowling head and tearing the cutout apart. They couldn’t believe their own anger. They felt robbed, cheated, resentful. And all those feelings made Mike feel even worse, because they didn’t want to direct them at John. They couldn’t have kept going if he hadn’t wanted to. They didn’t want to be one more person who knew his desires and chose to ignore them. Mike’s train of thought slowly cooled their anger. All that was left was a giant mess of broken glass, torn t-shirts, dented boxes, ripped up cardboard. Something sick heaved in their chest and they left the garage, numbly trekking through the backyard until they found themselves in the ring.

-------------- So there they were. Maybe they could salvage something. Maybe the fans they hadn’t completely alienated would still want them, for old time’s sake. If they got back into auto repair maybe they could even sell them there as a bonus. Nostalgia was always a hot ticket, and somebody in the future was bound to remember that one tag team that got super hot and then vanished without a trace out of nowhere. Raising an arm, they laid it over the bridge of their nose, shielding their closed eyes from the moonlight as they tried not to sob. Don’t be fuckin’ stupid.

John stood in the doorway of garage backdoor. Behind him was the aftermath of the disturbance that woke him. He had noticed immediately that Mike was gone. He had sat up from the bed and waiting until the noises subside. Quietly, he went to the garage and looked upon what had happened. His emotions ticked up slightly to disappointment that the quiet last few days had been a simmering pot and it had just spilled over. Soft footsteps went across the yard to the source. He stood just outside the ring, keeping his distance for the moment. He cut through the ambience of the night.

“I know you’re angry at me.” There was a long pause. The soft, occasional chirp of an early cricket or two. “‘M not mad at you. I feel shitty that I’m mad at all. S’ fuckin… complicated.” They didn’t move, their speech muted. If their anger was a fire, right now they were the embers that some knowledgeable Eagle Scout had doused with water and stirred up with a stick. Only You Can Prevent Wildfires. “...i didn’t want to not give you this. I feel like I’ve let people down. Myself a little. And then I get mad at myself cuz the alternative is what? Making you run yourself down when you don't want to anymore just to feed my own fuckin’ dream that I should’a grown out of? It… I…” Sniff. “...it just happened so fuckin’ quick. Like slammin’ a book shut ‘fore you read the end.”

John circled around to the wooden steps leading up onto the apron. He put a foot on the first step.

“I thought it would just be the end of a chapter.” Slowly lowering their arm from their face, they scooted themself across the canvas a bit away from the center- not a recoil, but an invitation. Reaching up, they curled their hand around the bottom rope. They knew that. It made them feel even more foolish for exploding the way they had, the silvery light of the moon accentuating the blush standing out on their damp cheeks. “I’m bein’ a fuckin’ dumb baby, aren’t I…”

“No. Not happy that I advertently made a decision for you as well.”

“We’re a package deal. Can’t do it without you. Don’t want to. I know what you said’s right. Our story ain’t over. Just feel like I’ve been thrown violently into the next scene without any time to brace myself. But I’ll get over it. Get over myself, maybe.” Their right arm, the one not gripping onto the rope, reaches out to the side, fingers beckoning a bit. “‘M sorry I broke all that stuff… poor Milscott…”

“It was just that. Stuff.”

He stepped up onto the apron.

“I believed in what we said. All of that talk about hall of fames and being the greatest. It was fun. It lit a fire inside of me. But it made me feel like we were walking down the wrong path. Like we almost did before.”

“Mouthy little shit talks a big game.” There was a dry chuckle at that. All that talk of being the first tag team in the EWC Hall of Fame would likely amount to just that. Talk. It was one of the things that’d jagged at them these past few days, that their ultimate legacy was apparently a foul-mouthed hothead who made big grandiose boasts only to bail without warning. Exhaling, they turned their head toward him, hand still reaching in his direction. “How so? We weren’t bein’ dicks again, were we?”

“No.”

He walked along the the edge of the apron, stopping just before them.

“Don’t think it was that simple. Our words, though? They started to mirror something we swear we’d never be. Started to have some folks nod along that weren’t before.”

It took Mike a moment to puzzle that one out, their mouth pursing, flicking two and fro, nose crinkling a bit. After a few seconds, though, their red-rimmed eyes popped, left hand releasing the rope and going to their mouth with a gasp. “Noooooo. You can’t fuckin’ mean… no. No motherfuckin’ way we were sounding like him. … Were we really?”

“Maybe not exactly. But it made me think. Readjusted a few priorities.”

He had finally stepped through the ropes and entered the ring. He stood over them.

“I would have gone as long as we had those belts. And sure, there were amazing possibilities on the horizon. I love the sport. But I had been wrong in the assumption that it was the only thing I was meant to do. You made me see that.” Mike looked up at him. From this angle he looked impossibly huge, and it made them feel smaller in comparison. Physically anyway. John never made you feel small as a person, and if he did, you probably deserved it. “...maybe I’ve had it backwards this whole time then. I kept seeing things as… I don’t fuckin’ know… a block building. You take out any one part of it- me, you, our home, the business- and everything falls to pieces. I mean I figured we’d stop someday, maybe in a year or two, kinda ease out of it, tell everybody where we were going an’ why. But in all those big fuckin’ pipe dreams I didn’t think about what you thought. I just assumed you wanted the same thing I did when it came to the business an’ that was fuckin’ selfish of me. I’m really sorry.”

He knelt down beside Mike, before finally sitting back, crossing his legs.

“I wanted all of that. But there’s more to us, I believe. I’d be naive to think there isn’t conflict elsewhere in the world but it is less likely than what we were doing. I had remembered what I loved about the business before it was taken all away. But more importantly, I now have something I never had.”

“...VIP customer status at Barnes and Noble?” The cheeky grin that flicked onto Mike’s face wasn’t the wavering, willing-yourself-to-smile expression she’d given him the last couple days. Like a breath of fresh air, it was real. Slowly, they pulled themself up to a sitting position, folding their legs likewise, facing him, reaching for his hands. Without hesitation, John placed his hands into theirs. He smiled in response to Mike’s joke. Sighing softly, Mike ran their thumbs over his knuckles tenderly. Even if they had been mad at him, it wouldn’t have lasted. They could be mad at a lot and hold grudges for ages, but never at him. Something about John was impossible to be angry with- least that’s how Mike saw it. “So… now what?”

John shrugged in response. But in that same moment, he felt an answer come through.

“We stop hiding who we are.”

#Location: Home #post EWC

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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What Went Wrong With Dwayne Johnson’s Doom Movie?

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When Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson took to the stage at the Amway Arena in Orlando, Florida on March 29, 2008, few could have predicted what would come next.

The budding action star was there to induct his father and grandfather into the WWE Hall of Fame, however, at times, his speech felt more like an impromptu comedy roast.

“There was big controversy with the WWE and illegal torture,” one convoluted gag began. “Apparently they would find Iraqi insurgents, tie them up and make them watch DVD copies of The Marine.”

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John Cena, who starred in The Marine, was in the audience that night and took the ribbing in good humor, with his exaggerated on-camera reaction spawning what would come to be known as the “John Cena oh s**t gif”.

Johnson wasn’t finished though.

“By the way I made Doom. Did you ever see Doom? Well, you probably didn’t and it’s okay because nobody else did either.”

Cue laughter.

Nearly three years on from its release, The Rock could finally laugh about Doom. No one had been laughing when the film first debuted in October 2005 to rank reviews and a poor box office return.

Film critic Richard Roeper was among those to tear into the film.

“The performances are awful, the action sequences are impossible to follow, the violence is gratuitous, the lighting is bad and I have my doubts that the catering truck was even up to snuff.”

He had a point.

Largely filmed in a series of identical-looking and poorly lit corridors of a generic space station, Doom had the look and feel of a bad Alien knock-off. Worse still, it bore almost no resemblance to the source material.

Johnson may be the biggest film star in the world today but back then he was still just another wrestler trying to make the leap into movies. In truth, he was fortunate that Doom didn’t torpedo his chances in the way countless misfiring movies had for other aspiring wrestlers-turned-actors.

So where did it all go wrong?

Arnold Schwarzenegger and ILM

Film adaptations of popular video games are famously fraught with difficulties.

You could probably count the number of good video game movies on one finger – Paul W.S. Anderson’s Mortal Kombat, before you ask.

But id Software, the developers behind the pioneering Doom franchise, had been hopeful of bucking the trend back in 1994 when Universal first purchased the film rights.

“I think Doom would be easier to write a script for than, say, Street Fighter,” business manager and co-owner Jay Wilbur told PC Gamer.

Wilbur’s vision for the movie certainly sounded appealing.

“I see Arnold Schwarzenegger with all the Doom garb on, Industrial Light & Magic supplying the special effects and the story would be something along the lines of Arnie stationed on Mars when the dimensional gateway opens up and demons flood in…So everybody’s dead – well maybe not everybody, you need a little human interaction and comic relief going on. But mainly, just non-stop seat-of-your-pants sweat-of-your-brow action.”

Fusing elements of Commando, Total Recall, and the later Arnie effort End of Days, Wilbur’s sketch of a Doom movie sounded perfect – but there were issues from the start.

According to former CEO Todd Hollenshead, several potential scripts were vetoed by id Software for failing to stay true to the source material. While Schwarzenegger was approached, plans for the project were ultimately shelved in the wake of the Columbine High School massacre and negative press it generated around the game.

Doomed Casting

It would be almost a decade before interest in a movie version would be rekindled by producers Lorenzo di Bonaventura and John Wells, who obtained the rights after footage from Doom 3 was shopped to agents from Creative Artists Agency.

Di Bonaventura enlisted David Callaham, then a novice writer in Hollywood, to pen a script based loosely on a handful of ideas he had pitched during a chance meeting.

Schwarzenegger, by then, was not only significantly older but also busy as Governor of California. Alternatives were explored. One rumor, neither confirmed nor denied, suggests Vin Diesel was in the frame to star. Ultimately, however, it was Johnson who ended up landing top billing.

Not that anyone was complaining. Johnson was largely a B-movie star up until that point, making Doom a good fit to potentially take him into the big leagues. There was just one problem though – The Rock didn’t want to play the good guy.

Producers had originally slated the WWE star to play the film’s main protagonist, Staff Sgt. John “Reaper” Grimm. Johnson had other ideas, though.

“When I first read the script, and read it for [the part of] John, after I read it I thought wow John is a great character and, of course, the hero of the movie,” Johnson explained at the 2005 San Diego Comic-Con. “But for some reason I was drawn more to Sarge, I thought Sarge was, to me, more interesting and had a darker side.”

He agreed to star but only in the role of Sarge, leader of the film’s Rapid Response Tactical Squad sent to Mars and someone who ends up becoming the principal villain.

Karl Urban, fresh from featuring in the Lord of the Rings trilogy, was cast in his place in what represented the first major misstep.

Watching the film back now, it’s tempting to wonder whether Doom might have fared better had the two switched roles.

After all, Johnson has carved a sizeable niche as an all-American good guy in the years since, while roles in Dredd and The Boys highlighted a darker streak to Urban’s repertoire.

It’s certainly something Wesley Strick, who served as script doctor and ultimately co-writer on the film, concurs with when the notion is put to him.

“That would work better,” he tells Den of Geek. “I think you are onto something there. The swap was his idea though and this is all with hindsight.”

Blame Superman

An experienced screenwriter with credits on Arachnophobia and Martin Scorsese’s Cape Fear, Strick ended up working on Doom as an indirect result of Tim Burton’s failed Superman movie.

“Lorenzo [di Bonaventura] was head of production at Warner Bros when Tim Burton asked me to come onboard for Superman Lives,” Strick explains.

“Tim and I and Nicolas Cage cooked up this whole scenario for a Superman movie and we would often walk into Lorenzo’s office to do battle with him, essentially, because he was stubbornly opposed to almost every idea we had,” Strick says. “Consequently, Lorenzo and I really butted heads and sometimes it could get quite ugly…I felt like I might have burned my bridges.”

With Superman years in the past, di Bonaventura called Strick to gauge his interest about working on Doom.

“I really wasn’t interested,” Strick says. “Just because I knew nothing about the game. But I have two sons and they were teenagers so there was a lot of enthusiasm from them. They told me to look into it and were excited about the idea of their dad working on this video game movie. Any project you can do where your kids are involved and excited is fun. So that appealed to me.”

Strick was also sold on the film’s director, an exciting young Irish filmmaker called Enda McCallion. McCallion had made his name with a series of striking TV adverts (the Metz alcopop ‘Judderman’ campaign) and music videos for the likes of Nine Inch Nails.

He was being tipped to follow in the footsteps of filmmakers like Jonathan Glazer by transitioning into features.

“Enda was this up-and-coming new Irish director who was hyped to me as a visionary and someone who was going to bring something very original to the movie. It wasn’t going to just be this piece of product.”

Big picture stuff

Strick was tasked with simplifying Callaham’s script to ensure it translated into a workable schedule and, crucially, that it could be made within a modest budget of $60–70 million. That meant cuts.

“The producers looked at it and tried to put together a schedule and realized it was too complicated,” Strick says. “So, I read it and came up with a simple solution. In Callaham’s draft the marines kept going back and forth through this portal. Three times or something. It was unnecessary. They would go over there and then chase back and then regroup and then return to Mars or whatever. I said no, do it once and be done with it. I also had a list of a couple of monsters I thought the movie could do without.”

The decision to cut several monsters familiar to Doom enthusiasts was a contentious one among fans, with Callaham’s original script featuring both the Cacodemon and Arch-Vile among others. Strick had been through this kind of process before though.

“This is sort of the big picture stuff,” he says. “You can get a lot of shit from fans when they feel like you are trespassing on their genre and I think that happened to an extent on Doom. People were like ‘how dare you’.”

He cites his experience on Batman Returns as an example of when the fanboys miss the point.

“I hadn’t read a comic book since I was 12 and I loved them but I was 37 then,” he says. “Way past comic book age. In my mind, that’s okay because you’re trying to write a movie, not a comic book. You don’t want a comic book fanatic on a job like that – what would they bring to the movie?”

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Despite ringing the changes, one sequence Strick was determined to retain from Callaham’s script was the five-minute first-person shooter sequence.

“That was one bit I wanted to keep in no matter what. It was just funny. It had a great attitude and visually it was just delightful. If anyone ever proposed cutting it, I would argue strenuously against that. It was a great idea. Real, in your face.”

All Change

By the time filming commenced in Prague in the winter of 2004, however, Strick found himself working on a very different film. McCallion had departed the project for reasons unknown. He didn’t respond to our request for an interview.

In his place came Andrzej Bartkowiak, a seasoned cinematographer who had recently branched out into directing in the early 2000s, helming a trio of Jet Li action movies.

“I was deeply disappointed when Enda left the project,” Strick admits. “It became the thing that I was assured of at the beginning it wouldn’t be. A more conventional approach to a movie like that. I don’t know what kind of movie Enda would have made but at least there was the possibility with him that it was going to be something special.”

Strick was also having to contend with issues elsewhere.

“When Doom moved to Universal, a guy called Greg Silverman became my executive on the project and he didn’t like me. He just always gave me shit,” Strick says. “Once he told me everything I had portrayed about the marines and their tactics was inauthentic. He wanted real, genuine, marine combat tactics. I went back and did loads of research, read books like Jarhead, and really immersed myself in the whole marine mindset. I did a rewrite where I fixed all of the combat stuff, so it was genuine US marine combat protocol. And he hated it. I tried to explain that was exactly what was happening in Iraq, but he was just like ‘nah’. So we ended up going back to the fake stuff.”

It’s an anecdote that hints at that dreaded but all too familiar issue on disjointed projects of this kind – studio interference – and Strick wasn’t the only one experiencing frustration. In the run-up to the film’s release, his co-writer Callaham had begun interacting with angry Doom fans online, who had heard rumors of the film taking liberties with the source material.

Writing in a lengthy open letter defending his screenplay, the young writer managed to make things worse.

“Let me assure you…, that the themes and elements that you love about Doom are ALL represented strongly in the film…just with some new twists,” he wrote.

Few were convinced, however, particularly after he went on to claim he had watched a “bunch of strangers bastardize” his original vision of the film.

Strick has some sympathy.

“As soon as you engage in a fight on the internet, you’ve lost. I don’t think Dave realized that until it happened, but he got the shit kicked out of him by Doom fans. He was determined to defend himself and his movie against all comers and they just kicked him around. But he got back up and got moving again.”

Callaham certainly did that, going on to pen The Expendables and, most recently, Wonder Woman 1984.

Strick remains philosophical about his experience on Doom and still has cherished memories of taking his sons to the premiere [“they were in awe of The Rock” ].

Positives and Negatives

“I thought the film was pretty good. Particularly in the sequence where it becomes like the video game. It’s the one great thing in the movie. Ironically, it’s a movie but it’s at its best when it devolves into pure video game action.”

Bartkowiak took the brunt of the criticism for the film’s visual issues – visual effects wiz Jon Farhat took charge of the much-lauded first-person shooter sequence.

Things would get even worse for the experienced cinematographer-turned-director a few years later with his next film, Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li, which pulled off the ignominious feat of being an even worse video game movie.

Johnson rode the storm though, eventually hitting A-lister pay dirt with 2011’s Fast Five – a movie that breathed new life into his career and the Fast & Furious franchise as a whole.

Today, Johnson is able to laugh about Doom, recently claiming its failure was the result of a “video game curse” he successfully broke with Rampage. The jury is still out on that one.

With a different director, more ambitious budget and the right stars in the right roles, Doom could well have ended up being a great video game movie – but Strick thinks making a truly great video game movie “is next to impossible.”

It’s about narrative,” he explains. “In a movie, we’re taking you for a ride whereas in a video game you are in the driving seat. So they are two conflicting and competing ideas for what makes a story engaging. Sit back, relax, we’re going to entertain you versus you’re immersed in an environment that you control. I don’t know where you find the center for that where the two opposing ideas co-exist. That’s possibly why the video game sequence is so good. It took on that paradox. You’re watching a video game movie that’s a simulation. It’s a kind of reminder of what the movie could never be.”

The post What Went Wrong With Dwayne Johnson’s Doom Movie? appeared first on Den of Geek.

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mybumpbirthandbeyond · 4 years

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Motivation

I understand from the beginning this blog has been about me – mainly my pregnancy, my birth and my ‘recovery.’ I have said before, but I continue to be overwhelmed at the reaction and response to what I have written, from people I haven’t spoken to in years, to possibly people I haven’t even met. With that in mind I now feel I might need to do a wee introduction to myself.

I live in Scotland with my husband, our son and our two Springer Spaniels. I am now living in the town I was born in. I went to primary school here and went to secondary school not too far away. My mum taught at my primary school, and my dad taught at my secondary school. (Yeah, I didn’t have many boyfriends at school – especially as my dad was head of PE and one of the rugby coaches!!). I think it’s important to speak about a major thing that happened in my life, because it might explain my mindset. When I was 14, my dad was killed crossing the road in Spain when he was on a golf holiday. It is the worst thing that has ever happened to me and my family, and that hasn’t changed. It’s been 18 years, but it you never get used to that – you learn to live with it. Every single happy occasion is tinged with sadness knowing he is missing it all. That will continue for the rest of my life. It’s become even more apparent now I have my son – he would have loved being a grandparent and would have been the best Grandpa ever. Cailean is Gaelic for Colin – we named him for my dad. We pronounce it differently to the Scottish Gaelic pronunciation, but I suspect it’s similar to the Irish. I’m okay with that. 😊 I mention all of this, because no matter how tough this journey gets, I’ve been through worse things, and I know there are always going to people in a worse position than me.

I studied Law with Spanish at the University of Glasgow. I lived for a year in Granada in the south of Spain studying Law IN Spanish as part of my degree. I became a lawyer in Glasgow, having trained in civil and criminal court practice. As a newly qualified, I then focused solely on crime. It’s less like Suits or Legally Blonde, more like: this cell smells of pee, the client stinks of alcohol, and I’m at a police station until 5am and I have to leave for court at 7am miles away. The gown was pretty cool though – makes you feel quite powerful, like a superhero – defender of the neds and the smelly. I do sometimes miss it – the challenge of being constantly intellectually challenged and thinking on your feet (literally on your feet in the courtroom) by some of the brightest legal minds in the country. The buzz of winning my first trial and being able to learn at the feet of the masters in High Court cases when instructing Counsel. I always thought I’d end up wearing the wig myself, but sadly legal aid is a shitshow and crime really doesn’t pay – what they don’t tell you is, it doesn’t pay the lawyers either!

Fun fact – the Spanish always comes in handy on holiday, and actually we were already booked to go to Mallorca when the doctor told us we were pregnant. Bit shit I couldn’t have a cocktail on holiday, but there you go! I had bought new clothes for it and by the end of the 10 days – yes 10 DAYS - only weeks pregnant, I couldn’t fit some of them! Start of the story of my life…We were in the hotel restaurant and they had homemade ice cream. Anyone who has been pregnant knows whippy or soft ice cream is a no-no. Anything has to be from pasteurised milk. It was roasting, the ice cream looked amazing – what can I say. I used my language skills to explain to the waitress I was pregnant, and was the ice cream made from pasteurised milk? She congratulated me and had to go and check with the chef but thankfully it was. So the first person in the world we told we were pregnant, was the waitress. It was in Spanish so I didn’t really feel it counted, but it makes me laugh even now. Even more so when ‘pregnant,’ in Spanish is a word that looks like it could mean ‘embarrassed.’ You can imagine when I was Uni student you didn’t want to be making that mistake in conversation!!!

Hope that gives a bit of an insight, but back to the rehab. In my last blog I mentioned the decision I made to definitely have surgery and hitting the reset button multiple times in preparation. I was due to appear at Grainne’s conference in Glasgow. It was so oversubscribed, that Lyndsey ended up sorting another date here at my local hospital for anyone who couldn’t make it to the Glasgow date. That was due to happen the end of March. The week of the conference I was due to see Lyndsey, having not seen her since the end of February. I’d still been working hard in between times and progressing where I could but it always helps to have a goal and something to aim for.

I had a trip to Belfast at the start of March. Some of you will have seen my posts about that – yet more queries about if I was pregnant, yet more jeans that didn’t fit. This story was getting old. Happily, there was a tiny gym in my lovely hotel and after work the two days, I hit that. I was feeling pretty good but as I mentioned I had motivation – when you know you’re going to be tested in a room full of some of the best pelvic health physios in the country, you don’t want to look weak and useless. If I’m going to be tested on my ability to perform a crunch with a double leg lift (thanks Antony!) then you better believe I’m going to work my butt off to give a good account of myself. Not only that, but Antony was due over to Scotland in May to run a course for fitness pros and physiotherapists (thank you Rosie!). We had agreed I would donate my body to the cause and we would finally get the chance to meet in person. Powerful thing motivation.

Then it just disappeared. Coronavirus hit and my appointment and the conference were postponed (understandably). Lyndsey kindly called me, which was unexpected, to tell me she was being redeployed to a ward and did I still have contact with Grainne and Antony in case I needed anything? That’s the incredible thing about these people – they’re not just amazing at their jobs, they are amazing people. That is why I am so lucky. That is why I knew I would cope – even if it was a bit rubbish knowing I will go months without physical feedback and what felt like nothing to work for. Wrong.

I’ve mentioned perhaps only a few times (!) how lucky I am and how much respect and admiration and just pure gratitude I have for those on my team. I’ve not even seen Grainne and Antony in person, but I undoubtedly count them as part of my team. How could I not? They have helped me progress in a way I never thought was possible. They have advised me in ways Lyndsey admitted she couldn’t, because if it isn’t for the likes of Grainne and Antony, that information just does not exist, or certainly not enough of it does. I am more informed now than I ever have been. That is down to them and everything I have been advised. I owe it to all of them, to work at this and continue to work at this regardless. I owe it to myself, but a bigger driver is not letting them down. That is almost more important to me than doing this for me is.

I was unwell for the first few weeks of lockdown. It was suspected kidney stones, possible kidney infection, after I discovered blood in my urine. Pretty scary especially when you’re in a lot of pain. When the X ray and urine came back negative and the antibiotics didn’t work (yep a trip to the GP and hospital during a pandemic) – the doctor was perplexed so made an urgent referral to Urology. They then made an urgent referral to Radiology for me to have a CT scan. Radiology apparently decided it was routine, not urgent, so I had to chase around three different departments. With it being ‘routine’ – they weren’t doing routine appointments during the pandemic so I wouldn’t be seen. Urology decided to get it upgraded as urgent as I still had blood in my urine. Finally, they agreed and two weeks later (this has now been going on over a month) I have now had my CT scan. I’m waiting to hear from Urology.

In that time, I felt pretty demotivated – I was in pain so rehab felt out of the question. The pain was mostly in my side, but also my lower back and lower abdomen. Not really helpful to then engage in exercises testing your core. Time started to tick by, but I was exhausted and just not really in the mood. Then a lightbulb just flickered on and stayed on. How could I possibly explain the next time I spoke with one of my physios I just haven’t bothered? I wouldn’t be able to look them in the eye and I would be ashamed. The pain was still there, albeit duller than it had been, so I pushed through. This is the resilience I was referring to in my previous post. I needed to forget about my kidneys and just get on with it. That’s what childbirth is about after all – you may be in pain or discomfort, but you just get on with it because there’s no choice. So do what you have to, but just do it.

I started posting about it again on social media. I had been relatively quiet, but I thought I needed to get accountable. I knew there was a chance they were watching (I wasn’t wrong). I addressed the things I would like to do and how I was managing that without direct feedback from my physios – I bought an abdominal slant bench with the idea I could try to get to full sit-ups. Lyndsey had discovered a 30 degree angle was probably ideal until I could overcome the initial angle from flat to 30 degrees – after that I was fine. Then I had a message from Grainne who had seen my story on Instagram. She told me to just do it. Forget the bench just do it. It seemed like a piece of simple advice, but she’ll never know how much that impacted my mindset (unless she reads this of course!). It lit a spark of less thinking, more doing. So I did exactly that, and before I knew it I had reached 15 full sit-ups. My feet were locked and that is still the case now, but I never needed them to be before everything. I’m aiming to get to a point where they aren’t locked. That’s the point - I have goals back, it’s just I’m setting them and not my physios.

That then gave me the freedom to test my boundaries – press-ups were on my knees and had been for a while. What if I did them full on my feet how I used to? Started with 4, then 8 on my knees. Next night, 6 on my feet, 6 on my knees. Next night, 8 on my feet, 4 on my knees. Then it was 8 on my feet, but 8 on my knees. Now, it’s more like 16 on my feet, and 14 on my knees – I’ve just done it over two reps. I started doing more upper body work with the dumbbells I already had. Then I started doing my planks on my feet – I last only a few seconds but this is usually after my press-ups and sit-ups so I’m letting that go at the moment. I don’t use the bench now: until the other night – I tried a few reverse crunches. My back wasn’t a fan, so will have to leave that on the shelf for just now and come back to it. Instead I’ve been trying to build more strength in the crunch with the double leg lift – I’ll explain why in a couple of paragraphs.

In between I got a very welcome email from Grainne – given how everything was going, she wanted to do another consult. Not just that, but somehow in the midst all of the chaos, she had put together an online version of the course that was due to take place in person and I was very kindly being given access as the live case study. Told you – amazing person! The course was really interesting, and amazing to work through - no surprises here. It was fantastic to get the opportunity to read more about what I was going through and the more clinical side. Of course, there are bits there are lost on me, but I like to learn so that’s not a problem. She is going to continuously add to the section on me because there will be further updates, but it’s crazy to listen back to the consults we had when we first started.

Our next consult was even better than I thought it was going to be, because both Antony and Lyndsey were also able to join. Lyndsey had started this whole journey of mine and was the reason I even know about Grainne and Antony – I was delighted she would get to speak to them ‘face to face’ as it were, for the first time. With my back giving me a bit of bother, I altered what exercises I was doing in the lead up to the call. I absolutely knew Antony was going to ask me to do the crunch with the double leg lift and I really wanted to not want to collapse in a heap like I did last time. I had to prove the work I had put in and that I was getting stronger. I actually practised some but had to stop, so was slightly dreading that part, but it’s amazing what strength you find when you need it. It was more or less the first thing I was asked to do, aside from stand there so they could see what the appearance was like. There was a comment or two that it looked good, but I didn’t really pay attention too much. Funny how I did a few days later…

I was honest about my lack of motivation, but Antony said it was a good thing – athletes need days off and come back feeling refreshed, why wouldn’t i? That’s what I love about Antony – he challenges your beliefs and pushes you to be better. He has such a knack for stating something so simply that it really strikes a chord and resonates.

The double leg lift and crunch went well enough, but the repetition tired me out. Not sure if I’ll ever get over that the way things are, but it definitely went better than last time. Antony admitted it was the hardest thing he would ask me to do and he always starts there. Good thing I love a challenge! One of the biggest takeaways I had from this were two-fold: I hold my breath when it gets hard. When I’m pushed to my physical limit, I hold my breath. Antony asked me to sing a note as I did a sit-up. I tried so hard not to laugh as it seemed so ridiculous. They must have all thought I sounded like the cat’s chorus!! (I promise I can actually sing better than in that video if anyone ever sees it). In my defence, it’s the same part of the sit-up that previously stopped me from doing one at all – that’s where I lose it. I now have a decent marker for progress though – when I can hold that note, I’ll have gotten stronger and sit-ups will be easier.

Secondly, when we were wrapping up at the end, Lyndsey said how much she appreciated being on the call. She said something she had never said to me– she knew she couldn’t help me get to where I wanted to be which is why she told me to listen to that podcast all those months ago. That was huge. You worry people are offended when you seek a second opinion, yet here was Lyndsey saying she was grateful they were able to help when she thought she couldn’t. See what I mean? Incredible people – I can’t say it enough.

When I said I had nothing to work for I was wrong. I’m not just working for myself – I’m working for my team. As little information as there is out there about Diastasis Recti, these people are trying to change that. The least I can do to thank them for everything they are doing for me, and so many other women out there, is to work my ass off to show their research, their advice, their practises work. That they are right, and I am proof of that. If you’ve seen my recent post, you’ll know what I mean. In under 6 months my body shape has changed massively – even to the point that I am actually noticing now. I would never have agreed before about that. I refused to believe or listen when people told me ‘your tummy is coming down.’ Oh yeah? Well how come the gap is no smaller and the measurements say it isn’t? I haven’t had those measurements taken since February. If I was gambler, I’d bet at least the circumference has come down since then.

I’m now back to doing more of the type of exercises I’ve always done at the gym. That’s liberating in itself, but I also have freedom to decide where this goes. I probably always had that freedom, but the reality is I was holding myself back – I was constantly checking in to make sure it was okay. That’s nobody’s fault – its partly the way people are trained to treat women with diastasis recti, but it’s partly down to my attitude of not wanting to do wrong; not wanting to disappoint. That’s innate in me and always has been.

There’s very little that is off the table now. I jokingly said I’d like to get to pull-ups. Well the response was a resounding, unanimous ‘DO IT’. I’m going to be grateful for the rest of my life to these people and I can’t even begin to thank them enough. They haven’t just given me all the advice, support and help when I needed it most – they’ve given me motivation, a positive mindset, and the freedom to choose the direction that this goes. They have backed me all the way and continue to do so. There is still such a long way to go, but what will be a very difficult and no doubt painful journey, is made a hell of lot easier with them on my team. I’ll need this when the days get tough and there will be many of those ahead. This is my motivation when I hit the reset button.

#firsttimemum #postpartumrecovery #mybumpbirthandbeyond #diastasisrecti

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wwefangirl69 · 7 years

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Double Trouble

Setting this up to be a multi chapter thing. Bear with the long backstory. It’s worth it. Please no hate mail, this is my first piece. Feedback is appreciated.

Some Language. Smut. Fluff. SMUUUT. NSFW

3409 words.

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You are a creative type, so you have no “real job” holding you down. You do what you want, when you want. You’re a musician, but not your typical starving artist type. Money is no object – you are well off from a life insurance settlement from a husband that died. You’re in no big hurry to marry again, you are a free spirit and pretty much do what and who you want. Like your favorite Pat Green song, you are a threadbare gypsy soul.

The guys were in town because there was a house show, and they had RAW to tape. You had a gig that night, and were not really expecting to see anybody other than the usual round of drunks that try to ply you with drinks in hopes that you’d be easy to take home. Little did they know, you were half Irish and can drink whiskey like a champ!

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You know Sheamus and Cesaro from a year ago. You were on the date from Hell, and Cesaro saved you from it. It was a date a well-meaning friend had set up. You weren’t really feeling it the first time you went out with Mark, but you are the Queen of second chances. You give people more chances than they usually deserve. Damn your big heart. Mark was not a wrestling fan, but he got ringside seats for the two of you. Clearly he wanted to impress you. Him not being a fan, was kind of the final nail in the coffin in your book (He just made the list!) You were explaining to him the storylines – who’s a heel, who hated who, etc. He was bored, and wanted to go back to the hotel in the hopes of getting a piece of ass. You were having the time of your life, and nowhere near ready to leave, Hell the title match of Lesnar V. Goldberg hadn’t even happened yet.

You looked at him like he was crazy, and said that you would just catch up with him at the hotel later – you would get a cab back. You turned back in time to see Kevin Owens finish entering the ring. Dean Ambrose’s intro music cued up and out he comes! All of a sudden BAM! It goes dark, and you’re seeing red. You’re seething mad, and in a lot of pain. A hard hit to the side of your face from out of nowhere happened. That motherfucker Mark just PUNCHED YOU in the face! You fell hard into the big dude next to you. He was a solid wall of muscle, like Braun Strowman.

Dean saw the whole thing happen, and broke character and jumped the wall and started beating the holy living shit out of Mark. The medics quickly took you to a room backstage to put ice on your eye, and check that shoulder. No real damage done, they iced your face, gave you a BC Powder and a bottled water, and as a precaution, they taped up your shoulder with kinesio tape just like the kind Cesaro wears. The medic had you lie down on the bench and rest a bit with the ice on your face.

After a while, you had had enough of this shit, you were bored, the night was screwed, and you were going to hit the bar before you went back to the hotel. Thank GOD you weren’t sharing a hotel room with that douchebag. You put your Coco Chanel rhinestone dark glasses on to cover up the shiner you just KNOW you are getting, and you begin roaming the halls trying to find the entrance to the parking garage to get the HELL out of there. Only problem is you are a little directionally challenged, you were still a little bit woozy, and to make matters worse, you were a bit lost. You can’t find your ass with both hands in the dark, with a flashlight, AND GPS!

You weren’t seeing too clearly, your bruised eye was watering like a son of a bitch, and you plowed right into Cesaro! You hit with such force, and you were still a bit wobbly on your feet. He caught your elbow to keep you from landing on your ass. Goosebumps popped up all over, and a pulsing throbbing started between your legs. “Oh my GOD! SHIT! I’m SO sorry!” You stammered. He smiled radiantly, and you melted. He was impeccably dressed in a dark Armani suit, and his trademark dark glasses. He looked good, and smelled like Heaven. He was wearing your favorite men’s scent, Bulgari. You melted a second time inwardly. “No worries darling. You must be lost to have gotten back here.” He said. “No, actually I got hit in the face.” You said. He stopped smiling, and genuinely looked concerned. He gently removed your sunglasses to look at the faint bruising on your eye. “So YOU’RE the girl! I heard a beautiful lady got injured by her boyfriend tonight, and Dean stepped in. Dean was talking about it in the locker room. He’s lucky I wasn’t out there.” “He’s NOT my boyfriend!” I snapped. “No? Well then I have a chance. Come to dinner with me. I’d enjoy very much the company of a beautiful Lady.” The butterflies are doing flip flops in your stomach at this point. You smile, and say “I’d love to” He holds his arm out to you, and you take it.

He walks you down the hall, and out to the parking garage, where the valet pulls up to you in a sleek black Porsche 911 Carrera. Cesaro walks around and opens your door for you, and you sink into the plush leather seats. He takes you not too far away, to a quiet little Italian restaurant, and he pulls in, and tosses the keys to the valet. He walks around to your side and opens your door, holding his hand out to you, helping you out of the car. You blush, and again are filled with a hammering throbbing in your deepest parts. He places his hand in the small of your back possessively, a little too close to your ass, and guides you into the restaurant. The table is in a dark corner, lit up by the light of many candles. The candlelight shines in your eyes, and reflects in your hair.

Once seated across from you, he reaches across, and gently removes your sunglasses. “I want to see you,” He says. He gently brushes the hair from your eyes, and traces his fingers down your face, under the guise of checking on your eye. You were thinking of other places that those fingers could be! His eyes darken to pools of molten chocolate in the candlelight as he says to you in a husky whisper “Cosi’ bellou” So beautiful. You have no idea what he said, but you feel yourself getting wet with desire for him.

Over dinner, you talk about places he’s travelled to, places you’d like to go - things he’d like to show you – The Eiffel Tower, The Spanish Steps. You tell him about your music, and he coaxes you to sing a little for him. He is noticeably impressed. You discuss Art, literature, poetry, theater, opera and find out you have a lot of things in common. You definitely agree on coffee after dinner, and you both agree Starbucks is the best! You enjoy a cup of coffee, and share a cannoli. You got a bit of cream on your lip, and he reaches across and wipes at it with his finger, and sucks on it, never breaking eye contact with you.

After the tab is paid, he walks you outside, and he slips his suit jacket around your shoulders because the night is brisk. Neither one of you are ready to return to the hotel just yet, so with it being a coastal town, you find yourselves walking hand in hand along the beach in the moonlight. You couldn’t help but notice how perfectly your hand fits in his, and as if reading your mind, he squeezed your hand before bringing it to your lips for the softest of kisses. His breath was warm across your knuckles, and he murmured in Italian “Attento, stai rubando il mio cuore.” Careful, you’re stealing my heart. “What did you say?” You asked him. “You’re beautiful.” He said, not REALLY telling you how he was feeling at that moment in time.

It was a little after midnight, and you walked with him in the surf where the water lapped the beach, you were laughing at his rolled-up suit pants, and ogling those perfect muscular calves. You both laughed. You loved the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners when he smiled. God, he had a dazzling smile. “He is a God among men” You were thinking to yourself as you openly admired him. You were so lost in his perfection, you failed to notice that you two had walked all the way out on a long fishing pier, and walked into an abandoned fishing shack to get shelter from the winds, and sea spray. He put the big rough-hewn locking bar down, and turned to you and smiled warmly. The waves were relatively calm, but the wind had whipped up. There was a little porch with 2 chairs and a table outside at the back, and the view was incredible! Inside the shack was a table with a coffeepot on it, and a bed, and some linens on the floor.

He closed the distance between you with a couple steps, and slipped his jacket off your shoulders, and draped it on the table. He also set your purse on the table. He reached out and took both your hands in his, and he looked into your (your eye color here) eyes and lightly brushed his lips across yours. His hand moved up to caress your face, and soon found its way to being tangled in your hair. His kisses became harder, more urgent and needful, his tongue exploring your mouth, sucking your tongue, biting and sucking on your lower lip. Your lips were bruised from the kisses, and his beard scratched your face raw, but you didn’t care. You wanted him. You wanted this. You could feel his hardness straining against the zipper of his pants. When you took his lower lip in your mouth and sucked on it, he moaned, his brown eyes almost black with lust and desire for you.

In one swooping move, he scooped you up like you weighed nothing, and sat you on the edge of the bed. He knelt on the floor at your feet, and patiently undid your strappy sandals, and set them aside. He placed a kiss upon each arch before kneading your calves with his strong hands. You arched your back and moaned. He worked your calves all the way up, his fingers probing and spreading your thighs. You felt yourself getting wetter by the moment for him. He went under your skirt and palmed your mound and squeezed, then grinned wolfishly up at you and smacked it twice with his palm before he pushed your black lace panties aside, and slid in a finger. He worked in and out a couple of times before he pulled it out and sucked your sweetness off of it, then slid it back in, this time curling it in a beckoning manner, so he was hitting your sweet spot. He slid a second finger into your wetness, and teased you with a third – stretching your tight hole out. His thumb flicked your clit mercilessly. You were SO close to cumming, your walls clenched around his fingers and spasmed. He pulled his fingers out, and again sucked your sweet cream off of them. He denied you your release. He was like a cat toying with a mouse, it was much too soon for all that.

You pouted your displeasure at being denied your release, and he laughed, a deep throaty sound. He held both your hands over your head in one of his hands, and slid your slinky sundress off, and tossed it in the corner of the room. “Let me look at you” he said, as you tried being shy – mainly because by now your panties were soaked all the way through and sodden. His hardness strained against the zipper of his pants, and it threatened to inch down of its own accord. He said in French – the language of lovers – as he openly and lasciviously admired your soft curves “Vouse’ tes une vision de la beaute’, mon dieu, vous e’tes parfait!” - You are a vision of beauty, My God you are perfect!

You were still clad in your black lace bra and panties, and had sat up, and stood up before him. You reached up, and slowly undid his tie, and let it hit the floor. Your hands trembled as you unbuttoned his shirt, like it was the first time for you. He kissed you passionately and whispered “Sweet Girl” against your lips – his shirt hit the floor. You ran your hands across his broad chest, your face nuzzled in his chest hair, and you licked and sucked and teased his nipples and bit on them! He sharply inhaled. You kissed his injured shoulder, and followed the path of the kinesio tape in kisses. You looked into his eyes and – he deftly unhooked your bra with one hand, and threw that across the room too. His large warm hands cupped your heavy DD breasts, and his mouth returned the favor of what you did to his nipples. He took your nipple in his mouth – tongue teasing the bud until it puckered – and while sucking and nibbling, he pinched and rolled the other in his free hand.

You kissed and licked all the way down his chest – you came back up and again teased his nipples and his hands tangled in your hair, and he bit your neck, marking you as his! You kissed down his “happy trail,” down to his navel, you swirled your tongue around, and he moaned low in his throat. You licked the hard lines of his “V” muscle – his obliques… you unbuttoned his pants, and pulled the zipper down the rest of the way with your teeth. The zipper had started coming down on its own, after you unbuttoned his pants. You never broke eye contact with him. His bulge was sticking up past the waistband of his black briefs – the head, angry and purple was visible and shiny with pre-cum. You were on your knees before him, and slid his briefs off using your teeth!

Once free of its restriction, his dick, all long and hard and thick – and smooth bobbed and stuck straight out. His balls were large and heavy and hung low – just begging to be sucked! You gasped at the size of him and said “You’re perfect. You would put Michelangelo’s David to shame!” He smiled and said “You would shame DiMilo’s Venus with your beauty, Mi amor.” And you again knelt before him, and licked the length of that beautiful monster cock, one hand cupping those heavy balls of his. He let out a loud moan when you put one of his balls into my mouth. You swished it around inside your mouth, then you switched to the other one; you were also stroking his thighs with your hands. He started breathing harder when you managed to put both his balls into your mouth at once. You tenderly licked his balls while warming them up with your hot mouth. You used your tongue to move them all around; your lips were completely enveloping his entire sack, up to the root of his dick. Your hands began to stroke his dick. Your hands kneaded his thighs; your fingers were inches from his balls. He let out a gasp when your red nails brushed up against his balls. “Oh God!” he said. Then came furious bobbing. Slow sucking. Gentle licking, swirling the head, probing the hole on top. You worked your way up to the sensitive underside of his cock, right under the head. you gave that area some licks, and then teased him a bit with some long slow licks up and down the shaft. When you knew he really needed some more direct stimulation, you finally put your lips around the whole head of his cock and started to gently suck him off. Fondling his balls with your hand, you slowly lowered your mouth over his entire organ, getting it deep inside your mouth.

You stopped sucking and teasing, and his dick popped free and bobbed, still sticking straight out. He was breathing heavy, and moaned.. God he was close… you rose to your feet and walked around him, staring. His ass was perfect and you couldn’t resist spanking it – HARD as you walked around him. His ring gear did not begin to do it justice. He was truly a work of art – chiseled, hard, perfect.. yours. His dick bobbed when you slapped his ass.

Without warning, and in one swift move, he tore your soaked panties off in his fist like he did his tear away suit in the ring. You gasped in surprise, and he scooped you up again, like you weighed nothing, and he placed you as gently as he could even in his state – rabid with arousal on the bed. He nudged your thighs apart with his knee, and he hovered above you, teasing your clit with his hardness, teasing your opening, just putting in the tip. You arched your back to meet him, and he lost himself.. he slammed it home, and you moaned and screamed, and dragged your nails across his back, and you bit down on his shoulder. The biting and scratching made him thrust harder in a frenzy, he was speaking in French, pounding you, and you were both moaning.. your walls clenched around him, you wrapped your legs around him, holding him in you. You came an entire ocean, and soaked him, he moaned, and you felt him shoot his hot seed deep in you.

You both lay there still connected for a moment, then he slid out. You were too wet. He reached down, and got you a dry towel to clean off, and he climbed behind you and nuzzled your neck, kissing your shoulders holding you tightly, arms wrapped around you, kissing you everywhere he could reach. You both drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, sun streamed through the window, Cesaro lay there looking at you, the light playing in your hair. He had an angel. You stirred, and smiled sleepily. He handed you a cup of coffee, and you hugged each other tightly, and made love slowly. Afterwards, you both got dressed – you sans panties of course. You both giggled as you walked out to the balcony and threw them in the sea!

He took you to Victoria’s Secret and bought you some more. He also bought you a new sundress he couldn’t wait to see you in. It was a stunning green that set off your hair nicely. He also got you matching shoes and a purse! You went and had breakfast together in a quiet little French Bistro, lingering over coffee and bacon. He asked “Can I see you again, my angel?” “Of course," you said, and smiled. God, he loved your smile. And your numbers are in each other’s phones now, and he dropped you off at your hotel, but not before he gave you a deep kiss. “Come to the show tonight. I will have tickets at will-call for you.” He said, and he drove off. He got back to the hotel he shared with Sheamus.

Sheamus glowered at him and said “Yer late fella. You were supposed to meet me at the gym today!” Cesaro had a silly smile on his face, and said “Yeah… about that. I met a Lady…” Sheamus sniffed the air loudly and said snidely “I couldn’t tell.” Cesaro punched his arm and said “Back off man! She’s coming to the show tonight and sitting in the Cesaro Section. You be nice tonight.”

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Taglist beauties: @wwesmutdonedirtcheap @helluvawriter @deidrelovessheamus @laochbaineann

#shesaro #cesaro smut #cesaro love #wwe fanfiction

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bluebookbadger-blog · 7 years

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The Price of a Life - Chapter 10

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance to modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong. Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc. Rating: PG-13

I awoke to a beeping sound that was slow, steady, and repetitive. I must have slept through my alarm for work. I shifted in the bed, a sharp pain shooting up from my hips. I must have been planting yesterday, as my knees too were sore and my back ached.

I yawned and tried to roll onto my uninjured side, the blanket over me wrapping itself tightly around my legs so much that I had to return to the uncomfortable position of my back. I sighed loudly through my nose, my sister's voice ringing out impatiently.

"Irish, Irish," She repeated in tandem with the alarm clock. I thought nothing of it until I tried once more to roll over and the pain in my hip began to burn. Mary never called me Irish, she was the older sibling who always used my full first name when addressing me in annoyance. I opened my eyes slowly, allowing them to adjust to the light.

I expected to see the familiar ceiling of my room, with those glow-in-the-dark stars and dream catchers scattered above my bed, but I was only met with an empty, well lit ceiling. That was even more odd than Mary calling me Irish. I started to push myself up, but my arms gave out under my weight making me fall back to my bed with an elegant plop.

Just when I thought I was going to fall back into an enchanted and pain free sleep, I heard someone arguing nearby. Normally this wouldn't have caught my attention, given that my younger brothers were always arguing over something, but this voice was deep, and angrier.

When Matt, Brian, and Aiden argued, they were never the kind who got upset with each other over their disagreements. Matt, despite being a walking mountain of puberty, still retained his high squeaky voice. So, it couldn't have been them who were arguing. I tried to listen to the words that were muffled by the door, but I could only catch snippets of the conversation.

"She...witness...long enough...wrong-"

"...are...we...can...soon."

The first voice sounded vaguely familiar, and putting the pieces together, I realized this wasn't my room, and the beeping beside me was a heart monitor. With my new revelation, the beeping sped up as anxiety overcame me. The thoughts from the previous night came back in a rush of cold terror, my hands shaking and cold sweat dripping down my forehead as I tried a few feeble breathing exercises to calm down.

Everything was going according to plan more or less, and the only problem at the moment was that I was once more in a hospital. I tried to look around the hospital room to see if there was anyone else there. Seeing no one, I once again picked myself up, my right side and leg hurting so much the world spun for a moment as I adjusted myself so that my back lay against the headboard of the bed. The room was still very blurry, on account of my missing glasses and the disorienting bright lights, but I could make out an IV drip hooked up to my left hand and a few chairs to my right.

The door creaked open and I jumped, even more light pouring in from the hallway making it near impossible for me to see who was making the dark silhouette against the light. A clipboard clattered to the ground as the figure was pushed out of the way by another man who quickly approached me. A softer pair of footsteps followed, a quiet voice murmuring an apology before joining Mustang at my bed side.

"Irish, I need you to tell us what you know about Hughes' disappearance, time is of the essence," The dark eyed man snapped, looking down at me with no hint of sympathy or concern. My eyes widened and I shrank away from him, the suddenness of the inevitable interrogation startling me from my fantasies of sleep.

"Sir, with all do respect she just woke up-" The figure from the door, a doctor perhaps, said nervously.

"Shut up!" Mustang growled, clearly on edge. I didn't know if I could lie to him when he was like that, he simply radiated frustration and pure hate. Riza placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Sir, please calm down," Surprisingly, the Flame Colonel sighed and crossed his arms, allowing Riza to stand closer to me. Her betrayed no emotion, though I knew she must have been feeling the same urgency her superior did. "Irish, I know you've just woken up and are recovering, but if you can tell us anything about the other night it would be appreciated." I stared at her blankly, my hand slowly reaching up to my head to feel a sharp pain at the back of my head where it crashed into the phone booth's door. I looked down, feeling sick as I recalled the events.

I zoned out for so long the doctor soon asked if Hawkeye and Mustang could leave. Riza looked up from me and shook her head at Mustang, who's glare seemed to bore a hole through me before his shoulder's sagged in defeat and he motioned to Riza to leave. I couldn't let them think Hughes was alive. That was the deal.

"Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes is dead," I murmured, Mustang quickly returning to my bedside with Riza in pursuit. I could feel warm tears of stress beginning to well in my eyes, but to the two attending officers, I hoped they seemed to be tears of sorrow.

"That's what you told Private Braun," Riza said softly, though in no way trying to affirm the statement. I whimpered and rubbed my eyes.

"She told me to tell you that," I squeaked, sniffling. I had little to know idea how to convince these people that Hughes had been killed, so I decided to play off the canon story where they believed Ross had killed him. Of course, there would be no names mentioned. Riza said something, but I purposely ignored the question. "Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes is dead," I repeated.

"Irish, focus. Who is 'she'?" Riza asked, playing the good cop for this interrogation. Truth probably knew that I'd be facing a bad cop sometime in the near future. I shook my head, grabbing fistfuls of my hair in feigned frustration.

"I...I don't know," I sobbed, the heart monitor next to me picking up its pace as my breathing quickened and tears flowed. "I don't know,"

"I believe that's enough for today, you're going to make her condition worse, now please get out, she needs rest." The doctor advised, Riza looking to Mustang for an order. He looked at me coldly before nodding. The two left and the doctor called upon some nurses for aid in replacing my bandages and removing the heart monitor. I felt as if I was going to be sick as I slowly calmed down. It was a difficult feat after how worked up I had gotten myself.

I leaned back against the headboard as nurses seemed to swarm me, checking my pupils for dilation and using stethoscopes to check my breathing. I closed my eyes and started thinking about my plan to convince them that Hughes had been murdered. Of course there came the morbid thought of convincing them that I had murdered Hughes, but none of them would think that, of course.

From what I had collected from the nurses and doctors, I had been there for only two days, thus explaining the lack of a feeding tube when I awoke. The investigation of Hughes' disappearance was ongoing, but it had a pessimistic outlook.

It was being kept quiet, and I wasn't even sure if Gracia had been alerted of her husband's sudden and unscheduled departure. They could have told her he was on urgent call in the East somewhere. I was so worried about her and Elicia, mostly because Hughes could be anywhere and/or dead and they had no way of knowing he was (hopefully) safe from the country's impending doom. But I couldn't tell them. I needed to keep the feelings of hatred and sorrow genuine so that key people would make the correct key decisions.

I had woken up in the middle of the afternoon apparently, the day after the guards found me. After a check up from the doctor and many different nurses, the room was finally empty and I was told to rest. As if I could rest after what I had just been through. My leg and side were killing me, the fresh bandages stinging with alcohol and disinfectants.

I wanted to cry, or get sick, or just fall asleep, but I couldn't. I had put all of my trust in Envy, and the entire plan hinged on him keeping his word. I didn't trust him, but I didn't really have a choice either. It was all Truth's fault that it hadn't gone according to plan. If the entity hadn't pulled me to the Gate to stall, I would have been able to follow through with my original plan. Hopefully it saw that stalling hadn't changed the end goal, at least not too much.

The door opened unexpectedly, causing me to jump with fright. The pain that ensued was enough to sharpen my consciousness for the inevitable interview. Instead of an impatient and angsty Roy Mustang and his ever calm and collected Lieutenant, I was greeted with the stone like faces of Henry Douglas and Captain Focker.

Of course, those names came after a curt introduction. It took me a few moments to recognize Douglas' later connection to Ross' arrest, but Focker was relatively recognizable.

"Good evening, Miss. Irish, I am Colonel Douglas and this is Captain Focker." Douglas said as the two approached my bed side. Focker had a note pad and pen in hand. "We'd like to ask you some questions about the night of Lieutenant Colonel Hughes' disappearance. Is that alright?" It humored me that the man even bothered to ask permission to interview me, a key witness to a crime.

I gave a numb nod, allowing myself to stare aimlessly into the distance to enhance the shell shocked look I was hoping to achieve. Douglas opened a folder Focker handed him, and began to read.

"At 19:00 you were observed by Private Müller entering the Investigations Wing of Central Command. Upon your exit, at 03:00 she reported despite your injuries, you ignored her presence, took a moment to see the first telephone stall, before exiting the building to travel just short of 400 meters where Officers Wundt and Lange discovered you. Does this sound correct?" I couldn't believe I had gotten that far away from the building, or the time frame for which I had been with Truth in the Gate, but it seemed accurate nonetheless.

"Yes," I said, my voice still hoarse. Focker made note of this. Douglas closed the folder.

"Can you please begin by telling us what occurred between the hours of 19:00 and 03:00 please?" I looked down at the question, but spoke nonetheless. I had not even considered my alibi, and although I had no doubt in my ability to bullshit the entire story, I was cautious to avoid plot holes.

"I was going to the Archive room. My friend - Reginald Azir - he had been teaching me Amestrian history, and I wanted to continue studying while he was hospitalized. But I got lost. I eventually found the bathroom and figured someone would come by who knew the way - at least to the exit, because I guess I dozed off while I was waiting. 2nd Lieutenant Maria Ross found me and directed me to the Archive room," I paused, my eyes blank and my hands shaking as I recalled Lust's face and all of the blood that left small crimson puddles in and around the Archive room. " W-When I got there...there was so much blood...everywhere...so much blood-"

"Did Ross not escort you to the Archive room?" Douglas said, interrupting my self-induced panic. I looked up and shook my head, sure to make eye contact.

"No, she just gave me directions and left, in the exact opposite direction." I said, cracking my knuckles out of nervous habit. Focker copied my exact words.

"Did you not come upon any other officers?" I shook my head, looking down again.

"No, actually. It was as if they had all gone home for the night. The halls were rather deserted." Douglas nodded his head sagely, waiting a moment for Focker to copy down the statement.

"So, you are at the Archive room. Do you enter it? Is there anyone in there?" I felt goosebumps rise on my arms, courtesy of the drafty window, not fear or shock.

"I-I did go in, just a few steps to see if someone in there needed help. But then the door was closed behind me, and someone came at me..." I trailed off,having my hand drift to my right hip as I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. They wanted a story, so I might as well give them one. "The lights were out, and I didn't see who it was. I got out somehow before they could come at me again, but they said...she said, 'Lieutenant Colonel Hughes is dead,' as I ran-"

"Do you know who 'she' might have been?" Douglas asked tentatively, as if he were poking a sleeping bear.

"No...maybe...no? I didn't recognize the voice, but it was definitely female. On the higher end of the spectrum, but kind of throaty." I shuddered at the recollection of Lust's voice. "I just ran. I don't know how I found the front desk, but there was a trail of blood in front of me, and I assumed it must have been Hughes'. I...I don't remember Adele saying anything to me...to be honest I was kind of tunnel visioned at that point, just following the blood trail without thinking really..."

I trailed off, as if recalling that isolated feeling. In reality, I was pondering how the next few scenes would (logically) play out.

"Did you stop at the nearby telephone booth?" Douglas asked, gauging my reaction. I clasped my twitching hands together, and hiccuped as I focused on the pain at my side to force some tears from my eyes.

"Yes," I whispered, thought it was close enough to be classified as a whimper. Focker whispered something to Douglas. They still needed more information from me.

"Miss. Irish, I know this is difficult for you, but what did you see at the telephone booth?" Focker said, his deep voice trying to sooth my soft sobbing. I swallowed and quickly stopped the tears, wiping them with the back of my right hand. It was bandaged, the knuckles sore and raw from the pummeling I had delivered.

"T-There was...someone there, with a gun, standing outside." I hiccuped, folding my hands once again. From the feel of them, the burns had nearly healed, but the stinging alcohol on my knuckles had replaced the tight, red skin. "And there was someone inside; t-they had been s-shot, they were on the ground - like sitting, but as if they were asleep."

I struggled to find an eloquent way to word the image I had formed in my head, but the combination of what they could perceive as a limited Amestrian vocabulary and trauma could easily explain the chunkiness of my sentences.

"Did you see their faces, either the person in the booth or the shooter?" I bit my lip so hard it drew a small drop of blood.

"No, not the shooter...I was blindly following the trail of blood, and they pushed me into the booth's frame after yelling at me," I ran a hand through my hair and felt the sizable bump at the back of my head. "I don't remember what they said, the voice was...feminine, but it sounded different, younger perhaps. I-I fell down and saw who had been shot, they were dead...Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes was dead. The person - the shooter - placed the gun to my head," The hand that had been at the back of my head traveled to my left temple. "Here, they told me to tell people that. To tell people that Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes is dead."

I stared ahead at the foot or my bed blankly, allowing my hand to drop back into my other.

"What happened after that?" My shoulders drooped slightly, and my eyes went back to my bruised knuckles.

"The person left...they took Hughes with them. They picked him up like, like, child? No, like bride," I held my arms up to mimic the often cited bridal style. "I almost fell asleep, I was very tired...I lost a lot of blood. I started hitting the ground - I don't know why, I was angry and upset and it kept me awake. It took a little while to get back to my feet, but when I did I tried to follow down the path - the direction they took him. I didn't get very far before those officers found me...I was so tired...and - and frightened," I sniffed, my voice cracking. "I just wanted to...to switch places...I wanted to be the one who had been killed. If...If maybe I stopped and got Adele's help...then maybe we'd have reached him in time..."

Tears ran down my face inconsistently but fueled by emotion. I was internally chastising myself for not being a little faster, to maybe save Hughes some mental and physical trauma.

"You just get some rest ma'am, our investigators will find Lieutenant Colonel Hughes," Dauglas reassured, though he sounded quite grim as Focker copied down the last pieces of my account. I looked down, my breathing labored and hands shaking.

"Good day, Miss. Irish. Thank you so much for your time," Focker added as the Colonel began to exit the room. He placed a hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me. "Do not speak to anyone about this matter, at least not until we can straighten out what happened."

He quickly followed his superior, notepad of my story under his arm. I yawned, remembering how tired I still was. Although they had taken me off of liquids, I still was hooked up to some type AB negative blood. How on earth did they figure out I was AB, let alone negative?

I laid awake in the early morning hours, nothing but the blood mystery to occupy my thoughts. When I tried to inquire with a nurse, she responded negatively, unsure who had determined which blood to use as a replacement. It was around 11:00 when I remembered AB could be donated to anyone - a universal donor to quote Ms. Shake from freshman year - and I was being paranoid for no reason. Unfortunately, the worry and concern had given me a horrible migraine.

A knock at the door only served to irritate my aching skull.

"You have a visitor,"

"Big sister Mac!" Elicia cried, running to my bed and jumping onto me. I gave a short gasp of pain when she forced me to shift my weight so that my right side couldn't be favored, but I still managed to smile.

"Hey kiddo," I croaked, my voice hoarse and foreign to my ears. Gracia also entered the room, but much more slowly than her daughter. Immediately I felt the sober atmosphere around the woman, her eyes not nearly as bright and a smile only barely visible upon her chapped lips. I also felt a pang of fear at the sight of the woman, who had held a gun to Hughes' head.

"Look! Look! 'member Mike and- and his present? See! It's a horsey!" The girl giggled, oblivious to my condition as she produced the sloppily transmuted brown object that vaguely resembled a donkey. She was also unaware that I hadn't consciously attended the party, but that wasn't for anyone to know. "His arm was hurt, but then he made it for me out of the floor! Isn't that so cool?"

"Yeah, it is," I managed, trying to clear my throat but instead inciting a coughing fit. Gracia lifted her daughter from my bed and placed in her in one of the nearby seats.

"Let's give Irish a little space, okay sweetie?" Gracia said, her voice devoid of its usual peppiness, and her chiding not as motherly but more demanding. I worried about changes the loss of her husband would have on her, if she had even been alerted of his probable death. This change in her could have merely been caused by a lack of information from the military was providing her. Mrs. Hughes sat down in the chair next to her daughter, closer to my head. "How we doing?" She asked quietly, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I noticed her bitten fingernails, and her ever present wedding ring was slightly off-centered.

"I've been better," I said softly, sitting up slowly. This time the world only spun for a few seconds before I could focus on Gracia's sad smile. "And how are you doing?" I asked, searching for any sign of immediate distress.

There was nothing major, just the slight drooping of her eyelids and a momentary frown. It was enough for Elicia to look up at her mother with big, worried green eyes.

"Mommy?" She asked quietly, her voice barely a squeak. "Where's daddy?" I think my heart imploded a little. Gracia, however, immediately brightened up at the comment, ruffling Elicia's hair.

"Why don't you go outside and say hi to Sergeant Brosh? You told me his little sister was at the park with Mike the other day. What was her name...Agnes?" The little girl's worry evaporated. And, it seemed I was saddled with the babysitting duo once again.

"Okay mommy," She said with a laugh. "Aggy said her big brother was the best, just like big sister Mac is the best!" I think my heart melted a little at the cuteness, but more than the adorableness of her exit, was the cold fear of the reason for her dismissal.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked to Gracia, who held her smile until the door closed, muffling Elicia's greeting to the Sergeant. The door closed without hurry, cutting off the warmer lights of the hallway, leaving us in the solemnity of the cold white lights above.

"I haven't been told much, and I doubt you have either but," I felt tears prick at my eyes as the strong, independent mother before me started to fall to pieces. "They think," She paused a again to hiccup and attempt to stem the flowing tide of tears, "They think that he's dead,"

The last part of the sentence was a barely audible gasp of pure sorrow that turned my melted heart into a twisted knot of regret. I let a few tears run freely down my face, not tears of sorrow but those of pity and we wept for a few moments of near silence, before Gracia seemed compelled to collect herself.

"I-I wasn't allowed to see you until they were convinced you had told them everything...They haven't," She took a deep breath, trying to wipe away the tears, "They haven't told me what happened, or what they think happened..."

Remembering what Focker had told me, I looked down, almost ashamed that I had to withhold this information from her.

"I'm sorry," I said, looking not at Gracia but at my battered and bandaged right hand. "I'm so sorry...I-I should have...I wish-" Suddenly a pair of strong arms wrapped around me, holding me tight. I hadn't realized the tears flowing down my cheeks until now, when I buried my head in Gracia's shoulder.

"Oh, Irish," She said, her tears now stopped and voice holding steady, "I'm just glad one of you is alive, I'd be just as upset if it were you in his place, and wishing it were wouldn't change anything. I love you too," She released me slightly, holding me shoulders as she looked at my face. I ignored the pain from my side the best I could, but a few tears of pain and regret still slipped through. "Now, get some rest, get better, come home. Elicia is getting bored without her knight to help her defend the castle."

I hiccuped, and gave a small chuckle. Gracia stood up, and took a card from her purse. "Feel better, I'll see you tomorrow," She left the room, sounds of Elicia's exuberant retelling of her trip to the park seeping through the cracked door for a brief moment before silence returned, only filled by my own breathing and the hum of the lights.

It was quite simple on the front, simply stating 'Hope you feel better' in a flowing font reminiscent of a Hallmark card. I opened it to quite the surprise. Elicia had drawn her family, and myself, standing in front of the apartment building.

Gracia, made distinct by her light brown curls held Elicia's hand, the smallest human stick figure. Maes, creepily similar to my previous stick figures, held hands with his wife and myself. I was drawn with white crayon, only distinguished by the waxy sheen on the paper and the red dots of my eyes. Over the complex was a sloppy rainbow, and a childish sun smiling down on us. It took me a moment to notice the equally invisible ferret that was at my stick figure-self's feet.

Gracia's clear, cursive handwriting signed her name, along with a curt 'Get well soon,' whereas Elicia had attempted to and partially accomplished to sign her name, most likely with the aid of her mother.

I was moved to cry again, realizing that I had come to love the people around me as much as they loved me. Instead of crying, I smiled, and closed the letter. Holding it close to my chest, I closed my eyes and eventually fell asleep.

I woke without any knocking or whispering this time, the quiet of the room allowing me to cling to the last remnants of the dream I had the night before. I had been home, with my family, but there was no gravity - or at least something that made everything and everyone float around like balloons. I'm pretty sure Thomas Hiddleston was there too - or maybe some other famous actor, but the dream faded too fast and with few sticking details.

It was nice to wake up on my own, left to my own thoughts and some temporary privacy. Yawning I placed the card from the Hughes' under my pillow, amazed it had survived the night without a wrinkle or crease. After a few moments of lying there motionless, I began to envy my morning routine back at the Hughes residence.

I'd get up on my own by at the latest 7:00, 4:30 being the norm for both school and work back in my world. I would bathe, dress for the day, eat breakfast with Gracia and Elicia - sometimes Maes if he was running late for work. By 9:00 I would be at the Main Street Grocery Store, the first costumers and morning deliveries groggily arriving. I missed the smell of throwing out bad eggs and bad milk, and other items on the non-refrigerated shelves that had expired.

I rolled over, happily freed of the IV by a nurse a few moments after a quick inspection by a doctor. My leg was feeling better, and by the doctor's assessment, I could be on crutches today, and walking on my own at the end of the week. I didn't know if it was Sunday or Friday, but it didn't sound like too long to bear.

Today I was supposed to start testing my limits - with a nurse present to observe and assess my progress. According to the doctor - I never caught his name - she'd be by sometime after noon. The nurse arrived at 11:00.

I was sitting in my bed, left leg to my chin as I observed the wound. Most of the heavy bandaging had been removed, leaving only the stitches. The scars would be small, at least for the puncture wounds, whereas the longer scratch would leave a fainter but longer scar.

To the nurse, who opened the door without knocking, I must have looked quite strange with the waist of the pants outstretched so I could inspect the wound. It was probably more embarrassing for me, or at least it felt that way. The woman took no note, almost ignoring me entirely to make sure the door was shut tight behind her. Suspicious? Yes.

"Are you the physical therapy person?" I asked tentatively, though the woman's violet eyes turned on me like daggers and answered my question. "Oh, no wonder you're early..." The woman - well, Envy I guessed - crossed her arms and leaned against the door.

"You are incredibly inconvenient," He growled, his voice only a few notched higher and more feminine than normal. I shrugged, though my heart rate and stress had definitely increased in the homunculus' presence.

"So I've been told," I said, my words faltering slightly as the disguised Envy made his way from the door to my bed in few strides. The woman he was impersonating had really long legs.

"I don't know how a pathetic human like yourself knows as much as you do, but you do," Envy stated, gripping the end of my bed. "How?" The question hung in the air for a few moments, almost a moment too long.

"I already told you-"

"The Truth does not give information that liberally, much less specifically. And from the looks of it, the price you paid was a small one, so there is no reason for you to know as much as you do without other means. Tell me how." I was actually surprised how worked up the homunculus was - had I been too aggressive after all? My mind raced for a moment, only able to focus on his mention of my exchange with Truth.

"Prove to me Maes Hughes is safe," I stated as coldly as I could, somehow keeping my voice steady. "And I'll tell you what you want to know,"

"How can I prove-"

"Prove it, or I'll take the liberty of snuffing out a sacrifice," I interrupted, secretly terrified that Envy had gone back on his word. Considering how much freedom he actually had to kill Hughes, I worried the homunculus had known about my bluff all along. The artificial human hesitated.

"The human is safe, the pathetic thing. I have the ticket stub from the train somewhere..." The homunculus changed back into his normal form, sure to see that the blinds were closed before small bolts of crimson lightning danced around the nurse's body to become more masculine and much paler.

"I never took you as the sentimental type, Envy," I hummed, feigning endearment. It disgusted him, which amused me.

"Here," Envy barked with a snort, his voice dripping with revolt at the thought of a human admiring him. Which of course wasn't the case with me, I was just as scared and hateful of the artificial human as when we first met. I snatched the tickets from his hand gingerly, afraid he might have some trick up his sleeve. Not that he was actually wearing sleeves.

The two ticket stubs were for one two way trip and a one way trip to Bumecu. I could only speculate where Envy had gotten the money to pay for the tickets. I raised an eyebrow at him and set the stubs down at the side of my bed.

"Did he get across the border?" I asked, still skeptical of Envy's honesty. The personified sin sat at the end of my bed and sat with his legs crossed.

"Yes," He spat, annoyed by my distrust, "I escorted him to the border myself, we got to Olma, a town a few kilometers from the border where I left him at a hotel and told him to stay. It's not my fault if he didn't," I nodded, unintentionally sighing with relief.

"So, what do you want to know?" I asked, after what was a clearly agonizing few seconds of quiet for the impatient homunculus.

"How do you know-"

"If you're going to say everything, I'm going to stop you right there. I don't know everything, I'm not Truth, how could I know everything? And I already told you, I made a deal with Truth," I said, ignoring Envy's growing irritation.

"Yes but it's not - ugh, you shouldn't know so much for such a small exchange! And you shouldn't know such specifics like what happened in Ishval or Greed-"

"Oh, did he get melted yet?" I asked, once more interrupting Envy. He gave me a look that told me that asking if Greed had been 'melted yet' was impolite at the least. "Sorry, it's just - I've been in the hospital for Truth knows how long, and I just don't know the time frame in which it happened so I'm a little out of the loop as far as time goes,"

Haha, both figuratively and literally.

"Yes, Greed was 'melted' as you put it, inconsiderate human," I rolled my eyes at the insult, I had better things to worry about.

"Okay, did someone see you guys leave the park and stuff? How did you cover your tracks? As of know, he's believed dead. A formal declaration and service should follow soon if the investigation runs dry," I inquired, aware that a messy job by Envy would make my own much more difficult.

"I don't think anyone saw us, no. We kept to the shadows and alleyways until we made it to the river. I dumped his clothes in the river, and then we got to the train station, bought our tickets, waited until 6:00 for the first train, and left, okay?"

"Where did you get him new clothes?" I asked out of curiosity, when I should have been more concerned about who they may have come in contact with at the station.

"I stole them, of course, some drunk guy. He won't remember us when he wakes up in that ditch, that's for sure." Had I really expected a different answer? "And what's it to you? You only asked me to get him out of the country,"

"Well, I assumed it was in our mutual best interest to smuggle him out of the country without attracting the attention of military investigators, nice touch of throwing the clothes in the river by the way," I said, hoping that was what had sealed the deal for the investigators. If only there were some piranhas or other flesh eating creatures in the river to cement the idea of Hughes' death. "Are you sure no one of importance saw him at the train station?"

Envy, ever irate with my questions rolled his eyes.

"Of course not, and if someone did, Wrath would take care of it," I bit the inside of my cheek. Of course the homunculi would underestimate Mustang's persistence. "Now, about what you know-" I clicked my tongue at him.

"If you're going to call my exchange 'unfair' then you clearly are only concerned with what is skin deep," Wow, that actually sounded kind of cool. Envy didn't seem as impressed with my eloquence as I was.

"What did you trade? Some worthless memories, perhaps your pathetic human conscious?" I snorted and crossed my arms.

"Well, considering I have a perfectly good memory and I do feel bad about hitting you the other night, no. Why does it concern you what exchange I worked out with Truth?" I expected Envy to fume about this, but he seemed confused abut something. Had my English eloquence failed?

"You regret that?" He asked, surprising me with the lack of hostility in his voice. Did I regret pummeling Gracia Hughes' gorgeous face into a bloody pulp? Yes. Did I regret hitting Envy? Maybe. I admit it had felt good to vent my anger at him, but in hindsight I felt what I could assume was the normal human response to hurting another human being - guilt.

"Uh, yeah, sure. I mean, you're alive, I'm alive. You're kind of human, I'm human; am I supposed to feel happy about hurting someone?"

"I do," Well, no duh Envy, "You're probably only feeling bad about hurting a wonderful creature such as myself,"

"Oh, yes, I feel awful about harming a face as adorable as your own, you lovely crocodile,"

"Why thank-" He caught the hint of sarcasm in my voice, "You little, miserable brat-" The door opened, revealing a very surprised Reginald. It was a good thing Envy could shape shift so quickly. The nurse giving him a look that would have killed quickly drove him from the room.

"I'll...give you a minute," Reggie said unsurely, closing the door. I gave Envy a smirk of triumph. I was glad not to spend a minute longer with the freak.

"Well, I'll see you later alligator," Envy turned his deadly glare on me.

"We're keeping tabs on you, Miss. Irish," The feminine voice was sickeningly sweet, enunciating my name. I had never told Envy my name, but with the homunculus' resources it mustn't have been too difficult. "Stay away from the Fullmetal Alchemist," Envy took long strides to the door, looking back at me to make sure I got the message.

"If it were up to me, I'd stay as far away as possible from the pipsqueak," I said, remembering Reggie was right outside the door, followed up with a curt, "Thank you ma'am," Envy avoided eye contact with Reggie as he quickly exited the room.

With his exit, came Reggie's entrance. It was nice to be in the presence of a real human for a little bit.

"Did I interrupt something?" I laughed, as did he. Reggie was standing on his own, and wearing street clothes instead of his uniform. His arm was barely noticeable, since he was wearing a jacket over the collared shirt.

"No, she's was pissed at me for messing with my stitches," I said, smiling at him as he sat on the bed next to me. "And how are you? You look fit as a fiddle," Reggie smiled, subconsciously placing a hand on the sleeve where his arm would be.

"I'm doing better, I was discharged from the hospital the day you came in actually - you won't believe the trouble I had getting the Sargent and 2nd Lieutenant to let me visit you," I nodded - they hadn't met Reggie at all, "I actually have tickets to Rush Valley, the train leaves tomorrow morning," I stole a peek at the blinds, the noon sunlight glaring down and not entering the room, "I was hoping you'd come with me, but, in the state you're in-"

"Oh, crap. Did I ever give you the money? I'm not sure how much they'll charge when you get there - remember to look for the perky blonde - her name's Winry Rockbell, she knows me. If I can't get the money to you - or if they won't wait for the money - just be persistent, Winry's a sweetheart but it takes a while to persuade her to do something if money is on the line," I slowed my rant, noting the hint of sadness in Reggie's eyes. "Did you ever finish those codes I gave you?" This seemed to help him lighten up a bit.

"Yes, actually, I've gotten quite far on the 'Four-Score' one. Where'd you ever come up with that by the way? It's actually quite an interesting speech," I shrugged, thinking back to the nonexistent village of Ire.

"It's like the creed of my village back in Drachma," Reggie nodded, though he didn't seem entirely convinced.

"Your village must be very...open minded," He commented, to which I responded with a huff of feigned annoyance.

"How dare you insult my heritage! May the great Utka damn you to the seventh circle of suffering!" I said dramatically, doing a sign of the cross and bowing my head with clasped hands. Though I was merely joking, Reggie seemed to take it seriously.

"S-Sorry, I didn't mean to offend," I gave him a weak shove.

"I was joking, Reggie. I'm not some Bible-thumping grandma," I said, reaching for and not finding any of my necklaces. A moment of internal panic passed with the realization that I would just have to wait. They were probably being held with evidence or something.

"Bible? Is that your scriptures?"

Ah, yes. Back to the good old times of my first year in public school - a radical display of Catholicism! Does your father make you wear dresses? Are you not supposed to talk to boys? Are your brothers and dad sexist? Do you hate gay people? The answer of all of these was no, but I was still the strange religious girl who was ridiculed for saying grace before lunch. Freshman year was quite the learning experience, at least in terms of adapting to fit society's expectations of a lunchroom.

"The Bible? Yes, but don't ask me to parrot it back to you cover to cover. Priests go to school for a decade or more to do that, not me." I said, though it came out more harshly than I intended. "Are you religious?" I asked tentatively, hoping I seemed as innocently curious as I really was.

"Not really, Amestris isn't exactly a theology hub. Most people believe more in science and proven fact - not to offend your religion or anything, it's just the cultural attitude here is a bit different."

"I get it, and to be honest, we have as much faith in science as we do in our religion. We try to strike a balance between the two; to me, science is a byproduct of our divine creation to be curious and inventive. I'm no priest, so I can't say what their view of it would be, but that's what I believe." I rubbed my bandaged hand, having brushed it a little to hard against the bed. "This theology shit is boring, have you decided on the model you want? Personally, I think going for a higher percentage of chrome - Winry said it'd be less resistant to rusting, but the downside is that it's weaker."

"I was thinking about this one," Reggie pulled out the automail advertisement I had given him on the first day after his surgery. The model in question was glorious and sleek in design and color, a dark grey metal with silver fittings. Though, I bet Winry could make the same thing, but better. We talked about the models and the money to pay for them - I hadn't given him the money, so begging or his own money would have to suffice.

"Miss. Irish," A familiar voice called from the door, startling me for a moment. It was the nurse Envy had impersonated, but with bright brown eyes instead of cold purple ones. Reginald had to leave.

"See you, hope you get to Rush Valley safe and sound Reginald!" I said, giving him an enthusiastic wave as if he were boarding the Titanic - but, you know, without the whole sinking and dying part.

"See you, Irish," He called back as he exited the room. I sighed, looking to the nurse who immediately began to run me through the summary of the physical therapy. A nervous Denny interrupted before we even got started with the simple flexion exercises to help me regain full hip movement.

"The Fuhrer wants to speak with you," He glanced behind himself. "Now,"

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#fullmetal alchemist #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #si/oc #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #bbb writes #bbb #bluebookbadger

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