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lifeisdabubbles-undersalmondean · 3 years

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La Pomme ~ Chapter Six

Pairing: Sam x OC (eventual Dean x OC and Dean x Castiel. And I mean eventual.)

Series summary: George is a casual French-Mistake-universe Supernatural fan living in no-COVID 2020, who's life is upended when she's suddenly launched between realities, two years into the boys' past (S13E22). What begins as an insane, immersive fan experience turns into more when Jack goes missing and George offers up her AU information to help track him down. Soon it's discovered that she and Sam may actually have history. But that's impossible, right?

Word Count: 6,200

Warnings: {smut, fluff, angst, show level violence, swearing, mentions of suicide} ***Detailed warnings will be tagged for specific chapters.

A/N: Following the events of my prequel Paradise and second story From My Eyes Off. Reading those first gives context but isn’t necessary to start this one.

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Approximately three hours of arguing with herself about staying away from them later, George went to see if Jack and Sam had returned yet. She reasoned that, at this point, they'd been so adamant about her coming that staying away altogether would probably raise a larger red flag than if she just made a quick appearance.

That's not true! I'm just going so that they don't come looking for me. This is definitely the last time. Once I get the kid set up on the games, he'll forget I exist. Then I can slip back to my as-yet-undiscovered-room and wait quietly for Rowena to return and return me home. Everything will be fine. This has nothing to do with the beard.

I have to go to keep seeming uninteresting and innocuous, She reasoned with herself, though she knew it was dangerous. It was also not the real reason she was going.

There was no part of her that believed any of that. Especially as her heart fluttered at the thought of bearded Sam in that tight, gray deep v-neck.

First, she stopped in the kitchen to grab two beers from the fridge. Then she went to check Jack's room. As she walked up to the open door, she heard the two men talking.

"I don't understand why you don't want to tell me what happened." She heard Jack say.

Sam's annoyed huff made her pause, "I did tell you; nothing happened. She passed out exhausted and I didn't know where else to put her. There are so many new people here right now, I don't know what's an empty bed and what's not."

"OK…" She heard Jack's doubtful reply and then a pause before asking, "If Brent had passed out in your arms, would you have carried him to your bed?"

George grinned devilishly at the implication of the question, covering her mouth with her hand to stay quiet. There was a long, intriguing silence before Sam ordered defensively, "Shut up."

George decided to take that as her cue. She stepped into the doorway and cleared her throat, "'Shut up,' huh? Interesting parenting philosophy." She smirked as Sam started a bit and looked over at her. Presumably, he was wondering how much of that conversation she'd heard, and she felt in no hurry to fill him in.

Jack smiled at her and pointed to a surprising amount of booty on his bed and the floor in front of it, "George! They had everything on your list! Oh, except Mario 64."

Looks like the shoe's on the other foot, She thought smugly.

"Wow, really?" Her eyes went wide when she saw the small flat screen TV box leaning against the footboard and she looked at Sam with a surprised chuckle. She guessed Sam really wanted to keep Jack occupied. "And you bought it all, I see, awesome! Did you want some help setting up?"

"Yea, come in!" Jack nodded enthusiastically, waving her in, and then began unpacking his loot. George hesitated for a second as Sam watched Jack lay out all the equipment to start getting it set up.

Bitch, I don't know why you're taking pause now! You brought the damn beer. You planned this; just go in already.

With a quick, annoyed shake of her head to quiet the smug voices, she finally stepped into the room.

When she got close to him, Sam smiled, "Hey."

"Hi," George returned his smile nervously. "I don't remember that being on my list," Sam followed her gaze to the flat screen and then squirmed a bit, guiltily. Motioning to the rest of the stuff, she asked with a chuckle, "Feeling a little bit of dad guilt over something?"

Sam feigned ignorance, "Hmm?"

"I mean, OK, you needed the system and some games but…" Her eyes ran over the huge pile of game cartridges on the bed, wide with judgement. "And the TV? Kinda screams single-divorced-dad overcompensation. And I speak from experience."

"Oh, are you a divorced single dad, too?" Sam joked.

George snorted and corrected, "Raised by one… well, on Wednesdays and every other weekend. And he worked weekends… and most Wednesdays, so…" She trailed off with a what-are-you-gonna-do shrug and Sam nodded, understanding the semi-absent dad thing.

"I can definitely relate to the unavailable father," Sam's tone was serious but there was a smile on his face.

George stared at him curiously for a minute, Supernatural episodes flashing in her mind, and then nodded, "Oh, yeah, I guess you can." She was still getting used to television characters being real people. When he furrowed his brow curiously at her, she quickly said, "Anyway, yea, uh-expensive presents helped ease my dad's guilt about not really being there. That's how I got most of my video game experience." Just as he opened his mouth to respond, she held out a beer with a questioning look and said, "I think I owe you one or two of these? Although, seeing as this one is also from your fridge, think of this as more of a symbolic gesture. Since I can't actually repay you."

He chuckled and took the beer with a soft, "Thank you. And, no repayment needed. Trust me, we're just happy to be able to help. All of you." He was referring to the people from the camp again and she grimaced as a twinge of guilt zapped through her. Lying to him made her feel awful.

While it seemed like Jack was focused on unboxing the TV and not paying much attention to them, she held up the other beer and asked quietly, "Can he? I wasn't sure if you let him, but I brought it just in case."

Sam frowned a little and shrugged, "My brother lets him and I… choose my battles," he finished with a sigh. George smiled and nodded understandingly.

Seeing Jack was still preoccupied, she shrugged after a moment and offered, "Well, I don't normally drink beer but I can just say it's mine? He may not even ask for one."

Sam nodded appreciatively, snapping the bottle cap off his and tossing it into the garbage can in the corner. As she watched him raise the cold bottle to his lips, she couldn't help but stare at his gorgeous, newly bearded face. As he took a swig, her mouth went dry. Luckily, she was able to look away just before he caught her staring and she mentally kicked herself.

He raised an eyebrow at her when he noticed she didn't join him. Setting his drink down on the desk next to him, he reached out to take the unopened beer from her. "Ya know, it's more believable that you're drinking it, if it's actually open?"

"Oh, right," She let out a 'heh' of embarrassment as he popped the cap off and tossed it into the can as well. Taking it back from him, she admitted, "Like I said, not a big beer drinker."

With a teasing expression, he said, "Hmm… but really anything you drink out of a bottle has to be opened first, right?"

She blushed and smirked at his ribbing. Forcing herself not to laugh with all her might-made more difficult by the fact that she could see him trying not to smirk-she simply said, "Well, like I said, I was a latchkey kid. I typically drink strictly from the garden hose."

Jack finally looked over at them, finished plugging the TV in, and called to her, "George, come check the games!"

She grinned at the small "HA!" he let out at her joke. With a small, mental shrug, she lifted the beer and took a swig.

Fuck it, maybe it'll help calm my nerves. She then heard a smug sing-songy voice say, famous last words.

She walked over and looked at the cartridges that were laid out on his bed, "Nice! Oh, no way! Perfect Dark?!" She picked up the game and clutched it excitedly, "I totally forgot about this one!"

"Yea, I picked up a couple extras that weren't on the list. I hope that's OK, they just looked interesting," Jack said nervously.

"Of course it's OK! You might end up hating my game suggestions-not that that's possible because I have the best taste, obviously, but still. I'm glad you have a few to try on your own." Her grin increased as she looked at the game in her hand again, getting lost down memory lane for a moment. This game had gotten her through some rough patches.

She set it down and glanced over the few that were unfamiliar to her. "These ones I've never played before, so that'll be great. You'll get to actually figure out a few on your own."

"Will it be hard?" He wondered.

"Probably. And you'll most likely get so frustrated that you'll want to tear your hair out and throw the console against a wall. But, it'll be so freaking fun you can't stop. As Charles Dickens said, 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times'."

Sam laughed, picking his beer back up and taking another drink. George couldn't help but grin, drinking hers as well.

Damn if I'm not addicted to that sound.

While Jack was trying to get the console set up, he struggled to hook the system up to the small flat screen he'd placed on his dresser. George came over to help. After a moment, she identified the problem.

Holding up the console's composite cable she huffed, "This TV doesn't have RCA ports!"

"What?!" Sam 'pffted,' coming over to check it, running his hands along the back. When he found nothing, he stood back and put his hands on his hips, "Are you saying we're actually going to have to use our crappy old TVs for this?" He shook his head in disbelief.

George shrugged, "Eh, at least it gives him an authentic experience?"

A short while later they had the system set up on an old tube set and the three of them were playing a few rounds of Mario Kart 64. Jack was sitting cross legged on the edge of his bed. On the floor to his left was Sam, slouching against the bed with his legs stretched out long in front of him. George was to his right, with her knees bent and her feet planted on the ground, sitting straighter upright but also leaning against the bed.

In terms of play, all three were taking it serious. George was a little rusty but her muscle memory helped her quickly grab and keep first place almost every round. Jack was picking it up surprisingly quick but struggled with the strategic aspect of trap setting and disabling opponents. Sam needed a lap to get used to the buttons, but was now smoking Jack and catching up to George with ease.

At the moment they were in the middle of the second lap of their fourth round. Surprising everyone except George and Sam (because they threw it), Jack had won the first round and was very proud of himself. Unfortunately for Jack, he got a little too proud of himself. Her competitive side had roared to life at his boisterous celebration and the boys ate George's dust on the second and third rounds.

Sober George would have known better than to agree to another round. She would never admit it, but Sam had been hot on her tail the entire last round; he'd definitely be able to beat her by the next one. Unfortunately for her, she'd already finished her second beer and was feeling real cocky when they'd both demanded another round of her.

She had warned dramatically, "Alright, but if you're gonna take a shot at the Queen, you better not miss."

George was fairly far out in front and feeling great, when Sam's Peach shot a red shell at her Yoshi and she wasn't able to avoid it. As her Yoshi tumbled, George watched Peach fly past her into first place, a string of inventive curses flew out of her mouth, explaining in detail exactly where she thought Sam could put his red shells. He couldn't help but give her a quick, amused 'wtf' expression at her colorful vocabulary but she was too busy mashing her buttons to get back in gear again.

Just as she was gaining back on him, she gasped when Yoshi flipped over again. Another red shell.

"The FU-JACK!?" Her jaw dropped at Jack, whose Mario drove by and was now in second place. George let out a frustrated screech as the two men high fived each other over Sam's shoulder.

"Looks like we didn't miss, your royal highness," Sam teased, then dodged a kick to the shin with an evil laugh.

When Yoshi was upright and ready to go again, she pressed the A button down so hard her finger turned white. Pulling out all the stops to try and catch up to them again, she finally hit a mystery box. It took all her might to refrain from jumping for joy when three red shells appeared around her kart. Neither Jack nor Sam had noticed. Falsely confident that they'd disabled her, they'd devolved from their joint effort to take her down and were now going against each other. Jack lucked into hitting Sam with a tossed banana peel but Sam was able to out maneuver him on the next few turns and had scooted ahead again already.

George continued to gain on them, using her memory of the course to cut every corner she could and climb her way back up to third place. Sam and Jack were neck and neck, nearing the finish line on the final lap, and smack talking each other. They were barely paying attention to her and she waited for just the right time, before mashing her trigger button. Her red shells launched rapid fire. She watched with glee as Peach and Mario flipped over and stalled mere feet from the finish line.

As Yoshi sailed past them both and crossed in first place, George leapt up from her spot on the floor in triumph, "YES!" Sam and Jack flinched in pain; they were pretty sure everyone in the bunker had heard that.

"Tried to take me out, huh?" She asked Sam, then turned to Jack, "Didn't think I could get back up, did you? How ya like me now?" They were both trying to hide their annoyed grins and she continued, "You want to know why I always play Yoshi? Because he ain't a BITCH, and Neither. Am. I." She mic-dropped her controller onto the bed and did a victory dance in place. "Both. Of. Y'all. Can. SUuuUUuuUUuck. IiiiiIIiIIiiiIIiiit!" She sang joyfully, punching her arms into the air.

"Suck what?" Jack mumbled at Sam in exasperation, bummed that he'd lost again.

"Er-Nothing. It's just a saying, don't worry about it," The other man assured with a nervous throat clearing.

George quickly stepped over Sam's outstretched legs to the open space at the foot of Jack's bed. Jutting out her hip and placing a firm hand on it, she promptly began cat walking back and forth while singing, "Walk, walk, fashion baby. Work it. Move. That Bitch cuh-ray-zee." Jack was far more annoyed at losing than Sam, but they were both incredibly amused at her flamboyant, over-the-top reaction.

Sam watched her display with a smile and, after a moment, commented, "OK, Cindy Crawford, I'm cutting you off."

Pausing her catwalking to victory dance in front of him, she then lobbed, "And why? Don't like having your ass handed to you by a drunk woman?"

"You LUCKED out with all those red shells, George!" Jack argued defiantly.

"Now, now, Jack. Don't be a sore loser," George admonished jokingly, still wiggling her hips in delight.

"Yea, you're clearly only allowed to be a sore winner around here," Sam said pointedly with a chuckle. When George froze mid victory dance, her butt no longer bouncing in front of him, Sam regretted saying anything.

She scrunched her nose at him in offense, holding her hands up in surrender, "OK, fine. Yes. If it hadn't been for those red shells I would have been in third place."

Sam gave her a smug grin and said, "That's right."

She continued sweetly, "And obviously Jack would have won." A triumphant smile spread on Jack's face and he nodded his head in gracious acceptance of her determination.

"Thank you, yes-wait, what?" Sam started to agree with her and then it registered what she'd actually said. He did a double take. She knew darn well Sam would have won that round, but the smirk on her face told him she'd never admit it. Curiously, he was as turned on as he was infuriated.

Then, George added, "But the entire game is luck, dude! Most video games are. If you can't handle this, I would stay away from Mario Party," She warned in a serious tone.

Jack and Sam exchanged a serious look, then looked back at George. They had the same determined expression and Jack said, "Let's do it," while Sam nodded in agreement. He was having fun for the first time in weeks.

Maybe months, he thought grimly. He also hoped she'd say yes so he could do everything in his power to make her win and score another full frontal victory dance.

George laughed a little and nodded, "Alright. But don't say I didn't warn you. It's fun as hell, but no one wins at Mario Party. No. One," She finished ominously.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom before we keep going," Jack got up and headed for the door. He turned back with a thoughtful look on his face and said, "I might go to the kitchen for some snacks, too. Do you want anything?"

George shrugged, "Well, here's the situation Jack: I'm gonna say no but I will most likely steal some of whatever you bring back. So, I would say just accommodate for that and you should be golden."

Sam chuckled and said out of the corner of his mouth, "There's a life lesson in women if I've ever heard one." He avoided acknowledging the dirty look she shot him and shook his head at Jack, "Nothing for me, thanks."

After Jack left, George gave Sam a suspicious look and teased, "No more beer? Hmm, I see what you're doing."

Sam gave her a 'feigned innocence' expression and murmured, "Hmm?"

"You can stop drinking all you want; I can beat you, sober or not," Crossing her arms over her chest, she gave him a mean mug.

He chuckled, but said, "Truthfully, asking Jack to bring me a beer felt a little-"

"Alcoholic single dad?" George finished with a laugh and he joined her, nodding in agreement.

"Right," Sam pointed a quick finger in the air. "Not a great look," He said, standing up with a groan. "Yikes, shouldn't have been slouching like that. The older I get the less forgiving my back is."

"Have you ever tried a massage?" She asked, almost absentmindedly as she was distracted by him. His full height always took her breath away at first; she loved it.

Sam considered her question for a moment. Looking her over appreciatively, he asked with a teasingly incredulous tone, "No. Why, are you offering?"

That snapped George out of her stupor and she blinked rapidly. Thinking she hadn't heard him correctly, she asked "Oh, what? Oh, no! Er-I-I mean, I just, I wouldn't know where to begin. What? No, I mean I wouldn't know what I was doing. Not-no, I know what I'm doing I just-I'm not a professional. I-" Stop talking. Stop talking, now! George felt a bit warm and started fanning herself, "Hoo d'awgy, is it hot in here or just me? Maybe you should cut me off," She finished with a nervous laughter.

He had watched her nervous, adorable rambling gleefully, chuckling once or twice. Whenever he was near her, an eerie pressure would build in his chest that was reminiscent of feelings he'd thought were long since lost to him. He realized it was that feeling that spurred him on to be so flirtatious. At her last statement though, he reigned himself in and answered her question more earnestly to help break the tension and give her a chance to calm down, "I'm not so big on strangers touching me. And I worry about how sanitary those places are," he finished with an exaggerated shudder.

It had been kind of him to cut her a break, but when he started stretching out the kinks from his prolonged seat on the floor, any chance she had of calming down disappeared. She couldn't help but admire his physique. Her eyes trailed his body once over but then quickly settled back on his beard. She could kill the show producers for not letting him be bearded sooner than Season 14. 'Smoldering' didn't even begin to cover it.

She hadn't realized that she'd gotten lost in thought about those sexy whiskers until she heard his throat clearing. Widening in horror, her eyes quickly met his, which looked half amused, half curious.

With a lick of his lips, which made George's brows furrow with desire, he asked gently, "Is there something on my face?"

"No!" Gulping, she blushed from head to toe. After thinking about it for a split second, she heard a buzzed voice in her head say fuck it, you've already embarrassed yourself. Tilting her head to the side, she boldly proclaimed, "Well, actually…Yeah!" A nervous chuckle escaped her lips as she tried to figure out how to say this without giving anything away. In her inebriated state, she finally settled on, "The last time I saw you, your face was less… Hagrid?"

Sam let out a loud laugh, a look of mock offense on his face. She covered her mouth as she snickered, realizing maybe that wasn't the nicest thing to say.

"Oh, wow! Hagrid, huh? I… Well, I'm not sure how to take that. Maybe I should go shave real quick," He teased sadly, rubbing a slow hand over his beard. It made her weak kneed.

"No! Please don't! I'm sorry," She leaned forward and gently squeezed his forearm with both her hands, then let go. "I was just trying to make you laugh! And I couldn't think of an attractive bearded man reference fast enough; Hagrid was the next best thing."

"Nah, you're right. Hagrid was good; you had to do it," He shrugged in acceptance. Squinting at her curiously, he asked, "But, just to clarify, you don't think I look like Hagrid, right?"

She snorted and then looked unsure. As she spoke she slowly craned her neck up, "Well, now that you mention it, he was half-giant!" Another laugh escaped him and she bit her lip to keep from grinning. The sound mixed with the beer was lowering her inhibitions a bit and she ran her eyes over him quickly in appreciation. Before she could stop herself, she assured him, "Seriously, though. The beard looks good. You look…" All the descriptions she could think of were too inappropriate even for her less inhibited state. Finally, she breathed, her eyes wide for emphasis, "good."

Sam gave her a shy, sexy smile and he looked down at the ground for a minute. She could swear the skin of his cheeks near the top of his beard was slightly pink.

Was he hiding a blush behind all that rugged? George wondered, watching him closely. Her stomach was nearly painfully tingling with nausea; she knew she should stop but fuck, when was she ever going to get this opportunity again?

Sam looked back up at her, the look in his eyes making her gulp, and asked with a questioning shrug, "'Good,' huh?"

George could tell he was baiting her but unfortunately her rational side was beating her horny/ buzzed side back with a stick, trying to keep control. So, she simply nodded and gave him a flirty smile, confirming, "Yes. Good." The word came out as a painful purr that caused Sam's eyes to darken curiously. George unconsciously licked her lips; it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

"Hmm," was the noise that broke the silence finally, rumbling heavily from Sam's chest. He was feeling very conflicted. For one, the alcohol was obviously affecting her and he wasn't trying to take advantage. But also, she was causing him to feel a lot of intense and strange feelings, feelings that hadn't been stirred up in years, and he couldn't explain why. He'd just met her! Knew almost nothing about her, yet he was flirting with her left, right, and center like he was… well, Dean! It felt so comfortable around her; he felt a calming sense of ease, as though his life wasn't a giant crapshoot of terrible day in and day out. That feeling should have been foreign to him but it wasn't completely. That's what terrified and confused him.

They'd been staring intensely at each other. George thought it seemed like he was holding himself back; she recognized the look and assumed it was the same one on her face right now. Running a suddenly nervous hand through his hair, he huffed a little and smiled.

"Well… thank you," His tone sounded as sincere as it did nervous. "I-"

Just then Jack came back and broke the tension in the room. George released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and turned to look at him. Balancing in his arms were two packs of red vines, one large bag of peanut M&Ms, six beef jerky sticks, two 'sharin' size' bags of Cheetos, and four Yoohoos.

The intensity of the previous moment paired with the absurd amount of food made her exclaim, "Dude!" The laughter bubbled out of her before she could stop it; she got near tears. Sam joined her with distinct but far less intense chuckles at Jack's attempts to interpret George's earlier instructions.

"What?" Jack asked curiously, "You asked me to account for you wanting some! I figured it was more efficient to just bring you your own."

"Ah, yes, a classic mistake, Jack. Half the fun is eating the other person's food," Sam teased.

George shook her head and sighed out the last of her laughter, "Oh, man. That was great. OK, I have to pee and then we'll have a talk about appropriate food portions before the game. Also, the fact that you brought peanut M&Ms and not caramel is near criminal."

Sam followed her out the door, saying, "I think I've changed my mind on that beer. I'll be right back, too."

"Grab me one?" She requested over her shoulder and he nodded affirmatively.

On her way back to Jack's room, George was wringing her hands nervously. Her mind was racing; she'd barely been able to concentrate on peeing! There was a heated debate going on in her head about what the hell she thought she was doing. A very large, very selfish part of her had not wanted to hold herself back. But she was skating on thin ice. Thin? Try imaginary! You seriously believe Sam Winchester is flirting with you? You have lost your damn mind. You look like a bumbling moron to him. A total Becky! Not to mention, he's a 10 and you're an Idaho six, if we're being generous.

The unnecessarily hurtful arguing in her head silenced instantly when she rounded the corner and found Sam in the hallway, sans beer. He was nervously pacing about 6 feet from Jack's room. She gulped; he looked agitated all of a sudden. Was he about to give her a talk about being inappropriate and how they should just "be friends?" She heard a voice sing-song in her head: I told you so, six.

Forcing herself to move forward once again, she tried to steal herself for the blow. To her surprise, his expression shifted to regret when he noticed her finally.

"Hey," He started, his tone apologetic. "I'm sorry to have to do this to you, but-" he held up his phone with a grimace.

"You have a hunt," George finished slowly with an understanding-and incredibly relieved-head nod. She watched Sam glance back at Jack's room with sad eyes. It clicked after a moment and she added with a less understanding tone, "And you want me to keep Jack distracted while you go?"

Sam gave her an adorable, pleading face, "Yes, please? I already broke the news to him and he's… upset about not being able to come."

George frowned, "Dude, are you seriously leaving me here by myself to entertain him? Sam!" She stomped her foot quietly, mock upset, "I don't know anything about what young adults are into these days. SnapChat? Four Loco? Miley Cyrus?!"

"Hey, look at this as an opportunity to finally play those real deep cuts from Avril," Sam joked back and George punched his arm gently; both laughed.

"OK, but really, do you have any tips for how to handle a teenage boy who's pissed because he can't go kill things?" She looked nervously toward Jack's room. "How do I cheer him up?"

"Well, I think we both know what you're going to have to do," Sam said with a deep, apologetic sigh. George raised an eyebrow curiously. Sam raised both of his and widened his eyes with a pointed head tilt in response. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she began to see where he was going with this and his head started nodding slowly.

"No," George said matter of factly, starting to shake her head. "No!"

"Look, I know it's not ideal, but-"

"I refuse!" She dug her heels in and her arms crossed over her chest.

"Now, now," He began in the same tone you would use to speak to a toddler. "You asked how to make him happy."

"I am not going to debase myself like that, Sam. No!"

"Listen, I know it's hard! But you've done it once already! Was it really tha-"

"Horrible! You of all people should understand why this is a terrible thing to ask! You had to do it once, too!" She uncrossed her arms and pointed at him, demanding, "Look me in the eye and tell me a little piece of your soul didn't die the last time?"

"Oh it wasn't that bad," Sam rolled his eyes dramatically.

"That's easy for you to say, Sam! You're bad at it! But, I have a reputation to protect!"

"OK, Kinicki, well if you want Jack to have fun, you're going to have to suck it up and let him win at Mario Kart!" When she huffed, shaking her head in continued defiance, he rolled his eyes and offered a compromise, "Every once in a while!"

After a few moments of mean mugging each other, neither one willing to give in, they both just started laughing. Once their laughter died down, he gave her a serious, apologetic expression and said, "Georgia, I really am sorry to do this… I was having fun."

As he used her full name, she couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. With a gentle shake of her head, she waved him off, "Don't be sorry; you have to go. And truly, I don't mind. Jack's actually a pretty cool kid…" She trailed off and then furrowed her brow in mock concern, "or am I a lame adult?"

He chucked, then shrugged and said, "Well, if you are then I am."

"Good thing Dean didn't hear you say that," She joked, shooting a finger gun at him. The look on his face in response was indiscernible and she kicked herself. "Shit, sorry. That was insensitive. With Michael and everything, I-I didn'-"

Sam waved his hand in the air and cut her off, "Nah, I know you didn't mean anything by it. I was just thinking how accurate the statement was, yet… you haven't met Dean, right?"

Her eyebrows went up in sobered surprise. Shit. She gulped and stuttered out, "Oh-right-no, that's right. I haven't… I-I just, uh, I know what it's like to have a big brother! He's-he is your big brother, right? I mean, I think I've heard Jack or someone say that…" Sam's brows furrowed further, looking at her curiously and nodding slowly in confirmation. "Right, well, yea. I just-I figured since Dean was your big brother, he'd relish the opportunity to make a comment about you being a loser. I know my brother certainly lived for it." She felt like he could tell she was sweating and it made her sweat more.

"Uh huh," Sam said with a slow drawl, not entirely convinced.

As George watched him she became less nervous, realizing that there was a lot of pain behind his bright hazel eyes. It was obvious that he was really worried about his brother; her heart twinged in empathy.

Without thinking, she placed a hand on his forearm and gripped tightly. With a comforting smile she promised, "Don't worry, Sam. You'll find Dean soon."

Sam felt as if the wind knocked out of his lungs as an intense burst of deja vu hit him. It couldn't be… that had been a dream. A fake dream at that! All part of the trickster's mind games trying to get him to give up on saving Dean. Obviously, there was no way this was the same woman. Yet he knew he'd heard that consolation before. From her, he felt sure. But how would he have dreamt about a woman from an alternate reality?

She jumped when she heard someone shout from down the hall, "Sam!"

George was panicking internally. He'd flinched at her words and the look on his face made her sick to her stomach. She let go of his arm quickly. Had she gone too far? Had she offended him? Was he just disgusted at being touched by her? A million thoughts raced through her mind as a cold sweat broke out on her forehead.

Sam snapped out of his stupor and furrowed his brow a bit. "COMING!" He boomed in their direction and then looked back at her in apology. Though he still seemed perturbed by something.

George smiled understandably, eternally grateful for the interruption, and began before he could say anything, "You have to go! I'll keep an eye on Jack for a while longer. But I swear to God if he starts trying to talk to me about Fortnite or TikTok or FOOTBALL: I'm. Out."

Sam had moved around her, slowly starting to head for the map room, "Football?"

"I just really hate sports," She deadpanned with a shrug, turning her body around to follow him.

He chucked and nodded, "Ah. Noted." He bowed to her slightly as he backed away, "Well, Thank you again. I owe you a beer now… or maybe a massage?" He offered innocently, adding, "I may not be a professional, but I definitely know what I'm doing." He watched just long enough to see her jaw drop, then with a wink, he turned and left.

When she'd mopped herself up from the floor and had finally started breathing again, George looked up to the ceiling and begged, "I have thirty five thousand dollars in savings and retirement and it's all yours for a copy!"

#supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural fanfic #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester #sam winchester fanfic #sam winchester x original character #sam winchester x original female character #eventual fluff #eventual relationship #eventual romance #eventual dean winchester x oc #eventual dean winchester x castiel #bi!dean

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

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CARNELIAN CARVINGS (1 part) A fantasy of Dirkhan in the Desert.

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CARNELIAN CARVINGS

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

1340 words

written 1991

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of Fan Activity, Including but not limited to, Fan Fiction, Fan Art, Cosplay, Music or any sort of fan activity at all, is ACTIVELY ENCOURAGED!

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The sun had soared nearly to the zenith. No sane creature would venture out into the blaze of it. Even the lizards and scorpions sought the shade. Derkhan-in-the-Desert slept in the midst of the desert of Skrald Iden, scorching in the sun. A caravan crept toward her across baking stones and sand from the western desert.

The slow pacing of the dromedaries brought the caravan at last to the Gate of the Setting Sun. The guards left off their lazing in the shade of the square brick gate towers. They stepped forth in steel caps and padded cotton armor; being careful to stay in the shade themselves, they barred the way with their pikes. Stopping men and beasts in the sun, they haughtily demanded to know what the caravan’s business was.

The Master, tall, with piercing brown eyes and a swarthy complexion more suited to the climes of the jungles about the Central Seas, out of place in his desert burnoose, answered for all, as was the custom. He had a coffer brought and from it paid their Gate toll, plus a moderate bribe. Even honest guards must buy drink.

The file of men in burnooses and camels with red and gold fringed lead ropes passed within the Gate of the Setting Sun and thence, up Imperial Way. They passed houses that showed only whitewashed brick walls and doors with ventilation gaps at top and bottom. At the center of town, they came to the market place. It was empty of course. It was midday.

For all that there were seven camels and nine men, they set up but one booth. This had an awning of purple and gold stripes, each as wide as a hand, and a scalloped fringe of silver. The poles were curiously carven ebony inlaid with ivory. A well worn counting board, polished smooth by much use, was set up at the front of the booth and the heavy chests of goods were at the back, watched by a vigilant caravaner.

One of the caravaners returned from the errand set him by the Master. He bore meat, bread, dried fruits, nuts and cheese for their repast. On his back he bore a large leather skin of water.

“Master, the food was high, as expected, but the water was more than dear,” he reported.

“Their water is more dear than they know,” the Mast,jjher retorted. “My brother could not meet their price and they would sell him none. Seven years ago, this day, he perished of thirst in the Skrald Iden for want of it.”

As the sun westered and the heat began to fade, hawk-like merchants and their prey of shoppers began to emerge. Everyone stared in wonder at the opulent booth. None dared approach until Harin, the greatest merchant prince of the city, arrogantly swaggered up and sat by the counting board on the rich rug. He arranged his pantaloons carefully on a cushion supplied by one of his servants and straightened his gold brocaded vest.

“Fine display oft hides shoddy goods,” he quoted the desert proverb. “Let me see the best that you have.”

“For you, oh fount of wisdom, we shall show our poor best,” rejoined the caravan Master with a small smile. He made a curious circular gesture and one of his henchmen brought forth an array of brocade-wrapped objects, each about the size of a fist.

With much ceremony, these were unveiled. There on the counting board stood revealed a number of small stone figures. The statues represented small ape-like beings of several sorts, such as are found in the jungles of the lands about the Central Seas. There were also men and maidens of surpassing beauty. So real was the workmanship that one might have expected them to begin moving at any moment.

They were shaped from carnelian agate with the glowing reds and rich golden browns of a desert sunset and superbly detailed. Each one was a separate work of genius. Unique.

Impressed, despite his expression, Harin declared, “I ask to see your merchandise and you bring out your gods. Are then, your gods for sale?”

“Indeed not, yet these carvings are. They are the work of my people. As you can see, we excel at the working of stone. For seven years, myself and my people have labored over these to bring you that which you deserve,” said the Master unctuously.

Following the custom of the bargain, the Master spread a Damask cloth, richly figured with the patterns of sigils in pale blue on darkest blue, on the counting board and placed his hands beneath the cloth.

Harin, also, put his hands under the cloth. His fingers felt the offer of the Master and promptly made a counter offer. Flying fingers did battle below the figured fabric. Golden djals and djabalas of silver were the hostages offered, refused, and finally taken in the combat of the bargain.

Harin gestured arrogantly and a sycophant produced stylus and wax tablet-book. A few lines were hastily scrawled in the wax and the tablet sealed. A swift runner was sent to Harin’s counting house. A short time later, he returned with a pouch of coins. These were laid out on the counting board. Weights were checked to be sure that the coins were unclipped, and finally they were accepted.

Harin̓s toadies gathered up the carnelian carvings and left to deliver them to his counting house. Harin was well pleased. He had struck a fine bargain. Tonight he would dream of profits to come.

He was not alone. One by one, the city’s other merchant princes came by. After them came merchants and then traders. All left the booth with satisfaction. All carried off what they could only regard as booty, considering the prices that they had paid. Every one of the fine carnelian carvings, whether of beasts or men, had been snapped up.

Before the first stars of evening graced the sky, the booth was gone. The djals and djabalas were packed away in coffers. The booth awning, carpets and poles had been rolled together and loaded onto the haughty camels. The empty chests were stowed on the beasts and the caravan passed out of Derkhan, back down Imperial Way. The Gate of the Setting Sun closed behind them. For all that the guards could see from the gate towers, the stones and sand might as well have swallowed them.

As the evening deepened, lights began to blossom all over Derkhan. They showed in those rare windows that faced the street. They showed also in the ventilation gaps at the tops and bottoms of all of Derkhan’s doors. The market bloomed flowers of light from candles, lanterns and torches as business went on in the cooler shades of evening and early night.

As the night wore on, the lights died away. Soon, Derkhan slept. Sleeping, Derkhan dreamed but for all of her dreams, she never dreamt of the reality that overtook her that night…

The morning cries of the priests from their tower-temples awakened Derkhan from her dreams. For the merchant princes, merchants and traders awakening was worse than a nightmare. All over the city, those who battened on trade bewailed their losses.

Counting room doors were still locked when they arrived. Boxes lay opened, coffers looted of precious treasures gaped wide. Their money, all of their golden djals and silver djabalas, even the lowly copper flukets, was gone. Gone also were any jewels or gems that were in the strong-rooms. Even the recently acquired carnelian statues were gone.

In fact, the only clue was on the dusty floors. There, tiny footprints were to be seen, of people and beasts such as are found in the jungles about the Central Seas. They started under the shelves or by the boxes where the valuables had been kept. They passed beneath the ventilation spaces under the doors and down Imperial Way, and under the Gate of the Setting Sun. Thence, they passed into the desert where the wind obliterated them….

-THE END-

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This completes Carnelian Carvings. If you enjoyed what you just read, please go to the Master Story Index for links to all of the stories that I have posted on Tumblr.

#CARNELIAN CARVINGS #Dirkhan in the Desert #Written by De Writer

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sduswdnd · 5 years

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Campaign 1 Part 3

From part 2

When last we left our adventurers, they’d delivered their wagon of crap and explored the town. They were told that an old 90s band were terrorizing the masses and decided to help. They also were recruited into three other money making schemes and were asked to help Orlando Bloom find the man that ghosted him on Druidr. After scoping out the hideout, they decide to enter it under disguise. After freeing prisoners, they encounter the Rancor, who just wants to run away. They spot a cracked out rat and follow it to the missing wizard, Knowing he’d been found out, he starts to spill his guts about the whole crafty tale. He and a guy named the Black Spider, who wanted to steal the Wokscraper brothers’ timeshare. They finish looting- I mean clearing the ruins before heading back to town.

Part 3

“Hello! Hello? Is it over yet?” Korrin comes wandering in with a full flask of whiskey and a five-foot frozen lemonade. “Hello?” He wanders into the ruins, looking around. He spots a body in the crevasse. “Hope I didn’t know that guy…”

“You didn’t.” Baze stows his blades and looks down at the body. He notices something sparkly down in the darkness and says, “Shiny!” and jumps down into the crevasse.

Silvan says, “Shiny?” and jumps in too.

Korrin starts to say, “Maybe check forrr not…”

“Hey guys! It’s a shiny! And it’s stuck in the wall!”

Gerrol looks at the rancor (whose name is Roger). “Well, you’ve seen these guys. They’re gonna go ‘Link’ on this whole place and crack open everything that moves.”

Roger says, “No, I’ll never get my security deposit back. Just take what you want, but get the hell out!”

Teiris looks around, noticing a censor bar near Iarno’s quarters. “Hey, what’s behind here?

Korrin touches his holy symbol, then moves his hands, drawing mysterious sigils in the air. The gold glyphs shimmer in the cold air then flash, seeking the obscured area, fluttering as the energy charges and darts into the darkness, then back to Korrin, circling him before compacting together, then exploding like tiny fireworks.

Korrin looks at Teiris. “Porn.”

Capt looks around wizard quarters, puts her right hand in the boxes, pulls her right hand out, puts her right hand in and shakes it all about. The rest of the group is compelled by copyright to do the hokey pokey and turn themselves about.

Because that is actually what it’s all about.

“Found some sparkly things!

Baze looks at the sparklies, and a strange look comes over him. “A glassy, translucent stone, Carnelian is an orange-colored variety of Chalcedony, a mineral of the Quartz family. Its color varies from pale pinkish-orange to a deep rusty brown, though it is most known for its brilliant orange and red-orange crystals. Its name comes from a Latin word meaning "flesh." In antiquity, as well as today, Carnelian is believed to help timid speakers become both eloquent and bold. Ancient Warriors wore Carnelian around their neck for courage and physical power to conquer their enemies.”

“So you’re saying they’re valuable?”

“Dibs!”

The last loot box is found and opened, and back to town they go.

~~~~****~~~~

Silvanhost and Gerrol drag Iarno to the town hall, leading the rest of the group. Sildar looks up, shock and surprise on his face. “You’re alive…” he breathes softly.

Iarno looks sheepishly at Sildar. “Hey, bae…”

Sildar struts up to him and, with a silver gauntleted hand, strikes him, yelling as he strikes:

“WHO (SLAP) THE FUCK (SLAP) ARE YOU (SLAP) TO GHOST (SLAP) ME, BITCH (SLAP)!”

Mirea and Teiris snap in Z formation. “UM HMM!”

Sil and Gerrol hiss, “Daaaaaammmnnnn…”

Sildar grabs his collar and starts to drag him off. Iarno starts to stammer, “Bae, I can explain…”

Sildar cuts him off. “Don’t you ‘bae’ me. I found your Druidr profile, Mister Glasscock. Ain’t nothin needs explainin…”

Sildar then looks at our heroes. “This fool has a lot to answer for. I have to take him back to his homies, but we still need to find Clockwatcher. I can tell you he was taken by this idiot and a Drow called the Black Spider. If you wait for me to take care of him, I can help you get Rackstuffer.”

Our heroes look at each other. Maik and Baze fistbump. “It’s whiskey and wench time!”

~~~~~***~~~~~

The next morning, our heroes check their messages with the front desk clerk. Mirea had to get her armor mended. She threatens bodily harm if we storm the castle without her.

Traxion pulled a muscle posing for AQ. He’d be laid up for a few days but wanted to get his headshots done at the castle too, so don’t leave without him.

The group gathered up in the common room for breakfast. “So, no Pockmarker today.”

“No Sockwalker.”

“So whaddayawannado?”

“Didn’t those folks that we rescued offer us cash or something?” The group stare at each other, then scramble out of the inn.

Several minutes later, they’re in front of Nards’ home.

[Editor’s note: Nards?]

[Author’s note: That’s what the notes say.]

[Editor’s note: Did they hate their kid?]

[Author’s note: eh]

In front of the home, the young man comes to the door. “Oh, no, we didn’t actually have any money, but if you check out our storage unit, you can have whatever looks good. I think there was some jewelry and stuff.” Discouraged, they leave.

Back at the inn, everyone is draped all over the common room.

“BORED….” says Gerrol.

“We told them we’d wait to storm the castle.”

Maik repeats, “BORED…”

Korrin looks up from sharpening his blades. “Weren’t there orcs we were supposed to beat up?”

Everyone looks at Korrin, then to each other, then scramble out the door.

~~~*~~~~

Our heroes head east for several hours.

“Are we there yet?”

Korrin hisses, “If you don’t stop, so help me I’ll turn this party around.”

Baze looks around and points. “Do trees grow sideways?”

They all look at him, then to the area he’s pointing to. There were trampled trees, dried grass, and a large green screen.

“That doesn’t look suspicious at all,” says Gerrol. “But let’s poke it with a stick.” He and Baze make their way to the screen and poke at it. It falls over, revealing a small cave opening. “Hey guys…”

Suddenly, somewhere, the battle music starts.

They discover a lone orc at a watch post. Baze quickly dashes behind a nearby sunflower. “Stealth!” he shouts at the orc, who spots him, confused. Its confusion was more than enough to give Baze a moment to take it out. He ded. They hide the body under the green screen and enter the cave.

Heading into the cave, they realize caves are dark. “Who has dark vision?” Three of them raise their hands. “Cool,” Baze says, attaching an LED lantern to his head, effectively blinding the other three. Deeper into the cave, they came across another familiar scent.

[Editor’s note: Waffles again?]

[Author’s note: That’s what it says.]

[Editor’s note: Is this going to be a thing?]

The scent of waffles filled the air as they round the corner. The brunch bar was in full swing. Several orcs were in line for fresh waffles, while others loaded up on the free mimosas. Two orcs see new arrivals and break away from the line.

“Hey, you! This is for card holders only. Did you show your players club card at the door?”

Gerrol pats his clothes. “Yes, I have it right… HERE!” he says as he shanks the first orc and joins the one-shot club.

The second orc looks yells, “Hey, I don’t think you guys are members!”

Baze yells, “Stealth!” and hides behind the yogurt machine. He then dashes out, slips on the spilled sprinkles and misses his strike.

Silvenhost comes up and yells, “No cuts!” as he slices the orc once, twice, three and down.

Another orc comes up to the yogurt machine, angry that it wasn’t working. He turns his anger to our heroes. Cap responds with an arrow. Teiris tries to help, but breaks her bowstring. Maik casts entangle, and ties up the rest of the orcs charging them.

The two floor bosses come up, one of them a large one with a nametag reading “Axebiter-Manager.” Korrin charges the manager, but gets hurt in the process. He says he’s gonna heal himself. Silvenhost whispers, “Touch yourself… slowly.” They both recover hit points.

Teiris notices orcs going to the buffet with dirty plates. She yells, “YOU NEED TO USE A CLEAN PLATE EVERY TIME YOU RETURN TO THE BUFFET, YOU BLOUSE WEARING POODLE WALKERS!” The orcs in the area are stunned and embarrassed, shuffling away.

Maik preps to attack but hears Korrin moaning behind the party. He goes to heal him, “You may feel some discomfort…”

“That’s what she said!”

Silvan and Teiris notice one orc trying to call security. They intercept him. Teiris breaks another bowstring. Silvan snorts at her, then strikes the orc, taking him out.

Finally, it’s just our heroes and the manager. Axebiter starts swinging wild. Cap and Silvanhost keep swinging at him. Teiris tries to diffuse the situation with a joke:

“What’s the difference between a dirty trolley stop and a lobster with breast implants? One's a crusty bus station, and the other's a busty crustacean.”

** crickets **

“You guys suck!”

The battle continues. Everyone flails ridiculously, setting the salad bar on fire and destroying the yogurt machine, and but finally the battle is won. Silvan lops the head off the last orc and ties it to his belt.

“That’s a bold fashion statement.” Silvan twirls, then smiles.

They get back to the mayor, and the orc head gets tossed to the floor. The Mayor screams, tosses his cookies, and passes out. When he awakes to everyone staring at him.

“Please don’t tell anyone I passed out, and I’ll give you 400 gold instead of 200…”

They all agree and head to the pub. Cap gets sauced and says, “Bard! Entertain us with a song!”

Teiris is happy to comply:

How does a bastard, orphan son of a human and an elf, dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot by the imperium By providence, impoverished, in squalor, grow up to be a hero and a scholar?

With ten gold he set out, leaving his father, got a lot stronger by working a lot harder, by being a lot smarter By being a self-starter, then Rockseeker placed him in charge of an escort charter

And everyday while gold was being taken and carted away Across the fields, he struggled and kept his guard up Inside he was longing for something to be a part of The brother was ready to beg, steal, borrow or barter

Then a zaratan came, and devastation reigned Our man saw his future drip, dripping down the drain Put his sword in his satchel, connected his belt around And he killed his enemy, the ones that could be found Well the word got around, they said "This dude is insane, man!" Took up a collection just to send him to the main man "Get your education, don't forget from whence you came And the world's gonna know your name. What's your name man?"

Traxion the Paladin My name is Traxion the Paladin And there's a million things I haven't done But just you wait, just you wait…

And the pub goes wild.

The next morning, they go shopping. Maik finds a mysterious set of runestones and is drawn to touch them.

“Dude, if you touch them, you have to rub them.”

Maik backs away.

Somewhere, the Ghostbuster theme starts. They head off to see the banshee.

On the road, an unusual feeling comes over the group. They look out and see four wolves coming closer.

Maik says, “I got this.” He turns into a wolf, sits down and starts licking himself.

“Now is not the time!” yells Cap.

Maik whines then goes to one of the wolves. They start sniffing each other, making friends. The second wolf doesn’t want to feel left out and wanders over, joining the sniffing parade.

Teiris shakes her head and casting Thaumaturgy, causes a small earthquake, scaring off the other two wolves and lowering property values on the coast. Yay! No blood, no report!

Off to Aggies! Maik starts running, dodging Silvanhost’s attempt to hop on his back. He does allow Baze to hop on and away they go.

[Editor’s note: What’s with Baze always wanting to ride Maik?]

Cap yells, “Don’t kill anything until we get there!”

Soon, they get to Aggies. Baze wanders inside, begins getting hosed by the spirit. Silvanhost cuts in, speaking in Elvish. Gerrol starts translating for the group:

Silvanhost: So… you come here often?

Aggie: giggles in Elvish

Silvanhost: (holds out comb) I think you left this on my bedroom floor last time…

Aggie: giggles more in Elvish

This goes on a few minutes longer, and they get the location of the book the sister needs. Back to the town they go!

[Editor’s note: Well, that was anticlimactic.]

[Author’s Note: Yeah, but to be honest, if they had to fight a ghost, it would probably be a TPK.]

[Editor’s note: That’s fair.]

Back in town, Teiris, Silvanhost, and Gerrol return to the temple. The Sister bustles up excitedly.

“Did you get it?” she asks.

“Yep…”

She jumps with glee. “Thank you so much, have some red bull!” She eyes them carefully. “Have you ever considered Scien… I mean the Harpers…”

Next up: All together now…

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purkinje-effect · 6 years

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The Anatomy of Melancholy, 17

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‘Choly, you are plying the favor of the wrongest people...

Coming off the scaffolding to one of the yet-incomplete high rises in Lexington, 'Choly dismounted Angel and leaned toward the rubble which topped the building. A sizable measure of the interstate overpass had fallen, and with it, a freightliner, now decaying at the top of an apartment building that would likely never be finished. The chemist sighed and sat on some of it. Waiting around for Jared to come calling had only compounded his anxiety. He had to get out of the pharmacy to clear his head, and wandering the ruins of Lexington seemed as good a distraction as any. From where he rested, he could see the pharmacy sign, and he squinted dryly a moment before failing to smooth back his messy bun and continuing around the ruined apartments.

Rounding the freightliner, he came across catwalk scaffolding which ran between a pair of billboards over the street, and he strolled across it. The breeze elicited a faint smile, and he got most of the way across the makeshift bridge before it clicked that he had passed a bed roll... and a duffel bag... and a lit lantern... and a chem box... He choked up hearing heavy mechanical steps behind him, and he motioned to Angel to follow in kind as he stumbled to the other side of the bridge to duck around the side of the wall and hope he wasn't caught trespassing. The military chemist knew that sound anywhere. The person who inhabited this precarious venue had power armor--and abandon only knew what else.

"Who's up here?" The source of the rough, effeminate voice got closer, and with a shaking finger to his mouth 'Choly looked up at Angel, who looked down at him with tense sensor-posing. He motioned to let it mount its harness again, and it blinked its sensor-irises at him in agreement. "Lonnie? I told you, you're not takin' my turret."

A disembodied "shit!" snapped behind them after Angel fired up its thrusters again and followed 'Choly's direction that they sprint across what had once partly been a kitchen area to the stairwell, and hasten down the stairs in an attempt to escape. Eyes glass-wide, 'Choly glued his face flush to the top of the Mister Handy, paranoid of head clearance as the Handy deftly turned on a dime to slingshot across a commons area exposed to the elements by missing walls. It didn't waste time taking the stairwell on the other side, now having also attracted the attention of the feral ghouls who had rested and around the commons' sofa.

At ground level, they zipped to the left to avoid the majority of bricks and concrete which littered the sidewalk around the stairwell door. Rather than risk the raider in power armor following them back to the pharmacy, 'Choly instead instructed Angel to duck into another high rise apartment building. Once inside, he fretted a moment at the discovery of more ferals, but quickly unclenched seeing they'd already been taken care of. A good bit of the first floor had collapsed in, especially one far corner. He noted that the damages there looked more explosive in nature than like structural failings, and he put a hand to his mouth to keep himself from laughing aloud at understanding that someone had used something like a mini-nuke to break down the wall rather than tolerate hacking the terminal which had once locked a security door. There was something to be said of finesse.

He wondered to himself, as they scaled the stairs, what they might have been so impatient to retrieve from such a room. They came upon a room, with walls little more than support beams, which had likely once functioned as a craftsman's workspace. Most of the tools had already been looted, but the bench remained. He gestured for Angel to power down its thruster again and crouch with him here, and once they both resumed hiding, he sighed. They could remain here until the coast was clear.

After some time, his restless mind got to scrutinizing the remaining effects of the apartment that used to occupy this space. His eyes fell on a wall safe, and he whet his lips and scooted nearer to it. Out came a bobby pin from his hair and the screwdriver. His ear went to the door, his tongue ever so slightly to the corner of his mouth. This building didn't look like anyone had lived in it since before everything went bottoms-up, so he could help himself to this fidgeting prize conscience-free, a little more quietly than whoever had emptied out that room downstairs. With a long-delayed success, he tucked the bobby pin in his hair and his screwdriver back in his pocket, and he used his fingertips to pull the edges of the door toward him slowly. He found a stack of cash and a fistful of silver jewelry, as well as a pistol.

Melancholy detachedly tucked the cash and heirlooms into his pockets, his nostalgia focused upon the firearm now in his lap. An M1895 Nagant revolver. This apartment had belonged to a war veteran, and the gun had likely been an American's war trophy from a felled Soviet in the Chinese theater. He found no 7.62 bullets to go with it, and had little hope of coming across any since the caliber was far more common for European or Soviet weapons; but, coming across one of the most common-issue firearms he grew up surrounded by still comforted him somehow. With a grin, he pocketed the ivory-handle gun.

"Saw that robot go this way. Little fucker can't be far behind it."

In a panic, 'Choly could survey no way out of his hiding place besides rushing the same stairs, and armed himself with his .38 as he heard multiple footsteps ascending nearer. The power armor raider had Jared with her, and when they both caught sight of the two of them crouched in the corner hiding, Jared blurted out a sarcastic laugh.

"Chemist, I've been looking for you. My sentinel Jerry tells me you were snooping around in her things. When I said you could travel the city without opposition, I didn't mean you could just enter my people's dwellings uninvited."

'Choly didn't drop his grip on the pistol, frozen in place staring at the power armor itself. Even just the exposed frame itself unsettled him; although the blonde with razor-streaked short hair didn't have any of the plates or a helmet on the frame, she still exhibited a massive range of physical control and force that someone without one could not.

"This-- it's all a misunderstanding," 'Choly tried. "I didn't touch a thing in her place. I didn't mean to--"

"--Enough." Jared pinched at his nose bridge. "I care less whether you took anything and more why you weren't where I told you to be. I said I would come get you when I was ready. My raiders brought news to me that they saw you leaving the SDM, and now I've found you playing hide and seek in the apartments. Either you're foolhardy as hell, or just plain stupid."

"You're--" 'Choly scrunched his nose to adjust the bridge of his glasses. "You're here to get me for work? This isn't about... Jerry's things?"

"If I find any chems missing," she sneered, "I know who to come to."

"--Can it!" Jared snapped his teeth at her to quieten her. "Yes, I'm here to collect you. When you wouldn't answer your comm, I noticed your note that you'd be nearby, and Jerry told me she saw you run this way. Please don't make it this difficult to locate you in the future. I'll have to get... stern."

"Can I meet you at the factory in an hour?" 'Choly finally dropped his firearm to his lap. "I have equipment and materials to pick up, and I need to eat something before we get started."

"Don't make me regret saying yes." Jared and Jerry stood there and stared him down. "Well? Get going."

Angel had aimed its laser at the two of them the entire time, but put it away to power its thruster back up and escort its owner off.

After inhaling a Salisbury steak, 'Choly located a flatbed cart in the stock room and had Angel load it up with the care package crate, as well as the case of inhalers. The chemist wheeled himself in the chair while the Handy pushed along the cart behind him. As the two jaunted down the street and passed the Battle Green, they heard a finger-whistle. 'Choly whipped his head up to see Jerry on the catwalk over the street, peeking through the gap to one side of the billboard which advertised the city's Slocum's Joe.

"Get to work, runt," she hollered at him, then broke into pointed laughter.

"Working on it." His attempt at wit got her laughing again, and they continued on when they were confident she was teasing them and not warning them.

Upon arriving at the factory, a couple of scouts, positioned around the catwalks of the main entrance, hooted and hollered that 'Choly had a robot. He could have sworn he heard one of them wish he'd tell him where he could get a robot that would follow orders. Angel heard something 'Choly did not and flinched, but said nothing as to rise above it. The pair took the elevator to the assembly floor, and scaled the ramp to the mezzanine with the foreman's office, where Jared awaited them with a beer in hand and total impatience on his face.

"Christ, chemist. You told me you'd only be an hour. I was just about to come rip you out of that pharmacy myself."

"I had more to get together than I thought," 'Choly apologized, removing his glasses long enough to wipe his face on his sleeve. He motioned for Angel to pull the smaller crate off the top of the larger one, then pointed to the big one and looked to Jared. "I'm sure what I've got for you will be to your liking. This is Angel, by the way."

"A pleasure, I hope," it interjected at a caution.

Jared sustained eye contact with the Handy at length before he jumped up and was about to begin pacing.

"You said you were getting together equipment for our project. That's what I'm going to like--" Angel took the lid off the aluminum crate and Jared gawked at the variety of contents. His comment abruptly dropped into a low whistle. "What's this now?"

"Well, I told you that I'd split the supermarket salvage with you, if you gave me permission to go in there. It's up to you how to, or whether you want to, distribute it among your outfit. I suppose the whole crate's yours alone, if you want. It's mostly junk food, but if you're anything like me, creature comforts make such a difference."

"You are the craziest motherfucker I have ever met." Jared shook a box of Sugar Bombs cereal and stared at it, then with animation he rifled through the crate to get a basic idea of the extent of things included in it. "Do you have any idea how many ferals are in there? ...No, were? Christ. I can't believe this. First aid, chems, decent food-- and nine entire bottles of red wine? Tribute accepted," he grinned.

"Tribute-- I, yes, you're most welcome, of course." Dumbstricken to see Jared so chipper, 'Choly eventually motioned for Angel to open the smaller crate. "And of course, there's also the paraphernalia I promised."

"Hopefully, you won't stop ceasing to amaze me anytime soon." Jared inspected one of the empty inhaler ampuoles, then put it back. "Let's get cracking."

The area 'Choly had scoped out to transform into their distillation workspace lay tucked in one corner of the assembly floor, and had once provided welding tank lines to the mechanical arms which pieced together the automobiles. With the two water heater tanks Jared had produced at 'Choly's request, they would craft the means to drive off the desired gases from manure, and under pressure, funnel it off into single metered doses. Like knowing the smell of a skunk, the distinct salty musk of brahmin manure carried with it a sensory imprint someone can't forget. And the place already reeked of it before they'd even gotten the equipment far enough along to load it in. The chemist wouldn't dare ask where Jared had gotten hold of the stuff, considering how badly that conversation had gone the time before. 'Choly and Jared worked, for the most part, in strained silence. Angel idled nearby and assisted with lifting metal components as requested.

"I hope you like the Nuka Cola." 'Choly eyeballed a feeder pipe and tried to assess where his theoretical schematics would connect to it. "I know it's nothing like it used to be, but to be honest, I've come to enjoy it better than wine. The cherry's my favorite, so I hope you don't mind that I kept most of those for myself."

"Yeah, it's all right. More interested in the caps that come from emptying them." Down on the polished concrete floor, Jared grunted as he worked at tightening the threads of a bolt around a pipe. "What do you mean, like it used to be? Stop being cryptic with me."

"Well, it's not carbonated anymore. And it's alcoholic now. Just as refreshing either way, I suppose."

"The fuck is carbonated?"

'Choly idled, hung up on words.

"Mm, it was fizzy. It had bubbles. I suppose champagne might not still be fizzy either. I liked carbonation."

"Do you always have this much trouble separating what's real from what you see when you're high? I've never heard a single person describe Nuka Cola like that."

"Hey now, I've only had my Mentats today," 'Choly defended. He traced a finger through the air to where he finally determined the pipe to end up, and snapped his fingers with resolution, scribbling down further notes in his lap. "I just... miss how a lot of things used to be. Sorry if my talking about it's depressing."

"What's depressing is that your trips just make you see into the past." Jared fermented, narrowly not flinging his adjustable wrench across the assembly floor. "Useless! Can't you fuckin' see forward?"

'Choly stopped and set the pencil in his lap, and zoned out with his gaze toward the distillation boilers. He couldn't make sense of what Jared could mean, but could at least recognize his competency was in question. Massaging at his knees, he bit at his lips and glanced over to Jared.

"A lot of prewar knowledge can't not have died with civilization. Some of that knowledge is what's crafting this equipment that's going to produce chems for your outfit."

Jared couldn't argue with that, and the silence returned.

After that, Jared would sometimes break strings of silence with random questions about what the world was like two hundred years ago, just to prod 'Choly into shuttling stories the accuracy of which the raider couldn't be entirely certain. Either way, he couldn't hardly shut up the chemist once he got going, and at least it was entertaining if not educational. Maybe there was some value in the past, after all.

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#fallout 4 #fo4 fanfic #fallout 4 fanfic #fallout #fallout fanfic #fallout 4 oc #fo4 oc #sole survivor #the anatomy of melancholy #melancholy #jared fallout 4

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youcanbreatheyoucanblink-blog · 7 years

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Devour Me (part 3)

Please read: Part 1 &Part 2

After being imprisoned at a colony that used women for only their bodies, Scarlet battles through blood, fire, and pain to get her freedom back. And who better to give that back to her than the man who taught her how to fight in the first place?

Chapter Summary: Scarlet is beginning to build a position within the Sanctuary and is finally reunited with Negan.

Main Characters: Scarlet (OC), Negan, Cara (OC), Peter (OC), Dwight

Warnings: Language (shocker, I know), very very brief suggestions of sexual assault

Author’s Note: HI! I’m so sorry for taking so long to get this part out. It’s a bit shorter than the others but I’m pretty happy with it! I didn’t use a beta for this chapter but I still wanted to shout out my OG beta and pal @i-am-negan-trash for always helping me and just because her whole blog is killer (read her shit). Please let me know what you think! And also let me know if you would like to be tagged in just this fic or on a forever list :)

Also, the smut is coming soon. Pun definitely intended.

“Describe your best fuck.”

Scarlet smiled slightly, leaning her forehead harder against the ice pack she was holding in her palm. The two men standing outside the main door of the medical wing did not seem to be shy of having their conversation overheard. She couldn’t quite make out their faces from her seat next to Dr. Carson’s desk, but their voices were strong and confident.

“Jesus, guys,” Cara said, from her spot on a stool to Scarlet’s right.

One poked his head around the door frame, shooting a smirk at Cara from underneath a large, crooked nose.

“Join in if you like,” he said. Scarlet looked up to see him chuckling, causing his large belly to jiggle beneath the thin gray shirt he was wearing.

Cara rolled her eyes. “No thanks, Peter, I’m not a 16 year old boy.”

“What about you, new girl? Best bang?”

Scarlet lifted her head a bit higher. It had been a couple hours since she had passed out in one of the back rooms, but her head still ached. Dr. Carson said it was probably from dehydration--which likely was part of it--but Scarlet knew the real reason. Every few seconds she could still hear Cara’s voice chanting the name that had pulled her unconscious over and over in a solid echo that hammered against her temples.

Negan. Negan. Negan.

“I don’t normally talk about my sex life with people I don’t know,” Scarlet said, clearing her throat. She smiled while trying to hide the pain in her face as she attempted to ignore the chant sensually trailing around in her skull.

Both men stepped through the doorway and walked toward her and Cara. The man with the belly stuck his hand out and Scarlet took it.

“Peter. One of the captains.” Scarlet smiled back at him. He had kind eyes underneath his dark, heavy brows and was definitely a large man--probably looked extremely threatening in the right situation. Right now he looked like the jolly uncle that always got drunk at family reunions and made dirty jokes with the in-laws.

The other man was much smaller. He had an extremely small build and looked like he’d blow over if a strong enough gust blew through. A dusting of blond hair covered his upper lip and the front of his neck. It extended up to his scalp where it grew thin, hanging down in front of his eyes in strings. He initially kept his face slightly turned away to the left so Scarlet only saw the right side of his face. As he came forward behind Peter, he finally turned to face her and she understood his apprehension.

The entire left side of his face was crisscrossed from forehead to chin with thick, deep, red and purple scars. As he moved, Scarlet noticed that the scars extended back, reaching his left ear and left behind a massive bald spot that was spotted with smaller scars. Scarlet recognized that the way the scars molded together like melted clay was indicative of a burn, but she did not say anything and tried her best not to react. She knew how it felt to be judged based on scars. All scars have a story and she thought she’d like to hear the story behind this one someday.

“Dwight,” he said matter of factly. He shook her hand quickly and stiffly.

“When they aren’t on runs, Peter and Dwight and few other guys usually lurk around in the yard outside,” Cara said, turning to Scarlet. “When it’s especially hot, they bring their thrilling conversations in here.”

She gave Peter a pointed look and he returned her gaze with a toothy smile.

“Oh please, you love it” Peter turned his attention back to Scarlet. “So, now that we know each other, let’s hear it. Best time you ever went ten toes to Jesus.” He perched on the edge of Dr. Carson’s desk and crossed his arms, smiling.

Scarlet snorted, shooting a look at Cara. She and Dwight were whispering with each other.

Squishing the now-room-temperature ice pack in her hands, Scarlet plastered a look of feigned-thoughtfulness on her face. “You know, it might take me a bit. Why don’t we hear yours?” she said.

Peter laughed. “Oh I see, that much that you have to sort through it all, eh?” He winked.

At that moment, Dr. Carson walked in, carrying yet another stack of papers. He dropped it on the opposite side of his desk from where Peter was perched. Looking at Scarlet, he smiled. He was probably relieved she wasn’t attacking him anymore.

“How are we feeling?” he said, in a tone that felt more friendly than anything.

“Bit of a headache, but fine,” Scarlet replied.

“Good. You should drink at least three more bottles of water before you go to sleep, as well.”

Dr. Carson nodded at the two men. As he was leaving the room, he quickly stopped and turned back around.

“Oh, Dwight, this is for you.” He pulled a small tube of ointment out of his coat pocket and stuck his arm out. Dwight left Cara’s side and quickly grabbed the tube and shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans.

“Hey, man, don’t be embarrassed,” Peter said as Dwight shuffled to the back corner of the room. He responded with a grunt.

“You should be happy, to be honest. Boss could’ve done much worse.” Peter crossed his arms, nodding.

“What happened?” Scarlet found herself asking. Dwight gave her a look filled with so much venom that she immediately regretted saying anything.

“Chill out, dude. She’s part of our community now so she deserves to know what’s going on. And she also has a right to know about our forms of discipline.” Peter spoke the last sentence with rigid authority. Scarlet sat up a bit straighter.

“You see, Scar. Cool if I call you Scar? Okay. Well when the rules are broken here, there are consequences. Always. Now this ain’t my story so I won’t get into the details but Dwighty-boy here had a lady friend and together they broke the rules. So, when she disappeared, he took a hot iron to the face-- a price that matched the crime--by Negan himself.”

The tension in the room was thick but not nearly as thick as Scarlet’s voice as she spoke. “Negan?”

Peter nodded. “Our leader. And a name you best remember, Scar. That’s also the name of everything you touch, everything you loot, everything you earn, and every person you meet here at the Sanctuary. It’s all Negan.”

Scarlet’s lips parted as she comprehended Peter’s words. She was confused.

“She’s been through some major shit, don’t freak her out,” Cara hissed. “Let her meet the man first at least.”

“He’s here?” Scarlet said, snapping her head around. Her movement caused a sharp pain to radiate from her right temple down her jaw and she closed her eyes against it.

Cara shook her head. “ No. But you should really rest,” she said, standing. “We can talk about this later.”

She put a hand on Scarlet’s shoulder. “Dr. Carson? Is it okay if I take Scarlet to my quarters?”

Dr. Carson came back in from the other room and said it was fine with him.

As the women walked from the room, Scarlet heard the desk creak as Peter pulled his weight up from its edge.

“I’ll be expecting that sex-fession soon, kid,” he called out, chuckling as the door closed behind them.

Over the next three days, Scarlet met a lot of people, drank a lot of water, and heard a lot of stories. She stayed with Cara, sharing her full-sized bed and borrowing her clothes. For the first time in God knows how long, she had a real shower. It hurt, but as the water ran over her bruised and broken body, she felt renewed. When she was finished Cara even let her use her stash of makeup and Scarlet had nearly cried the first time she looked in the mirror.

Her copper hair began to glow again, her eyes shimmered when she chuckled, and she was slowly gathering strength again. By her fourth evening in the Sanctuary, she was remembering people’s names, helping move supplies from building to building, and had cleaned Cara’s entire quarters for her.

She was starting to feel alive again.

Scarlet had just finished moving boxes of canned food from a storage shed to the kitchens and was walking back to the main hall when she noticed people running toward the Sanctuary’s main gate. Curious, she followed them and saw they were all congregating around two huge, army-green supply trucks. There were probably two dozen people already gathered, with more coming.

Furrowing her brow, she walked closer. When she was about 50 yards from the group, the doors to both trucks opened simultaneously and men jumped out from them both. The crowd cheered as the men waved and motioned to the back of the trucks. People began moving around the trucks and Scarlet heard the loud metallic scrape as the back sliding doors were pushed up. The run must have been pretty successful because another cheer erupted.

Smiling, Scarlet decided to turn back. She still didn’t know the entire layout of the Sanctuary and knew she’d most likely just be in the way if she tried to help. As she began to turn, the driver of one of the trucks swung his way out of the cab, hopping down to the ground. The way the sun glinted off of the weapon he held made her stop.

Long-legged and blatantly arrogant, the man strolled around the front of the truck. It was hard to make his profile out but Scarlet noticed the way his clothing clung to his figure with ease, outlining each toned limb. It was a very enticing ensemble for simply jeans and a leather jacket. Someone came from behind the truck and seemed to ask him a question, to which his response was an inaudible order and a dramatic wave of the slender weapon in his hands.

Scarlet blinked a few times and she realized, with a gasp, that he was wielding a baseball bat laced with barbed wire.

“Scarlet!”

Cara was coming from behind her. She waved when Scarlet turned, still startled.

“You wanna help? It looks like a big load!”

Scarlet didn’t speak, but she nodded. Her heart was slamming against her ribs as they walked down to the trucks.

There was a huge amount of conversation and moving-about around the trucks. Scarlet winced as someone knocked into her bruised side, but remained silent as she followed Cara.

They were handed two boxes each, filled with toiletries. “We’ll just take these to the main hall so people can sort through them later,” Cara loudly told her over the chatter around them.

Together, they walked back around the truck and a quick look around brought up nothing as Scarlet looked for the man again.

The main hall was completely empty when they entered. One table was already covered with boxes so the women dropped theirs off at one on the other side of the gaping room.

“I’m going to run to the bathroom, I’ll be right back. I’ll have to introduce you to everyone that was on the run!” Cara said, before running off to the back where the restrooms were.

Scarlet leaned forward and put her hands on the edge of the table. Her heart continued to thrum in her chest so she tried to breath long and slow. She arched her back, trying to ignore the dull aches of her bones as she stretched. Feeling her muscles elongate, she pushed her chest out, and went up onto her toes to let the stretch travel down her legs.

“Goddamn I’ve missed that view.”

Scarlet spun around to find Negan lazily leaning on the doorframe of the door leading back outside. His leather-clad arms were crossed over his chest and he had an amused look on his face. As they locked eyes, he uncrossed his arms and stuck his hands--one bare, one gloved--in his pockets, smiling a smug smile that made her heart beat even faster.

“Do it again,” he said, flashing a white-toothed smile. When she didn’t immediately move, he cocked an eyebrow and reached forward with a gloved finger to twirl a circle in the air.

Scarlet smirked back at him and merely crossed her own arms and leaned back onto the table.

“Always been a fucking tease,” he growled, as he pushed up off the wall and walked toward her.

Scarlet didn’t even have time to think before Negan had crossed the room and was in front of her. In less time than that, he had her face cradled in his ungloved hand, his callused skin rough against her cheek, and was pulling her to him. He tilted her head up with his thumb and pressed his lips to hers, taking the breath straight out of her lungs.

As she moved her mouth against his, Scarlet suddenly remembered lying on the mattress she had been chained to in that crumbling warehouse while listening to the sounds of her neighbors’ screams and whimpers, picturing falling asleep listening to nothing but the sounds of her breath mingling with his. She had walked for miles out in the blazing sun while hearing Slim and his cronies talk about violating her body and remembered finding safety in imagining being back in his arms. Whenever she needed strength, she gathered it from the memories of him she had forever carved within her body and within her mind.

With realization stronger than a punch, she understood how she had managed to get out of everything alive: she was meant to be back here, with him, stronger than ever.

As she took in Negan’s taste, the feeling of his hands on her face and waist, and the relieving sense of security within his dominance, Scarlet felt whole again.

Tags list:

@neganisking @warriorqueen1991 @negans-network @mwesterfeld1985 @theonethatgotaway213 @fiftypercentmoreintoyou

#devour me #negan's network #negan twd #negan x female #negan #negan fic #scarlet #negan x scarlet #negan i #negans thirst squad #slow burn #the best kind of burn is a slow burn #devour me part 3 #my fics #negan fanfic #negan fanfiction #negans-network

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oleandertoxin · 5 years

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Over-qualification in Adventuring

Rated T for fantasy violence and language. Snooty drow hires a group of adventurers to go on a fetch quest for him, but has to accompany them on it.

There's something to be said about traveling with your employer. Especially if that employer is a snobby, snarky, rude drow with an eye for detail and a tongue sharper than their dagger. As the rest of the party walked along a dirt road, kicking up rocks and gravel into their shoes, Myrh rode by with them on a spectral steed, blacker than pitch with a white mane and glowing red eyes, all to similar to that of the drow. It was kind of too much, even for Kieri, who loved the older wizard's antics.

Their job was to collect a gemstone from a tower north of Davon. The stone, Myrh had explained, was a rich green emerald about the size of a fist, and was worth more than the group could possibly imagine if sold to the right collector. The stipulation for them going to get it was Myrh had to come along too, something he agreed to most readily, but now, as they moved alongside him in the woods, one could very well see this was a mistake to make.

“Gods, you all are fucking dull as a box of rocks, aren't you? Don't you talk at all? Or like, have drinks to pass around? What kind of party are you that doesn't drink on the road?”

“One with a kid in it?” Asorith looked over to David who was still far too young to imbibe, despite the fact that he had risked his life in a deadly fight against creatures far too numerous to name in this story outright. Also dealing with what could only hope to be the worst kind of romance known to man.

“Fuck, I forgot about that. What a bunch of dullards.” Myrh groaned as he looked up the road, the tip of the tower coming into view over the horizon. “Whatever, we'll be there soon anyways, so it doesn't matter.”

“What kind of people do you hire for this sort of thing anyways, Myrh?” Kieri didn't have to look up much to catch his eye. “I mean, why ask us? Were we the only ones available?”

“Pretty much. You're all a little too overqualified, too. I usually hire a bunch of deadbeat losers to get what I want and follow behind them in secret. When they die at the last battle, I come in, grab what I want, and then leave without having to pay anyone anything.”

“Isn't that nice,” Asorith growled between a clenched jaw, glaring at the man as he rode on his phantasmal mare.

Myrh simply shrugged at the response. “That's business, bay-bee.” The nonchalance in his voice was heavy. He had done this sort of thing quite a bit it seems.

Coming close to the tower, Myrh counted out three trolls guarding the entrance of the place. Almost in an instant, a bolt was loaded and fired off towards the group, catching one of them in their eye as they fell to the ground, dead easily from the power from Kieri's crossbow. “Shit, nice.” He gave a quick thumbs up and watched as Bu attacked directly after, slicing into the trolls with her talons, leaving the bodies there at the door.

As they entered the building, Morana was able to knock a troll in the kneecaps using Big Smashy, while Asorith managed to get it in gut with their halberd. Myrh could only whistle as he stood back, watching the group as they worked. As the first floor was cleared with another shot by Kieri's crossbow, he gave them a surprised clap. “Well done, everyone, I do believe you are the most competent set of heroes I've sent out on a fetch quest in a long time.”

“Are... We supposed to feel good about that?” David frowned, his hands still smoldering from the fire that he had sent towards one of the trolls.

“Of course, it was a compliment was it not?” Myrh smiled, and continued through the tower, heading to the stairs to the second floor.

The next few floors were more of the same, Bu took one out with a well placed radiant blast, while Morana got another. It wasn't until half way up that the team saw a neon green arrow pierce the air and soon after the heart of a monstrous orc in front of the group. Looking to the back of the party, Kieri saw Myrh smile wide, his fingertips still glowing from his magic. Kieri could only watch, mouth agape. “Well, that was something one doesn't see every day.”

“Melf made a decent spell all those years ago. You should look into it, they're useful when you need them.” Myrh blew a kiss at her before heading past the orc, stepping on and over him with his heels as he climbed the stairs in front of the group.

“Remind me to never piss him off,” David whispered as he watched the drow man disappear into the stairwell.

“Same fucking hat,” Asorith gave a curt nod as they agreed, climbing up after him.

More trolls and orcs came after them and more and more were swiftly dealt with by the five and their extra plus one, and the final door came in place. Asorith reared back and with a strong hoof kick, the door toppled over, kicked off its hinges. Turning around to face the noise was a massively tall Ogress in what could only be said to be her Sunday best. A long, white and pink satin dress with overlays of beautiful chiffon and lace, embroidered flowers and stars all up the skirt. The sleeves of the dress were off the shoulder and billowed out a bit before being cuffed at the wrist, made with more sheer tulle. To top it off was a wide brimmed and immaculately decorated hat, with trimmings of feathers, flowers, foliage from all over, all painted in an exquisite opalescent pink color, topped off with the largest, and most brilliantly green gem any of the group had ever seen.

The Ogress growled, and gave a call out for her guards but was met with silence. Stepping forward, Myrh simply gave the Ogress a smile and snapped his fingers, and from the tip of a perfectly manicured talon, a line of red electricity hits the Ogress, knocking her back and causing her body and clothing to burn away into a fine gray powder.

Wide eyed, the group watched as Myrh came over to the Ogress' corpse, kicking the dust away until the green gem was in sight. He picked it up, giving it a quick once over, before sighing and tucking it away in a pouch at his hip. “Well, that was lackluster. You'd think she'd have a better one since I have the rest. I guess they're getting rarer.”

Turning to the group, Myrh raised his hand as if to leave before stopping for a beat. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Here's your payment. It's barely a fraction of what this thing costs so no harm no foul, right?” He smiled, tossing a sack of coins to the party before snapping once more, blinking out of existence.

Watching agape, Kieri picked up the pouch of money to find it filled with gold. “Did...” She began, looking at the spot where Myrh disappeared from, then back to the group, “did he ask us along to just jerk us around?”

“Seems that way. You wanna take the lower floors with David?” Asorith kicked over the dust on the ground, beginning to rummaging through the Ogress' things that hadn't been disintegrated along with her. Kieri shrugged and nodded, heading down the long flight of stairs with David and the rest. This tower must have more secrets that it holds. Time to start looting.

#Original Work

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entergamingxp · 4 years

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Five of the Best: Villains • Eurogamer.net

Five of the Best is a weekly series about the small details we rush past when we’re playing but which shape a game in our memory for years to come. Details like the way a character jumps or the title screen you load into, or the potions you use and maps you refer back to. We’ve talked about so many in our Five of the Best series so far. But there are always more.

Five of the Best works like this. Various Eurogamer writers will share their memories in the article and then you – probably outraged we didn’t include the thing you’re thinking of – can share the thing you’re thinking of in the comments below. Your collective memory has never failed to amaze us – don’t let that stop now!

Today’s Five of the Best is…

Villains, or baddies as I like to call them. For me, everything revolves around the baddie. They’re the threat, the goal, the quest, and they have to be convincing. If they’re a bit flimsy, the whole thing goes wibbly-wobbly and I’m left thinking what’s the point? But if they’re on point and menacing and, let’s be real, probably quite alluring too, then I’m all in. Take Palpatine in Star Wars: I can’t get enough of him. He’s irresistibly evil and lights up every scene he’s in, sometimes quite literally. His pantomime menace sells (maybe one too many of) the films.

It’s the same for games. If the villain is limp we won’t feel spurred on to defeat them. So let’s celebrate the baddies for a change. Here are five of the best. Happy long weekend!

M. Bison in Street Fighter 2

I broke my fancy see-through SNES pad because of M. bloody Bison. It was in the Street Fighter 2 days and he was the end boss, and whatever I did, I couldn’t beat him. It was that jump he did on top of my head and then the backflip back around. And his spinny forward jump, and the frontflip leg kick – I’m pretty sure I’m nailing the technical terms here. I just couldn’t get a handle on him.

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Actual, tangible proof Bison is evil!

Again and again he beat me, and you know what he did every time he won? He smiled about it. The arrogant bastard. And one day I just couldn’t take it any more. Like a toddler I let loose, jumping up and down on my controller before bending and snapping it my hands like a strongman (or petulant child) bending a metal bar. What a wally. I tried taping it back together but it never worked in the same way again. And it was all M. Bison’s fault. I think.

-Bertie

Darth Traya in Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic 2 – The Sith Lords

I almost wrote the Nameless One here, the protagonist from Planescape: Torment, but the more I thought about it, the more I wasn’t sure if he actually was a baddie. He definitely did bad things but he wasn’t really the baddie.

My gut wants to go with someone else, one of the most memorable characters I’ve ever come across in a game: Kreia from Knights of the Old Republic 2. Perhaps it’s no surprise KOTOR 2 and Planescape: Torment come up in the same breath, given so many of the same people were involved in both games, Chris Avellone in particular.

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This a nice, detailed explainer.

Kreia begins KOTOR 2 as your friend. In fact she’s more than that, she’s your mentor. She’s the person you look up to and who teaches you in the ways of the Force. But what makes her so unusual in regards to other Star Wars mentors is she’s neither good nor evil, not for the longest time. She’s the one who chastises you for your charity to a homeless person because they’ll get robbed by other homeless people who saw what you did. She makes you think. She is Obsidian making you question how you approach a game like this, and a licence like this.

It’s not until you deal with the game’s two other, equally memorable villains – Darth Sion, a person whose body is crumbling apart and is in constant pain and rage holding it together; and Darth Nihilus, who’s not a person at all but a wound in the force, sucking everything into itself like a black hole – that the real villain, their former ally, is revealed. And of course it’s she who has been beside you the whole game, steering you. It is Kreia, or to use her Sith name, Darth Traya.

-Bertie

Below is a Making Of KOTOR 2 podcast I recorded several years ago now with members of the Obsidian team and the Restored Content Mod team. There’s an adjoining article too.

Kefka in Final Fantasy 6

I mean, of course Kefka’s on this list. How could he not be? Final Fantasy 6’s villain has every right to call himself video game’s ultimate baddie, a cackling clown who is a thing of pure evil. Psychotic foes are ten-a-penny in games, of course, but Final Fantasy 6’s masterstroke is – spoiler alert – showing you what happens when evil wins out. And boy is it not pretty.

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This is a good explainer too.

Even before that point, Kefka’s wrongdoing takes Final Fantasy 6’s adventure to some surprisingly dark places, killing off an entire kingdom by poisoning the water supply – and that’s him just getting started. It’s like pre-Hays Code cinema, before video game’s burgeoning popularity meant a new kind of morality swept across the medium. Even then, there’d never been anyone quite as evil as Kefka in games – and I doubt there ever will.

-Martin Robinson

Mahatma Ghandi in the Civilization series

Nuke-mad Gandhi endures as the ultimate not-a-bug-but-a-feature of video games. But it was a bug once. In the first Civilization game, the story goes, Gandhi’s hidden aggression value was set to the lowest possible value on the scale, which was 1. But if he adopted the doctrine of democracy, which lowered his hidden aggression statistic by two points, he accidentally became the antithesis of himself. It’s because instead of going falling to -1, his aggression counter would loop back around to the maximum value of 255. (An interesting aside here for the real nerds: 255 is a significant number in a lot of games, like Pokémon’s EVs for instance, if you’re into competitive training. In my admittedly limited understanding, this is apparently down to storage. A single byte stores 256 different values, but because it begins from zero, 255 regularly occurs as the maximum value, as in our good old friend Gandhi’s aggression.)

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Anyway! Gandhi, as a result of this little quirk, became the most aggressive Civilization leader ever when adopting democracy. Ever since, he’s been intentionally programmed to be nuke-heavy as a nod to the bugs of the past, though Firaxis has made him a bit nicer for the rest of the game, which is probably fair enough.

-Chris Tapsell

Loot boxes in everything

Surprise! Or should I say… surprise mechanics?

I bet you weren’t expecting to see loot boxes in the mix here, but can you think of a more hated villain in games history? The backlash to EA’s implementation of loot boxes in Star Wars: Battlefront 2 was so severe that multiple countries eventually banned them. Players have spent thousands of dollars on them without even realising, and even the NHS has weighed in to say they’re “setting kids up for addiction” to gambling. That’s quite the portfolio.

For me, and many other players, loot boxes are so hated because they prey on basic human weaknesses rather than just giving the consumer value for money – if you’re chasing a particular skin, you’ll often end up with duplicates and other guff rather than what you want. Then there’s the fact they often exploit those most prone to gambling addiction, relying on big spenders (whales) to sink hundreds into their favourite games. And if you add gameplay-affecting elements into loot boxes, that pressure to spend becomes even more problematic.

An artist’s impression of an evil loot box.

You might think we’ve started to move on from loot boxes towards other forms of monetisation such as battle passes, but unfortunately that’s not the case. Loot boxes are still prevalent in our games, with a recent study finding 71.28 per cent of their sample were playing Steam games containing loot boxes as of April 2019. The European games regulator PEGI recently introduced a “paid random items” descriptor for game boxes – a good start – but while the UK Gambling Commission recognises a potential risk to children, it argues loot boxes cannot be classified as gambling as no money can be withdrawn. Will loot boxes ever get their full comeuppance? I guess we’re still waiting for that chapter.

-Emma Kent

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/05/five-of-the-best-villains-%e2%80%a2-eurogamer-net/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=five-of-the-best-villains-%25e2%2580%25a2-eurogamer-net

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