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dorki-c · 3 years

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Fuck him up (if he hurts you)

Characters: Dabi, Fem.(Reader), Toga, Mr. Compress, Giran

Relationship: Dabi and (Reader)

A/N: Hey! I’m finally done with this one! Whoop! Whoop! It took a little while but I’m glad its done because to be honest...I really enjoyed writing this, but, I have other things that require my attention. Also! Happy belated bday Dabi!

As always, PLEASE REBLOG AND LIKE! (ALSO COME JOIN MY VALENTINES EVENT, ALL YOU NEED TO DO IS CLICK HERE!)

TW: Threatening, Swearing and Cheating

Does anybody know the stages of getting over your cheating significant other?

It all starts out with denial- how bittersweet that filthy fucking word is-, although it doesn’t last long, when once you managed to eat at least five tubs of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream whilst watching the last show of some shitty soap opera, the next stage comes to bite your ass, anger- also known as throwing or burning your exe’s belongings that they left; however, I prefer burning it (they won’t be able to sell it if they come back).

Once those first two (rather tough) stages fly pass, this third one was like hitting the jackpot for me, but probably not for you, as the mental gamble caused lots of sexually frustrated people to bargain- to play the dice, you shall, but even gamblers don’t use the ‘third time is the charm’ as its utter bullshit- and then--!

OH GOD, HERE COMES FIVE MORE TUBS OF BEN & JERRY’S ICECREAM! THIS ONE IS A REAL KICKER! SOMEBODY HELP ME! THE LIVING ROOM IS FUCKING FLOODING WITH DEPRESSION- Yup, that was you five tubs of ice cream ago, maybe some chocolate might help…

At last, when the cleaning crew arrived, and you managed to accept- with the sunshine glowing down on your skin after four long stages of shit- with the fresh thought of buying a couple dresses that you saw on sale from that one adorable itty bitty corner shop.

But I’m not like that.

And here’s why in (you guessed it) 5 stages.

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1. Discovery.

Rolling their shoulders backwards, a blanket fell backwards as a tall silhouette ghosted from the bedroom door that they left open.

When the bathroom light blinked to life, (y/n) faintly heard the screeching of the door shut on itself. Though, she knew her beloved boyfriend had to go to ‘work’, what she didn’t know was who made his phone ping at 7:15 in the morning.

Scooting over to the opposite side of the bed, blankets stuck to sweat-ridden skin as they coiled around her legs similarly to a snake and ensnared them to stay stuck and stationary. The plush pillows tried to lull her back to sleep. However, (y/n) wasn’t having any of it.

Reaching out to grab Dabi’s phone- even if he didn’t give you permission- the time was as you predicted, though the contents of his notifications bleeping up was something you didn’t predict. The background of his lock screen was something to behold as it was a picture of your concentrated form doodling in a sketchbook whilst a pale white cup stood beside two fresh slices of cake.

Shakily revealing the messaging app, there was around four or five unknown contacts, all listed under the people’s numbers.

Though one of them caught your eye.

Opening the chatroom, your free hand clutched the blankets.

Dabi is going to regret making you break the way you did that morning.

(He has no choice in doing so.)

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2. Kicking the asshole out.

“Toga…? C-can you come over, please.”

The TV presented the small-town news that had little to no intervention though that didn’t mould the female into a wish less mess where a gentle hand went to work and smooth out ensnared knots. “Are you okay now, (y/n)-chan?” You never heard Toga murmur before, but that’s the perks of being alive now.

(Y/n) released the trembling bubble of air out of her lungs and into the atmosphere, readying herself for that front door to open. Shaking your head to respond to Toga’s question, a small huff was released out of the other female’s chest.

The blonde female knew why you still weren’t okay.

Whoever walks through that door will have a profound effect on whatever will happen to (y/n).

However, with the slight nudge of her friend’s hand pinching the side of her sensitive waist, a yelp was released in surprise whereas the blonde villain giggled at the reaction. “Your so easy to scare, (y/n)-chan!” Toga loved to tease you, but in this time frame it wasn’t to make you feel uncomfortable but rather the opposite.

She wanted to make your thunder stricken heart rumble with rage in an unknown and bizarre way- but to also remind that you weren’t alone-, though, you had this bubbly and extra crazy best friend who brought over too many sweets for your stomach to handle alongside the annoyance that you hadn’t noticed Dabi’s strange and desolate nature.

As Toga picked up another opened bag of candy (I think they were ‘eclairs’), unwrapped the golden covering as the crinkling plastic fumbled like sparks dancing across the fingers in a tantalising rhythm. In an attempt to grab the bag, Toga was about to throw it across the room so you could get off her because, and I quote “You’re killing me with your weight!”, how lovely that compliment is for somebody who’s blood is like a glacier falling apart after a storm chipped the exterior and revealed the icy truth underneath.

And may God cover their eyes, as that chilling sharp edge at the tip of the glacier crumbles under Mother Nature’s will (so does the female when the familiar screech of the door revealing whoever is walking through reaches her ears).

Sluggishly dripping back onto the couch where at least three of the seven stocked up with fluff blankets- wrapped around drooped shoulders- had slid onto the floor, Toga made an effort to pick them up and stuff (piling) them next to the drowsy (y/n).

“I’m home, dollface!” A familiar voice hollered.

When both of the female’s heard that voice, there was no turning back to the past.

(Y/n) glanced to a duffel bag next to the couch, then glanced towards the teenager’s sinking rage as the blonde’s lips started to slip into a scowl.

A step almost turned into two, however, was held back by the puffy eyed female. “C-c-can I handle this…please?” They whimpered.

Toga really needs to gain a resistance to (y/n) cuteness when she’s sad.

Grabbing the duffel bag, two slippers shuffled (real smooth) around the couch to enter the hallway that led to the front door. Exactly where Dabi was about to take off his shoes.

“I recommend not taking your shoes off.” The pair of blue eyes looked up in confusion. “What? So, I can’t take off my own shoes in our home?” It sounded like a tease, but what if there was another meaning behind it?

Dabi, however, knew that familiar look of sharp-edges eyes where the glossy swirling of a singular emotion led to- and his teasing didn’t make the situation, he’s found himself in, any more light-hearted.

“This isn’t your home anymore,” Hissed (y/n), where (the fuck) did she get that attitude from?

“Who told you that you can throw me o—” The heavy duffel bag clutched in (y/n) clammy hands thud against Dabi’s chest, where his feet slid against the front door’s matt- his legs trembled at the impact the bag had on his chest- along with the rising cough that caught up to him after fleeing from a hero.

“Nobody—told me what to do.” Another sniff ensued, “But, I figured out the truth.” An eyebrow twitched upwards in anticipation as his hand bawled against his hip.

“Then tell me, what’s this big ass ‘truth’ you figured out?” Retorted the male with turquoise eyes watching her head droop towards the ground to hide something.

Raising it after a momentary pause, she glowered “You’re a bloody cheater, Touya.” When tears stained the red canvas again.

“Oh, so this is what it’s about…” Voice as nonchalant as shallow murky river water, “Do you even realise why I did it?” Rolling his eyes, two fingers wormed their way towards a special ring on her left hand before it hit the ground.

“I don’t want to know why.”

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3. Jealousy

It was sudden, quick, and loud how Toga came into your (lonely) apartment.

Bang went the door against the wall and crash went the multiple shoes from the shoe cabinet as they thudded against the floor.

“(Y/N)-CHAN! I HAVE GOOD NEWS!” Her shout was louder than the moans you would usually make when it was a pleasurable night with your (new) ex, however you shouldn’t dwell on past relationships.

Only moving your eyes slightly from the book gripped tightly in your hands, Toga sauntered over holding a suspiciously large bag, this only led one ping-pong ball bouncing back to another ping-pong ball within the crevasses of your mind.

Placing a ripped piece of paper in the book, it snapped shut, “Who did you kill?” questioned (y/n)- knowing that when Toga finds something, she will resort to violence, no matter the cost-, however the sweet smile presented as a defence for whatever action she committed was enough dull your concern.

“Not telling ya!” Then getting a knife out- wait, where did that even come from-, Toga stabbed into the black plastic bag and tore it open with many- I mean tons- of clothes sliding out of the bag and becoming a miniature avalanche in the small space that is your living room.

“…H-how?” Sputtered (y/n), Toga replied: “Big sis’ Mags let us borrow some of her clothes!”

(Y/n) can only imagine how Toga managed to convince Magne to let her borrow some clothes off her, and by clothes, (y/n) could only assume its short skirts and dresses.

“But!” Added Toga, “we have to wait for Mr.C to pop up!”

Great, even Mr. Compress knows about your breakup with Dabi.

“Fine.”

Sitting pretty on a kitchen chair, a small brush lightly dabbed a small hint of colour against the rooftop of your eyes. “Why are we doing this, again?” Murmured the relaxed female as a small dress laid boringly over the torso where it edged closely to showing the backside of her thighs.

Chuckling in response to her inquisitive comment, the villain grabbed liquid eyeliner, although it was smacked out of his hand and replaced with pencil eyeliner matched with a scowl from his subject.

“Liquid eyeliner is cursed, don’t get that shit near me.”

“My, my, even somebody as classy as I wouldn’t offensively smack such an object—”

Oh boy, here we go again.

“Shush, I could easily get Big Sis Magne to beat your ass if you use that tone with me, sir.”— “Oh heavens no! I think Magne would pick my side out of the two of us!”— “Oh really now?”— “I believe—”

Another door slammed open and in stormed Toga in a confident catwalk down the hallway just to profoundly exclaim; “NOPE! SHE’LL CHOOSE ME AS THE CHOSEN ONE!”

Cue the laughter.

Before the sun was ready to roll itself out of the closet, the patchwork villain made his way under the thick cover of darkness to a certain broker’s office.

Pushing it open to let the light of the office room scream in his eyes before he even had the chance to speak, the older male that greeted him, offered him a seat.

“Hey Dabi, what brings you here to my humble abode?” Giran spoke out as the glistening cup of coffee placed in front of the wanderer reflected the light into its murky brown ripples. “I need you to trace this number to its origin, and quick.” Anxiously sliding his phone to showcase your number, the broker twitched his brow upwards.

“First and foremost, where’s the cash?” A thick wad of yen slammed against the table.

“Happy now?”— “Very much so!” Scowling at Giran’s happy chirp, the broker worked his magic on the burner phone to effectively trace the number back to your location, where Dabi soon enough made his way towards the destination you were at.

He doesn’t know why he’s doing this…

Nor why he still keeps the ring…

However, he knows what he’s going to say next.

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4. Anger

Simmering and low crackles of something in the kitchen of your apartment awoke the female from her drunken slumber.

What was being made and why does it smell so familiar? The waft of the meal being created swarmed the first stimulant within the hungover mind of yours truly as the wavering warmth rustled around your legs in an unspoken persuasive whisper to stay in bed.

However, curiosity killed the cat and also brought it back.

Two feet tapped the floor in alerted silence.

Tiptoeing across the room, a hand clenched the side of the doorway when two eyes surfed the surroundings outside of her den.

The sizzling stopped, with a small snap of fire going out.

At the same time this happened, it was then when she figured out who was in her kitchen: Him.

Him, with his tall stance that could make for a ladder to climb on or him with his broad shoulders that look like they were bricks squished underneath his skin, where his paired raven hair familiarly spiked up.

“What are you doing here?” If it wasn’t for the delicious food he was making, then you would’ve killed him on sight. A lacklustre glance at the female, he uses one of her spatulas to move the bacon from the frying pan onto a plate with plump golden coloured scrambled eggs.

“You were drunk, I brought you home, and am now making your hangover breakfast.” Placing the plate next to your arm resting against the counter, with another glance in your direction, Dabi made a finishing blow in the words of: “Since you can’t cook for shit.”

Oh boy, he knows you too well to expect your immediate reaction: anger.

From the built-up rage that started to stack up from days of unrest (and being bloated because of the several tubs of Bens & Jerry’s ice cream), it all started to splutter out of control.

“Oh-- So now your fucking attacking me after the shit you put me through?”

“Why should you know?” (Y/n) turned sour at his comment, “’Why’ I should know?!”

From the nearest counter, there was an empty glass. You took advantage of the potential weapon held it up ready for it to slam against the ground.

“(Y/n) -- put the glass down.” Warned the patchwork male.

With the tips of her ears feeling ever so hot, it felt like the pressure escalating within her ears caused only for her protests to be heard even through the pause of silence.

“(Y/n).” A small twitch of one of his feet made (y/n) flinch backwards. “Com’ on, I know you don’t want to hurt me.” He took another step toward, her grip tightened on the glass cup.

“Do you even know why I’m here?”

“No,” Moving her hand higher, Dabi took another step forward, (Y/n) took another step back, “And I don’t want to kno—” Blubbering a bit of salvia as the female attempted to speak, though it was incoherently heard through squished cheeks.

“Listen, for fucks sake,” Electric blue eyes pierced into your soul like a spear, it’s quite hilarious: You once loved those blue eyes of his, you once worshipped the feeling of his eyes raking down your nude body before- as they took in the sight of pleasure squirming and tightening underneath those diligently flexible fingers-, but those days are over.

He can worship your goddamn forgiveness if he’s going to restrain you like this.

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5. Forgiveness

“That’s what happened.”

Two legs of your own were crossed over each other like two birds of a feather.

“Are you being honest with me?”

His hand tapped the table as he sat across from you.

“Yes, I’m being honest.”

Breathing inwards and releasing a slow, practiced breath. She glanced at the male’s awaiting expression.

“Okay…”

Biting his ruined lip, the raven-haired male let out a breath of relief.

“Will you forgive me?”

She wishes she could.

“I’m not so sure yet…”

Dabi looked to the side to see (y/n) with both of his eyes.

“But, I’ll give you one last try.”

Taglist:

@glitterfreezed, @in-this-house-we-stan-izuku, @haredabi, @orenjineki

JOIN THE VALENTINES WRITING EVENT HERE!

#tw: swearing #TW: Cheating #Fem! reader #dabi mha #dabi x reader #dabi imagine #dabixyou #Dabi lives rent free in my mind #mild yandere! reader #dorki talks like a dabi simp #dabi lives rent free in my mind #villain x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #bnhaxyou #mha #mha x reader

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coeurdastronaute · 4 years

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Essays in Existentialism: Rivals II

Previously on Rivals

There really wasn’t anything to be nervous about. Why should she be nervous when she’d already spent two nights in the same bed as a complete stranger and player for the opposite team. That was weird, but going on a date was incredibly normal. It was the most normal part of the timeline of their entire flirtation, and yet, Clarke was slightly antsy.

The nerves might have stemmed from the lying.

It wasn’t really mentioned when her friends asked her what her plans were for the weekend. Vaguely, she insisted that there was some family stuff she had to do and kept out of the conversations about meeting up, much to the dismay of a few voices. But the lies were made easier by the proximity to winter break. If she told them what she was really doing, she’d never hear the end of it from Octavia, and that was a fight she didn’t want to have. She’d never get over Bellamy’s sad eyes. She’d have to listen to Raven rail about this and that, and why not avoid it if she could?

In the end, lying felt right and easy and when everyone gave up trying to figure out when she’d be able to do something, instead chalking it up to a complete family weekend, she relaxed.

Maybe her nerves stemmed from the intensive dive into Lexa’s scant social media presence, strictly for science.

The very night she got home from the state championship trip, she laid in her bed and did the only normal thing she could think of doing-- looking into a certain Lexa Woods, all while texting the star kicker deep into the night.

And though she didn’t find much, she did see that Lexa was too cute and it was going to be a problem. Candids taken by friends of her in weird positions, reading. With glasses. Adorable glasses. Pictures hiking with her family. Camping with her little brother. Volunteering at the Special Olympics. Record shopping. Camping. Running. Biking. Studying film. Dressed up for a family wedding.

It spanned her entire high school life, and Clarke learned that she was an outdoorsy person who seemed too good to be true. She had a crush on a stranger she slept with-- twice.

Yes, that was where her nerves came from, Clarke decided as she heard the doorbell chime downstairs before she gave herself a once over in the mirror while taking a deep breath. There was nothing to be nervous about, she chanted.

Except it’d been two weeks of almost non-stop texting and Lexa was funny and nice and sweet and a nagging part of her brain couldn’t let Clarke believe that this girl was real.

“I’m coming!” Clarke yelled down the steps as she hurried to the bathroom and quickly sprayed a dash of perfume from the tiny, expensive bottle her dad got her for her birthday.

She heard the rumble of voices downstairs and tried not to think of how embarrassing her father could possibly be. In record time she snagged her coat and phone, pocketing and tugging on as she hustled down the steps.

But handling it well enough, Lexa stood there, in Clarke’s house, in the flesh, real, alive, and in-person. Red letterman jacket folded over her arm, she stood there and listened intently to Jake Griffin talk about something before catching her date’s eye and smiling.

“I will have to check that movie out, Mr. Griffin,” Lexa nodded, tearing herself away from Clarke. “Thank you for the suggestion.”

“Okay, we’re heading out, Dad,” Clarke interrupted before he could start talking about something else. “I’ll be home later.”

“Not giving me much time to embarrass you, honey,” he chided as she leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I got distracted talking about movies.”

“An easy way to avert him. Nice work, Twelve.”

Lexa smiled quickly as Clarke came to stand beside her.

“I do want to hear some embarrassing things though. I’m sure we have ti--”

“Okay, we’re off,” she cut off the thought.

“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Griffin,” Lexa stuck out her hand and shook Jake’s. “I’ll let you know what I think of that film. I’m always looking for new favorites.”

“You won’t be disappoint,” he smiled, surprised by the action as she shook her hand. “Home by twelve at the latest.”

“What about one?” Clarke tried.

“Actually, I have to be home by eleven,” Lexa offered. “So unless you plan on bailing…”

“You know, eleven sounds so much better to me,” Jake grinned and looked at his daughter expectantly.

With a shake of her head and sigh, Clarke moved toward the door, Lexa trailing behind her and shrugging on her coat as the moved out into the cold. The patriarch of the small family stood behind the glass and watched them hurry to hop into the still-running car in the driveway. It wasn’t that he truly trusted anyone that took his daughter out on a date, but something about Lexa seemed okay enough for him to not worry as much, which was surprising for someone with a letterman jacket.

But he waved as they pulled out into the street and he smiled, the faint remnant of the perfume he bought for his daughter for her last birthday still lingering on the stairs.

XXXXXXXXXX

As much as she told herself that she wasn’t nervous, that it was pointless to worry about it, that Clarke obviously liked her enough to make out with her in a hotel bed, twice, Lexa still felt a little nervous about their first official date. She did a valiant job in pretending though.

But then she saw Clarke and she relaxed, despite the fact that her heartbeat picked up by about half. It was baffling and she wasn’t sure what it meant, but she didn’t waste any time thinking about it too hard.

“I can’t believe I’ve never been here before,” Lexa smiled as they pulled up to the museum parking lot. “My brother has a thing for museums.”

“Now I get to spoil it for you so when he drags you here eventually, it’ll be old news.”

“You know, you haven’t insulted me once since I picked you up.”

“Can’t let them go to your head,” Clarke grinned and waited, sticking her hand out for her date to grab so she could lead her into one of her favorite places in town. “Your ego is already monstrous after winning a championship.”

“Did you know I get a ring and everything? The lunch lady gave me an extra cookie the other day, too.”

“What a life you lead. And here I am, taking up your time when you could be basking in the glow of being the city’s golden child.”

“Not this town,” she murmured, feeling slightly out of place in her jacket.

“Don’t sweat it. You’re with me, Woods.”

It was a baseless sentence and in no way did Lexa imagine that Clarke ran her town, but there was something to her confidence and ease that made her want to believe it without question. Clarke was easy that way-- just constantly moving and pushing and remaining undaunted, it felt like. Through their late night chats, she’d learned that Clarke really figured out that she didn’t like a lot of who she was over the past few years, and was restarting, with purpose.

Lexa wasn’t sure what it all meant, just that Clarke was honest and fun, she was unpredictable and passionate, and most importantly, she was fiercely independent.

Somewhere between the paintings of the boats and the ones that were just lines, Lexa felt Clarke’s chin on her shoulder and the proximity of their bodies as they walked through the massive rooms, perusing and joking, appreciating and debating, predominantly disappearing into themselves without a care for anyone else in the place.

Somewhere between the busts and the installation art, Lexa kissed Clarke’s cheek and held her hand a little tighter, occasionally pulling her own behind her back to pull Clarke closer to her side.

And at the end of the night, after dropping Clarke off and getting a kiss for her troubles, Lexa smiled and replayed the entire date in her head on the drive home.

XXXXXXXXXX

Despite the normal festivities of the holiday season combined with winning a championship and having many more friend obligations to attend with, Lexa ignored what she could and spent her most of her break driving back and forth to the rival town to see a certain cheerleader who like to kiss her and sometimes slip her hand up her shirt. And she liked returning the favor, hence the driving and hosting.

But between the family and the girl and break homework, Lexa was sure to spend time preparing for her soccer season. That was a point she made because she sure as hell wasn’t going to only get scholarship options for one season in a sport she didn’t truly love.

There was a schedule and Clarke fit into it all, much to Lexa’s relief.

“You have to head home soon,” Clarke whispered, though her lips moved to capture the kicker’s once again.

“I can push my luck a little bit. Your dad likes me.”

The scoff was cut off by a low moan as Lexa let her hands get a little more brazen than they’d been before. She was fueled by the fact that they were busy and school was starting again and she wouldn’t know how long until she’d see Clarke again. That and the delectable little noises coming from beneath her.

“You should leave, before I make you stay.”

Lexa smiled against Clarke’s neck and bit there before pushing her thigh harder into her center, earning a shift of hips. Fingertips dug into her neck and she sighed at the sensation. She wanted more time. She wanted to pause everything.

“You feel so good,” Lexa whispered.

“We should see each other again.”

“I’d like that.”

“You’ll let me know when you get your schedule for soccer?”

“You’ll be the first to know. I’d like my own cheerleader,” Lexa smiled, kissing toward chest. “And as my girlfriend, you get the perks of wearing my jacket and old jersey whenever you’d like.”

“Girlfriend, eh?” Clarke adjusted so that Lexa hovered over her. She cocked her head and smiled before pushing hair away from her eyes. She loved Lexa’s green, and how deep and expressive they were if you were smart enough to pay attention.

“Yeah, well. If the letterman fits.”

“I do look cute in it,” she shrugged, smiling enough with a dimple and all.

“Much better than me.”

“I can’t go wearing it at school. That’d be the end of me.”

“I suppose we should talk about being star-crossed and such, since we’re heading back to the real world.”

Clarke groaned a complaint and hugged Lexa toward her tighter.

“What is there to talk about? My girlfriend goes to a different school.”

“It’s adorable how you think it’ll be easy.”

“You’d be amazing at how good I am t being difficult.”

Despite herself, Lexa chuckled and shook her head before kissing Clarke’s cheek and jaw and nose. She finally pushed herself away.

XXXXXXXXX

The fall out was… biblical, in a way that Clarke never fully expected. It seemed insanely trivial for her to develop a crush on a person that could develop so much ire from her entire world, but she bore the brunt of it with a flippant disregard to such ridiculous stigmas.

The worst of it was Octavia, fiercely loyal to her team and her school and most importantly, her brother. The news worked its way through the friend group, debated and marvelled over for a few days before it became old news. It was a novelty and for a while Clarke fielded their questions and took their taunting well enough.

It wasn’t until spring that Clarke finally blew up, lashing out at Bellamy, Octavia, Murphy, and a few others who were still bitter about their lost. It ended with her scolding their pitiful performance and childish behavior. It didn’t really help, but she certainly felt better.

“Good job! Nice kick!” Clarke cheered from the bleachers amidst the large crowd in the waning evening light.

“Oh now you’re a cheerleader,” Octavia rolled her eyes and scoffed from a few rows away.

Clarke grit her teeth and shook her head before focusing back on the pitch as number twelve streaked down the field, maneuvering quickly through defenders. She shoved her hands into the pockets of the jacket for the opposing team and smelled a hint of Lexa on the collar still, vowing to give it back to her for a few days to get more of it back.

Unsure of if the booing spurred her or the fact that her girlfriend was watching, but Lexa and her team won by a wide margin, which was gratifying to the singular fan in the audience.

“Hey, Twelve, you looked good out there.”

“Oh thanks. Just showing off a bit for you,” Lexa grinned, hanging on the railing of the bleachers as she watched her red jacket walk towards her. “Thanks for coming.”

“Couldn’t miss it. Hottest seat in town.”

“I have to get on the bus in a few…”

“Can’t waste time then,” Clarke grinned, jumping off the final step and wrapping her arms around the sweaty soccer players neck.

In a second, she was kissing her girlfriend and smiling, content with the glares she knew she’d be getting from the peanut gallery.

“You should come over this weekend. There’s a great movie playing at the Local, and I could be persuaded to take you for dinner.”

“Persuaded, huh?”

“Mmhm,” she nodded, setting her girlfriend down.

“Do you want to meet my friends?”

“I think I’ve met some of them,” Lexa looked at the gaggle that followed. “Hi.”

“Guys, this is Lexa,” Clarke offered as she turned around and found the rest of the group. “Lex, this is Bellamy, his sister, Octavia, Raven, Murphy, Monty, and Madi.”

A small chorus of hellos greeted her as she lifted her hand awkwardly.

“Sorry about making that field goal. I can honestly say I didn’t mean to, and it just kind of happened.”

The crowd relaxed slightly and mingled about with some small talk before the coach called and Lexa looked over her shoulder, realizing it was time to leave.

“I’ll see you Saturday, if that’s okay?” Clarke asked, walking with Lexa toward the bus.

“Did I do well enough with the friends to earn a date?”

“You did. I do have to spend Friday with them though to make up for it, but yeah, I’d say you’re okay.”

“Am I going to have to see them more?”

“Definitely.”

“Whatever works.”

“Here,” Clarke shrugged off the coat. “I need you to break this in again for me. I lost your smell.”

“Can’t have it not smell like Ireland looks, I guess.”

“Shut up.”

With a shove and a kiss, Clarke pushed Lexa toward the bus.

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unicyclehippo · 4 years

Note

Beauyashter prompt, 'Touch starved but oh so very patient'?

beau is good at one thing: being a smart ass. she’s been talking back to people since she was only months old, so the story goes—a red faced scrunched up ugly as all hell baby (cute despite it all, because this story was only ever told kindly) and any time her parents cooed over her or spoke to her she’d burst back with a torrent of angry baby talk, tiny baby fists waving.

wait.

beau is good at two things: being a smart ass, and being a shit kicker. she’s got a helluva mouth on her, two fists and two feet, and the gods themselves can’t do shit to stop her from using ‘em.

no, wait. fuck.

she’ll get it right this time. she’s trying this whole awareness thing, truth thing, and has this thought that, like, if she runs from the truths inherent in herself then she’s gonna miss them in other people, so—

beau is good at three things—being a smart ass, being a shit kicker, and being a nosy piece of shit. figuring stuff out. curiosity is her constant companion, infects her tongue, infects her hands, makes her say things and touch things because she wants to know who, and how, and what, and why? what’s better in this world than knowing how it all works? taking the time to figure it all out?

way back when, when she was by herself and cutting out from the archives to see the world and what it had to offer, she was interested in liars and cheats and scoundrels and gems. she loves gems. jewellery too, actually—likes the way the claws of rings hold cut stones in place, likes to watch as jewellers grins and polish them into shapes. likes examining them for facets and flaws. big surprise there, to anyone who knows beau. back then, she wouldn’t’ve said anything about it but now—months down the track and kinda embroiled in a lot of people’s messes—if anyone asked, beau might—might—admit she isn’t in it for the flaws. she just—thinks they’re important. thinks they can’t and shouldn’t be looked over. flaws...set gems apart, make them different. hell, sometimes they even make them more expensive! and it’s the same with people, in some ways. it’s not that she’s looking for the bad shit they do, or the ways in which they’re fucked up—it’s just that once you know that, once you’ve found that, sometimes it shows you more about the person.

okay, that’s a relatively new revelation.

beau used to just like to be able to point out the fact that hey, fucker, i might be a piece of shit but so are you, and here’s my fucking proof: exhibit a, and so on.

but now.

people are complicated, and they’re in over their heads, and things that sound like lies aren’t always lies—or not entirely—and beau has always been a details kinda person but she knows when to take a step back and gauge the entirety of a situation. even when it’s hard. even if it strains the mind, proves impossible.

which is all to say, that is, beau is sharing a room with jester and yasha and she hasn’t been able to sleep for thinking.

she has, as quietly as she was able, moved a small table to sit beneath the window and she has her jewellers kit laid out to clean and polish a few of the rings and other pieces they’ve picked up along their journey, the beading and crystal and stone worked into her fine expositors robes. it’s not something she does when other people can see—earns more questions than she would like, which is zero—but they’re having an audience with the king again tomorrow and they didn’t have a choice about it last time but beau would like to make something of a good impression this time.

the work is slow and methodical, repetitive. calming. gives her plenty of space to think.

so beau does.

her mind clicks over the cult and trent and caleb, and the letter, and kamordah for a moment before beau snaps away from that, powerfully enough that her head actually snaps to the side.

she shakes the thought away.

blinks over at her friends and forces her heart beat to slow and settle.

yasha sleeps differently now. deeply. beau’s mind fiddles and fusses with the details of what it has learned, fits jagged pieces together like a puzzle. a mosaic, more like, with the pieces sharp enough to cut. beau must cut herself on them because she winces when she thinks, defensive mechanism maybe? hoping to die in her sleep? or maybe just to stay in a dream where she was more of herself?

she would have to ask yasha questions to find out more. she’s not doing that.

jester, meanwhile, is sleeping fitfully. she’s laying on her side and has an extra pillow cuddled tight to her, and as beau drags a polishing cloth over the pretty emerald of what is very clearly a fake stone—a good one, but fake—she watches jester twitch and mumble something in her sleep. watches fingers dig tight into the pillow. watches her tail wrap and wrap around her calf and ankle.

a nightmare. she doesn’t have to ask jester to know that.

beau is good at three things: being a smart ass, being a shit kicker, and figuring shit out.

her friends, her girls, they need something and beau knows what some of it is: calm, safety, protection, reassurances, attention. the things most people need when they’ve been through not just one but, like, a hundred fucking traumatic experiences.

thing is, beau can figure shit out. she’s good at it, most of the time. the thing she isn’t good at—really, really isn’t good at—is fixing things.

beau returns her attention to the rings. sets the finished ones aside but the one she’s working on now—real sapphire, square cut, gold—she wears on her index finger, turning it carefully to get at the problem spots.

she isn’t good at it. but she can try.

yasha is in some ways harder to talk to than jester, but in a big way she’s also much easier to talk to. the woman has been admitting to things and explaining things and trying her best to make amends in whatever patchwork manner she can, and beau has zero qualms in using that for her own purpose.

‘you look like shit,’ beau tells her, sitting down across from her at the breakfast table. the inn they’ve stopped in is small but nice, and it has opened the shutters on the east wall to let the morning light stream in like pillars of gold. yasha is sat next to one of them, scritching carefully behind the ears of frumpkin.

yasha glances up. settles a moment on beau’s chest before looking away again. ‘i just bathed.’

‘that’s - no - you don’t look like actual shit,’

‘beau.’ the woman smiles. ‘i’m joking.’

beau leans back on the bench seat, braces her elbows against the back board, scoffs. ‘yeah, totally, i knew that.’ she looks away. the maid is still making up her plate. ‘you want to talk about it?’

‘sure,’ yasha agrees easily. her shoulders betray her, tensing, tightening.

they sit there in an awkward silence before,

‘usually people say something—‘

‘do you have questio—‘

‘oh, go ahead,’

‘no, no,’ yasha waves her free hand, the other still so gently petting frumpkin. she hides behind her hand like it’s a shield, interposed between them. ‘go ahead.’

beau clears her throat. feels an itch behind her eyes, exhaustion on so many levels, for so many reasons.

‘i was just gonna say, you said yes to talking but then you didn’t, so,’

‘i thought...you had questions.’

‘i didn’t mean it as a fucking interrogation, yash,’ beau says, and there’s no heat to her words at all. just dry. just dust, spilling out of her. ‘if you wanna talk, i’m here. that’s all i meant.’

yasha nods.

beau’s breakfast comes and she eats as she always does in quick motions, an arm curled around the plate as she shovels the eggs into her mouth. a few strips of bacon into the pocket for later and she’s done. she shoves the plate to the far end of the table to take back to the kitchens later. doesn’t move just yet.

she lets her eyes fall onto the window. the dark wood is painted nearly white with the morning sunlight and she can see dust motes drifting gently through the haze, puffing into swirls and eddys whenever someone moves.

‘are you going to - report me?’

beau blinks. drags her attention back to yasha. sees not fear or upset but a deep and abiding resignation in those eyes.

‘i already have,’ she tells yasha. the woman nods. ‘and i told them the truth. you weren’t yourself.’

‘you said you didn’t know that. not for sure. you said—‘

‘i say a lot of shit.’

‘you were not lying. you nearly died,’ yasha says, and she doesn’t stumble over that or flinch away from it, though she had a big hand in it. ‘i think you could barely see, then, let alone lie.’

‘i lie better than i see,’ beau tells her. shrugs. ‘but you’re not wrong. i told you i figured two things were the most likely. and we got you back, so, eliminated the other reason. you weren’t yourself,’ beau tells her with the exact force and directness she had told the high curator to their face, zero intention of negotiating or altering that statement.

after a moment, when yasha says nothing, just sits opposite her, head lowered, beau leans back in her seat and moves one booted foot forward until it touches yasha’s. she looks away, returns her attention to the window.

the other woman pulls her foot back to make room for beau’s. beau can feel yasha watching her, so she closes her eyes.

eventually, she feels a pressure against the side of her foot, yasha’s finding hers again and resting alongside it. and they sit.

jester is harder to talk to. she speaks in dizzying circles and makes jokes and has beau all in a tangle before she can ask anything important, but beau still tries. it takes a little longer but beau takes that step back that she needs sometimes and watches properly, like jester is a mark or a competitor. and beau sees that beyond the whirlwind of chatter and creation and creativity, that jester has made for herself a very neat little bubble. no one goes in. jester rarely comes out. so when jester makes an offer—one that she knows, she knows, beau will refuse—beau looks her square in the eyes and accepts.

jester stops in her tracks. a cute little frown digs between her brows. ‘what?’

‘i said sure,’ beau tells her, crooks a challenging smile. ‘go wild.’

‘you want me—to paint your face?’

‘yup.’

‘like, me? with my paints?’

‘yeah. it’s a party, right?’

‘yeah,’ jester agrees, eyes widening, and she clambers to her feet. ‘oh my gosh, oh my gosh, beau, this is going to be so much fun! and so much better than the last time i did it, i promise i won’t make you into a creepy snake again, it’ll be so pretty, i promise.’

beau shrugs. ‘sure. i trust you.’

jester hurries to her haversack, planted at caleb’s feet within the clear set dome of the hut. she can’t hear their conversation but does notice that jester comes close to but doesn’t quite touch caleb. respectful of his raw state, maybe. she returns with a set of familiar paints, coloured and carefully wrapped in protective cloth and leather.

‘this isn’t the magic stuff, is it?’

‘no,’ jester laughs. ‘just my normal paints. what do you want? a moor bounder?’

‘we’re in the empire so i’m gonna have to do with no.’

‘they might not know what they look like. you might just look really really cool and scary.’

‘that’s true.’

‘i could almost make you a cat or a tree or a bunny or an eagle or—‘

‘can you make me an owl?’

jester grins, eyes bright. ‘i can try. it’ll take a while and—hey caleb? can you make frumpie—‘

‘he can’t hear you, jes,’

‘CAN YOU MAKE FRUMPIE—‘

‘no,’ beau laughs, throwing a hand up over jester’s mouth. the touch sends a jolt through her palm, makes her heart race. she’s too aware of that bubble jester has made around herself, too aware that she just broke it. she lets her hand drop, wipes it on her knee, feeling the rasp of fabric make her skin prickle, tickle, in almost the same manner. ‘he’s in the hut, it blocks sound.’

‘oh. right.’

fifteen minutes later, owl frumpkin perched and sleeping on beau’s pack beside her, they are ready. jester sits beside her and lays out the paints. negotiates for a full minute how to sit so that she can comfortably paint beau’s face. her cheeks darken with colour as she scoots closer, darken further still when beau spreads her legs for her.

jester moves closer. her knees press to the inside of beau’s thighs and, when she reaches up to paint the first layer over beau’s face, her free hand comes to rest on the bunched tight muscle of beau’s thigh, stabilising herself.

beau swallows. it makes a dry click in her throat. she closes her eyes. tries to focus on the balmy day, the sounds of fjord and nott training in the field nearby, rather than the hand pressing on her leg or the wet tacky pull of the paint as it slowly layers on.

jester is quiet.

it strikes beau as odd a few minutes into this whole thing—and her brain sharpens, pulls her focus from the hazed, drifting she’s touching me, she smells like lavender to purpose.

beau’s eyes flutter open. wander over the look of peace, of focused intent, of muted joy as jester paints. feels acutely pinned under the force of blue eyes as jester leans in, drags the wet tip of the brush just so under her chin and along the side of her jaw to frame her face. when she pulls back, her eyes slide to meet beau’s and she smiles, crinkles her nose.

‘hi,’ she whispers.

‘hey.’

she doesn’t have any questions any more. jester looks at peace for once, and if this is what it takes, beau can provide it for her.

beau takes jester’s hand, guides her over the cracked and crumbling rocks down off the path. jester’s head tilts in the direction of yasha, walking slow and purposeful like a fucking death march by herself. so beau finds herself flanking the woman with jester, setting her hand on the small of yasha’s back.

yasha awakes in the swampy heat that rolls in before a storm. beau fumbles awake at her side. ignores yasha’s quiet offer to go back to sleep, to not worry. leans heavy against her shoulder when yasha takes her place at the fire and beau falls back to sleep like that. drools a little. yasha doesn’t seem to mind so much because as they make their second days’ march across the sulphur drenched fields toward pride’s call, yasha is a solid presence at her side.

beau braids jester’s hair.

puts a hand on yasha’s shoulder like she would for caleb when she haltingly tells them of her last visit to this pit, to pride’s call.

drapes her blue and brown coat around jester when she tosses and turns in a sleepless night, lays beside her with a hand on her staff, so jester knows she’s safe, knows beau is there for her.

brings jester into a tight hug when the other girl shivers, shakes, at the sight of the massacre in the pit, the rows and piles of dead bodies.

‘anyone else reminded of that arcane laboratory back in zadash? the one with the pit fjord fell into?’ beau asks, and she wraps her other arm around yasha. a silent addition. this wasn’t you.

fjord picks up on it easily, tracks where beau begins and ends, connected to both yasha and jester. he nods. ‘i was just thinking the same thing,’ he says, and nothing more.

they have to go through kamordah. a contact is there, or something. beau doesn’t quite know because her head fills with this buzzing, crackling sound and when she sees jester talking to her she can’t make out the words. she can feel, though, the way gentle hands take her and press her down to sitting and her heart stutters when strong arms wrap around her in a hug. her brain that never ever stops going...stops. almost sighs with relief. fingers wind and weave in her hair, scratching against her scalp. rubbing gently at her shoulders. soothing beau into sleep.

when she wakes, it is with a single thought prominent in her mind, like her brain had pieces it together while she slept and hung it there, waiting for her to return to consciousness, return to her own mind.

jester and yasha want to be touched, want to be reassured, safe, calm, soothed. and so do you.

touching and being touched are two very different things, beau realises, and now that she knows it, everything gets a little bit harder. she can’t stop reassuring jester and yasha—wouldn’t hurt them like that, she’s not an asshole—but every time she does there is a flicker not of resentment but something akin to it, not directed to them but to herself. want, maybe. guilt, maybe. touching isn’t the same as being touched, and beau wants someone to want to touch her, to care enough to see what she needs. it feels ungracious of her but...to give back a little of what she gives.

the closer they get to kamordah, the more beau remembers that it’s not going to happen again. she made a fool of herself, panicking, which is why they held her.

things work in particular ways. beau knows this. the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. the seasons follow in their set pattern. small fish eat smaller fish, big fish eat the smaller fish. things have their uses, their purposes.

beau doesn’t get to need things. that’s not who she is. she isn’t the one who needs a hug or a pat on the shoulder. she won’t get one, so—

a hand wriggles into her own. tries to, but beau has it clenched into a painful fist so jester wraps her hand arojnd her wrist instead, fingers curling and stroking there and over beau’s knuckles.

‘okay?’ she asks brightly, worry clear in her eyes.

beau swallows hard. her smile ticks at the corner of her mouth but doesn’t stick. ‘sure. why not, right?’

‘maybe because your family seems like shit,’ yasha says in a low, angry rumble. her hand is big and warm and it rubs up and down beau’s spine. makes beau’s stomach flip and twist, makes her breath crackle out of her on a shuddering breath. she almost steps away from the touch—it’s too much—but she’s greedy. that’s another thing beau is. smart ass, shit kicker, smart, greedy. four things that she is. she unfurls one hand. jester takes it, squeezes.

#cr tag #tagging my stories #prompt fill

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prorevenge · 5 years

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Racist mom tries to bribe son to dump me, I gain power over everything she cares about.

This is gonna be a LONG post lol, may have gotten exact timing sequences out of order.

Met a guy that we had mutual friends with and invited him to hang out with my friends and do fun stuff. Later learned he was not even allowed to hang out with my crowd cuz his mother was the very strict and hypocritical sort who thought everyone else was inferior to her precious kids. Guy was telling them he was doing work or something. Eventually he told them he wanted to date me and they flipped. The dad doesn’t have much say in the house and the mom (EM) was livid.

You know how Amish people don’t like rock and “sinful” music? Or females that wear shorts and tanks? Yuuup basically her. She went through my social medias and literally compiled and printed out giant lists of every country song I’d ever posted or concert I’d been to or clothing she thought was too provocative along and gave it to the pastors at both of our churches. EP called MY mom at 2am a couple times to rant and rave about “how could she let her daughter do such sinful things and flirt with boys yada yada yada”. She made racist remarks to Guy (I’m a super cute half Asian half messican, and all of his family is pale white golden haired angels) and even asked him if I’d molested him (I’m 5’ 2” and he’s literally a foot taller than me) and if that’s why he wanted to date and marry me. He was still at home and they went on a family trip to Colorado. Or as it turned out to be an exorcism style prayer meeting over Guy because EM just knows there must be a demon or something wrong with him. Oh and this was only within a span of a few months while he saved up to move the hell out.

Nope not over yet. EM then was harassing his work, his new church pastors (mine), his friends, got one of his business partners to leave him with lies that Guy is “bipolar” and “Schizophrenic”, thankfully most of the people had our back and we had some good laughs over what outrageous things they told us. Even driving an hour and a half to his apartment (I know dumb move to let them know where he moved to), in the middle of the night a couple times to harass and berate him and blubber about how everyone would judge her and how her reputation was going to suffer and church standing, she even dragged his two younger siblings into it all and told him they were heartbroken that he moved out and all the reasons he needed to move back home. Cue even more fun, one night he was just done so when they showed up to again try and bully him into moving back home or at least dumping me, he just up and left. Got in his mini and drove away. AND THEY FOLLOWED HIM. Unbelievable right? He used to race his mini so he lost them pretty quickly and booked it over to where I lived and spent the night there. I know, why not call the cops right? Well there was no physical damage or threats thereof. Yes she’s been verbally and borderline physically abusive to him growing up, think patriarchy super conservatives but it’s a matriarchy. At one point EM asked Guy what it would take for him to dump me, what amount of money could she pay him (Guys dad makes buttloads of moola, yeah those kind of people) to get me out of his life and for him to move back home. SHE TRIED TO BRIBE HIM TO LEAVE ME. She’d threatened to disown him and all the typical rich EP stuff before and knew he didn’t care. EM even called all his guy friends and asked if Guy has ever had any “homosexual” tendencies etc. Next month Guy proposed, and EM was SO MAD that she heard about it for the first time from a mutual friend congratulating her on the upcoming wedding! So of course she calls all the pastors and REEEEs about how we’ve been living in sin (kicker, we hadn’t even done the dirty dance but she didn’t bother asking) and telling everyone that they shouldn’t attend the wedding etc. Yea call us prudes :p EM also printed out all the reasons why I wasn’t good enough for her son and handed those out like candy to church leaders. Then when that had no effect she switched tactics and did the same thing with all her reasons why he was immature and shouldn’t get married and should move back home and be parented. Still no effect, except my dad at a huge meeting where she tried to distribute those, gathered them all back up and handed them to her and told her to stop slandering us and said how ungodly that was. And she stood there baffled and all the other people present agreed with my dad and told her to put those papers away. EMs exact words “but but I thought the very reason everyone is here is to show Guy why he needs to leave that girl and move back home!” I couldn’t help a giggle and a few other people couldn’t either. That meeting is a whole nother story, it was hilarious.

Where is the revenge you ask? Well all that was just the tip of the iceberg of course, but the revenge has been pretty simple. Spend a few obvious nights (SLEEPING ONLY) at his place, just to trigger her, but ofc our pastors and friends knew we’d committed to abstinence our entire lives up to the wedding (hella yea wedding night was killer) and other things like that to get under her skin but nothing that anyone else thought was bad. Very publicly plan and execute a HUGE wedding (over 500 people) and tell everyone about how our relationship is so beautiful and holy and how Gods destiny brought us together yada yada. She made a couple extra hoops for our pastors but we jumped through them with flying colors and everyone except her thought we were the cutest most Christian kosher thing. So basically to save face she had to fake smile and accept all the congratulations and be secretly embarrassed that we didn’t invite her to the wedding showers (she said she never wanted to see me and wouldn’t go to the wedding) and made excuses as to why she hadn’t gone, EM couldn’t tell her friends that we hadn’t invited her now could she? She went after the best man too and he almost decided against being the best man she was such a hassle and he was a pushover, but I told him the best passive way to deal with her is tell her that he wants to be there for his friend and how could she argue with that? She didn’t. But of course, what’s better than forcing her to attend the wedding but not allowing her to ruin it? Extremely petty I know, but I’m a drama llama and have enjoyed 98% of all this. I of course get ahold of EMs own mom and get to know her and she’s very sweet and loves me to death, along with Guys siblings and his dad, as many of EMs own friends and their families etc. So everyone loves me and when we invite them all to the wedding, they strong arm her into coming. I have my cop friends who have been having a heyday hearing about all this drama coming in for the wedding, one of them I make my MC so if she tried anything, not only would they take care of her swiftly, but she would also deeply embarrass herself because there was no denying that there were 500+ people there who loved Guy and I, including a lot of her friends. The ceremony was great, went off without a hitch, oh wait... I am not a bridezilla so if anything went wrong it was fine and the drama was cracking me up, I was a little disappointed she didn’t try anything drastic, but I could see on her face the entire time that EMs smile was sooo fake, and I got reports that she was seen crying outside later. Watching people congratulate her was priceless. When my own friends congratulated her a few of them later told me that she seemed surprised that I had any “respectable” friends (her literal words) who thought well of me. And no I’d arranged her to be only in one photo so she couldn’t ruin any others.

Oh and our wedding day was only the 3rd time she’d ever set eyes on me. She was against me from the start for almost a year without ever having spoken a word or ever seen me in person. Take that EM. To this day I have no idea what was her real beef with me. Happy ending: now that I provided the first grandkids, to my chagrin they’re like baby Targaryens they’re so white, and of course she’s too “young” to be a grandma so she’s called “nana”, but we laid down ground rules and she knows we will ostracize her at the drop of a hat, and she has kissed butt so hard and to her credit done her best to mend everything without ever really actually mentioning any of it. It’s great. We have holidays and fun visits in between and she showers us with super expensive gifts and will drop everything possible to help if we need anything. I think we’re friends now. One day I think she might bring it all up and try and play the victim, idk, but she’ll be hit with a carefully detailed account of everything that went down, in case her memory “fails” her. I can forgive but I’ll never forget, after all, I got my delicious revenge. Power over everything she holds dear and the evidence to expose whatever she hasn’t already done by her own dumb self and absolutely ruin her reputation and community and church standing. I feel really good right now

TLDR entitles mom wants to be petty about me dating her son so I take petty to another universe levels and crush her with epicc facts and logic and hold all the cards to ruin her life now

(source) story by (/u/cyborgurl)

#prorevenge #by /u/cyborgurl #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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gaming-rabbot · 7 years

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Rabbot Reviews: Night in the Woods

Painfully relatable, wonderfully colorful, delightfully charming, and exasperatingly existential.

Imagine a much tamer BoJack Horseman, with a colorful flourish and sense of nostalgia reminiscent of Hotline Miami, mixed with the millennial Scooby-Doo gang vibe of Oxenfree. Also imagine if Life is Strange felt less artificial with its blatant farce of an attempt at understanding hip kid lingo, and that Firewatch actually bothered going somewhere with its thriller esque setup and plot hooks.

That’s a jumbled mess of words, but also a perfect descriptor for the subject of this review: Night in the Woods.

Night in the Woods stars the unassuming Mae Borrowski, a 20 year old college dropout who has returned to her podunk, middle-of-nowhere, boring town, where nothing good ever happened to anybody, least of all Mae.

Upon return, she’s met with passive-aggression spiced concern from parents who honestly just want to know what their only child is going through, and friends who all either already have or are in the process of growing up and moving on in life. Thus, her return meant to ease her back into the comforts of nostalgia and something resembling normalcy only seem to cause her more anxiety and strife.

Also the crushingly slow and depressing realization that life has no meaning and nothing we do in the universe actually matters. But hey, one thing at a time, right guys?

Last call for a (mild) spoiler warning.

The very first thing to note is that Night in the Woods is a certain type of game. And if you grit your teeth and practically feel your blood boil at the very thought of this type of game, first I might suggest seeing a doctor, but second and more importantly, NitW more than likely will not change your mind about this type of game.

I am referring, of course, to the ever-fun and totally-never-controversial-topic, the walking simulator. Where things like failure states scarcely show their faces, and gameplay mostly takes a backseat to narrative.

And by backseat, this sometimes means a bus. A very long bus.

I’ve talked about it before, but nobody reads my reviews, so I’ll say it again: I personally have absolutely no qualm nor quibble with the existence of this new and befuddling genre of video game. At least, not at face value. When the only thing a game is properly offering is a narrative, then I won’t hold that against the game, so long as said narrative can deliver. Not like Firewatch or Life is Strange, where the lack of an actual game further hampers the lack of a good or wholly competent story.

Besides, variety is the spice of life, my friend, despite what certain YouTube personalities will tell you. And a diverse offering of games means a diverse offering of self-proclaimed “gamers,” which goes on to mean the industry can only grow and get better as a whole with market expansion. You know, the only good part of capitalism; more media getting produced to the point where that incredibly niche thing you always wanted to see get made, well, finally getting made.

You know the one.

More to the point, I ask that narrative heavy games deliver. And deliver Night in the Woods did, with a fairly agreeable amount of competence.

It is at this point in the review, where the review has yet to actually begin, that I’d like to announce that I had been looking forward to this game for three years, ever since I first laid eyes on the Kickstarter trailer.

(Which, by the way, this game was funded via Kickstarter, so take that extra tidbit for what you will. I know it’s a touchy subject after things like Mighty No. 9.)

After which point, however, the game experienced something like three or four release delays, which speaks to me of a dev team possibly severely underestimating how long it takes to actually make a game. Or overestimating their own capabilities? Who knows.

Part of me worries that I can’t be objective, though. The game seemed to have won my heart long before I’d ever get to see a finished product. Could I have been blinded by my bias?

No. The answer is no.

Almost entirely for those aforementioned, nigh-constant release delays. Couple that with Infinite Falls putting out not one, but two mini games set in universe, instead of, oh I don’t know, the game people paid them to make? In an ounce of fairness, I’ve come to retroactively appreciate said mini games, as they do add to the lore.

And I’m a sucker for lore.

Perhaps I’m being petty, and somehow retroactively less petty, but my bias and unconditional love and goodwill slowly faded in direct relation to every year after the originally announced release date I had to wait. And as I sat down to start, and even as I completed the game, I asked myself: was it worth the wait?

Mm. Yeah, pretty much.

Okay, I should probably slow down. Maybe give some kind of buildup before spilling the final thoughts all out like that.

One of the first things you notice about Evening in the Forest, aside from how humorously long it takes to actually see all the characters in the woods at night time, is the screen constantly saturated with lots of orange, red, and brown. The fall colors are heavily emphasized, not merely because that’s the season the story takes place in, but the colors are exaggeratedly warm, so to match the cozy comforts the protagonist, Mae (remember Mae?), is seeking to feel deep down in her guts again.

But rather than that being the case, Mae’s hometown immediately feels cold and unfamiliar, which the game emphasizes by instead starting you off on the outskirts in the dead of night mostly by yourself. And the game world is introduced with lots of dark colors, mainly blues.

It’s easy to tell that color-play was set to be a key design aesthetic early in development.

This is matched and mirrored as even the primary cast are color coded in much the same way. Mae’s parents who forgot about her first night back are both dark, ash gray; cold. Gregg gives Mae the most excited welcome back of the crew, and he’s a ruddy orange; warm. Bea is distant at first, making undercutting jabs at Mae’s character, and she’s a muted teal; cold. Finally, Angus is friendly enough, if a tad mellow, and he’s the brown bear (who’s also a bear, ha (bam, super funny, original joke)); yeah, pretty warm.

The next to overkill levels of clear-cut color-play give the game a sort of story book vibe, which is further highlighted by the simple shapes that make up the models and the cartoonish proportions all the characters have; e.g., eyes make up a third of the real estate on any given face, which can sometimes be as tall or wide as the body it’s sitting on.

The bright, saturated, vivid colors of any given background, the color coding of warm and cold characters, the toony looks; it all drives home to evoke that very same feeling of familiarity and nostalgia Mae is seeking at the start of the game. As though to remind the player of simpler, more innocent times. It’s waking up on a Saturday morning at a young age to watch cartoons, that sort of thing. It’s the charming bait that demands your attention first. And the player, much like Mae, finds the hook a lot less charming with the panged stings of being proverbially stabbed by a cold and indifferent reality.

Reality tends to set in on this game like a sack of bricks. I found myself saying “that got a little too real there for a sec” so often, I figure it may as well be on the box.

(Well. You know. If the game had a box.)

It’s around this point, after the main cast is thoroughly introduced, that the game starts to really pick up. The pacing is solid enough; I never felt complacent, like I was waiting for the next bit of plot to happen. It’s slow exactly when and where it needs to feel slow. And for the rest of the time, the game is throwing sudden Guitar Hero segments at you.

When chatting with a friend about this, he admitted he found Mae’s movement speed plodding and felt it dragged the pacing down too much. It’s not something that bothered me, but I can see where there’s a case for it.

Here’s where the more “gamey,” for lack of a better term, side of the game comes in. At various intervals, the game will introduce a brand new mini game with its own self-contained set of mechanics. There’s a lot of variety here, and for the most part, they never outstay their welcome.

The only properly recurring one is the bass-playing segment. And though it’s possible to fail these (very possible in the case of the Pumpkin Head Guy song), the game will carry on regardless. In a way, Night in the Woods does actually have failure states, but the player doesn’t lose any progress when it happens.

Then the gang finds a severed arm!

Around that part, though, the game introduces a game within the game, in the form of a game on Mae’s laptop by the name of Demontower. And what a pleasant surprise, it’s a decent all around top down slash and dash, action affair. The amount of effort that went into it is shocking, considering it could’ve easily just been a cute little one-off gag. But no, it’s a completely legitimate game, with a full tale, its own set of mechanics, and several decently challenging boss fights punctuating each randomized level.

It’s the kind of thing I’d pay maybe ten bucks for (usd), but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the value of my purchase with NitW go up a bit, considering there’s basically two games for the price of one here. Plus it might just placate one who finds dialogue heavy games dull. Who knows, but it’s a stellar addition either way.

I also adore that the developers wasted no opportunity to try and enhance their story, as they even worked symbolism relevant to the story at hand into the miniature side game on Mae’s laptop. The very first boss of any Demontower run looks remarkably like a certain muted teal gothic gator girl.

But, and here’s the kicker: this boss doesn’t do anything, and dies in one hit.

Surely it’s a reference to Bea’s semi-combative nature toward Mae at the start, and how easily that folds away when she remembers their shared history. It’s a really unnecessary metaphor they didn’t have to include, but it stuck with me that they even did. Although, in the interest of fairness, I feel I must admit it’s not exactly subtle.

In fact, it’s about as subtle as that severed arm I mentioned earlier, then stopped talking about.

I did this to draw comparison the somewhat noticeable lull between traumatic and supernatural events. Because while I said the story beats in of themselves never felt too far apart, I have to admit, again in fairness, that it seems to take a good while for the payoff of things like this. I will say though, payoff does come in due time, and NitW more or less sticks the landing well enough.

Take the backstory of Mae beating a kid’s face in with a metal bat during her little league game, for example.

To be perfectly frank, I figured the game would never have any kind of payoff for this at all. This or the actual reason why Mae came home from college. The cynic in me is alive and well, and I fully believed the writers would take the easy route and leave it all up to the imagination. But no, they actually explain it all, and explain it fairly well.

Mae has a mental thing where she rarely loses touch with reality, seeing only basic shapes where actual things and people are supposed to be. And a statue at college made up of basic shapes caused a mental relapse in her psyche, sending her spiraling into extremely self-destructive habits she couldn’t break herself out of. I’m certain there’s a proper term for this, but I’m not well read enough to know what it might be.

Effort like that put into creating a solid trunk for the rest of the story to branch off of is grand. And a relief, after dealing with games like Firewatch, where the backstory is so inconsequential, it’s picked out of a seemingly random assortment of vague synopses so as to snugly slot in any old referential dialogue between the bread of real plot.

In that regard, Dusk in the Trees fits nicely on the same shelf of Oxenfree.

Now that I think of it, both games are on that same shelf for a lot of similarities; the gaggle of young adults having complex relationships filled with strife and friction, the overt metaphor of them struggling to deal with supernatural elements where said supernature stands in for the responsible adulthood they’re on the precipice of, branching dialogue options used to explore character relations, the heavy and pervasive sense of nostalgia on the air like so many flitting dust particles in an old abandoned barn at sunset, etc.

Not that I mind having a couple eerily similar games, though. They’re a couple of the only games I’ve ever been able to relate to on such a deeply emotional and personal level. And I feel like that’s kind of the big foundation at the bottom of it all; relatability and realness to keep you grounded amidst all the severed arms, and ghost stories, and murder cults.

Whenever I watched Mae talk to her mom, I felt twinges of chills. Because I could almost swear I’d had those exact conversations with my own mother. We snark at each other in much of the same sarcastic way Mae and her mom do. I’ve even felt similar pressure Mae has about her education and how she’s going to handle the entire rest of her life.

It… hurts. It actually sort of hurts just how relatable this all is.

When walking down the main drag through Possum Springs (the ingame town), deja vu washed over me time and again. The urban decay of old businesses that never seem to last, the new franchised ones that seemingly cropped up from nowhere, the random animal people walking by who remarkably resemble random human people I’ve walked by in my own small, nothing special hometown; it all felt entirely too familiar.

It’s truly astounding how a game where the main character dreams about meeting god, and it’s not absolutely clear whether it actually happened, somehow managed to feel this real to life.

I’ve often commented on how relatability is not the end-all, be-all of good storytelling, let alone good character building. Though it does help, it’s better when the characters are this fun, charming, and sincere. And I feel like the writers really nailed that aspect, instead of relying on all the chest clutching of players like me who felt they’ve been there before.

Whatever smaller qualms I have with the story at large, I can’t deny how hard Infinite Falls got me to fall madly in love with this cast.

This game found me at I feel the perfect time in my life. It’s the angsty teen to young adult adventure I always wanted to see in a video game. This is my “that incredibly niche thing you always wanted to see get made, finally getting made.” And if you’re anything like me, then the story will resonate with you too.

Honestly, I can’t recommend this game enough. It’s not as perfect as I make it sound; there are a few grammar mistakes and a couple graphical issues. But if you can look past that, and gameplay ultimately not being the point, you’ll find a pretty solid, genuine-feeling story.

#rabbot reviews #video games #review #Night in the Woods #mild spoilers #long post

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rickhiebert · 6 years

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Warning: Newspaper at Play (featuring “Patty Hearst” )

The Magic Blue Editor’s Dress. Did you have it around during your own years at The Ubyssey?

Anyways....people at The Ubyssey used to have the money, editorial space and inclination to overtly try to have fun with what they were doing.

For example, in 1964-65, future Prime Minister Kim Campbell was a darling on campus as the first year student’s representtative on the AMS council. She was always getting covered in the paper, had her picture taken, and such.

In March 1965, she turned 18. In the March 11, 1965 issue there was a photo of a male student holding up to her a giant sign saying “18 Now you’re...”with a picture of the silhouette of a back panther that they used to use to show that a film was “RESTRICTED” and only those 18 an above could go see it. Fortunately it was a big sign that the possibly naked guy holding the sign right in front of him was showing to Miss Campbell...

Campbell took life with the ‘geers’, UBC’s Engineering students, in stride, As part of her AMS responsibilites, she had an office. She quipped to a Ubyssey reporter that she had “an open door policy” because the ‘geers had swiped the door to her AMS office.

The Ubyssey played along with another prank by the ‘geers. In February 1963, several abstract statues of nude seeming figures appeared on campus.

Late that month a picket appeared beside the statues. “Ralph the mystery picket” was protesting with signs around the statues complaining that they were indecent. “Ralph” and some friends put clothes on the statues.

In September 1963, eight brand new statues mysteriously appeared on campus. Some of the statues were near or next to the genuine ones that UBC had put out in the spring.

On Ctober 2, the engineers struck. Several dozen of them took crowbars and sledgehammers to the brand new statues, not, please note, the old ones. Photos of the destruction were run in the Ubyssey.

The Ubyssey revealed that it had been a glorious prank and the paper had been in on it. Students and faculty had been talking about the newer statues for weeks, but, The Ubyssey reported “no one had bothered to find out if they were real.”

The paper added that the statues “were fakes put on the campus by the engineering students to prove that UBC didn’t know junk from art.”

The Ubyssey also used to cover the T-Cup football game in the spring. Surely, this tradition is long gone...Female students in the Nursing and the Family and Nutritional Sciences faculties would suit up and play a game on a big field.

The ‘geer’s love of shells of old Volkswagen Beetle cars, was usually covered by The Ubyssey. Such as the amazing places they would be put, such as on the top of Buchnan Tower, the student residence, or hanging from the Lion’s Gate Bridge.

The Ubyssey scored big in 1975. The Engineering Undergraduate Society used to have a newpaper called The Red Rag. The Red Rag was typeset at College Printers, the same place where The Ubyssey was also typset and printed. [My very first year at the paper, we did “contra deals” with restauraunts. The Ubyssey will trade an ad in the paper for the restaurant feeding a table of Ubyssey staffers on production night. We’d eat and then carry on to Collge Printers where we’d “put the paper to bed “.]

So, 1975. The Ubyssey staff gathered at College Printers. They noticed that a special edition of The Red Rag was laid out on “flats” to be put out soon during “Engineering Week” So, they got out a typewriter, hand drew some cartoons and had some new “headlines” ypeset and all of a sudden, The Red Rag had become Maoist.

The Red Rag was published before the next Ubyssey. While students laughed at the Red Rag complaining that the UBC administration was “revanchist” The Ubyssey primly had a story wondering who had done the foul deed.

From the 1920s to 1940s, the Ubyssey had regular humour columns, Eric Nicol got his start at The Ubyssey before becoming a famous Canadian humorist. In 1947, Nicol had a prank played on him by fellow Ubyssey staffer Les Bewley--the latter would become a judge and then a ideologically conservative Vancouver Sun columnist.

During my own time at The Ubyssey, I did a story on one of Nicol’s later books. I’d heard of the prank and asked Nicol about it for a sidebar story.

Bewley, Nicol told me, took a donations can and collected money. When he had enough money, Bewley went downtown to Birks and had a plaque made. It was erected in Brock Hall As of the 1990s, the plaque was still up and I took a photo of it for The Ubyssey, which it ran with this story.

Nicol remembered that UBC professor G.G. Sedgewick was persuaded to officiate at the grand unveiling of the plaque, which read : “In Loving Memory of JABEZ (Eric P. Nicol) beloved campus humorist who for a full decade gave to his fellow man the precious gift of laughter.”

Sedgewick was not impressed.

Nicol remembered: “It was a very small gathering., around lunchtime, and Sedgewich was fed up with the whole thing too, and figured that it was some kind of a lark. All he could do was tear the cloth off the plaque, mutter a few obscenites, and stride off back to his classes.”

The Ubyssey has always had a sense of humour about itself.

For example, when The Ubyssey’s offices were much more of a place to hang out and get to know people than it seems to be these days. They would have year end dinners.

There. staffers would get joke “awards” that gently teased them in good humour. Over the years, I got and kept several of them..

Here is one I got:

I can’t forget The Magic Blue Editor’s Dress.

At the very top of this post, you’ll see a photo of an innocent Ubyssey staffer who had been dared to try on the dress, went to the bathroom and came back wearing it.

He had to know that a camera was witing for his return.

Anyways, several swarthy guys were featured in various staff recruitment ads over the years wearing the MBED. It has to be long gone, and current Ubyssey staff probably have no idea that it ever existed. Just like the framed photo of Enver Hoxha that we had to use to illustrate a news story one night.

Cub reporter Tom Wayman (yes, *the* Tom Wayman) found SFU in 1963, as it was being built. A series of “gag’ photos followed Wayman on his quest over the next two weeks on his quest to find “Simon Fraser Academy” or SFA” as the waggish Ubyssey dubbed it.

The series ended with a composite faked picture of future SFU chancellor-to-be Gordon Shrum isitting at a desk in an otherwise empty clearing.

“Shrum” is quoted as saying: “This, all this is mine. All this is SFA” (Hint: not “Simon Fraser Academy)

The Ubyssey still likes to do parodies of print media today. During my own years there, it parodied The Completely Straight (Georgia Straight), The Vancouver Stunned (Vancouver Sun) The Gripe and Wail (Globe and Mail) and The Provincial Enquirer (Province).

I’ll finish with an old Ubyssey tradition that it doesn’t have the space for any more, the “joke story”.

It read as if it could be plausible...until you read the “turn” of the story on another page. In my time, there were two phone lines in SUB 241K, with two different phone numbers. One year, we did a “joke story” that students were going to get an extra GST cheque. We gave a phone number for getting information about the cheque and it was the second number, which we never printed in the paper. We got calls for two months on that line after the “GST” “joke story ran. I know. I fielded lots of them.

Of course, the kicker was to read the “turn” of the story.. When The Ubyseey went on to quote The Queen, Moammar Quadaffi and The Pope all saying ridiculous things, the penny was supposed to drop.

The story that ran on page one of the Nov. 26 1974 Ubyssey succeded spectacularly. People neded to “read the turn” and think about it. But they didn’t.

A journalist should have smelled a rat. First, the story is the bottom one of the page instead of trumpeting a scoop.

Here is a hyperlink to that paper as saved on the UBC Library’s online PDF files:

http://www.library.ubc.ca/archives/pdfs/ubyssey/UBYSSEY_1974_11_26.back

Heiress Patty Hearst, older readers may recall, had been kidnapped in February by the Sybionese Liberation Army. After participating in a bank robbery, the FBI was avidly looking for Hearst.

Then The Ubyssey was naughty. It reported that Hearst had come to campus for a couple of hours and given an impromptu speech to ‘students in “Totem Park cafeteria”.

A murky photo of a long haired woman--shot from the back and cradling a shotgun in one arm--ran withe the story. A Ubyssey staffer of course.

A cassette recording of “Hearst’s” speech reportedly mysteriously appeared in a Ubyssey mailbox. in it she says “The dark majesty of proletarian oneness could not be shaken loose.”

The “story” goes on to note that “Hearst” got a standing ovation for her speech. However, the “turn” of the story quotes the UBC “Food service director as being asked why cafeteria workers hadn’t noticed “Hearst” in the cafeteria. And some other people being silly. A tip off that it is “fake news” as the term is today.

So there you go. Two days later, two letters in The Ubyssey had fun with the story. One letter says “I happen to know personally that Patty Hearst is dead....So stop looking for her. Sign me ‘anonymous’ Patty Hearst Windsor, Ontario.”

One last piece of Ubyssey lore about this “joke story”. In my day, there were huge plywood desks in SUB241K. One had a big gash in one side. I was told that it was where an angry news cameraman, part of a crew that had driven up from KOMO TV in Seattle, had kicked it.

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