MSPA Fanfiction IV

[Caprisaurus]

...Like Enoby from My Immortal?
Minus all the gothik and emo though

[Metaflare]

...Like Enoby from My Immortal?
Minus all the gothik and emo though

no
NO

no one should ever even think about making something like that again

[crash826]

...Like Enoby from My Immortal?
Minus all the gothik and emo though

no
NO

no one should ever even think about making something like that again

the suepressure would mess with my head
specifically
land it a good forty feet away from me

[Katrika]

Very well, you shall have it tonight!

Just a description?

[SkaianRedeemer]

Enoby, except as a Troll-Human hybrid with the powers of a First Guardian, self-prototyped.

[Caprisaurus]

Enoby, except as a Troll-Human hybrid with the powers of a First Guardian, self-prototyped.

YESSSS
YESSSS

I can smell the terror already
OH OH!!
Make it's quirk/speech look like it was from the fanfic the sue was based on!!
: D

[Katrika]

...yes.

It is brilliant.

I shall name this abomination unto Paradox space.

[Bratmon]

Try here:
http://www.mspaforums.com/showthread...ary-Sue-thread

[KarneWarrior]

Just a description?

Preferably a whole story.

I want to have to smell my keyboard. >:}

But yeah a discriptions fine if you want to.

[Katrika]

Alright, tomorrow or today, then.

[Wigmund]

So this Ultra-Sue is required to deal with my Cal?

HOO HOO HEE HEE

Can't wait for this clash of titans.

[Katrika]

ABKDE

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-video log. Mysterious transmission received. The captain can be seen putting it on the main screen-

Hello.

My name is Angelik Beauty Kursed (pronounced kurse-ed, thankyouverymuch) Darkness English. I’m the teenage daughter of Lrod English himself! But I’m good, so I beat up my father and told him not to do bad stuff anymore! Then I yelled at Bek Noir, and now he’s my loyal sekond in kommand! I’m so beautiful it’s a kurse, so all the good guys are too shy to talk to me! –sigh- I really wish they’d talk to me! I just want to be normal! Oh, but if I were normal, I wouldn’t be able to be a rokk star sekret agent supermodel rokket scientist sharpshooter! I have wings, and one of them is an angel wing and one of them is a bat wing, and my eyes change kolor, and I have long blonde hair but the kolor of the tips change all the time, and I like to wear super-awesome kool klothing!

I fight with katana kind only it also turns into a giant robot suit, and I’ve got a really good singing voice, and I’m supernice but also mean when I have to be, and and and

-it was at this point that the captain shot the screen and then himself, screaming something about the ‘coming horror’.-

[Caprisaurus]

..-giggles uncontrollably-
I think Cal is going to face something he won't be able to defeat

[KarneWarrior]

..-giggles uncontrollably-
I think Cal is going to face something he won't be able to defeat

The power of LOVE????

:O

[apocalypticCritic]

.... Oh lord.

[Katrika]

You like, Karne?

[midnightAgony]

..-giggles uncontrollably-
I think Cal is going to face something he won't be able to defeat

The power of LOVE????

:O

Haven't you watched Scott Pilgrim?! The power of Self Respect is stronger!!!

[Nexev]

You forgot the extremly tragic past that is a half assed way to attempt to get sympathy from the audiance.

[Sionnan]

So here's some more Strider!fic.

Dave watches Bro make some money at one of his less appealing side jobs- partner at a fight club.

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It began with a phonecall. Dave was in the middle of trying to make Chun Li beat the crap out of the pink-hued version of herself on his brother's retro SNES when he heard his bro's ringtone go off. Bro wasn't anywhere in the room as far as Dave was aware of, but hell if he was going to tear his eyes away from this spectacular biznasty of a terrifyingly muscled Asian chick beating up her clone.

"Bro!"

The phone kept ringing, and the Asian chicks kept smacking each other, and still no Bro.

"Bro!" Man these paddles were brutal. His hands felt like they were going to fall off.

The door to the stairs opened, and Bro popped his head in. "Sup?"

Dave, eyes still glued to the screen, shouted, "Phone! What the hell are you doing out there?"

He didn't need to look to see the wry quirk to his brother's mouth as he went in search of his persistent communication device. One layer of noise was cut off as Bro located the phone, and took the call. "Hey, brah, wazzup?"

Dave kept one ear on the kickin' fight music and one ear on his brother's conversation. Bro had assumed a hipshot, slouched posture. "Yeah?

"No, I'm free tonight. What's happenin'? ... Kay. Uh huh. Well, what about Toussaint, isn't he around? He's- wait, money? How much? Hm."

Dave won his fight, knocking Chun Li flat on her rounded ass. She let out this disconsolate bird cry, and he made a face at the screen as the stat screen came up, showing a fiery eyed Chun Li counterposed against a really fucked up Chun Li. What was with these old fighter games?

"Yeah, I still got it. How many? Only one. Hn. Ahhh." Bro swung to look at Dave, and away again. "I gotta bring an escort." He grinned. "Yeah, baddest motherfucker around. Okay, but I want it all upfront, and it'll be thirty minutes top. You know it. Alright, be there at seven." Bro took the phone down and punched the end button, and turned to head back out. Dave was torn between asking Bro what was up, and abstaining because eventually if it had to do with him, he'd hear about it.

Thankfully, Bro gave in just before he headed out the door again. "Hey, I gotta go somewhere at seven. I'd appreciate if you came, get my back."

Dave looked over, studiously nonchalant. "Where?"

Bro seemed to consider how to answer this. Finally he decided upon, "Fighting ring. Some homies want me to set up and show off for the fresh blood."

Daves eyebrows popped up. "Cool. So I can watch?"

"Yeah." Bro checked his phone again, gauging the time. "We'll head out in a few hours." Dave shrugged, turning back to his game. He heard the door closing behind Bro as he left again.
______

It was a kind of bizarre form of Fight Club. It was just some basement of a bar, but it seemed to stretch on forever in a creepy expanse of cement and bare lightbulbs. A few dozen people were packed in the room, and they'd formed a ring in a group-agreed center. When Dave voiced as much, one of the female friends of his bro, who was busy winding tape around her knuckles, glanced sharply at him, and said, "You've watched Fight Club."

Dave shrugged.

She shook her head, and breathed something to herself about Strider being such a crappy parent. Dave pretended he didn't hear her. Instead, he watched as Bro prepped himself, stretching and going through tightly controled patterns of motions.

"One thing you gotta do," said the tough-looking Hispanic prowling around the ring. "Is not let the pain stop you." He reached over, put a hand against bro's left shoulder, and hand under his shoulder blade, and cleanly dislocated the joint. Bro's breathing stopped for a second, and he sagged, and the shorter guy propped him up as he said, "Not let your incapacities slow you down." Dave winced at this, watching as Bro re-established his balance. His face had gone pale, and his gaze was flat. He had retreated into himself.

Meanwhile, the Hispanic guy edged away from Bro, "And still fight." He aimed a flat-handed slap at Bro.

Who, to his immense self control, did not simply vanish out from under the slap. It was almost in slow motion that he arced out of the way, like the forward breeze from the blow pushed him.

The two men began to spar, because to call it a fight would be misnaming it. It was a test, not a battle, and Dave knew that they knew that if this were real, even with Bro's fucked up limb, the fight would have been done already. The Hispanic guy fought like an acrobat-kickboxer, and with Bro crippled as he was, he stayed rooted to the ground, blocking and batting away the volley of strikes with ease. His face had flowed into a serene mask, and Dave could see him taking steady breaths in through his nose, out through his mouth.

After a while, the spar fell into a rhythm. It had a peculiar beat all to itself, unique to the two combatants and the skirmish. Without realizing it, Dave's left heel had begun knocking out the median beat, while his brain concocted some kind of accompanying fight music. He kind of liked watching fights, he decided; it let him see a totally new side of what Bro refered to as an art, and what Dave mainly knew as punishing puppet raeg.

It let him see a side of his brother that normally wasn't obvious. Bro was obviously a mad chill dude, but the mock battle displayed how much skill he had at this, outside of beating on his little brother. It wasn't about winning, he saw as the guy aimed a roundhouse kick at Bro's head. Bro accepted the blow with one hand, rolling to the ground from the kick, to rise again on one knee.

To be subsumed by Hispanic battle fury. To have his limbs locked, and a grimace seared across his face as his dislocated joint was abused.

Dave watched as the guy whispered something into his brother's ear. Something small passed between them. Something that was kept between them and the gritty concrete floor inches from them.

There was an acquiescence. Dave felt something give, and saw the grip bro had on the dude's forearm slacken ever so slightly

And then the guy made Bro tap out. Bro's lanky limbs slumped, head lolling forward, and the guy gently put him on the ground. Another guy came forward from the side, and quicker than Dave could be horrified, popped Bro's shoulder back into place before he could regain consciousness. The Hispanic guy stood and turned to the crowd, and aimed a finger to the puddled man. "Strider just fought off a national kickboxing champ with a dislocated limb. That is what you all have to measure yourselves against. Meeting adjourned, meatbags."

The guy next to Bro, who Dave could see was probably a paramedic sitting in on a favor, was pressing smelling salts under Bro's nose. It had the desired effect, and Bro's chest fluttered as he came to, reaching up his good arm to push away the stuff. The medic automatically brought out a pen light and began flicking in Bro's face, who only sat up and said something to the medic that Dave couldn't quite catch.

Dave, ignoring the rest of the crowd, pushed through and over to his brother, who was allowing his arm to be put in a sling and strapped to his chest. He glanced up as Dave approached, and shot him his usual, ironic grin. "Hey, dude." Dave only nodded, glancing between the men on the floor. The medic looked to Dave and frowned, saying, "I can't believe you take your kid brother to this crap."

"Hey, he's done worse than this to me."

The medic glowered and only continued wrapping.

It took the Hispanic guy and the medic to help pull him upright. Bro established his balance, and then motioned Dave forward, and then grabbed his brother's shoulder as he got closer. Dave allowed him, and moved to support him more fully. "Man, if I knew you wanted your ass handed to you, we coulda done that at home."

"Yeah, but not for a couple thousand," Bro responded in a somewhat breathless tone, as the Hispanic dude handed him an envelope. He jammed it in one of Dave's copious pockets. Dave stopped just short of giving a scandalized sqwak, not because his brother was kind of groping him, but because his brother had pretty much let some guy beat the snot out of him for rent money. For some reason, he felt a little cheap.

Bro waved at the ringmaster, as much of a goodbye as he was going to give, and he steered Dave out of the basement and into the fading sunlight. It took them half a street before Dave was sure his voice was level enough to ask, "Why? Why go there and fight just to not win?" What he really wanted to ask was why he had sold out, but couldn't quite do it.

Bro glanced down at him, and then back to the buildings. He was silent for a few seconds. "You know why."

"But why not win? You could have, but you let him maim you," and Dave waved at the arm. "And you still could have won."

Bro made a face like he'd bitten something sour. "I didn't want to be all knowing lord and master of their crappy club. If I'd beaten Alejandro, it's the rules that I'm the top dog. And as much as I like resentful adoration, getting it from a bunch of sweaty dudes just ain't my thing."

"But... just for money? You make that much selling your slutty puppets."

Bro's wan face broke into a smile. "You know, man? I hope it's something you never do figure out." And he ruffled Dave's hair.

[Kawa]

Tactic, the stuff is there, even if you got an error. It does seem like the ol' quote bullshit is back though. I'm gonna have to cannibalize the relevant parts from my board.

After I read these new fics

edit: hand-edited Vriska's entry by FTP.

[Katrika]

Sionann, that was

[Kisame12]

You forgot the extremly tragic past that is a half assed way to attempt to get sympathy from the audiance.

Thats ok. That is easily solved by implied rape by Lord English.

[AppleTree]

Hmm. So, I'll just leave this here then?

HOLDING ON

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Her heart ached for him.
If she closed her eyes, she could imagine staying up late with him, their laughter quickly passing the time. She could imagine his carefree spirit, how his smile lit up any dim-lit room. She could imagine them sitting close enough that their hands brushed gently. And if she really tried, she could feel their fingers laced together. She would always hold on for as long as possible, not wanting to let him go. She could feel his hand sweep slowly through the tangled mess of her long black hair.
If it was quiet enough, she could hear his laughter, hear him say her name, as if he were right there in the room with her. But when she opened her eyes, he wasn’t there. He never would be. All the familiar comforts that Jade longed for, she could never have again.
Tears rolled her cheeks. Breathing should never be so hard.
She found herself alone, utterly alone.
All she had to lean on were memories.
Dave was forever gone.
Her heart ached for him, but now he was just a memory.

[crash826]

@AppleTree:

I have spent my life savings on horns to weep in

And I have already run out

DAMN THIS THREAD AND ALL THE AMAZING SADFIC WITHIN

[Nexev]

You forgot the extremly tragic past that is a half assed way to attempt to get sympathy from the audiance.

Thats ok. That is easily solved by implied rape by Lord English.

No, people DREAM of getting raped by Lord English.

The mere thought of his everchanging cues is enough to get any girl salivating.