I swear people, my life was complete just as I 'saw' them read that valentine fanfiction. I figured that they needed more love.
SHARE THE PEWDIECRY LOVE, PEOPLE~
Coverart by the awesome ~Sakura0blade at deviantart.
Warning: boyxboy, cross-dressing, swearing and crack in general.
Chapter 1 - How did I reach here again?
Cry found the concept of 'the damsel in distress who gets saved by the heroic knight in shining armor' to be downright annoying, and, dare he say it, over-used.
He had had quite enough of those cheesy romance novels or clichéd love movies where the heroine would fall headlong in love with the hero as soon as he saved her from the danger. (Usually, knowing today's cult, the 'danger' is actually an evil magician, or even a turned vampire wanting the heroine as a bride.) And soon after that, it was safe to expect that the perfect hero would sweep the heroine off her feet and will ensue to endless bouts of smooches and attempts to make new life in the bedroom.
Oh, how he abhorred that.
He thought the very idea of it all to be extremely fickle, a major eyesore to the general plotline of the story, and predictable enough to actually term it 'groan-worthy'.
In other words, he supposed he found it too…. Mainstream and unrealistic.
So remind him again, if he found those clichéd notions so appalling enough, why was he caught in an exact situation which accurately describes those concepts, now?
Ryan Terry, aged 23-years-old, known popularly in the internet gaming cult as 'Cryaotic', had no idea how, or the reason why, but he was dead sure on one thing.
If this was some kind of joke, he wasn't amused in the least, and the person who was pulling his leg was going to pay.
And he was not going to show any mercy.
Anyway, back to his current situation. He was currently situated in some sort of a 19th century American Frontier backdrop, with the Kansas wind blowing out the loose desert sand beneath his feet. He wasn't sure if this was actually in a game, or just a plain prank played on him, courtesy of Russ and the rest. (Who, Cry made a mental note to kill after he got out of this mess.) The last thing he remembered before he reached this strange part of America, was blacking out after playing a game he couldn't exactly remember the title of.
Cry shook the thoughts out of his head. He had more important things to take care of.
Like, figuring out what to do since now he is ages away from St. Petersburg…. Or most importantly, figuring out how to deal with the rather heavily-built, thick-mustached person who was now standing 6 feet away from him in an intimidating manner, and whose looks clearly spoke of violence.
The gamer thought it was safe to assume by his looks that he did not abide well with peace, and in fact, shouldn't take a genius' brain to figure out that the burly fellow, who was now eyeing him with a predatory glint dancing in his irises, was indeed a Wild West goon.
Oh, shit.
The goon smiled darkly, his gold canines glittering showily in the desert sun as he did so, and took a step forward. "Am I scaring ya', little doll?" He drunkenly slurred, and Cry winced, not before realizing that the man had labeled him with a feminine term. Doll? He was no doll, he was…
Wait a second.
He suddenly looked down to the attire he was wearing - A pink, medieval gown with lots of laces and sashes, additional pearls adorning the neckline and ribbons which flowed down to the bottom (and matching sun hat at that too), and by the very look of it, one could say that it was very expensive and the possessor obviously belonged to a wealthy family.
And Cry had the unfortunate luck of wearing it, especially in a time period and place, when and where the crime rates were infamous, and the goons could do anything to make sure the victim doesn't escape after they've had their share of loot.
Fuck. Just… Fuck.
Cry wished he could just melt into the Earth. What the hell was happening? Why was he dressed as a gal? How on Earth did he reach here? He mentally groaned and face palmed.
To be honest, he was starting to get a bit scared. He wished this was all done by his friends, fooling around and playing a prank on him.
"S… Scott?" He stuttered, backing away a bit in realization that the goon was proceeding towards 'her', "Alright, I give up. You guys win. It's real funny, you had me going. Now can we please get this over with?"
A deep-throated chuckle erupted from the goon's throat in response to the desperate pleads of the American gamer.
"Scott? Oh, hell no, sweet cheeks. I ain't no Scott, I'm just an ol' robber who just wants you to empty yer pockets so I can huv a decent drink." He grinned toothily, again.
His strides began to increase as Cry let out a whimper realizing that he couldn't hide his evident fear from the goon. This was no joke. This was actually real. He couldn't believe it.
None of it made any sense. Oh well, might as well tell him.
"I don't have anything with me…." He said nervously. The goon raised his eyebrow and gritted his teeth maliciously.
"Dontcha lie with me!" He exploded with rage. "I know yer have sumthin', 'coz aye can see yer' very rich. Now remove that foolish mask of yer's and out with all of yer' money. NOW."
Cry whimpered and backed even further away from the goon, but suddenly he sensed something that couldn't have, in any way, made the mess that he was currently situated in, any better. In fact it only made it worse.
Much…. Worse.
He suddenly couldn't feel the ground beneath the foot he had stepped backwards, before turning around and realizing that he was standing on the tip of a cliff belonging to a deep gorge. Any attempt to move even an inch backward would result in the imminent death with the rocks below.
'Oh, fuck my life.'
Now there was no use in trying. All of this was happening so suddenly and absurdly, he couldn't, for the life of him, try to find out an answer on even ONE event that was happening. He couldn't think coherently, he was on the verge of a mental breakdown and he had lost hope in trying to save his life.
Cry knew he had reached the end of his wits, when he caught a glimpse of the goon's hand slipping rapidly into his right pant-pocket, and within seconds he saw the inevitable event take place – the goon's pistol was retrieved and pointed promiscuously at him.
Fortunately, his porcelain 'Sup guy mask hid his facial features which had metamorphosed into a phizog that clearly signified horror. But unfortunately, his body language didn't collaborate with his brain and he trembled and cringed noticeably.
The gangster smirked victoriously, egotistical at the fact that the dangerous antecedent he just pulled created an intimidating effect on the masked 'lady'. Now she was bound to give into his demands.
He placed his finger on the trigger and the gun produced a sickening sound of the bullet being loaded.
"Yer have three seconds before I pull the trigger if yer' dun give yer money to me…" He drawled maliciously, "… And for feck's sake, throw that mask away!"
Cry instantaneously touched his mask in reflex. He couldn't show his face, no not when he had absolutely no idea what he should do, now that the more bulky of the two had the other at gun point. Should he blurt out that he was, in fact, a cross-dressing male, who has no recollection what-so-ever how he got the adjective, and suffer immediate death? Or should he just check the dress pockets to see whether there was any money that could have possibly got him a way out of Kansas and out into Florida again? But there was no telling what the goon would do if he chose the latter…
Sighing, Cry decided to do what he thought was best. "Alright, just…."
As soon as he said those words, the sound of a massive gunshot reverberated through the empty deserted area, and the gamer recoiled and shut his eyes in panic at the foreign, abrupt sound. He thought that the gangster had finally decided to finish him off, and then help himself to all that was left of him….
But instead, a dull sound of a body falling on the ground was what followed after. Cry opened his eyes and what met his eyes was unbelievable.
The gangster lay motionless on the sand. His arms were stretched out in surprise, and a hole that was clearly not there on his chest before was spewing out blood in rapidity. His face had a frozen look of surprise and panic written, and it unnerved Ryan to no end.
So absorbed was he in observing and trying to find out a solution to the man's sudden death that he failed to notice the presence of a man riding a horse pull alongside behind him.
"Are you alright, Ma'am?"
Cry shot up. That voice. He found it all too familiar. It had the streak of a foreign accent that he swore he knew it somewhere. He whipped his head back to come face to face with a person he expected the last to meet in a place like this.
"Pewds?!"
The cowboy got off the mare and looked at Cry, his left eyebrow raised in confusion.
"Pardon?"
Cry stared at the man who had a striking similarity to a certain Swedish gamer, who he considered his friend with incredulity and bewilderment.
"What… how… why… The fuck did you come here for?!"
The cowboy was taken aback. He was expecting a grateful exclamation, a number of feverish 'thanks', or even a kiss to his cheek at the most. After all, he was the sheriff and he expected this situation to come off like the millions of others which he did following the same predicament – Him saving a woman, and the woman to ogle him like he was some kind of a candy.
It was the law of the nature around here.
He scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. "I uh… saved your life? Because that's really what the sheriffs around here do…"
Now it was Cry's turn to raise his eyebrow. "What… do you mean? How did you become a sheriff, when you're supposed to be in Italy there with Marzia?"
A chime of sheepish laughter filled his ears. "No ma'am, I think you mistook me for some other person. The name's Felix Kjellberg..." He drawled with that unmistakable Swedish accent (which, Cry hates to admit, but loved to hear) and brought his hand forward for formal acquaintance, "… And I'm the sheriff of the town of Caldwell, just situated about two-three miles from here."
His puffed out his chest in pride and the gold star stuck on his vest signifying his occupation shined brightly in the sunlight, bringing Cry's attention towards it.
'Oh.'
The American accepted and shook the Sheriff's hand in disbelief, not quite processing the fact that the fellow in front of him was not, by any means, Pewdiepie.
'Oh well, but he still has his real name. The guy might not be a gamer but a sheriff in this alternate timeline, but he still is Felix.'
"And what may your name be, ma'am?" The sheriff asked, after he politely withdrew his hand from the greeting.
Cry thought it best if he hid his identity. After all, he wanted to get out of this mess without having too much trouble. "Crystoph." He replied nonchalantly, ignoring the stunned look at the Swedish man's face.
"That is one strange name for a pretty lady, ma'am…But it's unique and I like it." He tipped his cowboy hat in acknowledgement. Cry swore he felt his cheeks burn up at his comment.
Felix shrugged his shoulders, patted his horse and climbed upon it. "Anyways, ma'am, this is certainly not a safe place to be, what with all these gangsters running about… I'll be happy to give you a ride back to town."
He offered his hand to the other to help him up on the mare.
Cry looked at the extended hand and back at the Swedish sheriff unsurely. He was a bit hesitant at the fact that he was about to hitchhike with a person he had barely met, and one who was armed with a gun that was capable of killing someone, nevertheless! But…. but he somehow couldn't…. refuse…
'Oh god, those eyes…'
Cry immediately regretted looking into those dazzling blue eyes of the alternate form of his best friend, which caused a small tinge of regret to crawl inside his heart thinking of his harsh reply to the offer the other had proposed. The one great thing that Cry found amazing about Pewds (among a bunch of other things) was the fact that he had those magnificent, those oh-so-alluring pair of blue eyes that he could drown in if he looked at it for more than two seconds straight.
It was nearly an impossible human feat to say no to a face that had those eyes.
The brunette sighed. 'Well, it won't hurt to go with him. After all, I trust him, and he is my best friend, although not in the version I was used to. Knowing his behavior he won't hurt me…
…I think.'
Cry nodded before accepting his hand and climbed up on the mare. He was still a bit unsure, but at this point, he didn't even care. Come on! All this was happening with no legit reason at all – Somehow he suddenly became a cross-dresser with having no memories beforehand whatsoever; he got transported to a 19th century Kansas wild west town; he witnessed a gangster nearly rob him of his money and kill him after mistaking him for a rich girl; witnessed the death of the same gangster from the hands of none other than his best friend, who was, for no given or coherent reason, a sheriff of Caldwell.
Yeah… perfectly, a normal day.
Felix spoke again, interrupting Cry's thought processes. "You better hold on tight, Crystoph Ma'am. Ralph here can throw off a newbie sitting on the saddle faster than you can sing the yodel."
Cry didn't know whether to laugh at the comparison of this alternate form of Pewdie and his real form himself, or to mentally worry at the fact that he was sitting on a rather unstable equine whose looks mentioned death if not dealt with properly.
He wrapped his arms around Felix without a second thought, clinging to him for dear life and ignoring the growing blush on his face at the intimate contact.
And as soon as he got more comfortable and less awkward about this new stance, he swore he heard a chuckle erupt from within the Sheriff.
'Arrogant bastard.'
And with that thought and a neigh from the horse below, the duo rode off into the sunset to the town of Caldwell.
To be continued….
Chapter 2 will be up soon!
Review, people! Seeing them makes my life even more complete! x)