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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 5 | S.R.)

Summary: Reader (accidentally) blows off a text from Spencer for another guy. Later, Spencer takes her for a second date. A/N: By the way, when you get to the adorable dance scene, the two songs that inspired me most were “Stardust” by Lyambiko and “We Might as Well Dance” by Madeleine Peyroux (Try not to read into the lyrics, I dare you). Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW 18+) Content Warning: Unprotected sex, dirty talk, jealousy, degradation, penetrative sex Word Count: 10k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

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I had never envisioned that my life would end up quite like this. That wasn't to say that it was disappointing or regrettable, although in that moment it felt like I had miscalculated a number of things. There was no other way to describe a Saturday night spent laying on the couch, staring at the ceiling of my friend's apartment as if I could manipulate myself into believing it was Spencer's.

It wasn't anyone's fault that it couldn't be his, instead. The stupid, gorgeous bastard wasn't ignoring me; he was just out of town for the weekend.

Truthfully, I should have been a little more considerate. It wasn't his fault he had to work. But I also couldn't help but be disappointed that he was always working. I hadn't seen him in almost two weeks and it was killing me. The last time I'd seen him was the morning after our first 'date,' and it was a brief enough interaction that I had already run out of ways to overthink it.

Spencer had gotten a restful night of sleep that night. Despite his little impromptu confession, he slept as though he'd never been more peaceful in his life. I had not. I'd had the pleasure of staying up for hours, playing his words through my head on loop and trying to figure out what the fuck had happened.

It didn't amount to anything though. The morning came, and he had long forgotten the words half mumbled through a sleepy daze. I'd told him that he had been mumbling in his sleep, and he asked me if he'd said anything embarrassing. I told him no. He hadn't pressed any further, simply stating that he must've been dreaming.

I almost thought it had been a challenge; a way to test if I'd gotten too close. But then I realized that I was probably just an idiot, and I was wanting it to mean more than it actually did.

So much for having run out of ways to overthink it.

Regardless, his aloofness had returned my heart to the broken, hurting mess it had been before he uttered the words that forever altered my universe.

That wasn't his fault, either. I was the one who'd set myself up for failure by ever imagining that we could be something more. I'd known he wasn't the most emotionally available suitor since the moment I met him. At least, not for me. I'd never actually seen him anyone else.

I didn't really want to think about that, though. I really didn't want to think about that.

"Hey, get your lazy ass up so I can sit down."

The order drew me from my reverie — rather unpleasantly, might I add. Because when I turned to face my friend standing in front of me, I came face to face with his crotch.

"Dude, I don't want any of that in my face," I laughed to the unfortunately familiar sight. "Back up before I punch you in the dick."

Somewhat surprisingly, he obeyed. He took a step back and waited patiently for me to sit up and scoot over to give him room beside me on the couch. Completely unsuprisingly, however, he did not take advantage of any of the space available. He chose to sit close enough to touch me.

"Some women would do anything to have that privilege," he lied through his teeth.

"Who are these women? And how can I help them avoid this tragic fate?"

He smiled back, having already grown used to me rebuffing all of his advances years before. We had known each other for what felt like forever, but he still tried every chance he'd gotten. That moment was no exception, and it took him very little time to stretch his arm behind me on the couch. I leaned forward, glancing back at the arm that I would continue to avoid despite his best efforts.

I narrowed my eyes in a challenge when he did nothing to remedy the situation. He did not take the humble way out, so my only other option was to do the humbling for him.

"There are three whole couches in this room and you pick the seat directly next to me?"

"You're warm and it's 50 degrees in here," he joked while lifting his other hand to poke me on the nose.

I recoiled in disgust, grabbing the pillow beside me and hitting him in the face with it as hard as humanly possible.

"Then turn up the heat or grab a blanket, jackass," I grumbled, "I'm not giving you my precious body heat."

Once again, he conceded immediately. He held his hands in defeat and scooted just a few inches further away from me. I watched him for a second until he got far enough away, and then returned my attention to my phone, which I had been religiously checking for any news about the vastly more interesting man in my life.

"What are you looking at?"

"My friend. He's supposed to have landed a couple hours ago..."

Seeing that I had no new messages, though, I slumped over onto myself and rested my elbow on my knee. Continuing to ignore the boy trying to get my attention, I favored the one that was possibly ignoring me and endlessly scrolled through our previous conversations.

"Is that the cop? Your boyfriend?" he teased.

"He's not a cop," I corrected with a roll of the eyes.

Although not keen about the thought of the two of them meeting, I did wonder what kind of rant Spencer would've gone into to describe the different types of law enforcement agents. He would learn so much about government job descriptions. But that wasn't the part of the sentence that my friend had stressed, and I felt compelled to answer.

Didn't mean I had to be loud or excited about it, though.

"And he's not my boyfriend," I mumbled into my palm. I hated how pathetic it felt; how forlorn I could be over a man not giving me enough attention. He was still just a man.

A very cute, sweet, and drop-dead gorgeous one. But a man, nonetheless. Destined to be disappointing. During my daydreams and hopeful, lovesick thoughts, my friend had come to another, different conclusion about the type of man Spencer was.

"He carries a gun and can arrest people. He's a cop."

"Whatever," I said with a heavy sigh. Wasn't worth it to fight, so I admitted to my childish infatuation with an equally pitiful, "Yeah, it's Spencer. I was hoping he'd want to see me."

I turned the volume on my phone before finally setting it down, but continued to eye the screen until it went dark.

"It's not like you to chase after a dude," he so helpfully commented.

To his credit, he was right. It wasn't like me. But Spencer wasn't like other guys I'd met, and while it was true that Spencer was ten years older than me, I could tell that age wasn't the only thing setting him apart. It wasn't even necessarily something about him in particular, although he certainly was extraordinary.

It was more like... the way he looked at me. The way I never felt like anything even remotely close to lackluster. He looked at me like the stares shone through my eyes, and the blindness was worth witnessing the unfiltered eclipse.

"I'm not chasing him. We just like spending time with each other," I explained before sitting up straighter and placing a gentle hand to my chest in feigned pride. "I'm a very interesting person."

But then he responded with the last question I wanted to hear, or even think about potentially considering in that moment. The one that had been weighing on my mind no matter how hard I tried to suppress it.

"So... why isn't he your boyfriend, then?"

I hadn't wanted to hear it because I didn't have an answer. And no matter how hard I inspected my cuticles, they likewise produced no excuse worth saying.

The man to my right was twisting his body as he settled into the seat. He kept his chest open to me in some display of fragile masculinity that was very easy to ignore.

"Is he like, ashamed of you or something?" he suggested.

That was less easy to ignore.

"No..." I wanted it to sound more certain than it did. As it stood, it was downright pathetic. Especially compared to his much more confident reply of, "Then what's his excuse?"

I sighed again, that time pulling my legs up on the couch in my unending quest to find some semblance of comfort while being interrogated on the most irritating subject of all time.

"He doesn't need an excuse. We both agreed it's better to just be friends."

He moved closer to me again, and I didn't have the energy to tell him to stop. Not like he would have listened, anyway. Egotistical prick with absolutely nothing to substantiate his inflated sense of self.

"You deserve better than that, (y/n)."

While his words were soft in volume, everything else about him remained gruff and uninviting. Nothing at all like the way Spencer could shift and turn into something completely different. My friend could act like his feigned tenderness was meaningful, but I knew that he liked the thought of me more than who I actually was.

"Yeah, right. With who? You?" I droned, wishing that my words could actually be laced with venom. Maybe then he'd have abandoned this foolhardy quest to win my affections.

"I mean I'm not gonna turn you down if you're offering," he joked.

It was that lightness that was his main redeeming feature; the reason I could keep him around even when his fingers tapped against my opposite shoulder. I laughed at both the sensation and suggestion, refusing by lifting his arm off my shoulders before excusing myself from the couch altogether.

"Piss off. I'm running down to the basement. You want anything?"

"Just for you to come back quick," was his immediate, not-at-all charming reply.

"You're a fucking idiot," was mine.

It wasn't until I was already on my way back up after grabbing a blanket and a drink that I had actually managed to forget about my phone for at least a few minutes.

Then, the terror came. The worry that Spencer had called me, and I'd failed to answer. The possibility that he might've hit my number on a list and already moved on to the next. It had only been like five minutes but still. He talked so damn fast, he could've torn through 5 phone calls in that time.

A little faster, I made my way back to the living room, shouting from down the hall, "Hey, did I leave my phone up here?"

He didn't answer immediately, but then eventually slurred, "Uhh. Yep. Sure did."

When I rounded the corner, I found the gremlin going through my phone. As I already started to plan the new pass code now that he'd gone and figured it out, I ran over, half-tackling him on the couch as I screeched, "Give it back, you dick!"

It was no use. He held it just outside my reach, laughing at the way I scrambled over him to try and grab it.

"Not unless you promise not to check it until after the movie."

Sighing with resignation, I plopped down next to him, my arms crossed and eyes rolled as I convinced myself it was unlikely Spencer would text me within the next hour and a half if he hadn't already.

It was pretty late. Maybe he had already gone to bed and just forgotten to let me know he got home. Besides, I owed my friend as much for managing to get me to forget to check it for this long, no?

"Fine. I promise," I groaned.

I tried not to let the thought ruin my night. The next two hours were like they usually were. He kept trying to cuddle with me, and I kept pushing him away until I eventually didn't. I gave into the general familiarity with the guy I'd known for basically half of all my memories, stopping every few seconds to wonder if I should have felt guilty.

Then I felt guilty for having asked myself at all.

Once the credits began to roll, I held my hand out with zero hesitation. I (im)patiently for him to deposit my phone, which he did, to his credit. However, what I found struck me to my core. My hands immediately began to shake hard enough that the LED blurred in my vision.

"Uhhh, what the fuck is this?"

"What?"

I held up my phone, displaying a text message that had been sent from my phone a couple hours earlier. On the screen, clear as day, me and him from earlier in the day. A painfully domestic snapshot of the two of us running errands together.

The picture shown, though, was one that I swore I'd deleted from my phone. It was him with his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest while I laughed. It wasn't a bad picture, but the context was entirely absent. For example, the fact that I'd almost bruised his chest hitting him right after the photo was taken.

"Why did you send this picture?!" I yelled, desperately swiping at the time stamp. "Two hours ago?!"

He was much too quiet for what was happening. In my haste, I hadn't even notice the accompanying text above the picture, which read 'Sorry man, she's all mine tonight.' Spencer didn't reply.

"Why didn't you tell me that he texted me?!"

My frustration had peaked, and I stood up, pacing somewhat unproductively as I tried to collect my things.

"Because I knew you'd try to leave, and I haven't seen you in fucking ages," he whined, as if I was overreacting.

But I wasn't. This contrived bullshit was entirely his fault, and entirely fucking ridiculous.

"Are you fucking kidding me, dude?" I shouted, finally finding my bag and shoving my stuff inside of it angrily. I didn't even finish, with a few loose coins angrily clambering to the floor as the soundtrack to my farewell.

"Well, now I'm definitely leaving, so kiss my ass!"

Before I could actually leave, I held up my middle finger in the furthest thing from a joke.

"Wait, (y/n), it was a joke!" he called back but didn't try to follow me.

He'd known it wouldn't work. I was too mad.

"You're not fucking funny!"

I slammed the door to my car loud enough to wake the neighbors, but I couldn't care even a little bit. My hands were shaking so hard, that it was a struggle just to click my phone. But I did, fervently pressing Spencer's name until the stupid, traitorous phone could figure out what I wanted it to do.

It rang for 15 whole seconds before I grieved the reality that he wasn't going to pick up. I sighed, lowering my phone to hang up before he could ignore the call or I was given the choice to leave a voicemail. It had been my own fault, anyway.

But just before I hit the button, I heard a tired, crackly voice coming from the other side of the line.

"(Y/n)?"

Oh my god, he picked up.

Then, all at once, the words poured out of me.

"Spencer? I'm so sorry I didn't text you back! Please ignore my friend. He's a fucking idiot."

I could tell from the silence that Spencer was replaying them in his head to try to make sense of the frantic, slurred speech in his own sleepy state. Once he had gotten the gist of my panic, he started to laugh through a yawn.

"It's fine. You looked like you were having fun."

I couldn't tell if it was jealousy in his voice or something else. Either way, it felt terrible. My insecurities crept through my throat and came out with dramatic overcompensation.

"Yeah right. He held my phone hostage. I was waiting to hear from you and he got jealous or something."

There was an awkward silence on the other side of the phone, and so I continued with only a little tremor in my voice, "I'm glad to see that you got home alright."

Another few seconds of silence followed, but then it was the Spencer I was used to again.

"Yeah. It's less fun without you here, though."

That wasn't supposed to be as romantic as it seemed, I reminded myself. He was just flirting. Typical fuckboy nonsense, uttered to get a rise out of me one way or another. He didn't actually mean to imply that he'd already considered what it might be like for me to have joined him.

Right?

"I can still come if you want," I rushed, looking down at the clock in my car for the first time and grimacing at the revelation that the 'something else' in his tone had, in fact, been exhaustion.

"Although... I'm just now realizing its 2am and I definitely woke you up..."

"Typical," he joked, "you being out late, trying to make me jealous with age-appropriate boys."

My laugh bounced back at me from the walls of the car, and I covered my mouth once I remembered that I was still in a public area.

It was weird to me how whenever I talked to Spencer, it felt like we were the only two people in the world. I'd never felt that way with another person before. Those cheesy romcoms were all starting to make sense, and I hated how powerless that made me feel.

"I was not! Trust me, if I wanted to make you jealous, I could do much better," I humbly stated. It was only a little bit of a threat. "I just don't know why he did that. And of course, that picture, which I had deleted, by the way. He seriously had to get it from another folder. He just likes to torture me, I guess."

Spencer cleared his throat from the other side of the phone, readjusting before he clearly enunciated, "He likes you."

The statement wasn't shocking. Anyone who'd spent more than five minutes with the two of us knew that he probably liked me. I'd even considered exploring it at one point before smacking myself in the face and reminding myself of my standards.

But still, to have Spencer know that felt a little bit weird. After all, most 20-something boys would do anything to torture their friends. Even the girl ones. Especially the girl ones.

Then something else began to brew in my chest; a twisted sort of pleasure derived from the sharpness that had formed on Spencer's tongue. The jealousy creeping through the crackling static and wrapping its talons around my heart.

"... I don't know," I absently said.

He sensed the hesitancy in my voice, and asked back with a strange inflection, "Do you like him?"

I chewed on my bottom lip, closing my eyes as I dropped my head back against the headrest. I didn't want to answer that question honestly. I felt like nothing I said could be right. So, I just chose the closest thing to the truth.

"No, not really."

We were back in one of those awkward silences. The kind where we both wanted to say something, but nothing came out. I turned my car on when the stale, stagnant air became too suffocating. The sound alerted him to enough information for him to speak again.

"Are you heading home?"

I switched my phone to the other hand, trying to delay giving my answer by sounding busy. I didn't really have a reason, I just hadn't wanted to hang up yet.I wanted to stall him and selfishly keep him around just a little bit longer.

"Yeah, I guess."

Super smooth. I could still salvage it though.

"...Unless you've changed your mind and would like a personal space heater in bed with you."

Spencer's laughter would have been offensive if it wasn't so adorable.

"Yeah right, your feet are freezing. I don't even know how you still have toes."

That checked out, and also gave me an escape from the terrifying prospect of ending the call.

"I'll wear socks!" I offered with the utmost enthusiasm, "I actually own thigh highs, you know. If you're into that, Professor."

It had been a few weeks since our tryst, but I had hardly ever stopped thinking about it. Every time I looked at myself in the mirror, I'd traced the marks he'd left behind with an ungodly powerful nostalgia.

His laughter turned to frustrated groans as he mumbled, "Are you trying to torture me?"

Once our ruckus died back down, the silence was more serious than strange. I felt the urge to apologize again. I needed him to hear the sincerity behind what were so often empty words.

"I'm really sorry I missed your message, Spencer."

My voice was quiet, unsure, and scared. I didn't want to lose him, and I knew an extreme on either side of the emotional spectrum would let him slip away so easily.

It was exhausting being emotionally lukewarm, but some part of me wanted to believe that it would be worth it with him. That patience was all it would take to show him why he had nothing to be afraid of.

But where I showed mercy, he showed himself to lack it in any sense of the word.

"It's fine, (y/n). I'm not your boyfriend. If I really want the company, I can find it."

That wasn't why I was sorry, and what he'd said only made it worse. The ugly, resentful part of myself was convinced that was why he'd said it at all.

We both knew I didn't want him to find it with someone else. That was the entire reason I was sorry I missed it. If I missed his call, nothing was stopping him from making another one. I hadn't ever asked if there were other girls in his life, but I definitely didn't want to find out like that.

"I missed you the past couple weeks. I still do."

The genuineness in my voice scared me. I hated being vulnerable; especially when he was already so apprehensive about me. I wished I knew why he was. But at that moment, he was being his usual playful self, not willing to give me any hint of an answer in exchange for my candor.

No, just: "You're so good at whining."

I pouted like he would be able to see it.

"I just want some cuddles. Is that too much to ask?"

"Go ask your boyfriend, I'm sure he would be more than happy to oblige," he quipped.

"He's not as good at it as you are," I deflected, playing off the suddenly obvious jealousy in his tone. Before I could rub my quick wit in his face, however, Spencer raised a white flag that I'd never seen coming.

"Fine. I'll wait up."

That was when I realized that he had been more jealous than I'd thought, and I still had a startling amount of power to play with.

But I was still unable to comprehend it, and with a graceless gasp, I chirped, "Wait really? I can come over?"

An unsure laugh and an almost audible shrug later, he responded, "Sure, I figure it'll get me to bed faster somehow, as opposed to staying on this call."

I didn't hesitate to start to pull my car out of the spot, happily singing into the phone, "Okay! I'm on my way! Bye Spencer!"

"See you soon."

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As I was old enough to be able to tell time, and aware enough to recognize that it was incredibly too late to be knocking on an apartment door, I tried to do so softly. I halfway succeeded, stifling the noise enough that he could still hear it, but his neighbors wouldn't. They would remain unaware of the girl bouncing on her toes outside of his door, squealing the second she heard shuffling feet on the other side.

Jesus Christ, I sound like a teenager, the more sensible side of me noted.

I might've felt shame, had he not opened the door in that very moment to reveal himself, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and pajamas on that were big enough they his half his hands.

He was... in a word, adorable.

"Hey sleepyhead," I cooed.

Spencer remained silent, but offered his arm in a halfhearted invitation for a hug. The blanket hung like a wing that I very much wanted to wrap myself in, and he was all too happy to allow. I actually giggled as I lunged towards him. I wrapped both arms around him and breathed in the clean scent of laundry detergent and soap.

"I'm sleepy, too," I said with a relieved sigh. The air was quickly replaced with that which smelled of him. So, too, the silence filled with a soft chuckle as he pulled me close to him and rested his chin on the top of my head.

Like a man from a fairy tale, he started to sway, slowly turning us around until we were headed in the right direction. The right one, of course being the one that would lead to us falling in bed together again.

"Alright, little girl, you can come crawl into bed with me tonight."

The words were like music to my ears, and I felt like I was floating. I was glowing, my skin flushed with warmth like a wood fire on a cold Winter night, and my eyes fell half lidded from some mixture of tired and pleased.

"Thank you, sir," I slurred through a smile. It grew wider as he took my hands, prying me away from him to lead me back to his room with more purpose.

Once we finally padded over, I dropped my overnight bag on the floor and began to strip off my shirt. He eyed the bag on the floor with a feeling I could almost place.

"Were you planning on staying with him?"

I felt a pain through my chest as he asked, because I knew the answer. I had been, but only because I'd done it so many times before. Our mutual friend wasn't in the house, so I knew I could use his bed. But saying I was planning on staying there alone sounded even more suspicious.

"Yeah. I've stayed there before. Always in a different room. We've been friends a long time."

There was something about the way he looked at me that made my stomach flip in a delicious way. A feeling that could only be described as dangerous and exhilarating. But then it was gone, replaced by the apathy he usually tried to display. I continued to strip, nonetheless, slowly peeling my leggings down and stepping out of them. I could feel his eyes on me.

I twisted by body in the hope that the movement would distract him from the conversation I hadn't really wanted to have. Jealousy, while a fun tool for the consenting, had a tendency to grow old quickly. It was a beast that did not like to be controlled; especially when taken by surprise.

But he had no reason to be jealous. I had all but begged him to come over, and I was currently naked in his bedroom. I didn't even look up at him before sliding under the covers. I was too scared for what I might find, and opted for enjoying the lingering body heat and smell of Spencer on the sheet, instead.

"I don't want to know how good you are when you're trying," he warned.

I looked up at him with guilty eyes, recognizing this was his gentle way of telling me he was jealous. But he'd said it himself... He wasn't my boyfriend.

"Come here," I pleaded while running my arms along the empty space where he belonged. "I'll show you why you shouldn't be jealous."

Spencer licked his lips as he looked at my exposed chest, pulling off his pajamas and slinking under the covers with me. Facing each other, my hands quickly found his erection, pumping it softly as he immediately rewarded me with a soft moan.

"I missed this," I whispered, closing the gap between our faces.

He responded in kind, taking his time to lay a lazy kiss against my mouth while he groaned, "I missed your hands. Among other parts."

As he spoke, his hand was traveling down my side to my center. My breathing picked up as he got closer, but he diverted, running his fingers up and down my arms that continued to work his length. The soft whimper that escaped my mouth entertained him, and he brought his hand back down.

"Say please, (y/n)."

I couldn't talk though. I was biting down on my lip to stop myself from telling him I fucking hated him for teasing me. With big puppy dog eyes, I watched him while I chewed on my bottom lip.

"Stop biting on that lip or I'll do it for you. I don't care how cute you are."

His hand now ghosted over exactly where I wanted them, and he used the very tip of his finger to collect the wetness forming there. My hands stopped as he made contact, my grip tightening for a second.

"Say please."

He wanted me to beg for him to touch me, but I didn't want his hand. It was almost 3 AM and I was exhausted and needed him. All of him, immediately. Badly enough that

"Fuck me, sir," the words spilled out of my mouth. "Please, fuck me."

A content humming came from him as he brought a hand to my hair. But the pleased sound lulled me into a false sense of security, which was shattered seconds later when he pulled my head back to look him in the eyes.

From there, I could see that look in his eyes again. That dark, possessive stare that made me long for the shadows to consume me if it meant more time with him.

"I p-promise," I stuttered as one of his fingers teased at my folds.

He raised his eyebrows as he waited for me to finish my thought.

With a cruel, sadistic smile, I continued, "I promise I won't think of anyone else."

That playful characteristic snark that has originally driven him to me had returned, and he pretended to be disappointed. He liked it, though. He wouldn't admit it, but the way I read the secret, hidden thoughts in his mind like he could read one of his book clearly drove him insane.

He guided me by his hold on my hair, lifting me off the pillow and not taking a minute to consider the repercussions before growling in my ear, "Turn around."

I obeyed, happily pressing up against his crotch as I settled into my position as his little spoon. I noticed a distinct lack of a pause this time, and gears began to click together as I felt him rub the bare head of his cock in the slickness pooling around my thighs.

"I have some questions for you, little girl."

He was pissed.

"When was the last time you got tested?"

I could hardly think straight as I realized where this was going. I tried to gather my thoughts and enough control to stutter back, "L-last week. I-I haven't... haven't slept with anyone else. Not since you."

My answer earned me a tender kiss on the neck, but it wasn't enough. I was trying to still my hips from knocking back against him. I couldn't completely stop myself, though, and I knew it made him feel even more confident about his decision.

"Good. Me neither," he replied.

I sighed with relief, happy to at least answer that question. I'd barely had any time to recover, though, before he continued, "Is there any way you could get pregnant right now?"

I shook my head no. He stopped my head with one hand on my chin from behind.

"Use your words."

"No!" I half shouted, realizing I just sounded like a brat. "No, no I can't. I'm on birth control. I won't get pregnant. Promise. You can..."

My breath matched pace with my heart, and I swore I was already lightheaded. Still, I forced the last few words through the heavy panting to earn my next, far more enticing prize. The magic words he had been waiting for:

"You can do whatever you want to me."

When he released my hair, my head fell forward just for a second, because soon my entire back arched in response to the way he began to push inside of me.

"Good," was all he'd said.

With that, he fully sheathed himself inside of me, and I cried out as I felt the way he stretched me. His hand swiftly covered my mouth before he began to pound into me from behind. One of my hands tried to keep me in place on the bed, while the other flew up to his hand over my mouth, holding it without trying to remove it.

I was calling his name underneath him, and he responded by making shorter, deeper thrusts.

Through it all, he chuckled in my ear, "It's always funny how fast you stop acting like a brat after I put it in you."

My eyes rolled back at his words, breath shuddering against his hand. He slid all the way out of me, and then applied enough force to push me up in the bed.

"Have you ever had someone finish inside you before?" he asked too sweetly for the provocative words. He moved his hand from my mouth and dragged it to move the hair that had fallen in front of my face.

I went to shake my head but remembered his instruction. Instead, I cried, "N-no."

"Good," he responded again, and my toes curled at the pride he felt in claiming this body as his own. He took my hand in his, pulling it down to feel the small bump forming in my abdomen each time he slammed into me. The next time it appeared, he halted, holding me in position against him. "I'm going to fuck you so hard that the next time anyone even thinks about touching you, all they'll taste on you is me."

He pulled out slowly before pounding into me again. With more violence in his motions and venom on his tongue, he spat, "and if you want them you can explain to them how you begged for me to come inside your tight little cunt."

I was in a state of shock, unable to comprehend how he was capable of making such cruel, licentious words. Each one made my body shake, and he kept himself inside me longer with each motion to extend the feeling. I ached at the way he filled me, desperately clinging to my own stomach where I could feel him.

"Good luck thinking about anyone else while I run down your thighs," he said before punctuating it with a firm, unforgiving, "you fucking bitch."

With that, he finally moved his hand, but it was not a merciful action. His fingers rubbed in the mess of our bodies, then dragged the wetness back to my clit, pressing harder than he ever had before. My head was still swimming from his language, and I thankfully didn't have to use my words. He was very capable of figuring out my body language himself.

I could feel the way the heat coiled in my stomach, the tension building as his mouth ran along my neck. Once he attached himself to one spot, driving into me at a brutal pace, I felt the energy shift and begin to blossom. Feeling the way my muscles quivered around him, he stopped his kisses, groaning loudly in my ear.

"Fuck, little girl," he continued to moan, his thrusts faltering as I tried to coax his orgasm out of him. It seemed to be what he was waiting for. Unable to contain the shrill cry that tore from my chest as his arousal filled me, I tried to pull away from him. But I couldn't, his hands holding me down and his hips rocking as deep as they could possibly move inside of me.

Exhausted, I tried to move away from him once his movements stilled. However, in another surprising move he slid out just to slam back into me again.

I whimpered from the overstimulation, doubling forward as he gave a few more deep, rough thrusts before pulling out entirely.

I had no idea how, but Spencer immediately got out of bed. He left me a sweaty, desperate mess on his bed. Thankfully, he tossed me a towel to help me clean up so I wouldn't have to sleep in the puddle dripping slowly down my legs. Shaky but satisfied, I somehow managed to make it to the bathroom and clean up.

When I returned, he was still awake. He was silent, sitting up in the bed with his eyes closed and contemplative. As I shut the door, he finally noticed my presence. He turned to look at me with an awkward smile until he pat my spot on the bed.

"Come here, little girl."

A little too excited, I shuffled over with a bounce in my step. Not satisfied with simply lying next to him, I curled into his side, wrapping my arm around his waist and nuzzling my face to his chest. From there, I listened to the way his heartbeat seemed to slow down with my touch. How his muscles relaxed under me, like he had been anxiously awaiting my return the same way I had been waiting to return to him.

"You're not really a bitch," he mumbled in a quiet, sleepy voice.

I couldn't help but laugh, tilting my head up to glance at him from my position on his chest.

"I mean, I am a little bit. But I know what you mean."

He wrapped a tight arm around me, using his hand to run softly through my hair. Leaning down, he gave the top of my head a small peck. I smiled against his skin, loving the way it felt to be surrounded by him. To be safe and cared for despite all else.

"Thank you for coming here with me tonight," he said in a low volume, like the words might spook me. "You're a very special girl. I hope you know that."

I didn't know how to respond, so I stayed frozen in place. I waited to hear the rest of what he wanted to say. People have always said we're most honest at night. I wanted it to be true, to give more meaning to loaded words.

"I'm really glad I met you," was what he said.

I closed my eyes, breathing in the words that felt like a balm on my aching soul. Unable to come up with a response that wasn't terrifying, though, I sat up and crawled to him. It was my turn to return a tender kiss, this time to his lips. As we pulled apart, he still looked at me like the answers to the universe were written on my skin.

I went to kiss him again, but he stopped me with a hand on my face.

"Don't..." he instructed, breaking my heart with just one command.

But I saw the fear reflected in our eyes, the kind that was deeper than a simple rejection. It was not the fear that we might not love one another. It was the fear that we very well might one day.

Spencer said none of that, though. He left me to forever wonder if it was just me who felt it. Instead, he surrendered with a simpler, safer explanation.

"If you kiss me like that again, I won't be able to stop myself."

I didn't ask what he was stopping himself from doing. No matter how badly I wanted to. Instead, I ran the back of my fingers against his cheek and whispered in the space between us, "Make now always the most precious time. Now will never come again."

My desired outcome came true, but not quite how I wanted. He didn't kiss me deep or passionately. He kissed me soft, like my lips were made of glass. He kissed me like he was protecting me from the terrors of his mind.

"Go to sleep, little girl," he instructed gently, coaxing me back to my position on his chest as we both sunk down to lay flat on the bed. "Picard can wait."

Laying there, next to what I was convinced was an actual human angel, I gave myself permission to drift off into sleep, hoping that my dreams could be half as good as reality.

That didn't happen.

I wasn't sure what time it was when I woke up, but it was still dark outside, so it couldn't have been too long after we'd fallen asleep. Spencer had turned away from me at some point. That wasn't strange or entirely surprising, but I noticed a strange sound from his side of the bed that made my hair stand on edge and my stomach churn.

It was... crying.

"Spencer?" I asked as quiet as I could. When he didn't respond, I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder in the hope that it would be an easier transition to the waking word.

But his body still jerked under my touch, and he sat up much too quickly before grabbing his face in both hands. It wasn't until then that he noticed, drawing his hands back slowly and inspecting the wetness he found on his fingertips.

"Hey, Spencer, are you okay?"

He didn't answer.

Suddenly extremely worried, I brought both of my hands to his arms and pulled him closer to me.

He still didn't answer.

"Were you having a nightmare?"

So many red flags were burning through my brain, and I didn't know what to do with the information in front of me. I just wanted to help him.

"I... I must have been. I'm sorry," he said when he finally spoke. He wiped at his tears like he could erase what I had already seen. Moving his hands away, careful to keep my touch as non-threatening as possible, I wiped his still falling tears away with my thumb.

"Why are you sorry, Spencer?"

"I... don't know."

It was an honest, but terrifying answer. A quickly completed checklist of a horror I was deeply familiar with. A reality that I wouldn't wish it on anyone in the world. Especially not him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he replied with a force so strong I thought the word was physically painful for him to say.

"Okay," I reassured him, "We don't have to."

He wasn't laying back down. He wasn't moving at all. It was like he was somewhere else entirely.

I moved closer to him, placing a hand on his back to gently rub circles and another on his lap. I offered the only thing I could think to help him in that moment.

"Do you want me to hold you?"

His eyes were fixated on my hand on his lap, his breathing slowly regulating the longer we sat like this.

Still, he halfway refused, "It's okay."

Raising my hand again, I ran it through his hair before guiding him to look at me with a tentative smile.

"You're not a burden, Spencer. I want to."

The tears were falling again, albeit slower and with his mouth curved ever so slightly. I tried to give him the calmest reassurance I could. A soft glow in my eyes that burned with the affection and comfort I desperately wanted to provide.

"Come here, love," I said as I motioned to me.

Spencer dutifully followed. Soon his head was on my chest, my hand curling his hair around my fingers. He hugged my waist like I was the only thing keeping him here.

And I laid there with him, trying not to think about the way his tears wet my skin. Hoping that, for now, it would be enough for him to get some sleep.

A mop of curly brown hair was the first thing I saw when I woke up to the shine of the sun through the curtains. I smiled, but only until I remembered why he was on my chest.

It was obvious that he had barely slept, his muscles continuing to persistently twitch in their paranoid state. When I went to pet his head again, he stirred under me, pulling himself closer to me the same way he had before.

I didn't want to think about what had happened, but I knew I had to. Normal people don't wake up crying from a nightmare, and they certainly don't get painfully defensive when it happens.

I hadn't known practically anything about his life before. What he had been through, or whether he'd told anyone at all. I hadn't even known if he'd anyone to tell.

I was painfully reminded that he was not the superhero I made him out to be in my head. He was just a man, trying his hardest to do more good in the world than all the evil combined. That was an impossible task, though. He was doomed to fail.

His ears must have been burning, because the longer I thought about it, the more he woke up. Eventually he was entirely alert, sitting up and removing himself from the position we'd assumed for the past several hours.

I was surprised to remember what it felt like to be able to breathe without the weight of him on top of me. I was even more surprised to feel my chest felt heavier in his absence.

"Good morning," I mumbled, watching as he effortlessly got out of bed and began to get ready.

He seemed embarrassed, but he really shouldn't have been.

"Did you get any sleep?"I asked.

Spencer ran his hands through his hair before he turned back to me, a smile on his face like nothing was wrong.

"No," he sighed, "This brat woke me up at 2 AM and insisted I sleep with her."

It was nice to know he was still capable of joking but concerning to see that he was so good at compartmentalizing. I laughed along with him, nonetheless, sliding out of the bed to join him in getting dressed.

"What a bitch," I said with a smirk.

As hard as it was to pretend like the night before hadn't happened, I knew that he wasn't ready to talk about it. Heaven knew it would have been much worse to burn the bridge then. At least if I built the trust now, he might be willing to talk about it later.

"You know, I wasn't actually going to tell you to come over last night," Spencer announced.

The 360 of the conversation took me by surprise, and I blinked rapidly to try and reorient myself.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I mean, I'm glad you did. But I was actually going to ask you if you're free tonight."

Spencer was nothing if not an emotional rollercoaster demanding passengers before 10AM. Ready to roll bright and fuckin' early.

"Yeah, I am. If you're still wondering," I answered in place of the multitude of questions I hadn't been ready to ask yet. Questions like, why was he wondering? Why did he need to schedule this? Was this another 'not-a-date' date?

"I wanted to take you somewhere," he mentioned casually, finally fully dressed while I still struggled to put on my clothes.

"Where?"

"It's a surprise," he said with raised eyebrows, like he was so very proud of himself.

I'd let him have that one, but only because he was so damn cute.

"Fine. That means I have to go home to get cleaned up first, then."

He seemed only a little disappointed by that, but overall acquiesced. I was a little sad about it, too, but remained confident in the old adage that distance makes the heart grow fonder.

Besides, I wanted to look cute for my surprise.

We hadn't talked much before I left. I could tell he was still struggling with coming to terms with what he'd accidentally revealed to me in the middle of the night.

Honestly, it was a good thing I left. The desire to talk about it was overwhelming, and some things are better left unsaid...

For now, I promised myself. Just for now.

—————————————————

Spencer came to pick me up without a hitch. When I climbed into his car, I fully expected him to not tell me where we were going. I was right; he didn't. Of course, after about 30 minutes I recognized the route we were going. When I'd graciously pointed it out to him with increasingly less subtle suggestions, he still refused to give me a single hint.

That was, until we pulled into Observatory parking lot.

"I've never been here before!" I squeaked. My excitement had been obvious enough with the embarrassing crack, and Spencer's interest in my enthusiasm only grew.

He was looking at me with that soft, slightly saccharine smile.

"I figured. You aren't nerdy enough to go by yourself," he chuckled. The genuineness behind the sound made the already excited butterflies in my stomach begin to swarm.

"Hey, I can be cultured too, you know," I still corrected with the worst posh accent you've ever heard.

With a teasing smile on his face, the stupid man chose to look away rather than to admit his honest reaction to the statement.

Asshole, I thought, only to be proven wrong seconds later. Forever a gentleman, Spencer joined me on my side of the car and took utmost care and attention to help me out from my seat.

It felt strange, to adorn his arm like something beautiful as we gazed at the stars together. I tried not to think about it, but wondered just how far he was willing to risk being seen with me in an undoubtedly romantic setting.

"Isn't this place usually closed to the public? I know they have limited general admission days," I asked, despite already knowing the answer. I just wanted to see if my hunch was correct.

"Yeah, I might have called in a favor or two."

Fuck, was my first thought. The next twelve thoughts, however, were all reiterations of 'Don't get your hopes up.'

My grip on his arm tightened, but he didn't seem to mind. I'd guessed that his nonchalance was entirely due to the private nature of the excursion, but I wasn't going to ask, and I certainly wouldn't complain. I was happy enough that he'd brought me, even if he wasn't ready to admit why. I could be patient. Sometimes.

Once inside, Spencer knew exactly where to go. I watched in awe at how many people knew who he was, and how much they looked up to him. While I had also always been impressed by him, it'd become easy to forget just how impressive he was when all the time we'd spent together was so far away from the rest of the world.

But Spencer's quiet humility certainly wasn't an issue that night. He spent nearly two hours walking me through what ended up being essentially all the stars in the sky. Much like the museum, it consisted of me adoring both the content of his words and the man himself.

He told me the story of the vain Queen Cassiopeia and her doting husband Cepheus, still holding each other in the stars millennia later. He spoke enthusiastically and with no sense of pacing. Half the time my eyes left the telescope, turning instead to marvel at the way he moved his hands and fidgeted with his hair as his voice tumbled out of him like it couldn't be contained.

It was just the two of us in the room when he finished, the dim lights and quiet ambiance catching up with me as I stared at him with all the reverence in the universe above us. He eventually finished his thoughts on Perseus and Andromeda, and I could tell by the look on his face that their love story meant something to him.

"You're quite the romantic, Dr. Reid."

He seemed surprised by the sentiment, like it was something he'd never heard before, and now he wasn't quite sure what to do with it. So, he simply laughed awkwardly and moved closer to peer into the telescope.

Whether it was because he felt a stronger connection to the extraterrestrial, or because he simply didn't want me to see that he was blushing, I didn't mind either way. A few less seconds under the scrutiny of his gaze would do my heart well.

"Not sure many people would use that word," he said under his breath when he worked up the courage to speak.

"Well, I did," I replied much more confidently.

He was smiling but trying to hide it the same as the pink hue to his cheeks.

"You said you were 14 when you went to college, right?" I said with narrow eyes, trying to read him from under the large machine.

"Yeah," he responded with an equal dose of caution, "... why?"

"Probably didn't go to prom then, huh?"

His answer was obvious from the way his entire body jumped. Knocking his head on the telescope as he rushed to give an answer, all his mouth would produced was a long, dumb, "Uhhh."

I knew he was about to try to run away. Before he could, I stopped him. With both hands on his arm, I kept him close. Eventually, his muscles gave in and accepted my embrace.

"Come on; dance with me," I begged.

He looked around the room for an excuse. There was no one there, just the two of us on arguably the most heartwarming date I've ever been on in my life.

"There's no music," he scrambled, eventually admitting, "aaand I can't dance."

Ignoring the pitter-pattering of a childish, lovesick heart, I laughed.

"I can teach you, Dr. Reid."

We both knew he wasn't getting out of this one. As I hopped down from the stool, I revealed my secret weapon from my pocket. I pulled up a playlist that I knew would suit him and the setting, and I held out my hand in an invitation that couldn't be refused.

"I have all the world of music at my fingertips. Now I just need you. "

Spencer groaned, but behind it all I saw an undeniable happiness. When he put his hand in mine, it too felt like warmth and safety. I took it with an even brighter grin, immediately bringing him closer to sway slowly to the music coming from my phone now seated on the stool.

The acoustics of the room let the music flow through, and within moments we had fallen into a comfortable rhythm. My cheek rested against his chest and I couldn't help but laugh.

"You lied to me, Dr. Reid. You definitely know how to dance."

"Okay, but does it really count if you've only ever done it with your mom?" he asked.

I threw my head back as I laughed, and he joined me. The two of us shamelessly filled the large room with a warmth not entirely unlike a far away star.

"Don't laugh at me!" he pouted, but I think he actually enjoyed the sound.

"I'm sorry," I whined, "you're just so fucking cute I don't know how to handle it."

Finally able to stifle the joyous sounds, I looked up at him with even more fascination than I'd showed the stars. I'm not sure what I had expected, but it wasn't what I'd found. Because Spencer's eyes were like mirrors facing the sun; reflecting the passions I spewed so carelessly right back at me.

"There are over a million words in the English language, and I still can't think of a single combination to explain how I feel about you."

Just like that, he'd stolen my breath and my sense. My smile fell into a look of smitten shock, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't convince my heart to fall back into its rhythm.

"I-I'm surprised you don't know the exact number," I said with an awkward chuckle.

"Well, some estimate that it's 1,025,109, but new words are created constantly, and it would depend on what actually counts as a new word. Not to mention the different dialects, words that have fallen out of common use, or words that may be used for entirely different purposes despite being the same."

I raised my eyebrows, not at all surprised that he had an answer, but excited to hear it, nonetheless.

"But it doesn't matter," he whispered, impervious to just how much he was breaking my heart. "Because no matter the number, I know it won't be enough."

My eyes lit up like the stars we had just spent hours staring at, and I wondered if he could tell. He must have. Because his hand on my hip pulled me closer, and our hands intertwined as our pace slowed to a stop. Our breath was unsteady as he came closer to me, pausing just before our lips touched.

We shared the oxygen between us, daring the other to do what we both know we shouldn't.

So I did, leaning up to kiss him as my hand slid up his arm and around his neck. His hesitation melted into the embrace, our tongues gently sharing space in an entirely new way.

I thought to the millions of stars in the sky, realizing that I shared Spencer's skepticism of an unknown number. Because no matter how many stars there were, I knew there would never be enough to outshine that moment between the two of us.

It was not a hurried or excited kiss. It was an amorous, amazing promise of a kiss. It was the kind of kiss that they wrote about in Corinthians. It was patient and kind. It was not proud nor self-seeking. Spencer's free hand held my face against his; the way they wrote that love always protects, trusts, hopes, and perseveres.

Did he feel the way he was kissing me? Because I had.

I felt it like a storm, the breeze blowing the air from my lungs and breaking down the walls around me. I held onto him and this moment, scared of what this meant for us. How could I pretend like we were just friends when I shook for days at his touch?

That was why I was the one to end the kiss, looking down away from him as I did. A soft, defeated chuckle as I took a deep breath. When our eyes met again, I lowered my arms to his chest, listening to the soft tunes still floating through the room.

"We should go home now," I whispered.

He was reading my reactions; I could feel it. And in doing so, he had lowered his own walls too far. I could see them behind his eyes.

My voice shook as I continued, "... before you do something else to try and make me fall in love with you."

Spencer didn't look scared as he replied with a cheeky little grin, "Why, is it working?"

I almost passed out at the way his eyes softened at my goofy smile.

"I'm kidding," he immediately followed.

I rolled my eyes at the absolute bullshit of a lie. I tried to play it off like it was nothing, but my heart felt like it would fall out of my chest. I tried not to think about it too hard as we made our way back to the car.

As he helped me in, I realized that we were really going to continue acting like none of that just happened. I tried to think of how that kiss we shared could be written off, but I couldn't. That was not the kind of kiss between friends. It was not the kind of kiss between strangers.

It was a kiss of the kind we both implicitly promised not to talk about.

Once the trip home had begun, I gathered the courage to tread lightly.

"So, what was the fantasy for tonight?" I innocently asked.

A little confused, he glanced over at me, careful not to take his eyes off the road.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I've found each time we're together there's some sexual component," I chuckled. "This is pretty far from home, and you seemed very into it. I was just wondering what inspired this trip."

I was trying to avoid obviously ogling his reactions by shifting my eyes from him every few seconds. I had leaned against the door, surprised by just how tired I really was. He was doing that thing where he weighed his words again.

Eventually, he shrugged. That softness returning to his features from before, he began, "To be honest, (y/n)..."

Please, don't break my heart, I begged to that beautiful man.

Actually turning his head entirely to me, he spoke through a delicate smile, "I just wanted to look at the stars with you."

Goddammit.

The stars returned to my eyes, and I could see them reflected in his. My heart sped up to prepare for the panic as I realized that it was definitely too late for us. Because his efforts were working. They had been working all along, and I never tried to stop them.

As I drifted off to sleep in the comfortable silence of our company, I couldn't ignore the obvious:

I think I'm in love with Spencer Reid and I think he's starting to love me, too.

But we couldn't just love each other in isolation, and I wasn't sure he was ready to make that leap with me. In fact, I knew he wasn't. I still knew basically nothing about him, and he knew virtually nothing about me. How could it be then, that our souls felt so at home with each other?

Which would hurt more? Finding out he didn't love me, or that he did... and just wishes he didn't?

—————————————————

| Part 6 |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds imagine #h2m #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #smut

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

ladybug. yandere!giorno x reader

tw: emotional manipulation, humiliation

giorno is patient with you, but everything has limits.

click here to check out my commissions!

Sunlight has always felt nice on your skin.

Even when it’s obscured by glass windows, it brings a sense of comfort that’s unmatched by anything else. Compliment it by drinking any assortment of hot drinks, such as cappuccinos or espressos, and it makes your world feel whole. For hours at a time you could bask in it, eyes fluttering shut and soaking in blissful warmth.

The breakfast room you sit in most mornings is surrounded by circle topped windows, deliberately placed on the east wing of Giorno’s villa to capture the morning sun. In the middle of the room sits a petite glass table, large enough to be accompanied by four birch wood seats.

Every morning you come here, an assortment of pastries and berries are laid out to your liking. A rotating set of china accompanies them, differing in color depending on the seasons. As it’s currently winter, a pearly white set with sapphire designs are in use. With spring budding around the season, you’ll soon be met with your favorite set; one with sakura designs from Japan.

All of these small details are pressed into your mind. Having sat in this room for breakfast too many times to count, you’ve come to know everything about it. From the seasonal fine china, to which chair allows the sun to kiss your skin the longest, to how the windows are kept under lock and key.

You’ve tried that method already.

Funny thing, that is. How an oceanic view gives the illusion of freedom, when looked at through monumental windows. By how the butler’s breath hitches when you run your fingers over the glass longingly, you can only imagine the strict regulations Giorno holds them to. It’s not like it’ll crumble underneath your delicate touch, even if you silently wish it would.

The sight of waves crashing causes a sigh to leave your lips, knowing that you’ll have to be content to watch it from here for the time being. In your myriad of thoughts, you fail to notice a small ladybug settling itself onto your outstretched hand. Looking at it with a frown, you watch as it crawls from the back of your hand to your fingertips.

It’s why you don’t flinch when soft footsteps approach you from behind, already knowing the omen the ladybug brought with it. Retracting your hand away from the window, you feel no desire to look back when you already know who’s there.

“I take it you like the view?” Even early in the morning, Giorno’s voice is composed and smooth. It demands to be listened to and respected, even if you have to admit that begrudgingly. He cherry picks his words with intention, a facade of domesticity mixed within them.

“Why do you use,” you pause for a moment, ignoring Giorno’s rhetorical question to find the best term for his ability. “This… method, when I always come here in the morning. I’m sure you’re well aware of that.”

At this, you finally decide to turn around and face him. Giorno stands in front of you with a relaxed disposition, having already waved off any staff that were nearby. It makes you grit your teeth, knowing the reason why. He’s here to keep an eye on you now, so there’s no need for them to.

Not responding to the clear hostility in your voice, Giorno takes a seat close to where you’re standing. Each movement carries with it a sense of grace and control, not unusual to him. The sun just began to rise, and his normal purple suit is worn without a single wrinkle in sight. His golden hair set in place perfectly, deep eyes never weary from lack of sleep; even after long nights.

Giorno reaches out for a chocolate filled pastry, taking a bite before offering a response. “You woke up earlier than usual.”

The way he says it without returning your clear irritation only serves to disturb you more. No matter how much you try and upset him, Giorno never gives in. Each movement and word is calculated before your eyes, giving the illusion of a perfect, divine man.

Frowning, your eyes flicker between the ladybug on your hand, and then back to Giorno. He continues to eat in silence, most likely not wanting to provoke you more than his presence already does. Continuing your quiet seething, you purse your lips.

“I didn’t take you for my caretaker.” you bite back, eyes narrowing as he doesn’t so much as flinch at your venomous words. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he lightly dusts away any crumbs the pastry left on his lips.

“I never said I was,” Giorno flashes you a sweet smile, one that promises more. “But I am your husband. The two are almost interchangeable in some regards, aren’t they?”

The swift reminder only serves to further sour your mood. Typically he’s not the type to rub things in your face, but you know the reason why he mentioned his relation to you this time. Looking down at your bare ring finger, you find the red ladybug finished its previous scurrying. It now stays circling your lower ring finger, as if it had found its original goal.

Before your very eyes it transforms into a familiar gold band, with a round brilliant diamond in the middle. Various other smaller diamonds line the areas next to it, always making you wonder the original price of such a ring.

“So you noticed,” you respond dryly, eyeing the ring with faint disdain. “Why am I not surprised...”

There isn’t much you can do to practically spite Giorno, but little things make you feel better. Even if it’s something small, like taking off your wedding ring, it brings a temporary solace. But every time you hide it somewhere, it always manages to return to you due to Giorno’s Stand.

Placing the handkerchief back into his pocket, Giorno’s eyes flicker to the food you’ve left untouched on the table. He frowns for a brief second, before looking back to you.

“Come, sit and eat,” Giorno asks of you, motioning to the empty chair next to him. “You haven’t touched your food.”

Considering your options, you look at the admittedly delicious assortment on the table. It pains you to give into anything Giorno tells you to do, but testing his patience is a tricky battle.

He’ll allow you to verbally retaliate against him most times, as long as you’re picky with your insults. Mentioning your adamant abhorrence towards him or your past life will earn varying degrees of punishments, ranging from solitude to threats towards your family. All said with a loving smile.

Begrudgingly, you take your seat next to him and attempt to decide what to eat. This early in the morning your appetite isn’t fully there, and the uneasy feeling Giorno brings you doesn’t help. Upon noticing your hesitation, Giorno reaches for a blueberry scone.

Delicately, he picks up a knife and spreads a generous amount of butter across the flaky top. The butter slowly begins to melt, Giorno seemingly content with the amount. You’re familiar with this little game, knowing that Giorno takes pleasure in preparing food for you that meets his standards. Once he’s done, you gingerly reach to take it from his hands.

Only to be met with a chastising noise, and teasing smile that makes your skin crawl with indignation.

“If I can’t trust you to eat,” Giorno begins with a soft hum, causing you to knit your eyebrows. “I’ll take it upon myself to feed you.”

Cheeks flushing, you take a moment to see if he’s joking with you. But as he holds the scone up a few inches from your lips, you realize he’s being dead serious. If anything, he seems to be amusing himself with your embarrassed expression.

Would it be possible to smack the scone out of his hand? Something tells you that his reflexes might be better than yours, but a small part of you still wants to try your luck. Giorno subtly nudges the scone forth, prompting you to open your mouth for him.

Humiliation settles in, as you slowly part your lips. Giorno’s eyes soften at your submission, placing the tip of the scone into your mouth. Taking a tentative bite, you’re met with an abundance of flavor. The bread almost melts in your mouth, hints of butter dancing on your taste buds before the tart blueberry follows suit.

The two of you fall into a steady rhythm, and before you know it, you’ve finished eating the scone. You expect Giorno to pull his hand back, but he keeps it in front of your lips. Tilting your head at the inaction on his part, Giorno takes it as an opportunity to explain.

“I don’t wish to speak too highly of myself, however,” Giorno starts, his thumb reaching to rub circles on your soft lips. “I’ve been considerate of you, signora. Don’t I always meet your needs? Everything I do, I do it for you, my beloved.”

He ceases his movements momentarily, making sure to hold eye contact with you. You hadn’t noticed it before, but Giorno had moved forward and is now closer to you. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, dizziness starting to settle in by his newfound closeness.

The way his eyes are glazing over with an emotion unidentifiable makes you uncomfortable. But he continues his little speech, continuing to toy with your lips at his leisure.

“And still you remain so adversarial towards me. It hurts me, it truly does. Even so, I’ve never been the type to quit when I have a hard goal in mind. I’ll have you love me, even if I have to pry it out from you.”

“What are you--”

Giorno takes the opportunity to place his middle and index finger into your mouth, making you let out a squeak in shock. He remains level with you, unblinking as a familiar cruelness is found in his tone.

“Would you be a dear and clean my fingers for me? I fear I got them dirty.”

It takes every ounce of self control you have. Holding back every primal instinct to inflict pain on him by biting down, giving him a taste of your own suffering. But even with the immense temptation, you’re unable to bring yourself to do it. The consequences of such an action would undoubtedly outweigh any momentary satisfaction.

Fluttering your eyelids shut to avoid his penetrating gaze, you lazily roll your tongue around his fingers. Tilting your head away from his general direction, you’re once again met with a dissatisfied response.

“Look at me.”

His tone leaves little room for argument. Opening your eyes once more, you shiver at the sheer intensity on Giorno’s face. It reminds you of how he looks when speaking to his Capos, how he adopts a persona unlike his normal polite self. Rarely does he ever inflict it on you, wanting to always charm you.

At what feels like a humiliating eternity, Giorno removes his digits from your mouth. You bite your lip harshly to stop yourself from saying anything else you’ll regret, watching in feigned disinterest as he examines his cleaned fingers.

Giorno drinks in your appearance, his eyes scanning over the different angles of your face. He always compliments your eyes the most, as unwanted as his advances are. You can’t deny that his own turquoise hues are uniquely beautiful, but never intend on letting him know that. From your staring you get the feeling he already knows.

“Obedience is becoming of you, cara.”

The double edged compliment does little for you, only adding flames to the fire within. A sigh leaves Giorno’s lips at your lack of reaction, reaching out to gingerly sip on a mocha cappuccino. For the Don of a mafia group that controls all of Italy to be so fond of chocolate has always felt ironic to you.

Giorno sees you looking at his cup, and tilts it towards you. Understanding the invitation that signals, you shake your head. Returning to your original goal of looking out the window towards the ocean waves, you’re immensely grateful at the few seconds of silence that he grants you. Any reprieve is to be taken advantage of.

In between sips, he finally begins to speak once more. “After some deliberation, a five day long vacation would be acceptable. Things have been settling down lately, and I’d still be on call at all times, but…”

He leans in close to you, placing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll be able to spend more time with you. Do try and be good for me, will you?”

It’s phrased like a question, but is a command. He has a way of draining all the fight you have to offer from you, slowly and deliberately. In a complex web that he spins, trapping you even further when you struggle. Sighing while you accept your fate for now, all you can give is an uncomplicated answer.

“--I’ll try.”

#giorno #giorno giovanna #giorno giovanna x reader #giorno x reader #yandere giorno #yandere giorno giovanna #yandere giorno x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere reader insert #yandere imagine #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #ougon no kaze #jjba #jjba x reader #yandere jjba #my stuff

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greywritesfics · 4 years

Text

Chapter Thirty-One: Interruption

Class 1-A suited to their P.E. costumes early in the morning.

"This camp's mission is to strengthen everyone's Quirks as a whole and prepare you for the obstacles bound to come," Aizawa announced, looking around his students. "With that said, Bakugo, throw this," he continued, tossing a baseball toward the said male.

"This is the same as the Quirk apprehension test, right?" Mina observed, and Minori nodded in agreement.

"He's totally going to get over a kilometer!" the pinkette gushed, looking over at Bakugo excitedly. Following her line of sight, Minori finds him exercising his throwing wrist. Walking up further in front, he swings his arm as the rest of the students cheered in anticipation.

Bakugo crouched down, letting a small smirk take his features and, in a very typical Bakugo fashion, yelled out a 'DROP DEAD!" before using his explosion to propel the ball forward. Stepping back in satisfaction, everyone watched as the ball traveled out of sight. But as the rest of the students reeled at the distance, Aizawa sighed, holding up a tablet that displayed Bakugo's score.

"Seven hundred and nine-point-six meters."

"Huh? That's not even close to what we expected," Kirishima mumbled at the low improvement, furrowing his eyebrows.

"All of you have gained a lot of experience in the past three months," Aizawa continued. "But that growth has been primarily emotional and technical." He turned around, facing the class. "Now the time has come to concentrate on physical advancement as well. As you can see, your Quirks themselves have only improved, at best, by a marginal amount." His mouth morphed into a sneering smile. "So starting today, we will focus on upgrading your Quirks. I will be pushing you beyond your limits, so try not to die on me."

All around, mayhem ensued. Each and every one of the students has been tasked with individual training to push their Quirks to the limit. Every single person in Class 1-A seemed to be doing different things with their Quirk.

Angry yells echoed from a specific spot in the large clearing. A particular ash-blonde male repeatedly dunking his hands into scalding water, and as soon as he releases them, he let out a series of explosions.

On the other hand, Minori was set in the field's corner, where most greenery grew. She was standing in front of a large tree, panting hard but pushing on. Utilizing the dynamic footwork she learned from her mentor, Jiyuu, she maneuvers herself around the tree bark smoothly, manipulating her air in the form of sharp blades to raze the thick tree, striking it again and again. All the while evoking the wind's intangibility and explosive power, drawing energy from the center of her abdomen.

However, her training didn't end there. No, she was forced to continue using her Quirk by using circular movements. She builds up a massive momentum and releases it with a vast, wide-spanning low sweep from her leg, the air current weaving through the dense shrubbery and essentially, mowing the lawn. When the grass appeared flat, she continued to practice her offense abilities, but in a broader spectrum. Performing larger sweepings and spins from her limbs, fan, or both, the salty sweat trickling down the sides of her face and from the way she breathed, deep, heaving and uneven, that she was driven to the utmost and was utterly exhausted. With another powerful motion, she engraved a deep cut into the timber.

Minori panted, glancing over at the students of Class 1-B huddled around staring at her class training, her air blade manipulation never ceasing. She narrowed her eyes as it looked directly in cerulean blue ones of the blonde male from the Sports Festival as he stared right at her, sending him a quick glare, she returned to her training. As she felt more and more of her energy being depleted, she hurried to ignore the aches and exhaustion.

"Ki, nice job with the tree," Aizawa appeared from nowhere before venomously smirking. "Now, try with the stone over here." The teachers supervising seemed set on pushing the students to their breaking point, and Minori wondered if she would die on this training camp.

Training finally ended for the day, and Minori groaned in relief as she finally took a break for the day. Her head throbbed, and her knees threatened to buckle, yet she continued moving, following the rest of her class as they walked back to their residence. Yesterday's task had been nothing compared to the pure depletion she felt now. Shuffling over to the dining area seated outside, the rest of the students had already gathered, complaining about how they had to make their own food, compared to the meal they were given yesterday.

Spoiled brats.

"Minori! How was your training?" Mina inquired, walking up next to her. Compared to her, she looked pretty energetic, considering the harsh training they had to go through, but she could see the hint of exhaustion lacing her voice.

"Draining," she mumbled, setting herself right on a chair before her knees gave away. "I think I'm going to die."

Mina let out a giggle at her predicament, nodding. "Honestly, it was intense." The pinkette went over to look at what the others were doing, asking Todoroki for help with fire and helping in any way she could. Minori wondered how she was capable of being so perky when they had just endured an excruciating day through hell, but it's one of Mina's best qualities.

Taking a breath, she went over to the cutting station, unwilling to be the only one not contributing, and set about to help cut up the vegetables they were currently making. Settling down beside Bakugo, who was surprisingly skilled in his knife work, she started peeling. Glancing over at what the male was doing, she tried copying his skill yet failing miserably.

"What?" Bakugo grumbled, noticing her stare.

"You're pretty good with a knife," she commented, still trying to cut around her own potatoes.

"No, shit. You're doing it all wrong," he sneered, looking over at her handiwork. Minori didn't feel the need to answer with a smart retort knowing that he was right. After all, she didn't think she had ever cooked a meal before, opting for pre-made meals instead. "You have to put your hands on the base here." Outstretching his large calloused hands, he paused, crimson orbs widening and hand frozen centimeters before hers. "Just watch me," he mumbled, turning back to his cutting board and silently went about slowing down on his chopping, letting her see how it was done. She brightened up at his slow pace, finally able to grasp how to properly handle a knife.

"Thanks."

"Whatever, I just don't want to eat shitty food."

They fell into a comfortable silence, and Minori couldn't help but glance over toward the male beside her, catching Bakugo flinching and clicking his teeth in frustration. Her large grey orbs noticed a minuscule cut on his thumb. "You cut yourself?"

"No, Captain Obvious, I just made myself bleed on the spot," he retorted, rolling his eyes and applying pressure to the wound.

"Let me see," she mumbled. Without waiting for his approval, she grabbed his hand for a better look, earning a cry of protest from the male.

"Let me go, you curly-haired freak!" he growled, yet made no effort to move his hand away. By now, the rest of the class had turned over at the commotion, finding the explosive male at Minori's mercy. She caught the dazed look of amber eyes, gazing intently at the duo, making said female furrow her eyebrows in confusion.

"Shut up and stop acting like a baby, Katsuki. I'm not going to hurt you," she responded, rolling her eyes before glaring down at his thumb where the wound was, using her fingers to gently brush the small cut. She heard him mumble under his breath, but ignored his words, concentrating on providing more oxygen into his body, providing nutrients to effectively increase his metabolism and pressurize the air to forcefully seal off the wound.

Removing her hand from Bakugo's, she inspected his thumb that looked as good as new. "See?" Minori asked, peering at his pouty expression before he snatched his hand away, glaring where the cut had been.

"Where the hell did you learn to do that?" he gritted.

"You're welcome," she responded simply, ignoring his question as the class began preparing the curry into bowls.

"You can't help but put your hands on me," Bakugo commented disinterestedly, but Minori caught the glint of playfulness in his sharp eyes. Is THE Bakugo Katsuki trying to joke around?

Although she knew he was only playing around, she couldn't help the gasp of disbelief escape her plump lips. "Me? What about you? Mr. what-the-fuck-did-you-say-collar-grabber," she said, mimicking his deep voice.

His face scrunched into one of incredulity. "The fuck, when do I ever?"

She snorts, "ok, King Explosion Murder." She smirks, but her lips quickly stretch into a genuine smile as a laugh escapes from her throat, watching his vermillion eyes narrow into a glare.

"Listen here you--"

"My point," Minori whispers at their close proximity. The ash-blonde fisted the collar of her shirt, her captor dangerously close to her. His gleaming crimson orbs peered into her grey ones, and with a distance comparable to none, his features were much more striking: beautiful sharp eyes, skin near perfect, and a sharp jaw paired with adorably chubby cheeks. His fiery crimson eyes seemed to shift with uncertainty, and at that moment, it felt like the world stopped moving. When his eyes flickered back to hers, she almost jolted at the spark.

"Am I interrupting something?" Uraraka asked quietly, slowly placing their plates on the table. Bakugo pushed away from her face sharply, agitation evident through his taut jaw.

"No," Minori answered, the tone of her voice unnaturally high. She cleared her throat, ignoring the complete humiliation she felt.

"Uh, right," she said, her brown eyes shining with skepticism. "I'll leave you to it then."

Shooting the male seated next to her a quick glance, Minori followed Bakugo's heated stare on the brunette. For a second, his eyes flickered to hers before briefly shutting them and muttering a quiet swear. Gritting his teeth, he turned to his bowl of curry, not sparing the female another glance.

When Minori was about to delve into her meal, she caught sight of a familiar red walking past the class and disappearing. She quickly ate the well-deserved food and picked up her plate to deposit it in the washing area. Grabbing onto another bowl, she went deep into the forest.

Finding the boy wasn't hard. His footprints were rutted into the dried mud, leaving his shoe casts. The farther she walked, the more intertwined the forest got with thick tree roots and sharp rocks. The hidden path where his footprints disappeared to was tucked away in the depths of the woods. The track was remarkably clear and smooth. And from a distance, Minori found and the interestingly shaped horned hat.

"Kota, right?" Minori announced, making herself known to the seated boy. "I brought you some curry."

"You! How did you know I was here?! This is my secret spot!" He scowled red-faced.

"Secret spot? That's cool," she says, squatting down and placing the bowl on the ground for him.

"What part of 'I'm not fucking around with you scrubs' did you not understand? Showing off your corny ass powers and fighting for no reason like fucking idiots! Just leave me be."

"I'm sorry about your parents," Minori apologized, giving her condolences, continuing when Kota swiveled around, grinding his teeth. "Mandalay told me the night you passed out in the baths."

"Screw you!" he hissed, his lips quivering. "People like you, heroes, villains killing each other, bragging about your Quirks, stupid. Just like the superhero society." The ravenette confessed, contempt evident in his tone.

"Ain't that right," Minori snorted, agreeing, watching as the boy's coal-like eyes widened in shock. "Hero society, villain society, society as a whole is all messed up."

"...huh?"

"My name is Ki Minori. I'm the daughter of Tatsumaki," she paused, watching the recognition fall over his features. "Because of what she's done, Tatsumaki, society feared me, blamed me, and hated me. They expected me to follow the same path as her, so I was put into Thanatos. It's called a boarding school, but it's more-so of a prison." Minori frowned, the memories of her life spent through that building fluttering through her mind. "I was never allowed to use my Quirk, I actually hated it for the resemblance it has to my mother's because I didn't want to be like her. I can't say this without bias, but I'm going to become a hero so I can prove everyone wrong and change the way people view Quirks."

Sighing, Minori looks at the short boy with soft eyes. "Moral of the story, Kota, nothing is black or white. If you continue thinking the same way you are, in the end, you're only going to hurt yourself."

"Shut up! You don't even know what you're talking about! Just leave already," he snarls, infuriated and tight-lipped, pointing back to where she came from.

"Ok," she nods, standing up onto her feet and turning to walk away. "Make sure you eat. Have a good night."

As she walks back to her room, Minori acknowledges that hearing a random person try to preach about things they can't grasp is probably annoying to him. Her words can only mean so much. It's the actions that really count. In the end, she knows Kota will eventually learn to see, just like someone helped her even though she didn't want it. If it's not her, eventually, Kota will have that certain someone.

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A/N: NOW Y’ALL SEE WHY I POSTED THAT DEBBY RYAN MEME HEHEHEHE... I hope y’all are ready for this downfall :))) because I’m not 🙈

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itsclydebitches · 4 years

Text

Welcome back, everyone!

A quick note before we begin: after the previous recap a couple of lovely friends and anons explained to me some discrepancies in my work, mainly about how Fox's semblance functions and how much info we’ve gotten on that previously. They're worth a read if (like me) you haven't read After the Fall and would like a more accurate picture of this whole project. However, I have to admit that sadly past!me didn’t think through the usefulness of those posts and tag them appropriately... so they’re just somewhere in the mess that is the “rwby” and “mymetas” tags. Still, I wanted to acknowledge their existence, both for your potential use and as another disclaimer along the lines of, “I’m reading what amounts to a sequel and recapping as I go. Prepare for a bumpy ride.”

We're on chapter five now (of twenty-two! Holy god I’m slow!!) and truth be told I actually enjoyed this opening. We're in Yatsuhashi's head this time around and he's likewise enjoying Vacuo's Meeting Spot, an "artificial oasis" that reminds him of his mother's healing gardens. I wonder what "healing" means in this particular context. A generalized benefit to your body, mind, and spirit in the form of meditation? Or a more literal, magic-based healing with its roots in aura use? In a world with RWBY's possibilities, a healing garden that someone like Ozpin might run—let's take time to settle ourselves and reflect—vs. one that someone like Jaune would create—let me use my semblance to literally heal your wounds—are rather different things. I'd be interested to know which category (or another) Yatsuhashi's mother falls under.

Regardless, it's a satisfyingly quiet scene. Yatsuhashi comments on both the beauty of the oasis as well as how that beauty, in turn, raises the desert in his eyes. Nothing like not having to deal with a hard landscape to make that landscape seem more bearable, alluring even, and this moment managed to capture that feeling rather well. The only downside is that, in a recurring theme, I once again got whiplash upon realizing that Yatsuhashi is not standing alone in the peace of the early morning, like the description had led me to believe. Apparently Velvet is there. As well as the whole freaking student body! Myers* has this strange habit of writing one kind of scene only to suddenly reveal that the scene is actually radically different from what his writing had encouraged you to imagine. Yatsuhashi is going on about healing, natural beauty, and the peace of an early morning. What's peaceful about dozens of students speculating beside him? Have you ever met a school of sleep deprived young adults dealing with a surprise announcement before breakfast? That’s as far from peaceful as humanly possible.

Mood, kid.

(*Also yes, we're working to write Myers' name correctly this chapter. If I'm going to drag his work so much the least I can do is not add an additional 'e' to his name lol.)

Along with the entirety of Shade Academy to break the peace, Yatsuhashi tells us about dromedons and mole crabs. The former, according to the wiki, is a "camel-like Grimm that can spit acidic venom" and also sports an armored hump. Fun! The latter, according to Yatsuhashi, is a "horrifying" creature that "slept just below the sand and could cut a person in two with their massive claws." And they're the normal, non-grimm animals! Screw Salem. Humanity needs huntsmen just to keep people safe from the everyday wildlife. Crabs cut people in two, Zwei is capable of being set on fire and launched at a mech... it's a miracle that anyone ever steps outside their home.

I do write this with full knowledge that Australia exists, but still.

As Yatsuhashi moves away from thoughts of killer crabs, we begin what is easily the strangest bit of repetition this chapter. Yatsuhashi's shoulder is sore from having tried to break down the hideout door and I'm going, "Wait no, you used your sword” and frantically flipping back through my PDF. To Myers' credit, there is a detail that suggests Yatsuhashi uh... rammed the door? I think? Last chapter he "Stepped forward and Fox heard him grunt with exertion." That's the only thing I can think of that would explain his shoulder unexpectedly being sore hours later: if he'd charged it instead of doing something insane like, oh, I don't know, trying the doorknob first. Odd choice of continuity, but okay. What's super weird though is that Myers repeats the detail again:

Yatsuhashi crossed his arms, then grimaced as a fresh pain shot through his shoulder. Come on, Aura, he thought. Do your thing.

I'm sorry, how badly did you hurt your shoulder? Why does a supposedly intelligent student immediately resort to what is apparently somewhat serious self-harm when faced with a closed door? Why is Myers choosing this of all things to tell us about? Is this incredibly random shoulder injury going to hinder Yatsuhashi during the test? Spoilers: I don't think it does considering that I searched for "shoulder" in my PDF and there's just a lot of hands on shoulders coming up, but nothing that, at first glance, seems to make this kind of set up necessary. So I say again: weird.

Meanwhile, weirdness doesn’t even acknowledge the continued inconsistencies with aura. Jaune heals a cut on his cheek instantaneously, but hours later Yatsuhashi needs to gripe at his aura to hop-to already? So either Jaune’s aura is far more powerful than the average person’s (never established outside of Pyrrha’s “You have a lot of it” comment), or Yatsuhashi really hurt his shoulder that badly. Hard enough that with the rest of the night and early morning to heal him, his aura is still working overtime.

Alrighty then.

So the whole student body is just kind of hanging out, striking up casual conversations. Velvet asks how Yatsuhashi is doing and he says he's fine, "Thanks to you." Wait... what did Velvet do? I mean yeah, she was there last night and she's here now, but so is the rest of the team. I don't really recall her helping Yatsuhashi in any specific way. As is the norm now, I remain mildly, endlessly confused by this novel.

But we don’t have time to delve into the gratitude attached to events I’m not actually sure happened. There’s more chit chat going on as everyone tries to figure out why they've been summoned so early in the morning. "It's not always about us," Velvet says and I nod along in agreement even though I know, as a reader, that it's absolutely about them. "As I'm often reminding Coco."

Coco fires back with how it "could be about us," noting that it would be pretty coincidental if something else was going on right now, plus Rumpole may have realized they were out last night. (Remember, Yatsuhashi wasn't subtle about trying to break down that door). This is one of those moments where I agree wholeheartedly with Coco's logic, but kind of hate to encourage the 'It's all about us' attitude. Velvet might be smiling, but as previously established this is an ongoing theme within RWBY's characterization that it could really stand to do without.

Yatsuhashi then offers some "unsolicited advice" about how Rumpole could afford to slow down some and "let things come at their own pace," to which I respond, "Huh?" Where in the world did this come from? Previously the whole group—including Yatsuhashi, considering he didn't speak out against it—was concerned that Rumpole wasn't doing enough to track down the Crown. That is, do more, move faster, get it done already. You haven’t gotten it done? Okay, we’ll do it instead. Now he's providing this subtle criticism in response to a meeting, as if that's an inherently odd or bad thing for a headmistress to do. You want the woman to do extra work faster but slow down when it comes to her actual job?

It reads to me like Myers is trying to put a lot of wise-sounding dialogue into Yatsuhashi's mouth—you know, the Asian character who keeps bringing up things like meditation and mindfulness—but hasn't bothered to think about whether that dialogue makes any sense. Of course, we then immediately backtrack to reveal that his comment was really about Coco not pushing the team too hard, but... that's not what he said? And Coco clearly didn't get the message. And the hidden meaning of the words didn't come across too well if your reader is squinting at what was said until the author has to straight up go, 'This is what Yatsuhashi actually meant.' Maybe just... have him say that? Give us some significant looks towards Coco, at the very least. Something to clue us in here that Yatsuhashi is (weirdly) blaming Rumpole for Coco's flaw.

Then he just ruins the whole scene further by mentally commenting that if all this extra work was hard on them, "what would it do to SSSN?" Ugh, look. I don't even like SSSN very much. I didn't shed a tear when they left the main series and would shrug if they ever came back, so you know the story is ragging on them too much when I'm standing up for the group at the bottom of my Character Adoration list. The duality of 'SSSN is so incompetent I don't even know how they're alive' and 'That, in comparison, makes us the best team ever' got old forty pages ago, yet I have the distinct feeling it won't be letting up any time soon.

Headmaster Theodore finally arrives to break up this thrilling conversation and the students erupt into thunderous applause. "It was what [he] expected. It was what he inspired whenever he appeared." That... is absolutely hilarious. This guy is so much of a showman, so insanely over the top, that he expects people to treat his everyday appearance as a spectacle worthy of praise and they agree. You know who he reminds me of?

The king himself, Alex Louis Armstrong. I'm digging this already. It's absurd and I will forever question RWBY's ability to balance comedy with its darker tones... but I'm counting this one as a win so far. There's got to be something to praise about this book.

Just as important, we get a description of Theodore's positively insane outfit. I immediately googled to see if someone had drawn him and the fandom did not disappoint. I'm not going to include the image here in case the artist, Edisu, doesn't want their work reposted like that, but I highly recommend you check out the link and get a visual.

The only thing left to say about this fashion monstrosity is that he has a "flowing gray-blue cape, the color of a stormy sky." I'll let our favorite textile engineer make my point for me:

Honestly, between Ruby's cape and Weiss' hair someone is going to end up in trouble one of these days.

In this world free of horrific cape tragedies, we've segued into a flashback which is, frankly, kind of boring compared to the others we’ve gotten. It's just the group meeting Theodore, information and characterization that could have easily been distributed to the audience in the present. It's starting to feel like the structure of including a flashback each chapter is hindering Myers somewhat, just because every chapter doesn’t necessarily need one, but that’s far from the biggest issue to tackle.

We learn that Theodore (really Rumpole) did a bunch of research on all the students involved in the Vytal Festival and they're very pleased that Team CFVY has joined them now, despite the horrific circumstances. We again hear about how judgmental Coco can be, that her judgements are rarely wrong... but if they are wrong she's the last to admit it. So really that's less of a 'This character has good instincts about other people' and more 'This character is just, as said, judgmental and then stubborn about it when she’s wrong.' Theodore, however, seems like a cool dude:

“Ah, she speaks!” Theodore strode toward Velvet. His voice softened. “You didn’t fail, my dear. You fought. You stayed, far longer than anyone would have asked or expected of a student. And now you’re here. Do you want to be here? Will you fight for Shade the way you did for Beacon, Velvet Scarlatina?”

This is great. This is the kind of reassurance I would expect from a headmaster who, thus far, has received a fair amount of praise. Unlike his students, Theodore understands the risks Beacon students took and when it was time for them to make a life-saving retreat. He's inspiring while also being empathetic and honestly? That's the most I've had that 'You're a good person' sense from RWBY in a very long time.

Now watch Theodore turn out to be evil lol.

He cuts the tension of the serious conversation by proclaiming that if any of them doubt whether they should be here, they should take it up with him via a fight. Theodore announces this while striking a pose. I say again:

We then get some more reflection on how Theodore compares to Ozpin:

Ozpin had believed in you before you did, almost like he knew your true potential, despite what your transcripts or fighting abilities looked like. Theodore believed you had potential, but you had to earn it and prove yourself to him first.

I agree with that and I'm pleased to see that this time the comparison didn't involve criticizing Ozpin in an effort to build Theodore up. It’s likewise a useful description and I think it provides us with at least one interpretation of why the RWBYJNR group has discarded Ozpin so thoroughly. The addition "despite what your transcripts or fighting abilities looked like" implies that Ozpin sees potential in everyone. It doesn't matter how presumably flawed you might be—in physical strength, like Jaune; in morals, like Lionheart— Ozpin will see the good in you and give that good a fighting chance. That's why he's the one tasked with doing something as crazy as uniting the whole world because he's the one person capable of seeing that potential in literally everyone. That much is true. But the flipside of this is that, unlike when in interacting with someone like Theodore, no one expects to have to work for Ozpin's faith, his praise... his trust. With Theodore you have to "earn" the respect he gives you right from the start. With Ozpin it's free! So surely that means such faith extends to every possible situation, right?

Which is when you run into trouble. When the situation is no longer "I'll give you a chance in my school" but something much more serious like "I'm risking the whole world on your character." Ozpin is an optimist, but he's also cautious as hell (with good reason), so though he sees the potential in everyone he knows he can't let his own hope for humanity blind him to reality. That person might betray you. They might turn on you. They might give up and hurt you in the process... even if you want to believe that people are simply better than that. Wanting doesn’t make it so.

If someone who had as little interaction with Ozpin as Team CFVY did nevertheless developed such a strong sense of, "Yeah, he believes in everyone!" then it seems likely that Team RWBY, already sporting a special connection with him, thought they were shoe-ins for every possible secret and task they might ask of him. Their time at Beacon was defined largely by both intentional favoritism and coincidences that could arguably be read as such. Ruby gets to go to Beacon two years early. She gets to be team leader. The sisters stay together despite teams supposedly being random. Team RWBY goes on missions not meant for first years. Team RWBY is given a nudge-nudge-wink-wink about The White Fang so that they can do what they’re able to help. Team RWBY was friends with Pyrrha, next in line for the Maiden powers. They got used to Ozpin simultaneously solving all the real problems that showed up and letting them play at being important, all while the rest of the school had to follow normal rules. They’re special. But then Beacon falls, the game is over, and they're blindsided by having to earn trust and privileges in the real world. Playing at huntresses in the safety of your headmaster’s school is over and Ruby in particular never got that there was a massive difference between that and a real war where the fate of the world hangs on your trustworthiness and ability to keep it together. It’s why she announces to the Argus guards that she is a huntress while attacking the people she’s meant to protect.

Which would be a fantastic arc to give them if the show ever had someone sit the group down and tell them how childish and selfish they're being. Instead, they're still being handed that trust and privilege—you can go into Atlas despite stealing from the military, you get your licenses years early, you get to carry an incalculably valuable relic around—while likewise still getting mad that the adults around them don't give them more. This comparison here, though realistically just a throwaway passage in a novel rather iffily connected to its original series, starts to highlight the excellent situation RT set up... and then didn't do anything with.

But I've gone on about this long enough. There are just two other things I'd like to point out about this flashback. The first is that it may help us get a handle on Ozpin's age (if we're willing to accept these books as canon, despite their other inconsistencies). Earlier we're told that "Headmaster Theodore’s whole style should have been ridiculous for a man likely in his forties, maybe older" and here, in describing their different approaches, we get "Headmaster Ozpin, who had been younger but seemed much older." So that could potentially put Ozpin his his late 30s if he's noticeably younger than Theodore in his 40s. Or, in his 40s if the "maybe older" part is right and Theodore is in his 50s. I can’t imagine that Theodore is in his 60s. Not much to go on, admittedly, but I'll take whatever I can get. The interesting thing is that if Ozpin really is that young and Qrow is now (presumably) in his early 40s, wouldn't that have made them basically the same age during his Beacon days? Perhaps even giving us an Ozpin who was younger than his oldest students? I don't know. It's really less of a definitive piece of information and more messy speculation to add to the pile—which is par the course for RWBY nowadays.

The second detail I wanted to point out was that despite all their supposed differences, Headmaster Theodore and Professor Rumpole have a very Ozpin-Glynda relationship going on. For all the cosmetic changes it boils down to the same dynamic. Both headmasters are powerful, quirky men who at first glance appear to be rather useless at their jobs, requiring the confident headmistress to swoop in and manage the daily running of a school. Those two do the heavy lifting while their bosses work wonders from behind the scenes (a la The Wizard). When I read Rumpole chastising Theodore for claiming he investigated the students, or when she reminds him that there isn't time to have an impromptu duel with his students, I couldn't help but think about Glynda reluctantly letting Ozpin invite Ruby to Beacon early, or cleaning up the cafeteria while he shrugs off the mess. To be clear, I don't necessarily mean this as a criticism, just an observation. In truth I'm not sure how I feel about it, but it adds to the overall sense that Shade is just Beacon with a slightly different coat of paint. As I've mentioned previously, for all the text's insistence that Shade isn't like the other schools, the story hasn't done a good job of demonstrating that cultural difference in any meaningful way and similarities like this only add to the feeling that this isn't really a unique Kingdom—or at least not one with a firm enough identity to be persuasively unique. Same rule breaking team sneaking out on their own mission. Same secondary team who’s talented, but not as special as the protagonists. Same strange man with his responsible woman running the school. The details differ, obviously, but the structure feels largely the same.

As mentioned above, once the flashback ends Theodore tries to spar with one of the students but is quickly shut down by Rumpole because, you know, they have a meeting to hold. Apparently there have been complaints lately from the local security about Shade students interfering with official huntsmen business.

“I told you it was about us,” Coco muttered.

Coco, when you hear that people are pissed that you, an unlicensed student, are disrupting the careers of professionals every night the takeaway should not be, 'Aha! I knew it was all about me.'

Yatsuhashi at least provides a more nuanced perspective. "This wasn’t right, though. If they hadn’t interfered, those Huntsmen would have kidnapped an innocent person." He's right. They did help someone, but what they've failed to learn is that an individual good deed does not excuse the unlawful steps they took in getting there. If Team CFVY had just been out on the town and happened to spot some shady characters pulling shit, then put a stop to their kidnapping, that's fine. That's heroic. What is not heroic is them going out with the express purpose of fixing a situation that trained professionals told them they should not be trying to fix—key word being “trying,” given that they all understand Rumpole’s worry that they’ll make things worse. It was enough to send them back home last night... after Yatsuhashi failed to break into the hideout. The problem is not the "I helped someone who needed it" part but rather the "I'm arrogant enough to think that my presence is necessary" bit.

If having students conducting investigations was wanted or necessary, it would be a part of the curriculum: acknowledged or otherwise. AKA yes, Ruby. It would be very helpful if you'd head on off to Mountain Glenn, under the observation of a seasoned huntsmen, and report back if there's any dubious activity going on over there. Ozpin said, 'Yes please' to the extra (highly controlled) help while these professionals are saying, 'No thanks.' The fact that Team CFVY acts is if they're justified in continuing this investigation—and worse, that the story keeps validating those feelings—undermines their otherwise heroic actions. RWBY really is a series that struggles with giving its protagonists compelling reasons for getting involved in the fight. ‘Because I want to help’ might be a noble motivation, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you should. The Mountain Glenn mission was like a chef allowing a talented, aspiring teen to help them with a dish, all of it done under their tutelage. Team CFVY’s investigation is like the teen sneaking into the kitchen after dark to doctor all the prep for the next day’s cooking under the assumption that they’ll make it even better. Hell, maybe they will! But that’s not the point. Your help was not invited — explicitly denied, actually —and there’s a very good chance you’ll mess something up.

So because this group of eight continually insists that they know best, the whole school is required to stay on campus after nightfall. Huzzah!

It’s just too bad these consequences hurt others just as much as Team CFVY. The other students are pissed about this. I would be too! Team CFVY remains adamant though that they did the right thing, no guilt here, relying on the reader inaccurately comparing ‘saving lives’ with ‘losing free time off campus’ in order to come out on Team CFVY's side. They still fail to understand that helping people is not the reason they’re being punished.

Theodore and Rumpole reiterate that they are working on a solution and that no one else should be getting involved. Team CVFY is no more persuaded by this speech than they were the previous ones. The announcement then segues into discussion of the former Haven students which produces... boos from the audience?? My god, what is wrong with this school? I mean I get it, school is brutal—both in real life and fiction—especially when the social dynamics of your school are written much more like a high school than a college, but usually if characters are going to drag new students it's in the semi-privacy of a bathroom or an empty hall. Groaning over the existence of war survivors in front of your headmaster is a level of confident cruelty I didn't expect.

Then again, RWBY is the show that gave us Cardin pulling on Velvet's ears in the middle of the cafeteria, so perhaps I shouldn't be surprised.

Theodore quickly bypasses the whole 'A decent number of my students hate these other students' issue and instead acknowledges that it is "difficult to adjust to a new school, an entirely new group of classmates, and most of all to life in Vacuo. Yet some of you have been separated from your original training teams.” Which is a nice way of saying that a good number of these teammates are dead. So what's the solution here?

Reinitiation Ceremony!

I'm sarcastic, but in all honesty I don't hate this idea. Far from it. Partly because I have a strong love of competitions in shonen-esque stories. Tests, trials, the obligatory tournament arc... they've always been some of my favorite parts of a series, largely because they allow the author to develop whacky and creative challenges that show off important characterization. See: Killua using a skateboard during the tunnel run before deciding that if Gon can manage running it, he can too; or Izuku using the mines and a piece of scrap to blast himself ahead of Bakugo and Todoroki. The structure of such tests forces characters to demonstrate creativity and critical thinking skills alongside strength, and that in turn reminds us of why they're our heroes. RWBY managed this a little bit with the Vytal Festival, but overall I don’t think the teams did anything particularly impressive to win. Team RWBY worked together, Nora hit people really hard with her hammer, Weiss' injury pissed off Yang enough to tap into more power... it was all stuff we had seen before and very little of it required planning or creativity. The Vytal Festival functioned more to set up the plot developments of Volume 3, which is fine, though for a while I had hoped that we would get a huntsmen license exam to do this sort of work... which obviously didn’t happen. Disappointing, but we’re at least getting something like that here.

So I love the concept. I even love the general reasoning behind holding the ceremony at all. Anyone who had spent five minutes on this blog knows that I think the groups need to learn to play well with others. Yet I also can't deny that the team dynamics provide stability for these characters, even if they've come to rely on that stability to an unhealthy degree. We've got students whose teams were presented to them not just as a professional tool, but their primary support system. You live with these people, attend all the same classes, spend your free time together, and survive life-threatening situations on a fairly regular basis. It's work, family, and friendship all rolled into one, so if the headmaster suddenly says that you get a new team, that's a whole lot more devastating than just learning that you've got a new project group to deal with. It shouldn't have come to that—a school looking to teach a profession that requires working with a wide variety of individuals should never have told four students to rely one each other and each other alone—but now that we're here you can't just break them apart with no notice. Especially with a traumatic war going on. It's hard to come to a new school, meet new people, learn a new culture... so let me rip away the one piece of familiarity you have left.

Of course, I don't really think that the teams will be broken up irrevocably, if at all. Rather, I simply want to acknowledge that despite my appreciation for these kinds of stories and despite my desire that the teams get some distance... it shouldn't be done like this. Even more-so when it’s abundantly clear—to us if not the instructors—that this little stunt is causing their students to re-live a whole bucket load of trauma. Yatsuhashi thinks about how this feels like an “out of body experience” and “It reminded [him] uncomfortably of the evacuation of Beacon Academy… He felt his breath catch in his throat.” Coco’s order to stick together “[brought] him back to the moment,” re-emphasizing that he was lost in the past for a while there. He’s clearly struggling.

Now, to be fair, this could all fall under the category of flawed characters. Meaning, anytime something awful happens in fiction we can interpret that as a skill on the part of the author: they wanted to write a scenario where the teachers are screwing up and unintentionally hurting their students. Or they know they’re hurting their students and consider that to be an acceptable sacrifice under the justification of ‘They have to get over Beacon at some point!’ There are lots of ways to paint this as Myers/RT writing complex, human characters who make ambiguous choices—a testament to their ability to write “realistically.” But to be frank I don’t really buy it. Simply because I’ve had a lot of experience now with how RWBY handles subjects like trauma and it’s only rarely been written respectfully and engagingly. I could be proven wrong as the novel continues, but it seems more likely that Myers wrote the instructors coming up with this test, wrote Yatsuhashi panicking over it, and intends to continually imply that these two things are separate plot points. Bringing both together in a narratively useful way would require acknowledging the instructors’ motivations—Why this test? Why now? Do they realize the harm they’re causing? If so, do they think it’s worth it?—and then coming to some sort of resolution, either via some recovery on CFVY’s part due to the instructors’ choices (this test did help us move past Beacon), or the instructors learning something about empathy and trauma via CFVY’s reaction (we never should have done this). I highly doubt we’ll get either.

Thus, everyone is (justifiably) horrified. The teams are gone and either the shock of that made Team CFVY prioritize feelings of safety over strategy, or they're just not going to demonstrate any of the intelligence I look for in this kind of arc, because they immediately start obsessing over staying together.

He needed to keep his team close to him. Especially Velvet. If they weren’t separated, they couldn’t be assigned to different teams.

Yatsuhashi, that is not at all what Rumpole told you:

“It’s already begun,” Rumpole said. “Everything you do from this moment forward will factor into your evaluations for new teams.”

Where in the world did you get the idea that you wouldn't be assigned a new team so long as you stuck with your old one? If I were one of the instructors here that choice would make me more likely to separate them. "Everything you do from this moment," Rumpole says, meaning that how they respond to this information is a part of the test. The team that panics and refuses to separate is the team that either can't function without one another, or at the very least believes that they can't. They're not willing to work with others and thus they're precisely the type that needs to learn this skillset. You're the ones they'll want to give new teammates to.

Of course, fate has different ideas about how things should go down. And by "fate" I mean "A completely ridiculous plot device." Team CFVY is separated because... the crowd is large I guess? It’s ridiculous. Four fighters already standing beside one another and who are now hyper-focused on staying together are not going to get swept away by a Shade size crowd who probably also want to stick with their own teammates. There are far better, far more convincing ways to keep them apart. Ozpin shot students one-by-one into the forest! Literally anything other than what we got, really.

Still, that’s what we wound up with. Yatsuhashi and Coco both try to keep the team together only for the immense power of other people existing putting a stop to their plan. Alrighty then. Before they’re dramatically swept away on different ships, however, we do get two other noteworthy bits of information that I'd like to end on. The first is Rumpole’s announcement that “When you reach your destination, your goal will be to locate a gold figurine and bring it back to the school” to which Fox replies, “Great. Glad this is fair for everyone. Who can see.” And you know what? He's right. Maybe Fox and I will both be proven wrong (I feel like I'm writing that a lot this chapter...) but unless there's some miscommunication here or a surprise in store, a goal of "locat[ing] a gold figurine" is indeed a sight based challenge and, when placed in a test that is deliberately separating Fox from his team, puts him at a severe disadvantage.

The second is simply that the year levels of the students will not be a factor in the creation of new teams. “What year we are? Yatsu thought. This can’t be right. How could a first-year keep up with fourth-years?” to which I respond, "Um... that's the entire show?" The webseries RWBY is about how Team RWBY, starting out as first years, has surpassed everyone around them, to the point where they're now beating the best team in Atlas. Time-wise they're still second years—far as I can figure out, anyway—so if second years can beat elite military operations, a first year can stand toe-to-toe with second, third, and fourth years. More crucial to Yatsuhashi's thought process—because as an in-world character he doesn't necessarily know what Team RWBY has been up to post-Volume 3—he's still seen how well first years did at Beacon. Ruby was let in two years early. Pyrrha is such a phenomenally talented fighter her face is on their cereal boxes. A first year, Yang, went on to compete in the Vytal Tournament final (even if it was rigged. Yatsuhashi doesn't know that), and Team CFVY fought beside a number of first years at the Battle of Beacon. Now, you all know that I think education and experience are damn important. I'm not saying Yatsuhashi is flat-out wrong to question whether there would be any issues attached to slamming, say, a first year, two second years, and a fourth year into one team (especially when you consider practical questions like going to classes), but the general takeaway of "How could they keep up?" seems a tad strange. You know first years can keep up. You watched it happen, both in your former school's curriculum—first years get to go on an upper-level mission—and in real life battle. This knee-jerk response reads as even worse after five chapters of looking down on Team SSSN. Team CFVY really thinks highly of themselves, huh.

Honestly, it feels like our authors didn't pay a whole lot of attention to the implications of the dialogue/thoughts they’re giving to the characters which is, again, par for the course at this point. Like the questions attached to the test, this feels less like giving Yatsuhashi a flaw (he, as an in-world character, hasn't bothered to think through whether his knee-jerk assumption about first years is supported by his experiences) and more like a flaw of the creators. That sounds like a legitimate concern—in the same way that Yatsuhashi's advice to Rumpole sounds generically wise—but poke at it a bit and you start finding a number of cracks. An author who is well aware of the world they've built and strives to adhere to it might have had Yatsuhashi acknowledge some of the amazing things he's seen first years do and still conclude that there are problems with this decision. That's legit. As it stands, Yatsuhashi just sounds ignorant and (again) overly confident, which I don't trust to be a moment of character insight as opposed to an authorial blip.

Which is about where we end. The team is split on different airships, no one is happy about it, and we're left with this somewhat unsettling image:

Headmaster Theodore was waving and whooping, like it was all some terrific game, while Professor Rumpole watched silently, her hair whipping around in the wind and an unsettling grin on her face.

This gives me some hope that the story will treat the problems attached to this test respectfully. The description of Theodore acting "like it was all some terrific game" is a mark against his character and Rumpole straight up has an "unsettling grin on her face." Is she one of the baddies? Potentially. Will I ever again get adult characters who aren't depicted as inept, traitorous, or just so flawed that they unwittingly cause great damage to their students? Probably not. These two desires remain constantly at war with one another. RWBY introduces issues that the story should tackle, but the only issues it acknowledges are those attached to the adults. So we have everyone doing a range of iffy things, but only the elders are likely to be punished or (better yet) learn something over the course of the tale. The double standard remains so strong across the franchise that at this point I just want to raise a THE ADULTS DID NOTHING WRONG banner and call it a day. Not because they're actually free of mistakes or even, at times, downright cruelty, but because if our protagonists constantly get that free pass I'm not sure why everyone else can't too.

Anyone for a spot of denial?

But I've now written nearly twice as much as the actual chapter in question. It's time to stop! At this rate I’ll have written the equivalent of five Before the Dawns in my attempt to recap just one. #yikes

Until Chapter Six 💜

#rwby #BTD Recaps #Before the Dawn #mymetas

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nekoabi · 5 years

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So, @justanotherlatinfander makes the best Sanders Sides crack videos and they put one up a couple days ago and I’m already obsessed.

One of the things they have in the video is this little theory about Virgil’s animal that he’s linked to is spiders. Now, I’m highly arachnophobic... but I’ve been talking about it with a friend ( @doces-e--tuga specifically ) and I’ve come up with an awful grimdark idea.

Warning for under the cut: Death, Injury, Blood, Torture, Spider-like things, Multiple limbs, Dismemberment, Human Experimenting, Fangs and Biting, Eating Human Flesh, Invasion of Privacy, Inappropriate Contact, Lack of Consent. Lots of awful things like those. Please take care, this is a GrimDark idea.

This will not be going into character tags. It is simply something I wanted to write out in one place.

All the Sides are relating to animals. None of the Sides can truly die. They will simply regenerate in their rooms if they do pass the point that would normally kill a human.

Deceit’s is a snake. Traits include scales, fangs with venom, sheds his scales.

Virgil’s is a spider. Traits include multiple legs, ability to create webs, fangs with poison.

Patton’s is a dog. Traits include canine teeth, added hair around various parts of his body, increased loyalty to the others.

Roman’s is a wild boar. Traits include sharp tusks, increased aggression, bristles along parts of his body that stand up when becoming aggressive.

Logan’s is an octopus. Traits include ability to secrete ink, tentacle-like protrusions from his body, able to camouflage himself.

This all comes around one day. It’s sudden, it’s strange, it’s weird. Everyone gets freaked out and Logan just wants to understand it. So he begins testing everyone, starting on himself. He finds out what he can and can’t do, everything he needs. Does the same with everyone else.

As the days pass, the others are all getting on each other’s nerves. Roman’s increased aggression is coming out more and more, and he eventually snaps and attacks someone. This is when he gets hauled away to Logan’s new ‘lab’ that he’s made - basically just his room, but everything is now related to learning about themselves.

Logan’s experiments increase in odd ways. He’s figured out which animals they all are and he wants to try things. Starts with Roman. Finds out if he can take the tusks away, if it hurts. Finds out about the bristles. Hurts Roman a fair amount and Roman is not happy, but when freed, just curls up in his room to recover.

Patton is next. Finds out if he has a scruff and how much it hurts to hold it. Finds out how much of Patton’s body has extra hair and how similar it is to fur, despite Patton’s protests to seeing literally all of him. Finds out more about his teeth, seeing how sharp they are, if Patton can bite through raw meat - even though he still protests. Patton follows Roman’s example after being let out, curling up and hiding away until he feels better.

Virgil is after that. Finds out about the extra limbs, what can they do, are they autonomous. Where does the webbing come from, how strong is it, how long does it last. What about the teeth and the poison, how strong is it. Logan enlist (drags) Roman in to help with that test.

This is when they all find out they can’t die. Logan’s testing kicks up a notch, now also finding out the length they can go to before dying. Not yet done with Virgil, he recalls kids pulling the legs off of spiders. He does the same to Virgil, causing immense pain. Virgil recovers eventually, but is still missing a limb as he has yet to die.

Deceit is last up to go to Logan. Logan tests the teeth and the venom, this time also enlisting Roman to see if anything would be different or if it would be the same as Virgil’s. What about the scales, can they be forcefully removed, does it hurt, how easy is it. How about forcing his skin to shed early, how does that work, can it be done?

Throughout all of this, everyone else is becoming increasingly more and more animalistic, unable to really think like humans too easily. Roman’s aggression reaches its peak and everyone avoids him, especially after the venom and poison tests. Roman is mad that it was him, but he can’t go after Logan since the door is locked. He focuses on Virgil and Deceit instead, screaming and yelling, threatening violence and going through with the threats.

Deceit is more or less trying to hide still, he’s not around a lot. They can usually find where he had been as they find his shed skin in different places, though he had retaliated to Roman multiple times, injecting more venom with his fangs.

Virgil was trying to avoid everything, hiding his room for the most part. He was trying to hold onto whatever humanity he had left, listening to the screaming and pacings from outside his room as Roman waited for him to leave. He felt himself getting more and more angry, especially as Logan continued to take them one at a time to do more awful, horrible experiments.

Patton was the only one not getting affected all that much, likely helped by the animal he was given in this whole mess. He was trying to calm Roman, trying to get Logan to give everyone a break, trying to get Virgil and Deceit to come out. He succeeded for a little while, but he soon couldn’t get a handle on it and would ultimately be a waste.

One day, after finally leaving his room, Patton was looking around for Virgil. He heard Roman screeching something and ran to find out what was happening. Now, Virgil had died a couple times before all of this and so had all his limbs back. What Patton did not expect was to come down the stairs and see Virgil using all eight of his limbs to scuttle along the wall in order to run away from Roman, who was chasing him down. Patton promptly screamed and fainted from pure fear.

That was the last straw. Something in Virgil snapped.

The next thing Patton knew was that he was awake and was unable to move. He looked around and found that he was wrapped in webbing, attached to a larger web in the corner of a room. He was terrified and screamed for help, but a hand came over his mouth and he tilted his head up to see who it was. Patton felt white-hot fear run all through him.

Virgil was upside down on the web above him, using one of his hands to cover his mouth. He now had so many eyes, Patton didn’t know which one to focus on. He slowly crawled around so he was next to Patton, the movement making Patton feel ill. Virgil opened his mouth, showing the extreme amount of teeth and his poisonous drool. Nothing was said, Virgil ripped open a part of the webbing and bit into Patton, making him scream again. Quickly, more web replaced the hand over his mouth so he couldn’t make a noise.

Over time, each of the Sides joined Patton in the web prison. Roman was the next one, being the easiest to find. It was only a day after Patton had been there that Roman was webbed up next to him. He was only half conscious when he heard the hissing voice of Virgil talking to Roman, telling him everything he’d ever done, how awful he was, just generally talking bad to him. Roman, his aggressive nature now more dominant, only responded with anger until Virgil took a warning bite into his face. Several true bites were taken out of Roman, leaving him with gaping holes in various parts of his body, Virgil spat the flesh onto the floor, clearly unhappy with the taste.

A week later, Deceit joined them. Every day, Virgil returned to web them up again, just in case they were starting to get loose. Deceit wasn’t so harshly punished as Roman was, but he wasn’t as softly treated as Patton. Some bites were taken out of him, but these were swallowed. Virgil licked his lips and teeth, showing them off, complimenting Deceit for his non-furry flesh.

It took a long long time for Logan to join them. All three of the others had lost track of how long they’d been stuck there. Virgil used the research he’d learnt from Logan in order to keep them all just at the edge of death, not allowing them to poof away and reappear in their own rooms, fully healed. Patton was being treated the best as Virgil was only frustrated at the fear aspect of his best friend’s treatment of him. Roman was the most unlucky, being tortured for hours a day. Sometimes notes would come under the door, clearly from Logan asking for one of them in return for one more day.

Virgil allowed it, but tried to catch Logan every time. None of them were aware of Logan’s camouflage abilities, which he was using extensively now that he truly understood it. However, his luck was bound to run out sooner or later and Logan eventually joined them all.

Now the torture was turned from Roman to Logan. Virgil pulled off his extra limbs in the same way Logan had done to him, experimented with all of the venom and poison that he’d administered to them all at least once. Virgil forced him to endure everything that Logan had put them all through.

After months and months of them all being trapped in one singular room, Virgil got bored. He had his prey, yes... but where was the fun of getting a new one. He suddenly had an idea one day.

Patton woke up first, as usual. He was initially expecting to see the same view as always, but he realised quickly that he was laying on the ground? Patton jumped up and looked around. All of the others were also on the floor and they seemed to be in good condition. Patton looked around fearfully for any sign of Virgil, but he couldn’t see any, not even the webbing. Patton thought to wake the others carefully but got distracted when a piece of paper slid under the door. He cautiously hobbled over, his legs not exactly healed from the bites Virgil had taken from him. He read the note and almost audibly screamed as he read the words, waking the others in the room.

Patton slid the note over to them and each of their faces contorted in fear. The door was flung open and Patton shoved to the side as he attempted to escape as quick as he could. The others followed suit, leaving the room a bloody, disgusting mess with the only standout feature being the note in the middle of the floor.

“Run. If you can.”

#Sanders Sides #grimdark #gore #death #violence #blood #torture #spider #spiders #human experimenting #fiction #please please heed the warnings #i've done all i can #i promise <3 #stay safe my dudes

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publichealthcare99 · 3 years

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Do you dread the coming of spring each year, because you know that it means itchy eyes and a runny nose? Have you tried every allergy medicine there is, and still have not found relief? If you are among the millions who suffer from allergies, the following advice can help ease your discomfort.

Look Here For Excellent Tips On Allergies

If you suffer from allergies, it is important to keep your home clean and vacuumed to remove allergens from carpets and floors. But, did you know that your vacuum not only sucks up allergens, it blows some of them right back out! Let someone without allergies do the vacuuming, or at least wear a dust mask if you have to do it yourself.

Since exercise increases the amount of air your lungs take in, if you have pesky allergies, keep your workouts indoors. All of the pollen and other particulates that trigger your allergic reactions will get into your system much quicker and in a greater amount when doing any strenuous activity outdoors.

Be careful of which products you use to treat to treat your allergies. For example, if you use a decongestant and you have high blood pressure, you could suffer from a stroke or heart attack. Speak with your doctor before taking any allergy medications to make sure they are safe for you.

If you find yourself experiencing allergic symptoms around the family dog and cat, you may be tempted to blame the animal for your discomfort. You may be correct, but there is also a possibility that you are allergic to pet-borne pollen. If your pet spends time outdoors in vegetation-heavy areas, it may be picking up allergens and bringing them into the house. An allergy test can confirm or refute your suspicions.

Because everyone is different, there are myriad allergy relief products available from doctors and pharmacists. Ask your doctor for a sample pack or purchase the smallest package size available. If this product doesn’t help your allergies, then you can easily get another without having to spend a great deal of money.

Treating your allergic symptoms for the first time with antihistamine’s prescription or over the counter is best to approach it cautiously. Many of these products are notorious for causing severe drowsiness; there is no way to determine how your body will respond. With this in mind, you should take the first dose at home to avoid safety mishaps or impairments.

If you rely heavily on nasal decongestants to treat the symptoms of allergic rhinitis, you may be at risk for experiencing a rebound effect. When this happens, you may experience additional swelling and irritation. If you become hooked on these drugs, you should make an effort avoid using them for a period of 72 hours at a time. During this time, switch to an antihistamine to reduce swelling caused by withdrawal.

Unless your asthma and allergies are severe, you might feel that there is no reason to visit a specialist for treatment. Don’t sell yourself short, chronic wheezing and slight shortness of breath can adversely affect your quality of life. Each time you experience even mild trouble breathing; your lungs and muscles work harder and quickly lead to fatigue.

One of the easiest things that you can do if you suffer from seasonal allergies is to try taking an over-the-counter antihistamine. Sneezing, itchy eyes, and a runny nose are all symptoms of seasonal allergies.They can be relieved by many readily available medicines. Be cautious though, b] many of these antihistamines will make you drowsy, so you might not be able to drive.

Getting rid of carpeting in your home can help your allergies because carpeting often traps a lot of allergens. Check under your carpeting and you may find that you have beautiful hard wood floors hiding underneath. You may like the look better and it will be better for your health and your family’s health.

Keep an eye on your levels of stress. Most people aren’t aware that stress affects allergies. That is especially true for those with asthma. When stress levels are increased, the chances of having an attack are also raised. Reductions in stress can alleviate the severity and length of attacks.

To keep allergies at bay, try adding a bit of horseradish, or hot mustard to your foods. These act as a natural decongestant. They offer a good alternative to allergy medications, that may cause drowsiness, and morning fatigue. Of course, this is not a good idea for children, as spicy substances can cause them a lot of misery!

If your child is allergic to insect bites and stings, it makes it difficult to participate in outdoor sports and activities. Ask a pediatrician about immunotherapy, an in-office treatment, in which insect venom is introduced to your child’s system in increasing amounts. This desensitizes the immune system to stings and gives your child the freedom to join in the outdoor fun.

Keep garbage outdoors. When you have garbage in your home, it can bring about pests. Certain droppings, especially those from mice, can exacerbate allergy symptoms. If moving your garbage outdoors does not take care of your pest infestation, it may be time to use traps or pesticides. If that doesn’t work, consider poison.

Pay attention to the pollen count reports. Since pollen counts report how many grains of pollen were counted in a specific area, over a specific time frame, they could be used to determine how much pollen is floating around in the air on the given day. This could be used to determine how much time you might want to spend outside.

Slow down. When you find yourself dealing with pet allergies, you may initially be distraught and think you have to give up a beloved pet. The truth is there are many ways to deal with this type of problem without losing your loved one. Talk to a medical professional to see what options you have.

As you are no doubt aware, allergies are one of the most common health problems in the world, so at least you are not alone. Do not give up trying to find ways to relieve your allergy symptoms. By using the advice you have learned in this article, you can get the relief you seek.

#allergic symptoms around the family dog and cat #and a runny nose #antihistamine's prescription #Be careful of which products you use #exercise increases the amount of air #help ease your discomfort #itchy eyes #keep your home clean #remove allergens from carpets and floors #Sneezing #taking an over-the-counter antihistamine #Treating your allergic symptoms

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pottercrew · 6 years

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Change pt 2

This is the continuation to this snippet (I tried to make it open in a new tab but I’m pants at this stuff) that I posted last month. I hope you like it. All snippets and continuations will be added to my pottercrewsnippets page and tag if you want to find them! (BTW I have no beta so if there are mistakes please tell me and I’ll fix them) Hope you enjoy <3

Malfoy,

I’m sorry about the other day, please let me explain.

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Malfoy,

I tried to visit but the wards are too strong, please, I'm sorry let me explain, I want to do it face to face.

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Malfoy it's been weeks please let me know you're okay

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For fucks sake Draco! Where the fuck are you? I know you're getting these as Alexander comes back empty handed! Just let me know you are okay! I'm shit at this fuck

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Draco please

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Draco Malfoy,

I hope all is well, I heard about your mastery, congrats.

Harry J Potter

Eight years later

“No”

“What do you mean no?”

“I mean no Potter, as in, no, you are not getting a sign off to get Acromantula venom for whatever the hell you want to use it for” Draco sighed, and he gave Harry a droll stare over the small green garden table they were sitting at. He noticed Granger and Blaise trade a confused look at each other over his and Potter’s conversation. He couldn’t say he was surprised. They didn’t know the amount he and Potter had to interact at work, this was probably the first time they had seen them interact since the trials years ago and he couldn’t blame them for their concern, but this was nothing new for him, hadn’t been for over five years now. Or earlier a small voice in the back of his supplied, but Draco quickly squashed it, he wasn’t going there, was going to think about those months after the war.

Potter rested his head on his hand and sighed, looking up at Draco through his lashes, like that would work now. Potter had pulled that one on him the third time he had come storming into his lab asking for forbidden substances and Draco had been so mad he had refused Potter entry to his lab for a month and heavily threatened his staff with redundancy if any let him in. “Please”

Draco just snorted “No” and took a sip of his tea, placing it gently back down on the table. That look never worked on him and Potter knew it, he was being smug about something, and Draco was instantly suspicious. When Potter wanted something for whatever the hell he did, he always had something to trade with Draco to get it. Unfortunately, Draco knew Potter knew what he wanted, or what he could give him to get what he wanted and Draco knew better than to think Potter wouldn’t go that far. But when Potter threw himself back into his patio chair with the look a fake annoyance that Draco knew so well, he knew he was beaten.

“Would you sign it off if I told you I have a fully signed and approved order form for a small amount of unicorn blood, purely for ministry testing?” He said, admiring his nails and Draco felt himself freeze, tea cup halfway to his lips. The bastard knew he would say yes to that, he knew how much Draco needed that rare ingredient for his current tests into the potions he was currently going over for his ministry quota.

“My office at 10:30 and you’ll have your damn venom” He said before taking the sip he was going to.

“Thank you” Potter smiled, and Draco had to look away at the rush of satisfaction that flooded him when he realised he had made Potter genuinely smile. He really needed to get over this stupid little crush on the boy who lived.

He looked around the back garden they were all currently residing in, hoping it would take his mind of off the way the tips of Potter’s canines showed when he smiled. They were here for Luna’s birthday, she had gathered them all at a beautiful magical hotel in the middle of London surrounded by magically hidden fauna rising high and giving the backspace they were sitting in a secluded feel, contrasting the size of the garden space that had to be a quidditch pitch long and wide, with two lily pad ridden ponds randomly placed.

Luna had invited everyone she could from the looks of it, not that Draco minded, no one could say no to Luna, she deserved the world and everyone would give it to her if she asked. Speaking of the birthday girl, Draco saw her socialising with a group of witches he didn’t know (something that his father would be rolling in his grave about as he made it his life’s goal to know everyone of importance) by one of the small ponds. Her deep purple dress set off her shining blonde hair that cascaded down her shoulders and back, looking like a fairy, well, the muggle interpretation of the fey, especially with the backdrop of such diverse plant life.

Draco’s attention snapped back to the table he was sitting at when he felt a small kick to his shin. Blaise and Pansy were looking at him like he had a third head and he knew instantly what it would be about when he noticed the absence of Potter and Granger who must have left while he was watching the host.

“What the hell was that?” Pansy whispered, eyes narrowed slightly “Kept this little friendship between you and Potter rather quiet haven’t we?” She teased before taking a sip of tea. Draco knew she wasn’t mad, there would be no reason for her to be, they were all adults now and Draco had seen her talking to Granger earlier so she really couldn’t say anything.

“Oh please Pans” Balise said, leaning back in his chair, “we both know what’s going on here, how could we not?” At the look he and Pansy shared Draco felt himself becoming defensive, something he never normally was with these two, and something he knew they would notice. He took a slight breath before schooling his face into the most aloof expression he could.

“And what would that be?” He asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

Pansy smirked “Like you don’t know what we’re going to say Draco, we’ve been teasing you about it since sixth year”

Draco just rolled his eyes, picking up his cup and taking another sip, it wasn’t his fault that his eyes drifted to where Potter was standing next to Granger talking to yet another witch Draco couldn’t name. And it definitely wasn’t his fault when he found his eyes glued onto the spot where the back of Potter’s top drew up when he rubbed the back of his head, revealing something black peeking out-

“See” Pansy huffed and Blaise laughed shaking his head. “Potter isn’t the only attractive man in the world Draco”

“Oh so you admit Potter’s attractive then?” Blaise asked his brows raising and Draco could tell this was an argument from a previous conversation that he did not want anything to do with.

“Fine, yes I admit it but come on, look at him” Pansy explained, waving a hand towards Potter’s direction. Blaise did, and Draco watched his dark eyes sweep Potter’s body.

“Oh I know he is Pans” Blaise drawled and Draco rolled his eyes. These two were insufferable, before Pansy could answer however, Potter was back and he fell back into the spare chair by Draco, head flopping back.

“You would not believe how much Jillian Greenbanks talks” He moaned, flopping his head back forwards and Draco had to curl his hand around the arm of his chair to stop himself from pushing back the dark hair that fell into Potter’s face.

“Well Potter, I’m sure she was just so enamoured to be talking to the chosen one and all” Draco quipped.

Potter just snorted, pouring himself more tea from the self warming tea pot in the middle of the table. “Well she should go be enamoured with Ron or Moine” He mumbled, dropping two sugar cubes into his cup and giving it a stir.

“Yes well I’m sure she would have gotten a better conversation out of either of them two” Draco responded, watching the way Potter’s fingers wrapped around the cup and not the small handle.

“Yep” Potter agreed, taking a long sip from his cup. He was just about to say something else until a crack of apparition filled the garden.

Draco turned to look, along with everyone else and was quite surprised to see a woman, clad in all black standing by the foot of the stairs leading into the hotel. What was most striking however, was the fabric mouth cover she wore that blended into the neck of her robes, her mouth and nose covered showing only her deep dark eyes staring straight towards their table. She had black hair tied up neatly in a bun making her look like a ballerina but Draco knew better. Draco had never seen anyone dressed like this but he had heard of it, with black robes fit so tightly against her body it was almost scandalous but Draco knew combat fabric when he saw it. She was a hit wizard, that he knew at least, however that wasn’t helpful seeming as the term ‘hit wizard’ was an umbrella term for a number of different jobs, kind of like unspeakable. What held Draco’s attention most of all however, was the sigh that left Potter’s mouth when he caught sight of her.

Potter stood up, and everyone’s gaze went to him, then back to the mystery woman. He just headed over to Luna, a look of guilt on his face. “I’m sorry Luna” He said, rubbing the back of his neck “Work and all”.

Luna just smiled, waving her hand “It’s no problem Harry” She said, her eyes never leaving his face.

“I’ll be back for dinner” Potter said a look of determination in his eyes “I promise”.

Luna beamed, hugging Potter quickly “You better Harry James”

Potter smiled at her one last time before heading towards the woman, who’s eyes look sympathetic.

“I’m sorry Cap, they wanted you in at seven this morning and I was able to push it back till now”

Potter just shook his head, his eyes looking troubled “You shouldn’t have had to” His voice was soft and Draco felt more curious than he ever had before about what Potter did for the ministry. As quickly as the woman had appeared, her and Potter disappeared in a wisp of smoke.

The sound of conversation built slowly back up again around him and Draco felt his eyes going to Granger and the look of worry etched into her features. Did she know what Potter did? Did she know why he was so scarred? So secretive? So different, mature and intense from the boy they had both known from Hogwarts. From the looks of it, she did not, and Draco knew it bothered her, like it bothered him.

The rest of the lunch went by just as slowly and uneventfully as it had started, but not in a boring way, in one of those ways that had you pleasantly relaxed and both looking forwards to what was next and wanting to stay in the haze of what you were doing.

By the time dinner rolled around Draco was feeling a bit more lively, his curiosity about Potter had faded to the back of his mind. Or so he thought. It came flooding back however as he was sat staring at Potter’s empty dinner seat across from him on the great table that Luna had set up in the hotel’s dining area. It was lovely, all pastel blues and pinks fading into each other. But the empty chair seemed to take something away from the evening, so did Granger’s worried looks aimed at said chair.

He sat back in his chair and saw Pansy wink at him from up the table and he couldn’t help but smirk back at her. She was chatting up one of the witches Luna had been talking to most of the day and from the way the witch was eyeing Pansy, it looked like it was going well. Not that he could blame her. Pansy did look stunning tonight, well, she did have his and Blaise’s help all afternoon in her room helping her pick something to wear. She had declared her mission for the night and neither had anything better to do than to help her. Her flowing red dress and sharp red lipstick were hard to look away from, added with a necklace that plunged down her revealed cleavage and her curled bob and the witch had no chance.

He heard a slight cough next to him and turned towards Neville who had just sat down in the seat next to his, an easy smile on his face as he looked at Draco and Draco found himself returning it. He and Neville had shared an easy friendship ever since they had both gone back to Hogwarts to complete their apprenticeships a year after the war. It had been tense at first, seeming as only a few had come back and they had to share a common room, but slowly as the years passed, they managed to create something akin to friendships between their lessons. Now Draco saw Neville at least once a month at the Three Broomsticks when Neville got a weekend off from his professor duties.

“Still regretting not taking the potions professor position Draco?” Neville joked, placing his napkin on his lap.

“Merlin no, working with the ministry and everything they throw at me is a hundred times better than teaching third years thanks ever so” Draco laughed, fully turning towards Neville now. They joked about this quite often and Draco knew Neville was still a bit disappointed in him not working with him at Hogwarts but Draco just couldn't bring himself to. It would have been nice, teaching in one of the only places he had been able to slightly avoid his father when he was younger, but there were too many memories, too many painful emotions there that he just couldnt take the job when it was offered to him.

So now he worked in his own lab at the ministry as potions master, signing off and making potions for the different departments to use. It was a good job, one that Draco loved, a little too much if anyone was to ask any of his friends, the pay was good and so was the fact that he had a number of staff to boss around. He ignored the part of his brain that said there was another reason why it was good involving the man who was currently absent and focused on what Neville was saying.

“Crazy kids this year I swear they get worse every year. You wouldn’t believe all the new rules Mcgonagall has had to introduce just this term, you lucked out”

Draco arched a brow “Really?” He asked, that was another reason he was glad not to be teaching. He really didn’t know whether he could handle a classroom full of kids, not like Neville.

Neville, Draco had came to notice over those tentative years back at Hogwarts, had finally found the self confidence he had been missing before the war. He was finally confident in what he was doing, he was confident in Herbology and looking after students and Draco honestly found himself smiling every time he saw Professor Sprout’s successor. He had grown into his looks as well, much to Draco’s attention. Gone was the scrawny clumsy boy from their youth, replaced by a self assured, tall, broad attractive young man with a smile to die for and a twinkle of mischief in his eye that Draco definitely would have pursued back in their apprenticeships if he hadn’t been getting over his obsession with the other ‘war hero’. However he had come to adore the friendship he and Neville held and wouldn't do anything to disrupt that. Plus, it didn’t help that Neville knew of his feelings towards Potter and their past from a drunken night in their common room after everyone else had gone to bed. If Draco thought about it however, that night had been the making of this friendship, both of the opening up on the floor leaning against armchairs and highlighted by the flickering fire.

“Yeah but I really don’t wanna talk about work now” Neville laughed, picking up his glass and watching it fill itself “What did you pick?”

“Feta watermelon salad, Lentil cottage pie and the chocolate mousse, you?” Draco replied and he smiled as Neville rolled his eyes.

“Veggie week is it?” Neville asked, knowing full well it was.

“Yes” Draco took a sip of his champagne and felt a small twinge as he caught sight of the empty chair again.

“Chicken Pate, Crown of Lamb and the chocolate mousse too” Neville replied, looking longingly at the empty plate in front of him. “I wish they’d hurry up though, I’m starved” He moaned and Draco laughed.

“You’re always starved Neville”

“Yeah well, you didn’t have to travel all the way from Scotland to get here” Neville joked

“You flooed you prat” Draco snorted back.

“Yeah well, I’m still hungry” Neville grumbled and Draco laughed again, really, he missed the times they had had in the Three broomsticks. Seeing Neville drunk for the first time is honestly one of Draco’s fonder memories.

“Potter’s still not back then” Neville casually remarked after they had finished joking and Draco just finished his drink off.

“Nope” He held his glass out and watched as the pale liquid slowly filled it, bubbles just reaching the top.

“Ah”

“Ah indeed”

A silence fell between them that made Draco’s foot start to twitch. Fucking Potter, still fucking things up even when he’s not here. Draco was so deep into thinking of ways to break the silence that he almost missed what Neville was saying.

“Never mind, look who just walked in, just before the food as well” He whispered and Draco turned slowly, trying not to make it obvious.

Yes, that was indeed Potter rushing through the doors of the dining room, pulling at his tie, hair wild and out of breath. That wasn’t what had Draco staring though, no, it was the long red mark running from the bottom of Potter’s right eye down to his chin that definitely wasn’t there before he left. Draco heard Granger’s sharp intake of breath and he felt his hands curl into fists. He really shouldn’t care, he really shouldn’t feel himself getting protective and angry at the cut on Potter’s face like he saw Granger be. He had no right. So he turned back to Neville and found his warm eyes on him, a look of curiosity and sympathy in them.

“It’ll be alright mate, dangers of the job” He murmured and Draco just nodded in his direction, knowing full well that Neville knew as much as Draco when it came to Potter’s job. He was an unspeakable, that’s all they knew and all they would know. Everyone knew however that unspeakables turned up dead more often than not.

Draco saw from the corner of his eye Potter lean down to murmur something into Luna’s ear, probably his apologies for being late. Luna just nodded and smiled, pointing towards Potter’s empty seat and Draco felt himself go rigid as Potter turned towards them.

“Well, it looks like we get the envious company of the Chosen one tonight” Neville joked, nudging Draco in a gesture that Draco knew was to cheer him up and snap him out of his mood together. Draco forced his swirling thoughts to the back of his mind and smiled back at Neville.

“Oh how delightful”

Neville just snorted into his glass and took a quick sip before smiling brightly at Potter as he sat down opposite Draco. Draco had to force himself to not look at the mark on Potter’s face when he turned to face him.

“Busy day Harry?” Neville asked innocently, smiling.

“A little” Harry laughed, getting comfortable in his seat.

“Really Potter” Draco drawled, leaning back “leaving lunch early and being late for dinner, bad form”

Potter’s eyes found his and Draco felt his fingers clench at the intensity in them “Ah my bad” Harry smiled and leaned forwards “how rude of me”

“Yes well” Neville interjected “it’s good to see you again mate, been a while”

Potter’s intense eyes snapped to Neville and Draco felt himself let go of the breath he didn't know he had been holding.

“Yeah, sorry about that” Potter had the decency to look sheepish. “Work and all” he offered and Neville snorted in agreement.

“Know what you mean, I thought Mcgonagall was harsh as a teacher, she’s worse as a boss”

Both he and Potter winced at that and Draco couldn’t help but notice the way Potter had relaxed slightly, not fully, he still eyed the doorways before responding to Neville, but he was leant back in his chair, and easy smile on his lips.

“I don’t know how you do it Neville to be honest” He laughed.

“Me neither” Neville admitted “But I love it, though, it would be a lot more enjoyable if this one was there with me” he thumbed at Draco and Draco rolled his eyes yet again, what was it with him and surrounding himself with friends like this?

Potter’s eyes went from Neville to Draco and back again quickly with a look in them which Draco thought was judgement before quickly vanishing. “Oh really?”

“Yeah mate, the things we got up to during our apprenticeships” Neville replied wistfully, a small smile playing on his lips and Draco caught on immediately. Whoever thought that Neville was an innocent unobservant wizard was heavily mistaken. Draco kicked his foot lightly in warning but he knew the look in Neville’s eyes, had seen it enough times when Neville acted as his self appointed wingman and knew he couldn’t stop what was happening.

Potter looked back at Draco, but Draco didn’t look him in the eye, just held out his glass to be refilled. Draco must have done something good in a past life however, as at that moment the starters appeared on their plates, the smell of food suddenly cutting through the conversation as everyone looked down at their plates.

“Before everyone starts eating” A voice fell over the room and everyone looked to the top of the table where Luna was sitting next to Ginny Weasley. “I just wanted to thank everyone for coming this weekend, I’m very grateful”

“Happy Birthday Love” Girl Weasley said, holding up her glass and everyone followed, raising a glass for their host.

“Happy Birthday Luna” Everyone said before taking a drink.

Luna laughed happily “Thank you everyone, now you can start, I know how hungry you all must be, especially you Neville” She said, smirking down the table and Draco felt Neville shift next to him.

“You know it Luna” He called back and Draco knew he’d have that devilish smirk on his face that let him get away with everything “All that travelling”

Draco couldn’t help the snort of laughter that came then at the ridiculousness of the situation, but luckily everyone had started talking again. Neville chuckled next to him before he dug into his starter. When Draco looked up, two green eyes were staring at him, a look he couldn't place in them. Draco couldn’t help his gaze from sweeping the red mark on Potter’s face and Potter noticed.

“It’s nothing” He said lowly, enough for only Draco to hear.

“Doesn’t look like nothing Potter” Draco sniffed, picking at his salad “Whoever the healer was did a shit job, I’ll see what I can do on Monday”

Potter smiled that damn smile again “Thanks”. Draco ignored the feeling he got from that, honestly he was pathetic.

#pottercrewsnippetseries #Changes #Pottercrewwritings #Draco Malfoy #Drarry #Harry James Potter #drarry fanfic #snippet

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khalix-hyetology · 7 years

Text

Slices of Writing (1)

I been writing for 16 years now. I know it may not seem like a long time but I do believe that because I was writing this long, both consistently at times and intermittently at others, that I have gotten some experience. My experience may or may not help others but I think writing down some points is always good.

What have I written?

I have written my own stories, poetry and I have written fanfiction.

I started writing my own original short stories and fanfiction. Many people may not like writing fanfiction. There are reasons for not liking fanfiction. However, I do not agree with it not being serious writing. Fanfiction is not always smut writing or attempts at erotica. It can be very well defined and detailed, and at times, supersede the original work or give it layers that the original did not support.

I have learned that fanfiction can be analytical writing. It is a form of essaying into what we perceive and what can be done with characters and plots. Fanfiction writing is also a form of sandbox. The term sandbox is more popular with coders because it is a test sheet in which they can experiment with code and try things out. Fanfiction many not always be a scratch sheet but in the beginning it does serve to others a form of blueprint in how to navigate the writing/writer’s arena. So, I do not discourage fanfiction. It is through our passions for creativity, reflected in others’, that sometimes we find our own voices.

Now, as I have gotten that aside I want to write down some points that may be of use to you. These points are not rule of thumb and you are free to customise them whichever way suits your needs. They are meant to orient you to writing and how you can shape yourself better as a writer. Some of these tips are things to help bring out a mindset for writing. Others are involved in the body of writing.

Nothing is fully innate ability — Recently, I had a chance to interact with a blogger who lives in Japan and makes Lolita dresses by herself. People ask her for advice on how wonderfully she can make these dresses and she responds to them to the best of her knowledge. I like Lolita dresses but I am not that engaged with the lifestyle, however, it was nice to see someone so passionate about doing something they love. And, doing it well. I won’t be afraid to admit that I was envious and I mentioned it to them. I told them that I wish I had their talent. That is when she said something very important. She told me that she worked hard on all of her dresses. That each ensemble took time and effort. That it was a process of trial and error that she came to this point. Saying talent alone usually reduces all that hard effort and makes it seem magical. What is important is that you learn this now. No matter what your age, 17, 19, 22, 27 or 37 or 64 get it out of your system as much as possible that innate ability is this incomparable reservoir of creativity that you are born with and that only some people have it and others don't. Even the most "gifted" people need to practice. Our mainstream cultures have a tendency to portray the "gifted" as someone who easily gets things. They are so awesome they get it in a few minutes or their first attempt is successful as anything. Look, life isn't some anime where the shougo heroine or shounen hero gets to level up so fast and achieve greatness in one go. Nor is it a scene from Good Will Hunting. We may admire and love movies like Good Will Hunting but it is not necessarily real. Even genius has a process and requires experience. If you don't believe think about Will in the film. Despite his gifts he squanders most of them and initially is reticent in getting into his passions because he fears rejection and he wants to socially fit in. He may have an innate ability for mathematics but he does poorly socially and even interpersonally. Not to mention, he is in denial about himself and his own insecurities and pain. Then he does practise mathematics. It's not like he doesn't. He reads books, tries to learn more. Yes, because it is a film we don't get to see the process but it's there.Innate ability may have some merit but practice and understanding usually play a major role in expanding yourself. So, please get it out of your head that you cannot do something because you are not innately good at it. This is a self-defeating and procrastinating attitude. Even I have it and try to get rid of it. It is also a relaxed attitude — I dare say lazy. We cannot ascribe to our passions without any sort of trial or effort. Struggles, small and large, make the process meaningful and salient. Sometimes, the more mistakes we do learning allows us the greater avenue of success. We may not want to try something for fear of all the long hours of work, fear of failure and fear of the unknown. These are all natural fears. But what is also natural is you overcoming them. These fears are not a fatality. You have the power to make them insignificant by showing the fears who is boss. Your fears should not master you; you should master them. If you do not like the idea of mastering them then think of fear as little sprites that are naughty and a bit hyperactive. Think of them as naive and sweet beings that are hungry for your attention. They could even be parasitic. Give them a glass of milk, feed them some cookies and send them outside to play or to bed. The thing is that fears and even the reluctance to do hard work will becoming damaging as you keep on going in life. Hard work does pay off. That is the age old rule that actually does stick and work. Understand your craft and work hard. Only you can for your stories, writing and any other passions you may have. Do not think that the Valkyries will suddenly sing and the gates of Valhalla will open and you will drink ambrosia and be gifted with the Midas touch. Even Midas had to be king before he got his touch and there had to be warriors for Valhalla to appear and the Valkyries to know the songs they would soon compose and fight alongside to. Don't aspire to get to chapter 10 before you haven't even done chapter 1. The only innate thing you can truly possess with some certainty is your perseverance and endurance. There will be bad days and there will be good days. Take them all as the climbing steps for progress.

Do not be discouraged by Haters — This is a very important rule and one that you must try to always keep on reinforcing to yourself. No matter how hard it gets. When you start there are things that won't be polished. Writing is a lot like woodcutting and carpentry. You start with a block of wood and it still had stubborn sticks and branches, truant leaves and all of the rough edges that do not look nice on its own. When you start an experiment in a laboratory you are just given raw materials that you have dissect, wait to precipitate and then get results. Writing is no different than this. Sometimes, you may be in the drawing board for hours, days, weeks or months. It can take years to finally even find your voice and style. This is the same with art. This is not saying you cannot get it faster. Sometimes, our other skills help the one we are trying to foster. So, don't think if you are a certain age you cannot learn writing. As I said before the only innate you can be completely sure about is perseverance and endurance. Now, here is the thing. Not everyone can do what you do. This is a truth. And, it is a fact. Not everyone will have the guts to well write or even try to write and then show it to others. This takes some form of courage if not confidence. You must remember that not everyone inculcates or teaches themselves this form of courage. Yes, courage can be taught. Everything in the world is learned via the tutelage of different forms. The people who cannot do this actually learn something else. They learn cleverness. Cleverness is not always a good quality because it can discriminate and be very partial to others other than oneself. When people are spouting vitriolic about your work they are aspiring to be clever. That is why a comeback can be clever but may not fully be honest or helpful. Haters have no courage. They do not know how to have it. What they have is venom and cleverness in abundance. Remember firstly a hater mostly hates themselves. A person cannot be this acerbic to a work without some acerbity towards themselves. If you have not written a nasty opinion which is mired in racism, queerphobia, xenophobia, sexism, misogyny, misandry, transphobia and discrimination of any sort there is no reason for anyone to hate your work this passionately. Usually, people who have enlightened opinions are enlightened in their critique. If you are young or not well informed about something people will first approach you with the benefit of the doubt. Haters and trolls are a subset of a new age tabloidism, in that they are sensationalist, melodramatic and full of spite for themselves and others. A good example of this is the anonymous message service in Tumblr. I do receive a good amount of anon hate and have received them for some years. I don't really let it faze me anymore. Haters hate me because they can. It is not a need or a desire. It is built on a false consumption of a choice. Instead of choosing to fulfil their lives and instead of making themselves better to the image they aspire to be they are wasting their time and yours by hating on you. They don't know and many a times they don't know your work intimately or informatively either. They are just people with a grudge who want to vent. Instead of choosing healthier ways to do that, they choose to be toxic. Toxicity is not your priority; creativity is. So, don't listen to the haters. A teacher of mine recently stated that it is also social/human nature to drag others down. If you can do something or have the passion to want to do something be prepared to meet a few people that will tell you, you can't. I wish I knew this back when I was 16 or 17. I remember those times social media was young and I posted poems on Facebook. One guy, who I tagged as a friend, always use to say some of the most rude comments about my work. He would ascribe them to be that of a emo, 3rd grader with no creativity. I remember calling my best friend then, young as I was, at night and crying to her. She consoled me and told me not to take this personally. So, I approached him and said that there was no need to be so hostile towards my work if he didn't like it. The reply was nice but it pointed out my flaws instead of his. Saying he should have remembered that I was a bit of a softie and not taking responsibility for his actions. In retrospect, I am happy he did do that. It proved the thing my teacher said. If I asked him if he could do better or write better I am sure he couldn't have. If he honestly answered he couldn't come close to what I was writing then. So what if it was emo and angsty; that is common and normal for a teenager. Especially, for a teenager who have faced abused most of their life. It may seem emo to him but could he write of his own injustices this way? When we write we are also doing something therapeutic. Meaning: important to our socio-physical, emotional and psychological well being. A hater knows this and their cruelty is like a thief they attack this vulnerability of yours. Remember their vulnerability, not power, is also their attack on you. Treat it as such. Jeanette Winterson said that poetry is important because a tough life needs a tough language. She is completely correct. People who can do better have a portfolio either professional or otherwise of doing better. Their words are concomitant to their actions. Their words are also usually clear that aside hate they know what they are talking about. They show knowledge in their criticism. Haters usually nag, whine, complain and give cheap opinions. Haters are ironically also your most avid fans because they stalk your work and social media accounts with the chance to bully you. If you did stop doing what you do for the sake of them their triumph is short lived and they want you back so soon. You are their pinata and they miss you like anything. More so than a lover. They are codependent and parasitic. So, don't stop writing for haters. Haters will hate whatever you write. Even if you write something in synchronicity with The Theory of Everything they will still hate your guts. They lack their own so like vultures they pick at yours. Haters gonna Hate. Writers Gonna Write.

Take Constructive Criticism — There are always going to be people who are knowledgeable and give you advice. They could be doing other things but they are helpful enough to tell you perhaps your language could be better, or your syntax or you can put in more expressions. Don't take these as negatives. Take these also as progress. Your writing touched someone enough to leave constructive criticism, which means they valued your writing in one form or another. They believe you have the potential to grow further and be farther than where you are. That is saying something especially in today's world full of haters and trolls. They gave you a perspective you possibly haven't checked and could do wonders for your writing if you did check. There is no true set limit to a skill. Your life is not Sims so that you master skills and then you have nothing to do. Life is ready and ripe with opportunities and for you and you are also there for it. It is important to take criticisms not as — and this is very important — as an evaluation on yourself. Ad hominem arguments usually come from haters where they build you up as a straw man and try to burn you like an effigy. Constructive criticism is meant to help you put final touches or at least help you along your road of success. Think about the block of wood I spoke about earlier. After carving it out someone notices it could use more varnish, or some wood chips are unevenly out or that one side is engraved too much. These are all said to make your work look more aesthetically pleasing and also substantial. You have the guts to write something then you also organically have the guts to take this. Trust me. Constructive criticism is meant to tie up courage and confidence. That is why writers online also have beta readers. Beta readers are the text audience who are going to see how your writing is flowing. These are all normal aspects of writing. Do not be discouraged by them. When I was 14-19 I had a hard time taking constructive criticism. I haven't fully mastered it yet but at that time I was completely reluctant to take it. It was not necessarily pride that stopped me it was the inability to understand what my audience was saying. I was young, inexperienced and immature. My audience was telling me not to be so experimental with my writing style. This was for fanfiction writing. Obviously, the demographic may want something different. Yet, as I got older I decided to incorporate some of the advice they have been saying. It worked better for me too. I mean I realised I couldn't finish projects because I was demanding too much of myself in one place which could also serve as a constrained medium. Saying that, I am also happy I experimented. That I took long to listen to their advice. This may seem contrary to what I stated but it is not. See, I was young and discovering aspects of my voice and style. I terribly needed to do what I did. It was a form of catharsis that literally helped me mentally, emotionally, psychologically and physically. We all have moments like this and we all need them. Seizing these moments is seizing life as well. To understand better who we are and what we are doing and also the why and how we are doing. It is your job as the writer to actually understand what constructive criticism you would need and what you wouldn't. Think about a mathematics problem. They say certain things about it that could be excess information. But for you to make x and y you don't need everything. Mathematics is also about context, elimination and extraction as much as writing is. So, you take what you feel is necessary and you could use to improve yourself. And, things you don't you ruminate on them later or don't engage with them as much. Your responsibility as a writer is to write and to write well in how and what you write. You don't always need to listen to what a reader or reviewer is saying if you feel they are going antithetical to your ideas and writing goals. That doesn't give you the right to be rude with them. It allows you to understand other perspectives and how you can better write your messages across. If a reviewer or reader gives a suggestion or desperately wants something you don't have to cave in to their wishes. This is something I learned the hard way too. Your story may be different than their expectations and that is actually good. If you were to write only for their expectations what would you learn or what would they? So, the idea is to map out those comments and extricate the meat of it and eschew the rest. You don't always have to feel the pressing need that you may lose a fan if you don't write by their standards. You may actually lose the respect of your fan if you always cave in to what they want. They may disregard your ideologies and philosophies because they feel you are governed more with a nature to please than to persist. And persist you shall with your own autonomy. No person is a locked island though so obviously the tides of criticism are needed but they may also abate to see the coastlines of your writing shores. Take advice wisely. Remember that the writing is coming from you and no one else. You have a better grasp on the realities and expectations of the writing than anyone else can so you should write them out as such. Do not let peer pressure or even the pressure of ratings malign your course of action. ~ To be continued

#writing #personal #writing advice #writeblr #studyblr #stories #fanfiction #sharing #knowledge #psychology #body #emotional #health #skill #craft

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ultimaxell · 7 years

Text

Testing Fate

Word Count: 9968

“There he is, Our Valedictorian, Arsen Michaels!”

The cheers he heard following his name… it was strange, an odd disconnect. Maybe it was the fact that he knew there was not a single student was clapping for him because of who he was. They cheered as he took the stage, called loudly and thundered their rapturous applause because they knew what it was he was meant to do, what it was that he was supposed to give them and it was for that they cheered, for the information he held rather than the person he had become. They did not care about, could care less about him and many made it pointedly obvious they really didn’t care if he was alive or dead when they choose to acknowledge him rather than blatantly ignore his existence. Or maybe the disconnect came from seeing the principal, smiling as these student’s roared, his face bright and happy and elated that his school had such a low problem with bullying, that his students supported one another. He didn’t know, didn’t see the day to day and only heard of instances when His friends and him could not talk their way out of an investigation.

They took care of their own. That was an unspoken rule that had existed between them since before he could really remember anything else. Be it as they grew up and the beatings they got from family, ‘friends’, enemies, classmates got worse, they learned first aid in the most hands on of ways, It was one of them going on two am runs through the drive through or a 24/7 quickie mart because someone in the Squad hadn’t eaten in three days, It was getting a call in the middle of the night because someone felt lonely and you didn’t ask questions, didn’t say anything because what was it you could say? Or when the life they lived almost took over one of them, when the life that they had to call theirs nearly swallowed them and they gave into the whispering voice that told them that the world was so much better off without them,It wasn’t one of these people who ran the whole way to their house because you couldn’t get the car and It wasn’t them having their finger vomited on as they forced one of them to puke up all they had in their stomachs as your heart dropped into the pit of yours, and it sure as hell wasn’t anyone but them who showed up at their hospital rooms to check in on them. The squad Took care of the Squad. They would be the only ones who had each other’s backs, the only ones who understood. No one else even could come close.

Nobody here knew them. No one here cared to.

And that would be their downfall.

“Thank you Principal.” His voice was smooth, easy as he waved at the man, sliding his gaze off of him to blink out into the crowd of people who only cared about what came out of his mouth. He could see it, their smiles as they fixated on him, watching him intently but not seeing him. To them, He was Arsen Micheals, The Nerd, the loser who you could bully into passing your class for you with just the right amount of beatings. He was the class nerd, the smart kid you only wanted to talk to if you had a group project. They only saw him as the fixture they had made him, and Arsen smiled, no joy to the feature as he cleared his throat.

They had no idea that he was no longer that boy. He was long gone, lost now in the darkness of his past.

The Michaels line would die with his Father. Arsen held a new name, another man’s blood in his veins. He accepted the legacy of another, the man that Arsen could not yet find the courage to call his father but could not think of him as anything else.

“But It’s Lee.My name is Arsen Lee.” His voice echoed over the growing silence that followed his ascent to the stage.

He turned his head, a slight condescending smile on his lips as he shrugged his shoulders. He heard the mutters, the waves of question that started, the slight confusion as people battled their own lack of knowledge to try and remember if they had always been his name. Arsen paid it no mind, instead turning back to the podium as the Student Council president, a bubbly, arrogant blond with bright blue eyes and a splattering of freckles over her cheeks, took her place next to him, her clapping as he started his prepared speech, all written out for him in glittering pen like he was a moron the couldn’t even give a small speech. He didn’t allow his smile to drop, simply, picked up the cards to tighten them before placing them down and looking to the crowd.

“Anyway, I hope you all are enjoying yourselves tonight. There’s a lot I could say up here, a lot of bull shit about how we should all be so proud to have made it this far, how we should be proud of ourselves…. But I’m not going to.”

Arsen felt the jab as he spoke, the sharp slap of hands over his arm as he spoke off course for what she had written. Her eyes blazed as she snapped her gaze to him, her smile still in place as she bore fire into his skin, her anger practically heating him as he continued on.

“Tonight…. Well, tonight is a once in a lifetime event. There will never be another night like this, there will never be this exact moment ever again. “ He spoke, the room falling quiet as The president fumed beside him. Her nails were digging into him, trying to force him to get back on track, her smile twisted and gnarled as she hissed her displeasure.

“What are you doing?”

“And that sort of heaviness requires a certain amount of respect. So, Let’s not ruin it with bull shit, and just move on to the part you want to hear. This Years Prom King and Queen!”

However unconventional his speech, this was meet with screams in the crowd as they cheered, showing their enthusiasm to get him off the stage so they could go back to dancing and acting like a fool. He smiled, the envelope he needed being shoved roughly at his chest, The President looking like she wanted nothing more than to rip his head off for ruining her perfectly crafted night. Arsen grinned.

Cindy had always had a problem with him because he got better grades…. It felt good to ruin her plans, as she had made his life hell, often putting his own grades at risk by trying to sabotage him or lying about something.

“Thank you, Cindy.” He spoke pointedly, straightening his jacket as he cast her a sideways glance, his smile shifting, sliding into more of a smirk. He opened the envelope, slowly, watching her face redden as she tried to bite back the venomous tirade just on her tongue. He grinned, his own heart racing for a thousand different reasons, chest tight as he flipped open the paper to look at the ink on the card.

“This year’s Prom King Is…” There was a pause as the sound of a few hundred students making a drum roll sound filled the gymnasium, his eyes watching that vain pulse in Cindy’s head as he grinned brighter.

“Neket Dhouti!”

There was a roar of applause as the Squad Cheered, Followed by the sounds of voice that had only just recently become familiar chiming in, twice the size as they usually were made a difference as it filled the quiet room as people muttered under them, building to the roar. Neket walked up to the stage by the side stairs, his enthusiasm appearing to have not diminished at all because of the circumstances. He moved easily over the wood of the stage, body moving in easy movements as he danced his way across the stage, the principal looking confused as the Black haired boy sauntered up to him, taking the crown from his hands to place it on his head, the metal sculpture fitting easily on his head.

“Look, Arsen, a Perfect Fit.” He beamed, and Arsen made to respond when he was interrupted by the screech that had his ears ringing.

“That is NOT what it says!”

Her voice shot out now, nasally, high pitched and generally unpleasant. Her voice was snooty, uptight, her drawl worsening as she poke. She straightened now , a screech sliding past her lips as she smacked him harshly on his chest, Arsen not even flinching as he leaned slightly away. There was a huff as she crossed her arms and snapped her fingers at him, something that instantly set him on edge.

“Don’t snap at me. I’m not your dog.” There was a steady tone to his voice, and he could hear it as Neket gestured to the crowd behind him, though his gaze was locked on the blond, eyes flashing dangerously. He didn’t see the Black haired boy’s movements, just watched Cindy as she huffed haughtily.

“Then do something RIGHT for a change.”

Arsen’s gaze moved away from her, in seeming submission as his hands fiddled with the cards before moving behind his back. Cindy took her moment to look smug, her victory sweet on her tongue as she grabbed for the microphone.

“Didn’t i just say tonight demanded Respect?”

It was all too easy to pull the gun from his waistband. It fit easily in his hand, glinting off the light of the spotlights on him. Everything slowed, his heart in his ears, pounding out a beat in his mind.

He pulled the trigger in one easy motion.

He never even bat an eye.

The girl fell in a heap to the floor, Arsen’s gaze narrowed as he sighed, rolling his eyes as he turned to the crowd.

“Have some Respect For Your King…. He hasn’t even given his speech yet.”

Screams filled the air as Arsen laughed, watching the people scrambled and bolt, their bodies bumping into one another as they practically ran over one another to try and get away from them.

“I don’t think They’re listening, Neket.” Arsen practically purred, his eyes flicking at the boy whose body was trembling in for a moment, shoulders shaking as he hunched over, before his laughter, wild, untamed, mad, slid past him, his head being thrown back in the heat of his joy. He looked consumed, wholly unhinged as he spun in his place, watching the bodies move before speaking up, a loud shout over the Desperate action.

“Then let’s get their attention!”

—————–

Audi stood very still in the middle of the bathroom, his body trembling. The room was large, with cooling tiles and thin but wide windows at top of the plastered wall. The room was so big that his whole squad could come bursting through in spinning chairs and they would still have room enough for each other. It was big enough that he could actually curl inside the last stall in the room, wrapping comforting arms around his legs and wait the whole situation out. It couldn’t take that long. Right?

They were all confident now. They were all able to move into their transition from nerds to kings easily, the title something of an accomplishment they never really thought they would be able to truly grasp. They were all smiles now, they all knew that nothing could get to them now. They were true kings. They were above the rest of the beings around them. Audi knew that. Audi knew he should have been in that gymnasium, right along side his overly confident brother. A feat that suited the new ‘Lee’ too well. Audi knew that he should have been taking his rightful place beside Neket. Hyping the boys enthusiasm for the night, whooping and hollering attached to his side.

Even know he could hear the trickle of the man’s laughter flowing hauntingly into the restroom. Violet eyes flicked to the mirror, taking himself in. Taking in the new found being that he had became. A peak of his physical perfection. A new king. A new king that came from a kid that used to carry himself around with bags under his eyes and a oversized sweater.

He knew that the students that were scattering deserved, rightfully so what was coming to them. With the few obvious exceptions. Audi knew that they needed to be able to get their revenge to be able to move on into a new area of their lives. He knew what this night meant to everyone.

So why was he so scared?

Why couldn’t he take up the mantle like his brother and friends had? Why couldn’t he suck in the anxiety that seemed to create a hole where his chest was supposed to be? Why couldn’t he stand up for himself, why couldn’t he stand tall and proud, why couldn’t he colect himself enough to help the squad?

The answer was simple. And it would never change no matter how much he wanted it to. It was because he was pathetic.

Just as pathetic and low as he was a human. He wasn’t good enough for this life, he wasn’t good enough to be along side with them. And he wasn’t good enough for her. Those facts were not simply going to change, they weren’t going to drift along peacefully into the afterlife with his soul. Not when they were inherent parts of a personality that seemed inescapable.

Audi rested his forearms on the whites of the sinks as the screams built, his eyes flicking down to the gun at his feet. An impatient huff passed his lips. There was a small shuffle of his feet as anxiety crept up his spine, and he shut his eyes to the sudden onslaught of panic. A prickle of awareness slid beneath his skin, into his mind. He drew in another breath slowly and let it out.

He needed to do something. He needed to show his support somehow. And standing here staring at the ground with empty hands was not going to help any of them. He knew what he needed to do, he knew what he wanted to do. It was not as if he didn’t know that almost all these students deserve some kind of punishment. And this just seemed juss. It was controlled. It was maintained. Each of them knew who to keep their hands off of, each of them knew what the other was truly there for.

His brothers words were hummed through the roaring and blood curling screams of his fellow classmates.

Tanned fingers slipped down to grasp the cold metal in the palm of his hand, gripping it with a sort of resentment that he didn’t know he held for the metal. But if he was to be honest, guns seemed… excessive. Considering. But still he straightened himself, moving his free hand over the white of his vest and smoothed out the lines in his button up shirt. His finger pushed up at his elbows, bunching the fabric of the longs sleeves back.

But he moved, his feet shuffling to the door in a slow motion that seemed almost in hesitance but really he was waiting. Holding out for the exact moment that he needed to approach the situation at hand.

Even if he didn’t want to do this, even though he really wanted nothing more than to go home and curl himself back up in his bed, he was going to help, he was going to at least try to be something for Neket. For Arsen. Maybe even change a little on his perspective. That would be the win all.

The door opened with a creak, the screams that were dulled, now blaring and echoing through the halls of his school, violet eyes took in the terrified faces with a smile on his lips. With a quirk he tsked, his fingers making a small motion towards the crowd.

“No respect, no respect.”

He aimed, finger pulling the trigger snugly into its holder. The noise shot just as loud as before, the ceiling crackling with the bullet. But Audi did not flinch his eyes on the students that had went quiet, on the faces that wear tear stained and red from exertion, their eyes wide in horror as they took him in. Which only kept that smirk on his expression.

“What a ungrateful lot you are. Go back in there and bow to your rightful king.”

———-

The laughter was infectious, the bubbling feeling flooding his body, his limbs, his mind. It consumed him, body shaking with effort as he felt his arms lift, crossing over his stomach as fingers found his sides to try and hold himself together as he felt himself falling, falling apart at the seams as everything he had ever wanted slid into place before him. It was happening now, all his fantasies, his daydreams and the smallest light in his anger fueled living waking nightmare he called a life, all of it was happening before him, the scent of blood tangy on his senses as he saw the puddle under her, the student President who had placed far too much value in herself, grow steadily as blood poured from her corpse, a sight he noted Arsen was pointedly not looking at. His eyes on his suit as he tightened it casually, like the world of en entire senior class hadn’t just changed in an instant.

The thought of Arsen as Squeamish made him giggle, earning a look from the violet eyed, newly declared Lee. Neket moved, swaying slightly on his feet before he looked back to the principal who was kneeling down next to the young woman who had just lost her life, his tears making his own smile grow as he moved, easily, over the stage. Most of the students had spilled into the hallways of the school that connected them, the chaperones that were supposed to be standing guard having vanished into the halls, probably in search of a phone that worked as they frantically patted themselves for a cell they could not find. It was quiet around him, his smile grown as he kneeled, taking in the scene now for a moment before letting out a low long whistle, a chuckle past his lips as his head shook, black strands falling over his face.

“You don’t need to feel bad, old man…. It’s not like you saw this coming from a mile away…. It’s not like I haven’t been to your office covered in bruises and you brushed me off as a ‘misunderstanding.’”

He could see the realization dawning on him, the slow understanding of his words washing over him. Neket’s hand moved, clapping on the man’s shoulder as he leaned in, his words lowering into soft heated whispers over the man’s skin, no escape as his hand clenched tightly, painfully, the bone nearly giving under Neket’s enormous strength.

“It’s not like you refused to see what was happening right before you, It wasn’t as if your ordered your teacher to ignore us as we suffered in your hallways, under the hands of your precious athletes…. It wasn’t as if you placed the reputation of our school over the wellbeing and health of a whole group of your students, right?”

The principal blanched before he started to sob, breaking and trebling so pathetically under his hand that Neket had to pull away, had to release the man as he stood up again, moving to pace along the stage as he heard the gunfire sound out from the school, heard the sounds of the screams stop as the snap of another familiar voice hit his enhanced hearing. He purred as he made his way through the curtains, seeing the props lined up against walls, the flicker of interest as his eyes landed on a small selection of props that obviously were set aside for tomorrow’s play.

His hand circled around the silver of the cane in his hand, the flashing of the sapphires in the wolf’s eyes glittering as he walked through the curtains one more time, the cane in his hands twirling slightly before it landed on the stage with a solid thump, his eyes widening as they filed back in, by ones by twos by threes, all of them spilling back to join the people too shocked to move.

“No One will be able to blame you, RIGHT?” He hissed in spitting anger, his smile nothing but gnarled hatred and burning resentment. He turned back to the students, the grin on his lips widening into something that bordered on madness. His words came softer no, a mumble against the fires that bubble under his skin, a rumbling of resentment wrapped in friendly conversation and a mocking cry of comfort.

“Then you can sleep well knowing it wasn’t your fault.”

He grinned as the door slammed shut, the sound reverberating through the room as he stood, his hands placed princely over the head of the cane as he leaned on it slightly, his head tilting before lifting to hover above his eyes, like he was blacking out the sun from his mismatched gaze.

“Welcome back, You Naughty, Naughty Subjects! Is that any way to treat your newly appointed King!?”

He spoke, laughter as his hands flew out, outspread in grand gesture as he let loose a little laugh that was building in his chest. He watched as they shuffled in with wide eyes and tears staining thier cheeks as a familiar voice echoed out again, his voice soothing, a snap along his senses. Neket turned immediately as he walked into the room, the smile on his lips changing to something real, Genuine.

“There you are, My Tovak…. I was worried I’d lost you.”

The words were oddly affectionate, even as the surprise flickered along his face as another unfamiliar word fell from his lips like a native language. There was this strange sort of distortion, the sort of disconnect from the man he had been just only a few moments before alarming and jolting. He moved, taking a step forward on the stage, swinging the cane in his hands as he looked at his Best friend, one of the few he’d had given anything to see just even a little bit happier. Neket watched his features, took in the sunken look on his face under the smile he held. Neket’s own joy diminished slightly as worry started to creep along his throat, his eyes narrowing slightly but choosing to not bring attention on it on such a public scale.

He would see him, see to that smile he held precious to his heart. He would see it back on his face or die trying.

“Thank you, for bringing them back. It would seem my Subjects don’t understand proper manners…” He purred, a heavy foot fall as he walked along the length of the wooden stage. He moved to the music that was still playing, a slow melodic beat that seemed to fit his ascension to king. His hand fell behind his back, eyes restless as they moved over the crowd in long, predatory glances.

“But Your New King is Kind, and will forgive your one transgression! No need for such THUNDEROUS APPLAUSE!” He laughed into a nearly silent room, the sounds of sobs filling the space before him. Neket didn’t seem to mind, shaking his head as he brought one hand to his chin, tapping it a sif in thought before he lifted his hand, holding up one finger.

“Just. This. One.” His tone was stern, a growl mingled with control.

There was a cry then, sudden, fierce, boiling as they heard the footfalls of a mad dash for freedom as Neket noticed, too late, the unguarded back doors that lead out to the open ended hallway. He stepped forward as the man burst through the doors, metal slamming against brick as he spilled into the dark night, gone almost the instant he stepped foot outside. He heard him, heard the footfalls as he made a mad dash for the car’s, heard his breaths as he disappeared into the darkness, moon all but gone and the stars hiding away.

Neket’s eyes widened as he heard the screams, piercing, high pitched and reverberating, causing a shout to sound out from the Gym as more and more people started to break. He heard them before they saw them, the sound of two footfalls and the rough scratch of cloth on tile the only noise before his eye caught his eyes. He could see them, the pair that had become a common fixture in his life in this past week alone. The form of one of them moved to open the door, shifting to allow the figure dragging the lump behind him to step through, the figure of the one who had given him his new life, his new identity, the smile on his lips ancient, amused and eternally aggravated as he threw the body of the would be escapee onto the floor. There was a furrow to his brow was he threw the body to the floor, clean but mangled, distorted to strange broken proportions.

“Your King is being generous…. I would listen to him if I were you.”

Saho Dhouti drew a hit from his cigarette, breathing it out slowly as he allowed his gaze to slide over the students who had made the mistake of crossing his boys. His voice was rich, dark, a shifting of tones laced in a strange foreign accent that was starting to bleed into Neket’s speech. Smoke spiraled from his lips as he straightened his jacket, mismatched eyes flashing as he waved regally toward Neket.

“The Crowd is Yours!”

Neket beamed, his heart racing as a strange sort of elation shifted through him. The Younger boy nodded, his hands coming up to clap together to draw back everyone’s attention.

“Students, Ladies, gentleman, Vile vermin of society, Welcome back, Welcome back! Your king has granted you pardon from One, horrendous act, a gift more than befitting the majesty of tonight.… but one pardon is not enough, my students.”

There was something changing in him, a crack along his smile as his smile started to fall, his voice shifting, laced with something dark and sinister, all heat and pain and anger. He moved, jerkily, lifting his hands to lift up one finger once more. His eye caught his Squad, watched as they shifted along the crowd, their eyes wild and locked on those who wrong them. Instantly, he was reminded of times he nearly lost them, times when things became too much or someone pushed too far. There were days he could remember his heartbreaking as he thought he might actually lose them, nights he spent with bile in his throat and sleep avoiding him like the plague as he waited in the waiting rooms of hospitals just hoping and praying he didn’t lose someone he needed, and his spine steeled, his heart soothing out to an even beat.

They deserved so much worse than he could give.

“You see, as it is, You all have a whole lot of years stacked up against you. Years where you all look down on me, on my kind, my people. You have years, thousands, hundreds of sins that I can not pardon…. And tonight, we’ve decided we’ve had enough. Tonight…. I’m making you all pay your debt.”

His hand slid to the gun tucked away in it’s holster, pulling it out to cause the scream and rumble of the crowd growing even more uneasy.

“You all though we were a joke, a game, and since you’re so fond of games, why don’t we make tonight full of em? The name of the first game is, how long can you hide from us? All you have to do is….”

He trailed off, leaning forward to smile and laugh as he lifted the microphone that had fallen to the floor during the confusion, up to whisper his next word.

“RUN.”

———————

This could not be happening.

This was the only thought that seemed to rise above the screaming roar that had filled her mind since she had first heard that gunshot, the sound of it reverberating in her mind with the looping capabilities of old fashioned recorders. It sounded off now, a distortion to her memories as she could not recall the actual events, just the blur of motion and the vivid hot sting of fear rushing over her, the only crystal clear thing about any of her memories. Her Heart Pounded as she crouched low in the shadows of the tables and decorations that filtered down from the ceiling, a loud pulsing scream in her chest that reverberated with fear as she tangled her fingers into the synthetic strands on her head.

Fear. All she could feel was fear, the hot white powerful whips of terror that licked along her skin and seared her with scars that would never really heal. There was music, playing, music that was still spilling into the gym, a sick demented soundtrack to the death of students she had seen grow up, people she had once call friends, acquaintances. The melodies played out over her in her darkened corner of the gym, the place her body had taken her as she had run, trying to get away from everything that had happened. She crouched there, balancing on the balls of her feet, her eyes locked on the floor as her body shook, trembled, her eyes burning, her stomach in her throat.

There was a sound, a voice that drifted over the music, saying words she could not hear, didn’t really understand, before the music got louder, mingling with the screams around them, creating a distorted and strange remix of songs that had once sounded so innocent. Lunthe Felt…. Wrong, her hands tightening on the wig under her hands as she drew in a shaking breath.

She could feel her nails, even through the wig, her heart hammering as she felt the sting welling behind her eyes, her vision hazing as she sucked in a breath, trying, and failing, to hold back a sob. Everything was spinning, her only anchor to this world the screams that were blooming around her, the pain as she ripped at the fake strands, pulling her own hair free of it’s hold as allowed her pale strands to fall over her shoulders, the aggravation just not worth it in the grand scheme of things, a life ended right before her eyes, a night that was supposed to be magical crumbling into ruin.

This could not be happening.

“Where’s Braithe…?”

The words spilled from her lips, the waver in them evident in the way her lip trembled as she lifted wide, almost black eyes to the crowds before her. Everyone was screaming, crying, begging as she glanced around, the fear in her chest swelling to press on her tongue, waves of nausea as bile played with her gag reflex. She didn’t see her, couldn’t spot her sister’s darker synthetic strands or her bright yellow and pink dress, is usually something she could pinpoint with ease lost in the dark blur of moving bodies, of falling and stumbling students, figures she might have once seen as people if it hadn’t been for the fact they were currently between her and her sister, which made them nothing more than obstacles.

“Where’s Brathie?! BRAITHIE!?”

Her screams were desperate, filled with an intense desperation and need as she stood, her eyes moving, never resting as she took in the forms of the people before her. She was moving before she could even recognize what the urge in her chest was calling for her to do, her eyes wide, unblinking as she felt the tears spill over, terror, real and genuine fear making her chest ache with a tight pusing ache. She pushed her way through the crowd, not caring about the shrieks as people stumbled over afters he knocked them off balance, ignoring the force slammed into her as she ran through them, her hands shoving and her breath short as she called her name again.

“LUNTHE!”

She heard her before she saw her, melodic voice the cause of the new wave of tears to spring to the girl’s eyes as she snapped her stare over to the flashing lights that were her sister’s shoes, her lips parting as she rushed into the arms of her twin, pulling her close and wrapping her in her embrace like she could shield her from the shattered ruins of their world around them.

“Oh thank God I found you….” Lunthe practically sobbed, tightening her hold on her sister for a moment before she pulled back. Instantly her hands were on her sister’s cheeks, deep blue eyes flashing, flickering over her features like she hadn’t memorized them years ago, a perfect match for hers. Her thumbs brushed over her sister’s cheeks, trembling hands tracing over her to try and seen, to feel that her sister was still here, still intact, still whole and alive. Her noted her sister’s face, shocked, void of tears but they were there, flooding her gaze as she glanced up at her, her hands shaking as the latched onto her, tangling in her dress to hold her to her. Lunthe soothed her, ignoring the people around them, ignoring the laughter and gun fire.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere? Braithe, we have to move. We have to leave.”

———–

How was it that every door in the building was locked? The possibility alone was highly impossible. But it made more sense when that first shot rang out through the school. It made sense now why those men had only smiled as they shut the door in her face. It made sense why she was unable to open the door herself. The door had felt like it had been forged to the threshold, unmoving. And it had been the same with all the other doors. Until she heard that gun shot.

And she bolted. Straight to the only place she knew she could get exactly what she was going to need to at least survive a little longer. Her heart screamed at her, her lungs were on fire and her body was shook as she let her fingers roam over herself. Searching for an object she already knew was not going to be on her. The door ripped open and clicked softly in a shut behind her. Her breaths were escaping in huffs, her body wheezing as she continued further into the class.

“No. No, no, no. Fuck.”

Ryker spun in place, her eyes frantic as she stared down in shock at her empty hands. The one time she needed the damned phone, the one time she needed to be able to keep track of the contraption and she couldn’t find it anywhere. It was normal, a daily occurrence to leave it behind, or lose it all together. But on prom night? She couldn’t even remember if she had brought the thing with her.

Her heart thundered behind her ears, pounding out a unknown rhythm through her bloodstream. It was failing her, like most days, her heart. Failing to keep up with the emotions sweeping over her body as she searched for the little black device she usually had no interest in. Her breathing steadily became heavier.

Thin fingers patted over the white of her dress, dipping into the hidden pockets of her skirt and checking every crevice between the fabric and her skin. Panic was building up the back of her throat, the realization that the phone was nowhere to be found struck her in a way that had her shivering. To say she wasn’t scared would be a blatant lie. To say that she was prepared for anything of this sort happening at her school, would have been a lie.

How was it she could tell you up to 65,739 of the digits in the square root of pie, but she could never remember to get a hold of her phone before exiting a building?

Another shot rang out, familiar and shrill against her nerves, and the pitiful cries eased abruptly, only momentarily. Aware she had been holding her breathe Ryker let it out slowly, bending solicitously over the desk should have held her inhaler. She was already beginning to struggle with her breathing, terrible anxiety already seeping deep into her lungs.

Her eyes moved to the grey model like phone that sat atop the table. If there was any sort of chance she need to get herself together and she needed to get some sort of help from the police or even Cain.

It was maybe a minute, maybe two, when the lights began to flicker.

“Fuck, fuck. No.”

One by one the lights went out,the fluorescents shifted and clicked as the whir of electricity began to shut off behind the mosaic patterns. Gold eyes turned to watch as the last light in the english class went dark. Soft murmurs of screams could be heard echoing through the eastern side of the school, on the second story, probably as far away from the gymnasium as one of the students could possibly go. And still she could hear the shrill familiar scream of gunshots roaring through the halls. Two. She had counted two. So obviously these kids were going to keep up the charade for a while. They were gonna take their sweet time ‘punishing’ who they felt fit.

Ryker bent herself over, her knees bunching against her chest as she pulled out the small pink pouch out of her desk, the zipper sounded louder than it should have been in a moment like this, in a crisis like this. But there it was all packaged and hidden still, just like it was supposed to be. The paper that wrapped the inhaler crinkled, and was generally as loud as it could possibly be while a high school shooting was happening.

The likelihood of this happening was pretty high to begin with. With the amount of bullies and the amount of general harassment in their school, there was no way it would always stay so calm. Teachers ignored the problem, and if it was brought to the light, it was just made worse for the tormentee. Nobody was truly safe from the torment, but some…. Had it worse than others.

Bullying was a problem at her school, but she had never had any part of it.

Her forehead pressed against the wood of the desk as she pressed the inhaler to her lips.

Sh needed to calm herself down, needed to get some sort of grip on herself to assess the situation. She need to have her mind on right if she was going to be any sort of help. Nephie was still in that gym. Braithe and Luneth were still in there. She had to be able to help them somehow, even if it was just getting a hold of Cain.

———————

The sea of people was angry. Waves rose up, cresting high, a boiling cauldron of dark rage. Red foam was left gurgling, spilling and slipping onto the gyms laminated wood flooring, only to return, reaching ever higher as the screams ripped apart the thick air. Reaching with hunger and fury, with deadly intent. The dark, fathomless sea of these people spread, a dark eye seeking. Hunting. Turning toward him. Crying out for help he would not offer.

Audi wrenched himself away from the obscene acts that were unraveling in front of his very eyes, fighting for air. His lungs burned. He pressed tanned fingers against the steel of the gym doors as some of the students rushed towards the doubled doors. Slightly disoriented, he told himself it was a dream, nothing but a dream. He knew the truth. But it was still comforting. Cool air rushed in and he inhaled deeply. He noticed with relief that they were nearly to the end of the first part, already half of the students were down or fighting for the lives. It reminded him of livestock to be honest. Reminded him of cattle gathering to to take the trip to the butchers that most of them saw coming.

Death already a part of them, their eyes alive, jolting with fear, and small bouts of hope here and there. But they knew ultimately what awaited them.

He cocked his gun at the couple that reached out for the door, his finger already pressing into the trigger. There was no hesitation as the first shot screeched through the air, his aim deadly and precise. Not a second later the second shot rang out, once again proving his aim was not something to be reckoned with.

The bodies draped over each other, red splashing out and flooding the world around them as they hit the floor with a thunk.

“Leaving so soon?”

He managed to keep his voice steady, in spite of the way his heart pounded in alarm. He detested the nightmares that so often plagued his sleep, he detested the fact that his stomach seemed to be curling in on itself as he watched his friends laugh maniacally. As he heard the gunshots zipping through the thick atmosphere of the night. Back and forth. He couldn’t stomach the red that was starting to vastly take over his world.

He had wanted to sleep this night away, that was the original plan. To just sleep and let dreams of his purple haired siren fill his senses, but he seemed to only be dreaming of death and violence. Of voices calling to him, of death beckoning with a bony finger. Instead of the warm hands and pretty smile that he wanted.

Why did he have to look so small and uninteresting just when he finally met a girl she connected with? She was so gorgeous. So intelligent. So… everything. He had walked into a her classes without one iota of information and had come off looking a complete fool rather than a man of extraordinary intelligence. She had a way of making his heart jump to his throat, a way of taking the very breath from his lungs when she smiled. Lunthe probably dated model buff blonds with big muscles, men who hung on her every word. Audi brushed a hand over his face, hoping to wipe away the nightmares that refused to allow him any sort of rest. Hoping to rid himself of the image of embedded in his brain. She had somehow branded herself deep into his flesh and bones.

Her voice had whispered through his body, heated his blood, melted his insides. Audi hadn’t wanted to look at her. He had been all too aware of the differences between the two. All too aware he knew nothing of women. He was bewildered by her sincerity, bewildered by the sheer weight of his attraction to Lunthe Durandal. And he had run like a rabbit, wanting to find some sort of solace in just being able to be by her. Even if it was only in passing classes and small conversations.

She was everything he could place of what perfect would be if it could compile itself into a human being.

He could hear her screams, his heart clenching with each desperate attempt to find her sister. She was frantic, scared, her mind unable to keep up with the panic that was filling her veins. Violet eyes watched as she dipped into the crowd, only to reappear again, the same desperate expression crossing her features every time.

He tried not to groan aloud and give away his thoughts. He tried to contain himself from moving from his spot at the mere sight of her. He tried not to go to her side, tried not to take her in his arms as he wanted to and wipe away all the anxiety painted plainly across hers face. As much as he wanted, he knew he couldn’t.

‘No, not yet.’

It wasn’t till he moved forward that he could hear the low pitched whine that was escaping his lips, it was not until he moved that he even really noticed that he was watching her. Watching her push and pull her way through the bodies, disappearing behind some, he could have swore he had seen her almost fall twice now. It took her a moment, her screams and shouts for the little pinkie going unanswered at first.

And with each call he could see the tension seeping through her skin. But, nothing would happen to her sister, not unless Neket wanted that. He knew it, others knew it. They each had agreed. They each had chosen people to protect from this all. And he knew that his squad would stay true to their words.

Braithe was safe. Just as Lunthe was.

It just happened that girls didn’t know that yet.

His fingernails cut into the palm of his hand as he watched her, longing all the while to be by her side. There was something about the way that she cried out for her that made his heart leap to his throat. But the second relief seemed to rinse over her stress, he could feel his body shifting.

There was a small huff as he watched her eyes light up again, this time with something of hope as she embraced her sister. A detail that did not escape him. But he strained, strained to hear the words that she was whispering to the brunette in her arms. Words that he knew would probably be of the false hope that she held now.

How was it that she could be in a horrible situation, the predicament could be dire around her, and somehow his girl still found some sort of light in it? How was she the one who had to play the hero in this situation? And she took the mantle so diligently. So gracefully, uncaring of the consequences.

But that’s what he was there for he supposed, to be the consequence.

—————-

Lunthe had found her, just to find a dead end through Braithe. She couldn’t move, the air in her lungs too thick. Enough that she had to concentrate to pull in oxygen. She could hear her sister’s words. Feel her trying to sooth the over the fear that was deep rooted in Braithe’s chest. But no matter how much she wanted to play protector. Braithe knew, Lunthe was just as afraid as her.

“I can’t. Lunthe, Lunthe. I can’t. I can’t. I’m scared.”

She was soothing, the truth behind it was Lunthe was always soothing. Always the sister to take care of her. Always the one who protected, and it only ever left Braithe the spot to be the cry baby sister that Lunthe never asked for. She knew she needed to listen to her words. She knew that should try to make her knees unlock, she knew that she should try to book it behind her sister, let her lead the way, because honestly, between the two of them she seemed the most suitable to do so. She was the protector. Where Braithe was the trouble.

It wa something that had been told to them since they were children. Their own parents deciding it for them long before they could really understand. There was just something about the little bubbly Lunthe that Braithe just did not have. Not that she was envious, at most points. But it was moments like now. Moments where she could not keep the tears from streaking down her cheeks, moments like this where she wished she had the courage to just make a mad dash to the exit with her sister in tow.

Instead, she was left with crippling anxiety. And a terrible dread that was beginning to give her a terrible headache, not that the loaded guns and constant gun fire was helping either.

Instead she was left being a burden to her sister. She could have left, could have easily slipped into hiding. But her she was, trying to once again get Braithe out of a situation that she had more than likely got herself into. Braithe gripped onto her sister’s dress, the fabric bunching under her fist, her head shaking furiously back and forth as she tried to communicate. As she tried to tell her sister to run, to leave her behind. But the words wouldn’t leave her lips. And she knew just as the thoughts came to mind.

She didn’t want her to leave. She didn’t want her sister to leave her, even when Neket found himself right back on that stage. She couldn’t find the courage to say the words just like she could not bring herself to face the one person she had never meant to anger. Neket.

She had done this. And now she was just forcing everyone else in the prom to be punished right along with her.

“Neket, is really mad, i think.”

The words slipped through her lips, shaky but with a huff of laughter at the end.

She pressed her forehead to the crook of Lunthe’s neck, trying to get the comfort she wanted. Trying to force the situation to be better. If even just by taking the comforting existence of her sister into her own hands.

He was mad, vengeful against a school that had wronged him. A school that dragged him around,… all of them around in the dirt and then tossed them away like used rags. They were justifiably angry. Their minds were wrapped in this revenge that really she should have seen coming from a mile away. With how she had just treated him the past week.

She couldn’t look, not when the next shot rang out. Instead she stiffened, frozen into the spot she knew she needed to escape. Her legs felt like rubber, and weighed three times her body weight. At least that’s what it felt like. Her mind raced as she tried to piece together a world that was falling apart around her.

“It’s probably something i did… I’m not really all that smart all the time.”

She could feel Lunthe body straighten, see the stern expression that her purple haired sister often gave her. The fabric under her palms shifted as cold hands grasped Braithe’s cheeks. She was shaking, her fingers trembling against Braithe’s wet cheeks, but those twining blue eyes locked, forcing Braithe to make some sort of eye contact. She had to focus, had to try to see through the blur of tears that seemed to be never ending. But who would not cry in a situation like this.

“I’m sorry….”

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. What was she sorry for, one might ask. But even Braithe could not tell If she was sorry for causing the shooting, if she was sorry that the reason so many people were already on the floor dying was because of her, or maybe it was because she couldn’t take the lead for once in her life. She still could not protect her sister even in a time that called for some sort of courage.

“Braithe, we have to run. Have to. Are you hearing me?”

She spoke softly, calming tone soothing over the jagged edges that was Braithe’s nerves. It sent a sort of soothing balm over mind, at least long enough for her to nod her head, her own eyes locking onto Lunthe’s. There it was, the only calm she needed to get her knees to work right, the only calm she needed to straighten up again, her hands leaving Lunthe’s dress to find her hand with Braithe’s.

“Okay, okay… don’t leave my side… Don’t.”

She whispered the words out quickly, her fingers intertwining the two girls together. There was a moment’s hesitation as she saw the crowd pushing past them, screams ripping into her, causing her head to throb and splinter as she looked for some sort of exit. The actual exits were shut off, Audi in front of one, the other failing to open. Even now she could see some of the jocks struggling to force the metal door apart from its frame. That one was a no go.

“Bathroom’s. The bathrooms have windows, we can crawl out of them… Right? It’s the safest bet.”

—————

Click. Boom. Scream.

The repetition played in Kasmir’s mind, a bored mantra in his mind as he went through the motions with an expert tick of his head, a flicker of his eye as he lined up his next shot after another one shot kill. He watched them fall, watched them as they all dropped to the floor as that final death scream slipped past their lips, his bullet finding him in their skull. There was no doubt in his mind that they deserved it, no doubt that under any other circumstances he would have been overjoyed to be the one to end their lives with the rapid pull of a trigger. There was no lingering guilt hiding in his heart, the rebirthed organ thrumming evenly as he unloaded years of repressed anger out in a few bloody explosions.

But tonight was Prom Night. Tonight was the night his world would change, the night everything would finally be as it was supposed to be, with his enemies at his feet and the tang of blood on his lips… Everything was finally lining up, finally going his way, and he had the pleasure of seeing so many of his old enemies, people who had seen him beaten, bloody and broken, plead him for their life, clamor along his leg as he watched them sob pathetically against him. He had the pleasure of being the one to end their lives, had been the one to look them right in the eyes as he pulled the trigger. It was all everything he had fantasized in all his darkest daydreams, a nightmare come true for the rest of the world….. It should have been perfect.

But it wasn’t.

And that was because he wasn’t able to see her.

It was literally the only thing keeping this night from being absolutely perfect, but rather unfortunately, it was the one specific element this night needed to worth anything at all. Everything he ever did, Kasmir did it for her, the woman who owned his heart, long before a new legacy took residence in his veins, long before he had the power to change worlds at his fingertips.

Emmy Trigovise was… Everything he longed to deserve, and everything he strived to protect and care for. He knew it sounded overdone, sounded over dramatic and over played but he truly did not know where he would have been if she had not come into his life. His life wasn’t anything to celebrate, nothing that he could claim as his own worth anything to anyone, but she had come along, all smiles and surprises as he met her gaze across the courtyard and saw her wearing the jacket he had been missing for forever now, and she had changed everything, and now, Kasmir had no idea how to live in a world without her.

She was his ringing heartbeat and the melody in his blood, she was the light in his otherwise dark world, the only being to show him affection and the only one who had managed to find their way past his defences, sliding right in to take control of his heart with an expert’s hand.

There were a million ways he could describe her, but truthfully, Kasmir never knew where to start, his mind forever caught between going off about her physical beauty or to spill his hopeless affection for the woman inside, her mind a whip crack of brilliantly formulated thoughts, comments, insults. He lived for her smiles, the breathless sighs at three in the morning when he kissed her neck just right, pulled her close so that he could feel the flutter of her heartbeat under his lips as he memorized every curve of her body along his, lived for her moans as her body arched against his, his name a heated gasp on her lips as she rolled her hips against his to take him deeper inside of her. He lived for the sleepy little yawns she gave as she leaned over to kiss him good morning, pressing her lips along his jaw and neck and cheeks as she purred his name in the early mornings, the sun not even rising as she woke, lived for the way she would sneak blowing him kisses across the room or how she would reach for him immediately as he pulled her into another empty room or into his apartment. Lived for her arms circling around his neck as she pulled him in for a kiss as she slammed the door shut, returning back to his waiting, open arms, where she belonged. His life had become so much more than the forgotten blight on existence it used to be with her presence, and tonight, the most anticipated date in your school life besides graduation, he had yet to see her once.

The bodies moved, faces he knew but could only call strangers running around him like a swarm, his heart hammering with disappointment with every new face that whipped past him, None of them the face he longed to see. He sighed as he lowered his gun, rolling his shoulders before turning to the three figures that never strayed far from his side, the three other men that meant everything to him and just about the only people who knew somewhere about the depth of his emotions for the tiny brunette.

“This is getting us nowhere. Fast.”

There was a warning line of lethal electric tones tangled in his words, a low vibration of irritation that was starting to bubble in his chest, starting to flood his limbs as he turned his glare toward his small group of friends within his friends. He watched as Derek turned his gaze to him, Davy’s green stare flickering to him to narrow pointedly before returning to look at the remnants of what once had been a senior class. All that was really left now were the stragglers, the ones still clinging to life, and the ones who had yet to make it out of the building, and now, with number against them, their chances of making a clean getaway was falling lower and lower and lower.

His only satisfaction was that he had not seen that head of brown hair or the slivers of skin her dress was sure to reveal, and that he had saved his very first kill for the one person who deserved it the most. The true obstacle that got in his way, the only flaw Emmy ever had.

Her boyfriend.

“What do you suggest then, Kas?” Davy’s Drawl came just as Derek made to speak, his lips parting before he turned to look at the taller darker male. Kasmir narrowed his gaze at Davy, watching as Dean took that small step closer his as davy tilted his head, ink black hair falling into too bright eyes that flashed with determination, a Mission Kasmir knew all too well.

They had people they needed to find.

“I’m done waiting around to kill off stragglers…. I’m about ready to hunt.”

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darthrevaan · 7 years

Text

RvB Bingo Fic - Bodyswap

Title: no te metas con templos alienígenas, idiotas

Summary: Lopez is 100% done with the Red and Blue idiots’ stupidity when they’re themselves, let alone when they switch bodies.

Word Count: 2360

Notes: For the @rvbficwars Bingo Wars, representing Red Team! A little last minute entry to show at least some team spirit xD Lines in italics are in Spanish.

Also available on AO3

Night was Lopez’s favourite time of day. Finally all the pendejos who haunted him during daylight hours would go to bed, and he could enjoy the peace and quiet.

Morning – when they all woke up again – was his least favourite time.

Today his peaceful nightly repose was broken by the pink one crashing unnecessarily loudly into the armoury and yelling, “Lopez, where’s Sarge?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Lopez said, keeping to his usual flat monotone.

“This is important, Lopez! Where the hell is he?”

The pink one did sound a lot more agitated than usual. Strange. “In there,” Lopez said, pointing to the workshop. “He fell asleep while he was fiddling with that new alien device,” he added, despite knowing he wouldn’t be understood.

Donut brushed past him into the other room, and for some moronic reason began to yell, “Grif! Wake up!”

How much of an imbecile was he? Lopez had clearly just told him where to find the red one. He’d even asked for him by name!

Something fishy was going on.

“I’m up, I’m up, Jesus,” he heard Sarge’s voice say as he entered the workshop. “Wait. Why the fuck do I sound so weird?”

“Look at your hands,” Donut instructed.

Lopez watched as Sarge looked down at his hands, started in surprise, then turned them over slowly. “These aren’t my hands,” he said.

“No shit, genius.” That was rather more acerbic than Donut’s usual. What the hell was going on?

“You’re Sarge,” Donut said, “And I don’t mean you got a promotion.”

“Oh.” There was a beat of silence. Then the red one let out a long, despairing wail. “Noooo! I don’t wanna be Sarge!”

“Grif! Stop whining! You’re still you, you’re just stuck in Sarge’s body.”

“What if it’s permanent, Simmons?” Sarge – or Grif? – wailed. “I don’t want a Southern accent!”

“You won’t- Wait, how did you know it was me?”

Grif gave Simmons a look, an expression that was slightly weird on Sarge’s face. “You’re clearly not Donut, Simmons.”

“Point.” Donut – wait, no, Simmons – sat down at the workbench opposite Grif. “But yeah, I am Donut – or I’m in Donut’s body, anyway. It’s fucking weird.”

“You can say that again,” Lopez said. He was, as usual, ignored.

“At least you’re not fucking Sarge,” Grif said with no small amount of venom.

“At least I’m not ‘fucking’ you,” Simmons shot back.

After a second, Grif grinned slyly at him. “Well, you actually ar-”

“Jesus, Grif, right now?!” Simmons interrupted. “That brings an unpleasant image to mind with, y’know, this going on.”

“Fuck.” Grif put a hand over his eyes. “Now I seriously need brain bleach.”

“Where are the others?” Lopez asked.

Grif and Simmons started, like they’d forgotten he was there. “It didn’t affect Lopez,” Simmons said, narrowing his eyes.

“It didn’t? How can you tell?”

“Look at him,” Simmons said, “He’s clearly still Lopez.”

They both stared at Lopez for a moment, before Grif nodded. “Yep, I see what you mean.”

“Besides, I’ve already seen Sarge and Donut. That’s how I knew you were in Sarge.”

“That means they’re out there running around in our bodies!” Grif said. “Please tell me Sarge doesn’t have mine.”

“No, he’s got mine,” Simmons said. “When I left him he was crushing things with my robotic hand.”

“That means Donut has me,” Grif said grimly. “Tucker’s probably taking video.”

“I guess.” Simmons leant forward, now much more interested in the strange device lying on the table. “I bet this is what caused it,” he said, gesturing at the small machine.

“Cool, but what the fuck is it?” Grif asked.

“I… yeah, I have no idea. Sarge said he didn’t know what it was or how it worked, either.” Simmons paused for a moment, then turned to look at Lopez. “Hey, maybe Lopez knows how to fix it.”

“Obviously I can fix unfamiliar alien technology at the drop of a hat,” he said, his hilarious deadpan lost on the two idiots in front of him, as usual.

Different bodies, same idiots.

“Lopez, can you fix this, yes or no?” Simmons asked.

“No,” Lopez said flatly. That was the one word these morons seemed to consistently understand.

“Well, that puts us back at square one, I guess,” Simmons sighed. “I wonder if anyone else was affected?”

“If we go get breakfast, we can find out,” Grif said, trying to hide the hopeful note in his voice.

Simmons sighed. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Lopez followed them to the mess hall, admitting – at least to himself – that he was curious.

The mess hall was pandemonium.

Groups of soldiers were gathered everywhere, all talking, arguing, crying, or just staring into the nearest reflective surface in disbelief. There was no sign of anyone trying to calm or organise the chaos. Lopez did spot Grif and Simmons – now Donut and Sarge, of course – sitting on the opposite side of the hall.

“There you are, you no-good rotten bodysnatcher!” Sarge said as soon as they sat down. Even using Simmons’ body, his voice was still gruff and stubbornly Southern. “Why I oughta-”

“Trust me, I wouldn’t take your fuckin’ body on purpose,” Grif snapped.

“I think it’s kinda fun,” Donut piped up. “And kind of exciting. I mean, I don’t know who most people are yet, and I haven’t found Doc-”

“No,” Grif snapped, pointing a finger at Donut, “No doing weird shit with my body.”

Donut put a hand to his heart. “Grif! I would never! I’m going to take great care of your body!”

“Probably better care than he takes of it,” Simmons said under his breath.

It was at that moment that Wash suddenly sat down unannounced at their table. This wasn’t unusual; the fact that he was completely shirtless, however, was. For a moment they were all shocked into silence.

“Don’t worry,” Wash said, leaning back in his seat, “Lesser men than you have been stunned into silence by the sight of my abs.”

There was another moment of silence. Then everyone drew in a breath nearly in synch, preparing to unleash numerous variations of what the ever-loving fuck. But before anyone could speak, a huge crash echoed through the hall.

Caboose was standing in the doorway, clutching the doorknob of one of the mess hall doors in his hand. The door had been ripped entirely out of its frame, hinges swinging loose.

“Tucker!” he yelled. “Come back here with my body!”

“Alright,” Kimball said, her hands on her hips. “I know this is going to be a testing time for everyone. For now I just have to ask you to grin and bear it until we can work out what the hell happened.” She paused, and then sighed heavily. “And yes, for the moment, I am Private Matthews.”

There were a few conspicuous coughs, but no one outright laughed. “I’m honoured to lend you my body, General!” Matthews called from the back of the room. Doctor Grey’s voice sounded squeaky rather than cheery when he used it.

“…thank you, Matthews,” Kimball said. “Anyway, on to the issue at hand. We need to work out what caused this…bodyswap, and how to fix it.” She turned and looked Simmons. “You said you had some idea of what happened, Captain.”

“Possibly,” Simmons said. “I mean, Sarge was er…fiddling with some unknown alien technology in the workshop last night.”

Kimball looked from face to face. “Colonel, maybe you could tell us more…wherever you are?”

“Right here, General,” Sarge said from Simmons’ body. “Don’t know what that bamboozling bit of alien techno-garbage is, but it sure didn’t seem to be doin’ anythin’ when I was experimentin’ on it last night.”

“When you fell asleep it still hadn’t responded to anything,” Lopez said, “It hasn’t given off any recognisable power readings at all. I doubt it has anything to do with our current problem.”

“Er… what was that?” Kimball asked.

“He said the alien device probably isn’t the cause of our problem,” Andersmith’s deep voice said. When everyone turned to stare at him, he added, “Oh, Doctor Grey speaking, by the way. And can I say I am loving the experience of borrowing your body, Lieutenant Andersmith! I’ve never been able to lift several pieces of lab equipment at once!”

“You’re welcome, Doctor,” Jensen’s voice said from the other side of the room.

“Alright, so if it wasn’t the alien device in the armoury,” Kimball said, “What was it?”

Resounding silence filled the room. People exchanged glances, but no one seemed willing to speak up.

“There was some kind of energy pulse at 3:36 last night,” Church said eventually, flickering into being above Carolina’s shoulder. “I didn’t think it was important at the time – didn’t look out of the ordinary – but I guess I should take a closer look at it.”

“Please do that,” Kimball said. “In the meantime, we should search for any other alien tech on the base, especially anything that looks like it’s been activated. We’ll organise into search teams now.”

In the resulting hubbub, Lopez slipped out of the room and made his way back to the armoury.

It would take those idiots days to find anything on the base, if their previous record was anything to go by. If there was some weird tech here, he’d find it quicker than anyone else.

He logged into a computer terminal and got to work.

Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.

The rhythmic banging had been going on for at least half an hour. Clang, clang, clang, every strike reverberating around the huge room, echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve,” someone said. The voice belonged to Locus, but the intonation was clearly not his.

“I am just,” clang “very” clang “frustrated.” Clang.

“I can see that.”

“Look doc, I don’t need you in here psychoanalysing me.” A pair of eyes turned to look at him, one dark brown, the other entirely black. “Especially not when you look like fuckin’ Locus.”

“I’ll come back later then,” Locus – actually the Counsellor – said softly, before turning away and retreating back into the hallway.

Felix, unwillingly and very unhappily trapped in Sharkface’s body, went back to hammering at the strange alien device in the middle of the room, hoping his repeated strikes would make it reverse somehow.

Or break it. That would be fine too.

Outside, the Counsellor found Felix’s body and, disconcertingly, his own sitting side by side on a low wall. Locus had – much to his displeasure – been forcibly ejected from the Temple by Felix, who was apparently extremely uncomfortable watching his own body move around without being able to control it. Sharkface seemed equally uneasy – probably from the loss of his muscles, Aiden thought unkindly.

“He’s still in a mood?” Locus asked.

“He is. I would let him work it out, but I fear he will irreparably damage the alien device if we allow him to continue.”

“He’s the one who fuckin’ set it off in the first place,” Sharkface snapped. His growl didn’t sound even half as menacing in the Counsellor’s soft voice.

“And we’ll all be fucked if he breaks it.” Locus stood up, faltering a little as he did. He was clearly still getting used to being a lot shorter than usual. “Let’s deal with it.”

“With what? These noodle arms?” Sharkface flopped both arms around to demonstrate their apparent weakness. “You’ll have to take doc over here, or go it alone.”

“I suppose I should thank you for being so concerned about my body’s welfare,” the Counsellor said drily.

“More I ain’t in a hurry to get punched in the face,” Sharkface shrugged.

Locus eyed him with consideration. “Do you think you’d be of use?”

Aiden snorted. “Me? No. I don’t think suddenly having muscle will help a man who barely knows how to throw a punch.” He gave Locus a penetrating look. “He’s your partner. You of all people should know his weak spots.”

Locus glared right back at him. “Usually I try not to hit them.”

“He will understand, when everything is fixed.”

Locus hesitated, glancing between the entryway to the Temple and the two of them waiting for him to come to a decision. Then he squared his shoulders. “Wait here,” he snapped, and he disappeared inside the Temple.

“…and if they kill each other?” Sharkface asked a few moments after Locus disappeared from sight.

“Then we’ll have less to worry about,” Aiden said flatly. “And we might be able to start fixing the alien device. Or attempting to do so.”

“Can’t come quickly enough,” Sharkface muttered. “No offense, man, but I hate your body.”

“Unfortunately it was the only one I had to offer,” Aiden said with a raised eyebrow.

There was a yelp and a thud from inside the Temple. They both tensed, waiting; when no more sound was forthcoming, Sharkface said, “I think that’s our cue.”

“Right.” They made their way into the Temple together.

It wasn’t hard to navigate; soon enough they came to the main room and found Locus, standing over Sharkface’s crumpled body. “You better not have done permanent damage,” its temporarily separate owner growled as he entered the room.

Locus cracked his knuckles slowly. “I know my limits. He’s- you’re- you know what I mean. You both are fine.”

“Glad to hear it.” Sharkface turned to the central feature of the room, the strange alien device sticking out of the floor. “Now, I haven’t got all day, Counsellor. Can you fix this thing or not?”

“Me?” The Counsellor smiled. “Oh no. We’ll have to call in an engineering team. Better settle in for a long wait, gentlemen.”

Locus cursed under his breath. “This is the last time I let him wander in alien temples unsupervised.”

#red vs blue #rvb #lopez #rvb bingo wars #red team #one day we'll cruise down blood gulch avenue #mine

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