laurent-vasiliyev

[laurent-vasiliyev]

For every 🎟 I get, my muse will tell a story from their childhood.

For multi-muse blogs, specify which muse.

[laurent-vasiliyev]

emeryxnewman:

@laurent-vasiliyev

This was the last thing she wanted to do. Emery had never bargained on having a daughter, but she had ended up with one anyways. And somehow she also ended up finding a lonely boy who she now considered a son. But whether or not he meant the world to her was absolutely irrelevant now that she and the entire police department had reason to believe that Laurent was somehow involved in dropping Gunner Castle’s body onto the stage during the snowflake ball. And if he truly was involved, there was also a chance that he might know where Maisie Anderson was taken, or at the very least who had taken her.

But Laurent was stubborn and terrified, and Emery was certain that she would have to poke and pry and yell at him if she was to get information out of him. She’d watched through the security monitors as the cops took him inside, the interrogation room at the station, and she couldn’t help but feel her heart drop at the realization that this was actually happening. A sudden sob broke through, and Emery covered her face with her hands. “Jesus.” She mumbled, the weight of the situation caving in on her. This was going to hurt him just as much as it hurt her, but deep down Emery knew that this needed to be done. And if anyone could get the truth out of him, it was her.

But she had kept any and all signs of weakness behind closed doors. The dark circles under her eyes and pale skin were covered flawlessly with makeup, and her clothing was neat and professional. Sure, maybe when she was alone in her office she turned into a mess of being focused solely on work and living off of coffee, but this was a job, and being put together was required of her. Not to mention that Laurent was incredibly observant. Even the slightest yawn would get him suspicious of her. And so she walked into that interrogation room with confidence and caution and braced herself for the look of surprise from him. He hadn’t been informed, exactly, on who he would be speaking with.

Walking into the room she set down a folder on the table, standing on the opposite side from him. Her gaze was level with his as she finally spoke. “I’m not going to pretend that I don’t know you, kid. I’m not here to bullshit you. But we need answers, Laurent.” She shifted her weight sightly, her eyes piercing his. “What were you doing around nine o’clock on the evening of the snowflake ball?”

The secret life he’d build up around him had started to break, steadfast walls crumbling down around him while he was helplessly forced to watch everything he’d dared work so hard to build, disappear. All the lies he’d fought to keep secret were unravelling, the safety he’d been foolish enough to believe would protect him was slipping and fading away. He hadn’t realised it at first, too preoccupied with trying to keep himself alive, but the moments he’d spent thinking about his mother had grown more and more infrequent. The constant dull ache in his heart had lessened and the misery of missing her had receded. And as much as he’d tried to convince himself it was all thanks to his growing inner strength, a small part of him digressed; he’d had help. Wyatt’s stubborn urge to protect him, Emery’s almost motherly love and care for him, even Taemin’s incessant, and yet inclusive, nagging - all small pieces of a much larger puzzle that had started to gather, making the first attempts to patch Laurent back together. He’d never felt loved or needed before, but Fairfield, horrors and conspiracies aside, had given him something far more invaluable; he was wanted. Not for money, not for his family’s strength or his father’s influence. Laurent was wanted, and his previously lonely life had become just a little bit brighter.

But if his brother’s sudden arrival had phased him, his grief paled in comparison to the betrayal stabbing at him at the sight of Emery entering the interrogation room. They’d cuffed him on the way from the ballroom to the police car, shoved him into the backseat - caged away like a wild animal no one wanted to touch. The walls of the room they’d dragged him into were dull and grey, trapping him. The image and sounds of Gunner’s dead body hitting the stage continued to play through his head while the fastened the metal cuffs around his wrists to the table, the echo of students screaming accompanying heavy footsteps and the door slamming.

He braced himself, mentally and physically, for whatever they were preparing to throw at him. He’d been in similar situations before; cuffed to a table, surrounded by adults blinded by their hatred for him and everything he represented, powerless in the face of those who wielded the law like a shield. He’d never feared the police, nor the possible consequences of his actions. Back then he’d had his mother’s irresistible charm and money to rely on; now he had his silver tongue, and years of experience at manipulating and lying his way out of any situation.

Any situation that didn’t include the only person in the world, after his mother, he thought he’d ever be able to trust.

Emery looked exhausted, even with the layers of makeup, coffee, and the steadfast determination she carried into the interrogation room with her. Laurent had forgotten just how much other people could hurt him. His stomach dropped, throat tightening at the sound of her voice. This was the last thing he’d expected. Especially after the way she’d sat by his hospital bed after E’s first attack on the students, her hand warm against his arm, her words soft and soothing against the burning pain of the gashes across his back. He’d let himself become familiar around her, comfortable with her presence, and eventually he’d overcome his fear and had somehow started trusting her. She’d been the first person he’d tried to seek out after the Ball fiasco, weaving through the crowds while calling out her name. But the police had gotten to him first, the weight of an officer’s knee against his back too much for him to shake off.

He’d allowed himself to become weak. Even his brother had told him so, gleeful in sight of the hurt and anger his presence had caused Laurent. He’d become too much like the sheep and strayed further and further away from his true identity; the wolf. A predator, hidden in plain sight, mighty and powerful and yet so very, very alone. The room fell silent after Emery asked her question. Laurent’s stared blankly ahead, his gaze fixed on a spot on the mirrored wall just behind her. He could almost feel the presence of the officers hiding behind the deceiving glass panel, cowering in safety while Fairfield’s Head of Security shredded his heart into tiny pieces.

The Interrogation.

[laurent-vasiliyev]

laurent vasiliyev || believer (imagine dragons)

------

this isn’t great, i literally threw it together in less than an hour, but it’s been on my mind for a while so i’m just gonna post it. 

consider this a trailer/teaser preview for a longer and better quality vid i’m gonna make some time soon lmao

[laurent-vasiliyev]

harlowxanderson: 

Harlow was frantic, doing her best to find where on Earth had sister had disappeared to. Part of her could help but think this was her fault. She had ignored E.. she had refused to wreck the Headmistresses office, this had to be her punishment.. losing her sister. That thought alone was enough to stress her out even more, and she was on the verge of hyperventilating.. the only thing keeping her from toppling off the edge completely was the determination she felt to find Maisie. 

She managed to slip through the crowd in the hall without being stopped, shoving past people a little too roughly, until she smacked straight into a body she couldn’t get around. Looking up at her tall classmate Harlow blinked. “Sorry.” she stuttered with a small sniffle. “I just- this is stupid but you haven’t seen Maisie at all? Not even a glimpse?” 

He’d managed to escape the livid chaos of the hall transformed ballroom, ducking left and right to avoid colliding with anyone else in an attempt to get as far away from the scene of his crime, as fast as humanly possible. People who refused to move were pushed to the side, calls of protest and anger stubbornly ignored.

Maisie Anderson. 

He’d heard her name be uttered in hushed whispers as he’d made his way through the crowds, groups of frightened students huddling together in solidarity. Laurent had never met the girl, had never spoken to any of her friends, had no idea who she was and why E wanted her gone. Like a soldier he’d blindly followed orders, going ahead as planned without thought of the pain he’d be causing others. 

Lost in thought he almost jumped out of his skin as someone slammed into him, forcing him to come to a halt. A vaguely familiar looking face stared up at him, her words mingled with sniffles and small broken sobs. 

“I-No. No, I haven’t.” He dimly recognises her as Harlow, the sister who’d been standing to the side of the stage just before the power had gone out and he’d cut the rope. “Sorry.”

guilty

[laurent-vasiliyev]

laurent-vasiliyev:

fairfieldsresidentasshole: 

The only reason Terri found himself moving from one building to the other was to try to figure out what happened. He’d made his way into the gym as the lights turned back on. Though he would never admit that he’d rushed from one building to the other. So when he heard the comment about directing the students back to their dorms he’d  started immediately.

Briefly catching a glimpse of what had been on the stage he wondered just who had gotten themselves tangled in E’s game yet again. It confused him… the last time he’d heard gifts had been sent out. But everything was radio silent this time. As if the person had been too involved in everything going according to plan. With a sigh, he motions for the crowd to keep moving. Eyes flicking to each face for a moment. Raising his voice above the crowd he narrows his brows. “Alright! That’s enough. Shut up you’re only panicking yourselves more.” Scanning the crowd he rests a hand on his hip pinching the bridge of his nose with the other.

Dropping the hand he continues moving along with the students. The dance shouldn’t have happened. Not after the events that took place during Halloween. It was too risky. And now one of the girls was missing. This entire situation was going to be a pr nightmare for the preparatory academy.

Eye falling on someone’s face he lifts a brow briskly closing the distance between them. “Hey kid.. you don’t look so good.”

Startled, Laurent raised his gaze off the floor and up to meet the face of the person who’d cornered him. He must’ve looked insanely guilty slinking away through the crowd like that, hands fisted in the depths of of the pockets of his jacket. He hadn’t bothered getting dressed up nicely, his excursion to the ball hadn’t been a date; it’s been a mission. 

With fate and fortune on his side Laurent didn’t have to come up with a reason of why exactly he looked like he’d just seen a ghost. Students and staff alike rushed around him in one big frenzied panic. The sound of approaching sirens flared in the distance, a loud noise above the mixture of screams and sobs. 

“What the fuck do you expect?” He shot out, squaring up his shoulders to hide a body flinch after someone bumped into him on their way to the dorms. “Some kid just died, and another one went missing. Are you disappointed we’re not all celebrating?”

guilty

[laurent-vasiliyev]

guilty

The lights go back on the second Laurent reaches the bathroom, stumbling into the nearest cubicle to lock himself in. The distant sound of screaming students mixes in with the wretched noise of him throwing up, red hands smearing thick, foreign blood everywhere he goes.

Vivid pictures he’d rather forget flash in front of his eyes; The body bag, the rope, the piece of paper with instructions scribbled across it. He’d been standing at the very back of the stage beside the fire exit, trembling hands ready to untie the knot, and subsequently release hell. But he hadn’t been thinking straight, how could he have been? E’s threats, real and alive and dangerously close to destroying his life should he refuse to comply, were more than even he could stomach. Not even the Devil would forgive him for the sins he’d committed to save himself.

Leaving the cubicle he goes over to one of the sinks, feverishly starting to scrub the blood off his hands. The water runs read against the white porcelain basin, washing away all evidence of his crimes. The music’s gone out and he can still hear people screaming, countless footsteps moving in all directions as the crowd disperses in a panicked frenzy. 

He leaves the bathroom after washing away most of the traces, inconspicuously trying to slide back into the hall to join the rush of people trying to get back to their dorms. 

[laurent-vasiliyev]

[laurent-vasiliyev]

lordxwyatt:

In all honesty, Wyatt was happy that he was safe inside his mind. To assist him and his peculiar thoughts was his poker face: straight and undisturbed like the calm waters of a pond. He had absolutely no idea why he continuously went out of his way to make sure the source of most of his headaches - Laurent - was okay, as well as out of trouble. Yeah, being intoxicated wasn’t too good but it was much better than seeing the younger male covered in blood and cuts and bruises. There was no way in hell he’d admit it, though. It was for him to know and for no one in the entire world to find out. 

“Why?” he couldn’t help but mimic Laurent’s tone, eyes narrowed in slight thought. Wyatt knew he wasn’t the most peachy teacher in Fairfield but he no doubt liked giving people who mattered to him gifts. Christmas was the time to give gifts but to Wyatt, it was just one of those times where he gave out presents and expected people to just accept it and leave him be. He rubbed his hands together, the roughness of his callouses making a thick scraping noise as he did so. “You’re welcome,” he smiled softly, nodding in acceptance of Laurent’s correction. 

It was safe to say that Wyatt felt some sort of way towards the student; sometimes it was negative and he wanted to slap him upside the head, but other times it was positive and he wanted to share a bottle of golden liquid upon the edge of a rooftop and just bask in one another’s company. Talking most definitely wasn’t necessary but were Laurent in need of a pair of ears, Wyatt would so happily offer his own. 

He ignored the rest of the younger male’s words, raising a brow. “You walk first, Mr Vasiliyev. I’ll see for myself as to whether you need my assistance or not. And I’ll have you know that I’m free for the rest of the day so technically, I’m all yours,” he chuckled. Wyatt kept an eye on the other, ready to catch him were he to lose his footing.

Taking great care not to drop the parcel into the snow or otherwise ruin the immaculate wrapping, he slid it into the inner pocket of his blazer, fingers playing with the loose ends of the fancy ribbon attached to the Christmas-y paper. He’d definitely lied about being able to walk straight - or even stand up without swaying, but the anxious nag at the back of his mind made sure to keep him from even considering accepting Wyatt’s offer. 

“Even more of an excuse to head back inside,” Laurent retorts, almost wincing at how ridiculously childish his voice sounds. What a sight he must be, standing in the middle of the snow covered roof in naught but his uniform, clutching onto half a bottle of vodka in one hand and a present he isn’t really sure how to feel about, in the other. Comic, surely, if not a little piteous. “I really can walk back by myself. See?”

As if to prove a point he takes a few hesitating steps forwards, feet unsteady on the slippery tiles. He ends up almost falling over several times, cursing quietly each time he just about manages to regain his balance. It’s a slow process, moving away from the edge and towards where his teacher’s standing, expectantly waiting for Laurent to approach. He can see just how unconvinced Wyatt looks at his performance - or maybe the trace of a smile on the teacher’s lips is of mocking nature, and he’s just waiting for Laurent to trip and fall. 

“I’m fine, really. I told you. I’m Russian. I can handle my drink.”

Fuck you, Santa

[laurent-vasiliyev]

laurent-vasiliyev:

lordxwyatt:

Wyatt couldn’t help but let a snort break his silence, watching in amusement as Laurent caught himself. Watching carefully, the older male of the two made sure that the other did have himself and didn’t fall. “Look out, now. I’m sure the school wouldn’t be too fond of having a pancake looking Laurent.” His humour was cold, but it was how he joked.

“Russian or not, you’re still technically a kid,” Wyatt retreated, kicking the snow at his feet. He smiled coolly, knowing well enough that the student would bite back with his reply. “Don’t need to drink myself to sleep nowadays,” he said softly, rubbing his chin with his free hand. “I have other problems that keep me awake so naturally, like you teens, knowing I have problems puts me to sleep so effortlessly and I sleep like a baby.” It was a complete lie. But Laurent didn’t have to know that.

“What do you mean by ‘what’?” It’s for you.” He pushed the gift into the other’s hand, his own free hand closing Laurent’s fingers around it so he could hold it himself. “Merry Christmas,” Wyatt said, giving him a genuine smile. “You can do whatever you want with it. It’s for you. From me. As if you didn’t know, already,” he added quietly. Slowly, his eyes narrowed. “You need help getting back to your room? Or are you gonna have another scenario of almost slipping again?”

It quickly struck him how utterly ludicrous the situation had become; How often he’d scarcely dared dream of such a moment, and how helpless he was in the face of it finally coming to pass. The snow had long since drenched his school uniform and the fabric clung to his skin, a bitter cold settling into his bones. And yet, all absurdity aside, his cheeks and ears had flushed a brilliant red, his entire face heating up in face of the calm collectedness with which his teacher seemed to hold himself. 

“Why?” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, hadn’t meant to showcase just how surprised and taken aback he was by the sudden, though by far not unappreciated show of kindness. Was he giving too much away? Revealing too much about himself with the astonishment that had surely passed across his face by now? How ridiculous Wyatt must have thought he was, and how very much Laurent wished he’d fallen off the roof with the rest of the snowballs. 

“What I meant to say is.. Thank you.” Not trusting his voice not to betray him he thought it better to remain quiet, staring at the gift even long after his lips had turned worryingly blue and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking in the cold. Had he managed to finish the rest of the Vodka before being interrupted, the copious amounts of alcohol in his veins might have persuaded his reluctant mind to accept the teacher’s offer in assisting him back to his room. But Laurent was unsteady enough already, the thoughts and events of the past few weeks spinning around in his head in a never-ending circle of uncertainty and disillusion. 

“I think.. I’ll manage to get back myself.” But I’d like it if you stayed with me a while. “Thank you for your offer. I don’t want to keep you any longer, you must have many, far more important things to do.”

Fuck you, Santa

[laurent-vasiliyev]

lordxwyatt:

Christmas was always a time that Wyatt chose to hide away from the world. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy nudge his heart whenever he saw families together, choosing to ignore the bitter taste in his mouth that reminded him of what he didn’t have, When students wished him a Merry Christmas, he never said it back. Instead, he smiled and said “you, too,” similarly as to how one with commitment issues wouldn’t entirely say “i love you” back. As much as he had planned to let the coolness of the winter chill him to the bone, he decided to get out and be somewhat jolly. Deep, deep down, he hoped the gesture would make him feel better. 

He had taken the time on going to the mall alone, picking out whatever items reminded him of certain people. And among all the items that sat on his desk in his staff dorm waiting to be wrapped, two things made him both laugh and huff at the same time. A certain student was one of the reasons he had a headache half the time here at Fairfield and Wyatt thought it would be a good idea to get this annoyance something for the oh so jolly season. 

Wrapped up in silver wrapping paper with animations of reindeer was a simple book with ‘How To Not Be A Headache” and a flask that said “This Is Most Definitely Not Coffee”. Of course, he had filled the flask with his favourite whiskey; Springbank 10 Year Old Scotch Whiskey. He was sure it was against the rules for teachers to give alcohol to students but right now, Wyatt was off duty so he technically wasn’t a teacher at the moment.

He searched the grounds as carefully as he could, not wanting to be seen when his eyes immediately follow the course of a stray snowball sloppily miss students a couple of meters away from him. Quickly, his gaze catches a familiar looking figure on the rooftop and instead of making sure the assumed targets were okay, he made his way to the roof, gift in hand.

He raised his brows at the sight of Laurent, cocking his head to the side in thought, a whiff of alcohol lacing together with the cold air. “I’m starting to think your body pumps more alcohol through your veins than it does blood, Mr Vasiliyev.” He held out the gift with a tiny smile on his lips. “For you.”

Laurent remained unaware that he had company until Wyatt spoke up, and the snowball he’d been aiming at Taemin’s head slipped out of his hand and landed splat on the ground instead. He almost went tumbling down with it, only managing to steady himself by grabbing onto the drainpipe sticking out of the snow to his left. 

“I’m Russian, so what do you expect?” Looking up at his teacher, he furrowed his brow, trying to sit more upright in an attempt to look more intimidating and less like a pathetic, drunk excuse of a homesick student. “Besides, I think I could say the same about you, no? I haven’t seen you in a while. Been busy drinking yourself to sleep in your office?”

With his brain-to-mouth filter obliterated by the alcohol, the words slipped out before he could stop himself. He wasn’t sure how Wyatt would take it - their last meeting had been more than unconventional, and Laurent couldn’t help but worry that Wyatt’s general feelings towards him had shifted from exaggerated exasperation to genuine dislike. 

The gift, however, stunned him back into silence, and he clumsily reached out to take the neatly wrapped parcel. The act of kindness took him by such surprise that for a while, all he could do was stare at his teacher with his mouth hanging open, arm still outstretched with the gift in hand. 

“W-What?”

Fuck you, Santa

[laurent-vasiliyev]

madisonxheart:

Madison squinted his eyes to get a better idea of the form on the roof. Out of reflex he placed a step forward when he fell face-first in the snow. He look around him, fuck he was alone. Just his luck, a stranger probably breaking some kind of bone just because he wanted to speak up. What to do, what to do, what to do…

Right when he opened his mouth, wanting to ask him if he was okay, he started talking about Madison’s penis. He could feel his cheeks turning red, why would he say that? He looked away, this was- unnecessary. The fact that he felt uncomfortable by his presence just increased when he started calling him Madam.

“It’s Madison” he said slightly annoyed, awkwardly standing in front of him not knowing if he should just leave. He probably should. “Did- did the fall hurt?” he tried to ask, probably getting a weird answer back.

@laurent-vasiliyev

“Madison.”

The last remaining tiny sensible part of his brain continued to scream at him to shut up as Laurent scrambled to his feet, brushing the snow off his uniform. The substantial amounts of alcohol he’d consumed prior to diving off the roof helped keep him warm enough, cheeks flushed bright red in the cold winter air. 

With all rationality thrown out the window Laurent straightened, agape after Madison’s hesitant question concerning his wellbeing. His first instinct was to grab the other student in a fierce hug, squeezing him as tightly as he could. With his cheek pressed against Madison’s shoulder, Laurent hastily shook his head, eventually reduced to holding onto the boy to avoid toppling back over into the snow. 

“Not as much my adoration for you does.” His words were slurred, the vodka strengthening his Russian accent even further. “I fell from the roof right next to you.. It must be fate.. Fate..”

[laurent-vasiliyev]

madisonxheart:

Carefully walking through the crispy snow, Madison was walking with a cheerful step towards his dorm room. Christmas break was almost here, which meant seeing his dog and family again. Even though Madison didn’t really have money to buy great gifts, he always got a bit excited when he saw his mother placed presents under the christmas tree.

And even though Madison was feeling a bit more confident than usual, his steps were unsure. The snow was crispy but very slippery. So when his headphones bumped off because of a snowball hitting his head, he couldn’t help to lose balance for a second. While trying to stand steady he looked around, seeing an unknown guy looking quite guilty.

“H-hey” he started unstable, hoping he couldn’t hear him. “That was my head!” he yellled awkwardly at the stranger, as if he threw the snowball by accident.

The front roof upon which he perched was low enough to risk a jump, and with all the elegance of a sack of potatoes, Laurent launched himself into the air before landing in a heap in the snow. With only his school uniform to protect him against the bitter cold seeping into his bones, the wet snow immediately drenched his clothes, sticking to him even after he stood up. 

“Your head? Well shit, I was aiming for your dick.”

Glancing over at the student he’d hit, Laurent squinted suspiciously, unsteadily trying to stand upright while racking his mind trying to remember if they’d spoken before. 

“Wait, you’re that.. Maaaa.. Marley? Mark.. Mambo.. Madam? How close am I?”

Fuck you, Santa

[laurent-vasiliyev]

Fuck you, Santa

Laurent hates Christmas. The festive season is always too loud, the bright fairy lights and glittering ornaments strung up on every corner of the building giving him headaches and putting him a perpetual bad mood. As with most things he has few fond memories of Christmases spent with his family, and more of endless dark and cold nights during which he’d been kept awake by late night shoppers or self-fancied carollers taking to the streets. 

While he tries to stay secluded in his room as often as possible, Fairfield makes it nigh impossible to ignore the excited buzz preceding the holidays. He’s lost track of how many classes he’s skipped after catching a teacher walk around in a tacky jumper or horrific costume, the Christmas songs howling away over the radio enough to make him consider mass murder. 

When Christmas day does arrive, and the rest of the students staying in Scotland engage in a pointless ceremony of giving and receiving gifts, Laurent steals a bottle of Vodka from a teacher’s office and ventures to the roof. Tucked between the slope of the building and one of the chimneys, his stare is brazen while he looks out across the bustling courtyard, cigarette in hand.

 Halfway through the bottle he begins to entertain the idea of pelting the students building snowmen with snowballs. Three quarters through he starts chucking, his aim thoroughly messed up by the alcohol in his system. 

[laurent-vasiliyev]

tae-min-hyeung:

Taemin shook his head, but chuckled quietly, “No, no. I’m, uh, good to steer clear of pictures of your dick. Trust me, I’m good.” He says softly, allowing his attention to focus on the phone in his hand, and the computer on his desk. As Laurent made it a point to involve himself Taemin scoffed and swatted his hand away, “Fine, have fun being bored and confused.” He said, bitterly. If he was being honest, he didn’t mind the company. He was a little nervous about Laurent’s proximity to himself, but he kept his mouth shut, more in favor of avoiding a possible awkward situation. 

Tracing text messages was an unreliable way to find information; it was inaccurate most for the time, and the information was often incomplete or unintelligible. After checking SMS data, and local towers,Taemin let out a frustrated sigh, “They’re sending the messages through tower conduits, or burners. Neither of which I can track,” He wasn’t sure if Laurent wanted a explanation, but he continued regardless, “They are sending messages from the Internet to the particular phones that are targeted. So, because of this, I can’t find their location, or hack their devices.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair, “Great. Fuck, they’re good.”

“I don’t know why you expected this to be so very easy, twinkletoes. I thought you’d have smartened up a little by now. Do you really think that, whoever they are, E is going to let someone like you just waltz in and tear their network down? Even Keegan isn’t that stupid, and that idiot tops the list.”

He straightened up, shifting his weight onto his uninjured leg. The thick bandage around his ankle remained in place, the injury beneath pulsing painfully. He hadn’t expected much to come out of Taemin’s first few attempts, but seeing his roommate give up so fast was strangely frustrating. Laurent would be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in finding out E’s true identity - mainly to then be able to put a bullet in his, or her brain, but the cat and mouse game they’d been playing for the past few weeks was getting old and boring. 

“There has to be some way for you to find out a location. And if there isn’t, we’ll find something else. I’m not giving up until this psychopath is dead.” Laurent leaned forwards to place his hands on Taemin’s shoulders, bringing his lips close to his roommate’s ear. Voice a silky soft whisper he continued, his grip on Taemin’s shoulders relentless. “And neither are you. Keep digging.”

[laurent-vasiliyev]

tae-min-hyeung:

“The same information as I gave Poppy?” Taemin lifted a brow, “That can be arranged.” He said softly. Most of what Poppy asked him for was gossip worthy drama, but he supposed that wasn’t the point, he sighed, “Consider it yours. I’ll get it to you.” He said, standing with him as he went to retrieve the phone. He was hoping this lead somewhere, because right now, he had nothing. All he had was empty theories, and hypothesizes. 

As he was handed the phone Taemin felt himself smile, “You know dick pics are pretty gross. There’s no privacy on these things. Anyone can pull them out and, oh I don’t know, use them against you. Or some weirdo can just jack off to them, or sell them, or whatever.” He waved the phone before walking around his bed and sitting at his desk, “But thank you, Laurent. This means a lot to me.” He says with a glance back at him, and an appreciative smile. 

He turns in his chair and opens his laptop, “You can sleep now. I won’t bug you for a while.” He says, rereading the texts at the same time, “Thanks again.” He glances over his shoulder with a smirk and a wink to accompany it, “Sweet dreams.”

“Sell them? Those things are priceless. Do you have any idea how long it took me to find the perfect angle?” His voice was dry, audible in it just the faintest trace of humour. “But you sound like you’re an expert on the matter. I’m sure you’ll find a way to make a profit.”

With sleep the furthest thing on his mind, Laurent opted to ignore Taemin’s taunts and jabs, instead standing up to go over to him. He let his hands rest against the back of his roommate’s office chair, peering over his shoulder at the laptop open on the desk. He didn’t trust Taemin enough to let him sift through his phone’s contents unsupervised just yet. 

“Nice try, twinkletoes. You’ve already dragged me into this, I might as well stick around to see the results. Do your thing, but don’t try and hide anything from me.” As if to emphasise his point, he gave the back of Taemin’s head a hard pat, ignoring the boy’s huff of protest. “I’ll find out, and you’ll regret it.”

[laurent-vasiliyev]

tae-min-hyeung:

Taemin lifted his brow, “I don’t think it will right anything. But, if I can do something about it, especially now considering the circumstances, I will. Or at least try to my best abilities.” He sighed, “So you can go off on your tangents about my justice and belittle me. It’s cute, your sarcasm and sass are my favorite traits of yours.” He smirked for a moment, before his expression fell. 

Laurent’s demands were achievable, he’d done it before. For Poppy. Laurent makes a good point, the tow were still on ends with where each other stood. What they stood for. It was worth his time, to get something like that out of this deal. But Laurent would be the last one that Taemin submitted to like this, it was a fair trade, he convinced himself. 

“How about this, you give me names, and I give you the info. You want dirt on a teacher, or a student, or whoever. It’s yours, as much as I can get.” Taemin said, not leaving much room for arguments, “It will be too much work for me just to pull up files on every person I know. But I’ll gladly look up specifics for you, it will safe both of us time. And allow me to be thorough.” Plus, he worked better when he put his focus into one target. he was able to get invested and concentrate. 

“Out of boredom?” Taemin asked with a frown. He decided not to get on Laurent’s case about it, but it still made him sick to his stomach. He supposed that what he did wasn’t any better. They were both terrible. “The text message, do you still have it? The phone you got it on? I can check the records and possibly trace the message to the senders device.” There was another question. Who brought the students to those spots in the first place?

“I’m glad you like at least something about me. I do try so very hard.” He kept on his impassive expression even at Taemin’s taunts and jabs. So what if a small part of Laurent wanted Taemin to actually like him, regardless of how strained their unusual relationship was. He’d never voice those wishes out loud. 

“No, that’s not how it’s going to work. You’re going to put all the information you ever gathered for Poppy onto a hard drive, and you’re going to give it to me. So you better get started on finding those files, twinkletoes. You might not know this about me, but I’m not an overly patient person.”

Standing up, Laurent went over to pick his old phone out of the top desk drawer. He’d stopped using it the moment E had told him his work was done. It hadn’t stopped them from getting ahold of his new number, but the phone had remained locked in the drawer since then nonetheless. 

“Here. Have at it. Don’t open the gallery though, my dick pics are classified.” It was his turn to offer a shadow of a smirk, putting the phone into Taemin’s outstretched hand before returning to the comfort of his bed. “And before you ask me who coordinated the entire thing; I don’t know. As I said. I was E’s bitch, just as much as you were Poppy’s.”

[laurent-vasiliyev]

anastasialeoss:

She opened her mouth, not knowing what to say. Anastasia looked at him again, he was clearly in pain. She took a deep breath and even smiled. The things she wanted to say, he knew now. Not knowing if he really wil forgive her, but it didn’t matter. Laurent seemed like an honest man.

“I owe you big time” she told him. While drying her tears she looked around, they were still alone in the hallways. Anastasia didn’t really know why she was so prepared as she was, but she grabbed the piece of paper out of her pocket. She took a deep breath again, she knew this was a risk. “If there’s anything I could do” she awkwardly started, handing him the paper with her phone number on it.

With a weak smile she looked at him. “Thank you for hearing me out, I-” she sighed again. “I think it’s best that I go home now…”

Standing in the doorway with the piece of paper with her phone number on it in his hand, perplexed at what had just occurred, Laurent lowered his gaze to scan the number scribbled across the sheet. She’d prepared it for him, even gone as far as to draw a tiny smiley face next to the last digit. Familiar anger burnt in his chest, the despised experience of feeling helpless in the face of injustice. 

“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He wouldn’t call her, nor would he text. But he tucked the piece of paper into his pocket anyway, a strange warmth blossoming across his cheeks. 

“I uhm. I want you to know that I’d do it again. Help you, I mean. Even if I knew you were going to shoot me half an hour later. If time turned back, I’d do it again. No matter what.”

The Apology