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thatwildnya · 4 years ago

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haha riddle v-card go poof

this is my first smut

please give feedback thanks-

quick explanations:

Loki is one of my oc’s, they have the ability to change their gender on whim which is why they/them pronouns are usually used. They’re half snake but can only transform their lower half.

Their “boys” and “girls” are a herd made of many variations of horses and their mythical variations.

TW: naughty adult time themes, it’s hinted at rape has occurred in the past but otherwise nothing that’s not consented to happens

“So. Who do you want to top? I’m fine either way.”

The book in Riddle’s hands landed on his face with a tiny thud, earning an amused snort from the body underneath, “P-pardon?”

“What, did you really think I wouldn’t notice?~” Loki singsonged, lifting their head to bump it on the back of his own “I’m much more experienced in this field compared to most from my homeland, I know all the hints. Plus I overheard the conversation about ways to help relieve stress. And the return of bedtime fidgeting? It was a dead giveaway~” they laughed at his muffled grumble to shut up.

The redhead didn’t answer immediately, opting to keep his face hidden in the book. Loki didn’t press for an answer awaiting his response patiently. They reached back to cup his cheek after a few minutes. Riddle leaned into their hand on contact from habit. He smiled softly feeling their thumb poke his cheek. He retaliated the playful gesture with a gentle pinch on the arm, an unspoken exchange said through their actions. “There’s no rush. Take your time.” “Thank you.”

“I-is it alright if we… do that thing couples do...” he wanted to bang his head against a table. Superb job Riddle. Excellent work. Speech 100. Just thinking about it was enough to make his cheek flush redder than the roses in the dorm’s garden. Now having to say it outloud? To the target person of doing said activity with? Anyone would think he was sick if they saw his face. And Loki’s response did not help to calm his speeding heart.

“What ‘couple thing’ are you referring to? I’m gonna need you to be more specific.” “y’know that... intimate thing they do…” “bunny there are multiple things befitting that category.” “You know which one I’m talking about!” “do I?” “you-!” “Riddle.” his mouth clamped shut. His head turned just enough to look at their face. Loki’s chin rested on their forearms, eyes closed, no signs of continuing evident. This… discussion wasn’t over he knew. Certain changes (big or small) in one’s tone can send various different messages, removing the need to say it outright.

A minute later an eye opened to meet his gaze, “I’ll be done soon, just gotta check in with the boys and let the girls loose. It’d be a real mood killer to get a distress call from my boys for more backup, wouldn’t you agree?” flashing him a lazy smirk, their eye closed again, “then I’m all yours~”

While waiting he attempted to calm his speeding heart by counting. Unfortunately this had the opposite effect. With each number meant Loki was getting closer to finishing. Then their talk would resume. Riddle was certain Loki could feel his heart beating, they were laying back to back. Should he roll off? Would it be weird if he did so suddenly? It’s not like either were uncomfortable. When did it get so hot, are only his hands getting sweaty? What about his back? Being sweaty isn’t the most pleasant feeling he should move after all-

“-ddle, hello?” The perfect was brought out of his thoughts “time to return from lala land~”. In a single movement Loki flipped their positions so they faced each other. Riddle’s arms moved to rest around their shoulders from habit, Loki’s own wrapping around his backside as he straddled their lap.

At first nothing was said, only gazing at the other. It was peaceful, soothing. No sounds of shouting, items being knocked to the floor, music blasting from the next room, nothing. Just silence. Neither wouldn’t mind being stuck like this forever, leaving all worries and duties behind to be together forever. A wonderful dream, it was. Alas, every dream comes to an end when it was time to rejoin reality once again.

“I want to make sure you are 100% confident you are ready to lose your virginity,” the one to wake them was Loki, “when I lost mine I didn’t have a say. I didn’t have the option of refusal.” their voice cracked at the last few words. Riddle rested his head on his love’s shoulder, giving their cheek a kiss as his arms hugged them tighter. It took a few moments for Loki’s voice to be found again. Taking a deep breath, they continued.

“Until you can look me in the eyes and tell me you are ready to and want to have sex with me I refuse to partake in any sexual activities with you.”

Riddle wanted to slap himself.

Loki trusts him enough to share a part of their past (something that no one should have to experience) and other secrets very few or none knew. That was how much faith they had in him, how much they loved him. And here he was, being a horny teenager thinking only of himself.

“But it’s okay,” he reminded himself, “Loki has already forgiven me. I made a mistake and they’re aware I’m taking responsibility.”

Gathering up all the courage within him, he straightened up locking eyes with them. In the most confident voice he could muster, Riddle gave his answer.

“Please take care of me.”

It felt like an eternity passed waiting for a response, anxiety increasing with every second ticking by.

“Safe word?” he exhaled deeply letting the breath he’d been holding out, falling forward and burying his face into the crook of Loki’s neck.

***~~~***

Riddle’s body stiffened as Loki began kissing his neck, starting at his collarbone continuing up to his lower jaw. He let out a squeak when Loki nipped his ear. A violent shiver wrecked through him as a hand slowly creased his belly upward. A second squeak escaped him when the hand reached his chest, thumb rubbing circles around a nippel.

Why is it getting warmer? When did the temperature start rising? These hands are familiar but the touches are foreign. Should he return the touches? How should he do that? What should he do? What are the rules he should be following?

“Boo, that’s not very nice bunny~ Your attention should be on me~” Loki suddenly pressed their fingers into his side causing Riddle to let out a third squeak. “H-hey!” he curled inward and tried to wiggle away, “q-qu-quit it-!” his struggles were in vain, the legs and arms trapping him were too strong. All he could do was flail trying to escape the fingers pressing into his sides, laughing.

The red bunny was able to escape the snake's hold with all his wiggling and tried to hop away. However the snake had plenty more agility and strength compared to the smaller. The bunny let out a squeal when the snake had him coiled in their grip again.

“Ah ah ah~” the reptile tutted, a devilish smirk gracing their lips “you’re not getting away that easily~”

The snake ruthlessly assaulted the bunny, laughing with its prey. Soon tears brimmed the prey’s eyes and he struggled to breathe, begging for mercy. The hunter chortled but decided to grant his wish. While the bunny wheezed and caught his breath the snake was pulling him close.

“I love you, Riddle.” his breath caught in his throat and Loki chuckled at the look upon his face, “you heard me. I love you. I love you, Riddle Rosehearts.”

“I love your grey eyes, red hair, and squishable cheeks. The way your eye color softens with your gaze and becomes fiery when you get competitive. I love the difference in our height, you fit perfectly in my arms. Having you snug within my embrace fills me with unending happiness. I love your voice, your singing soothes my mind after long days of work. When I hear you laugh my lips never fail to curl. I love your sleepy voice when you begin to drift off, your morning voice when you’ve just woken up, your strict yet gentle scolding voice, your cute cooing voice, all of them.” they just kept going on and on, listing thing after thing they loved about him, gaze filled with love.

Riddle could feel his face flushing with every word spilt from their lips. He attempted to hide his face in his hands. Loki, however, wasn’t having any of that. They gently pried them off with their own, their smile and gaze so soft and genuine he couldn’t -didn’t want to- look elsewhere. He was so fixated he took no notice of the other slowly maneuvering their body to hover above his own.

Cupping his cheek, they ran their thumb across his lips with their final statement, “I am deepy, utterly in love with the man known as Riddle Rosehearts. I wish to spend the rest of my life,” they leaned down to rest their forehead on his “and every life after that with him. His soul is the one and only soul I wish for mine to meet over and over again and again for all eternity.” lips centimeters away from touching, Loki whispered one last thing before closing the distance.

So much. Never before had Riddle felt so loved, appreciated, wanted. It was almost overwhelming, all the emotions swirling within. He wanted to cry, laugh, and scream. More. He wanted more.

He felt his partners smile widen when he chased their lips, pulling them back together with a tug on their shirt. This wasn’t enough, he wants more. He needs more. And he’s getting just that.

“Tongue.” was the demand when they parted for air. “Hm?” Loki blinked innocently “what was that, bunny?~ Did you say something?~”

His breath was coming out in short pants, hands tightly gripping their shirt. “Tongue.” he repeated, mouth hanging ajar slightly as an invitation, “I want kisses with tongue.”

Loki was taken back, the little bunny asking for a kiss so bluntly? A french one at that? “Shit,” they cursed, fulfilling the smallers demand “can’t say no when he looks at me like that- {*#*#*}.” Loki cursed in their native language hearing his soft moan. Adorable yet lewd. Meanwhile the only thought cycling through the others head was a ‘more’.

“T-tight,” he whined between kisses, “p-pants, they’re too tight.” Loki grinded their body against his pelvis with a smirk. “Hm?” they teased, smirk widening at his wanton mewls “your pants are too tight?” he nodded vigorously, whimpering “Well, that simply won’t do! Here, let me help you with that~” he hissed once his hardened cock was freed, slick with precum.

Loki leaned down to kiss his face, lower body shifting into a snake tail, “How do you want to do this, bunny? You better tell me quick,” they added, using their tail to open a drawer of the nightstand “I won’t need as much prep as you and I might lose it at this rate.” Riddle barely registered their words with how clouded his head was becoming from pleasure. “I-I want you in,” he gazed up, panting and half ladened eyes swirling with lust “I want to be taken by Loki. Please take me Loki, please please.” Loki groaned, “this kid will be the death of me.” “did you remember condoms and lube?” Riddle’s stomach dropped.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” Loki snickered. “Sh-shut up!” his already flushed face turned a darker shade of red. “Did bunny get so excited he overlooked some things?” they poked his cheek. With a pouty “humph!” Riddle flipped onto his front side, hiding his face in the pillows. “Aw, don’t be like that bunny~” Loki cooed, “I’m just teasing~ I’ve got lube, but no condoms.”

“What’s that?” Loki’s smile softened into one that was more reassuring. Pouring the clear contents inside the glass vail in their hand they answered, “it’s a type of lube made specially for virgins and the inexperienced. In case you start getting scared or nervous it will cause your body to send stronger distressed signals so the pleasure doesn’t completely hijack your mind.” Riddle shivered when Loki started massaging his lower back with the liquid, “it also acts as a stimulant making you wetter quicker and heightens your sense of touch. In other words,” he shivered at Loki’s hot whisper next to his ear, “you’re gonna experience some top notch pleasure soon~”

***~~~***

Riddle felt like he’d come any second now. His cock hasn’t been touched yet everything felt so good. If he’s on cloud nine right now, where would he be once he and Loki were connected? He shuddered from anticipation at the thought.

Meanwhile Loki kept a close eye on their partner, looking for any signs of discomfort or anxiety. “Riddle, bunny,” tracing a finger down his side Loki gently grasped his hip “lift your hips a bit.” he didn’t need to be told twice.

“Remember the safe word?” Loki bent their body over him, their chin resting on his shoulder. Using their tail they poured more lube in their hand. Reaching back, Loki rested a finger on Riddle’s taint and gently pressed against it.

“Patience Bunny,” they softly warned, pulling away when he tried to push back “I don’t want to hurt you.” he whimpered but did his best to keep still. His body tensed when their finger finally entered however.

“You need to relax, Bunny,” “easier said than done.” they chuckled lightly at his words but didn’t respond to them. Using their free hand they took a hold of his chin, guiding their mouths together. Their slit tongue slipped in his mouth as a distraction. It wasn’t a surprise how well this worked, given they were very skilled at french.

***~~~***

“This should be enough…” they thought, fingers pulling out, “that should do it, are you rea-” “Lokiii,” Riddle began whining impatiently, “why’d you stooop? Don’t stop, it feels so sooooo good.” they blinked.

“C’mooooooon, hurry up!” the whining continued, “it doesn’t feel good. I don’t like this feeling of emptiNESS!” Loki flipped him onto his back. “Eager, eager, are we now?~” they slowly traced a finger up his cock which was practically crying with precum, “I mustn’t disappoint then~” Lifting his hips, Loki’s tail slid under to wrap around his belly once.

Riddle’s eyes widened seeing their cock for the first time that night. He’d seen it before (they’ve been living together for months after all) but it was a LOT bigger now. Loki smirked following his gaze, “enjoying the view?” “will it fit?” their lips softened, leaning forward to give his forehead a kiss “yes but if it’s too much we can stop. There’s a safe word for a reason, remember?” he couldn’t help but gulp.

Lining them up, Loki waited for the okay. Riddle let out a loud gasp as they entered, hands clumsily searching for a grip. Loki adjusted their position so he could hug them.

A few times he had to ask them to pause so his body got used to the stretch. His breath was coming out in short pants by the time Loki bottomed out. He felt so full, almost to the point it was painful.

“Riddle? Riddle, bunny, are you doing okay?” Loki moved to pull back but went still at the grip on their shoulders tightening, “Don’t m-move…”

A handful of minutes ticked by of them staying like that, Loki murmuring sweet nothings and soothing words to help Riddle relax his body and mind. They made small talk about their day, assignments due once the break was over, anything.

He felt small. Yes, he wasn’t the tallest guy around but that wasn’t it. It was more of an emotional feeling than physical. None of that mattered though. He liked this sensation of tenderness. It was like he was being gently cocooned in silks spun specifically for him to make a perfect nest of safety and warmth.

Eventually, muscles relaxed and breathing steadied.

“Y-you can move…”

“Are you sure?” “Mhm.”

“Alright, let me know if you want to stop.” “M’kay…”

Loki adjusted so they could see Riddle’s face better. They pulled out halfway before sliding back in, setting a slow and steady rhythm. They kept their eyes trained on his face, searching for any hints of discomfort or pain. Riddle closed his own as he sank into a bliss of pleasure, moaning softly. That is, until a certain spot was tapped.

Soon Riddle was crying from pleasure, nails digging into Loki’s shoulders making the other groan. “There” “faster” “Loki” ran from Riddle’s mouth like a faucet, spurring Loki on to increase their speed. It didn’t take long for him to see stars as he reached his climax.

Back arching perfectly, Riddle let out a long, loud moan. Falling back into the sheets panting heavily, he waited for his vision to clear. “You doing fine bunny?” Loki kissed the corner of his eye, tongue slipping out to lick off tears spilt from pleasure. “Y-yeah,” realizing they were still hard he asked “aren’t you gonna finish?” they smiled and gave him another kiss. “I’ll take care of myself, do you want anything? Perhaps a bath? Maybe tea?” he wrapped his legs around Loki when they tried to pull out, “more.”

Loki blinked, “eh?” “more,” he repeated, “I want more of you.”

Capturing their lips with his own, Riddle nibbled at their bottom lip kissing them. A second later he was, once again, flipped that night. Hoisting up his hips, Loki draped their body over his. “Normally I’d settle for teasing but I’ll be merciful this time.” they purred slamming back in.

***~~~***

Riddle stared at the ceiling, eyes wide and speechless.

“Someone seems to have enjoyed themselves.” he gripped the covers, eyes still on the ceiling, answering “it was- you just- it felt- everything-” he was at a loss for words.

Loki laughed, pulling him closer while leaning on their arm, “good to know I still got it. I’d feel terrible if I couldn’t satisfy my mate-” “again.” it wasn’t often Loki got taken by surprise, but this was one of those times. “... eh?”

Ignoring the dull ache in his lower body, Riddle threw off the covers and straddled Loki. “I wanna go another round.” Loki stared up at him with genuine shock. Once recovered they cleared their throat, “um, no.” They pulled Riddle down, tail wrapped around him while he whined for demanded an explanation.

“Because your body is already fragile and I don’t want to push it.” caging him in their arms, they ran their fingers through his hair, “sorry bunny, but you’ll have to wait awhile before I truly take you to town.” they pulled at his pouty face “don’t give me that look, you know you can��t take anymore right now.” Riddle let out a humph when they let go.

“Aw, don’t be like that bunny,” Loki started covering his face with sloppy kisses, “that face makes me want to tease you til you’re so red a tomato couldn’t compare~” he half-heartedly pushed their face away, still pouting.

“Get some rest,” Loki pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss. “Your body needs it,” they said, breaking the kiss, “and I have some things that need to be checked on anyway.” Loki reached over to pull the covers back up.

“What about you?” “I’ll join you soon,” they booped his nose, “until then make yourself comfortable.” with a swish of their finger, the light went out.

***~~~***

The following morning, a snake was awoken by a bunny sitting atop its belly, begging for it’s carrot. It was a good thing the break had only just started.

#twst #twst riddle #twst naughty time #oh ho?~#twst oc loki #first time how'd i do?#very proud honestly #twst smut #warning: naughty adult time themes

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arcanegummi · 4 years ago

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Self Betrayal (Part 1)

Asra takes Quinn to the palace for a two week trip through the spirit worlds to strengthen their bonds to the Arcana, leaving Julian behind in his clinic. Quinn starts to feel sick and goes back to their loving husband but doesn't expect to see what they do...

Julian x OC, angst with a happy ending, sickness (not too in detail or gross), slight PTSD, based on a dream I had last night lmao

"Are you sure you'll be okay handling the orders while I'm gone..?" Quinn stood next to the carriage, holding tightly to Julian's hand.

"I'm sure, darling. How hard can it really be? You do it flawlessly every day." He ran his fingers through their hair, calming them.

"Mmm... you're too sweet, Sunshine. I'll be back in two weeks, okay?" Quinn sighed and stood on their toes, kissing Julian's chin.

He takes their cheek into his hand and gently presses a kiss to their nose, forehead, both cheeks and finally lips. "I cant wait until then, love." And with that... Quinn was off to the palace.

Julian waved goodbye, before sighing to himself and glancing at the list of people and their orders. These were the few that couldn't be rescheduled, so Julian had to take care of them. He was determined to not let Quinn down.

~~~~~~~~~

The arcane worlds were as gorgeous as they were absolutely crazy and mysterious. Going through each of the Major Arcana's realms was really dragging down Asra and Quinns energy but.. something felt off. About 4 days into their journey, Asra noticed something upsetting. "Quinn.. we need to keep moving..." Asra turned back to face their partner in crime, and his face dropped. "What's wrong?"

Quinn's face was sweaty and red, and they looked... paler than normal. Their pupils dialated and when they stood still they seemed to shake in place. "I.. I dont know.. this feels wrong, not like the normal energy drain we get from traveling... I'm probably just out of practice." they sat to rest their bad knee, laying down. Their chest shook as they breathed.

"Quinn.. I hate to bring our venture short but I really do think you need to go home." Asra sat next to them, gently feeling their cheek. "You're practically burning up.. I'm worried this could really hurt you. What if you're worse in the physical world?"

They hadn't thought of that. "Julian will kill me if he found out I let myself get sick.." they laughed softly, trying to bring up the mood.

Asra, for once, was dead serious. "Quinn this is dangerous. You need to go home."

Quinn sighed and nodded slightly. "You're right... if my spiritual body is this bad... imagine how my physical body is feeling..." they slowly stood, holding onto Asra for support. "Dont have too much fun without me..." they smiled a little, before waking up absolutely drenched in sweat.

Head pounding, the small apprentice stood just as Portia stepped in to check on the pair.

"Quinn? What are you doing back already? Did something- oh no!" She rushed over, grabbing Quinn's cheeks. "Awe, you're burning up! You need to get home as soon as possible!"

Quinn laughed weakly. "Yeah yeah, Asra told me already.." they winced as a headache took over. "You guys worry about me so much... its sweet.." they shiver. "I'll go home now... I need Julian..."

Portia practically dragged Quinn from the palace, shoving them in a carriage. "I dont wanna see you until you're all better, got it? Take care of yourself!" She scolded, just like her brother... it's cute.

"Yeah yeah, calm down please. I'll see you soon, Pasha." Quinn gripped their bag and walking stick tight as they rode off back to the clinic where their husband was waiting.

~~~~~~~

The carriage had to stop just outside the block, as night had fallen and too much noise would be disturbing. Quinn didnt mind, extra walking for their knee was good anyway. They wished the carriage drivers good night and hobbled back to their shop. Their heart flipped as they saw the lights on. Julian must still have a customer in picking something up. Not a problem!

Quinn walked up to the giant window in their back room, and stood on their toes to peek inside. That's strange... Julian is sitting with this woman at the table.. she had a package of goods... so she must be a customer. Something about the whole scene felt skewed. Maybe it was the fever racking Quinns brain but.. Julian only ever looked at Quinn like that...

So why is he looking at this... beautiful... woman like that as well? He was very preoccupied talking to her, and their hands were locked tight.

What..?

What is this...

Quinn's stomach did flips, head pounding and eyes burning with tears and questions. What's going on? Is..

Is Julian cheating on them?

No, Julian wouldn't do that! He wouldnt.. would he? No of course not. That's ridiculous!! He would never! So why.. why is he looking at her like that? Why is he smiling and blushing, sitting at the intimate back table, talking so sweetly to this woman? What the fuck. What the FUCK.

Quinn felt too sick to do anything.. except run. They ran. They tended to tun from problems, but this was the only thing that came to mind after seeing that. They abandoned their cane, completely by accident, wobbling through the back streets of Vesuvia. They just kept going until they couldn't anymore. Their knee gave out, their body cracking against the cold streets. They didnt even have the energy to shout in pain, just curl up into a ball.

Ah... the aqueduct.. where Julian showed his mark off for the first, and one of the last times. The memory made Quinn choke up with tears once more. It seemed impossible and yet... Julian didnt really love him.. did he?

Quinn was dragged from their thoughts by a gentle hand on their shoulder. "Hey, hey you dont look too good, do you need-" the man paused. "You're Quinn! The mage!"

They nodded weakly. "My knee.. my head... my heart.. they all kinda hurt.." they laughed dryly, it slowly turning into a hacking cough.

"Hey mage, I think you need to lie down. Where's Julian?" He gently helped them sit up. Quinn's lip quivered a little and he got the hint. "Ah ok. You got anywhere I can take you? The Raven might be a bit too rambunctious for your head."

They nodded weakly. "Mazelinka, you know her? I need to see her..."

He picked Quinn up and hauled them over his shoulder. "Give me directions. I'll take you."

After 20 minutes of poor directions later... and Quinn was stood wobbly in front of her door. Before they could even knock, she opened the door.

"Quinn! You're sick, what are you doing standing there!"

Quinn nods. "Yeah.. sick.." their train of thought left the tracks ages ago.

She siged. "I swear, you're just as bad as Ilya. Come in. Lay down, I'll make you feel better."

They nodded, wobbling into the room and nearly collapsing mid stride.

"Where's Ilya? He would have an aneurysm if he knew you were wandering about all sick." Mazelinka turned to Quinn but didnt expect the massive sob. "Is.. Ilya ok?"

Quinn nodded, finally letting the tears out as they sat on the bed, the bed that they had shared with Julian those many many moons ago... "Yeah.. yeah hes fine." They rubbed their eyes but the tears came too fast. "He... I think he's cheating on me..."

Mazelinka dropped her spoon. "What! Impossible, Ilya loves you more than job as doctor. Are you sure?"

They nodded. "I saw him, in my shop. With a woman.. he.. he looked so... I dont know." They collapsed into bed, curling up. "I just... can't believe this..."

She sighed as she came over to Quinn with a bowl of soup and blanket. "Darling Quinn... my ward is a ridiculous idiot sometimes. Don't take it personally, child. He doesn't know what he's losing." She wrapped the other in the blanket. "You should go to Pasha, he would come look for you here first. Pasha will take better care of you until you're feeling okay. Then we kick Ilya's ass, okay?"

Kicking Julian's ass did sound nice... Quinn nodded. "Okay.. I'll go see Pasha..." they drank the soup slowly, as to not upset their stomach too much. After a slow and very small supper, Mazelinka slipped a package of sweets into Quinns bag and tucked them in. "Thank you, Mazelinka..."

"No need." She smiled sadly, gently patting Quinn's face. "Sleep, you need energy."

After she went to bed as well, Quinn stared at the wall. Everywhere reminded them of Julian. Everything felt so surreal... maybe... maybe Asra was right... they soon fell off into a dreamless sleep...

#julian devorak #the arcana #the arcana julian #julian arcana #julian x apprentice #julian x Quinn #julian x oc #angst #cheating????#sickness #slight ptsd #didnt edit this lmaooo

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socketz · 4 years ago

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All is Pain in Poetry, But, Oh, The Play Goes On; Chapter Two.

A Dead Poets Society Fanfiction Story!

Charlie Dalton x Female!OC

Warnings : Mentions of abuse, mentions of bullying, light name calling (though not really), profanity, mention of death, signs of an eating disorder *though not explicitly mentioned*

Word Count : 12.3K

Summary : It’s the first day of lessons, and the class gets to meet their new - slightly obscure - English teacher: Mr Keating. The day is difficult, and Jane finds something she had long since forgotten - her passion - as they go on to entertain a poorly planned study session, and friendships merely grow.

Authors Note : There was a lot more Charlie content I think! And Pittsie! I love him! I quite liked this chapter, and I feel like you understand Jane a little bit more - you get to know her a little. There was not much Todd, but, then again, there isn’t much Todd in these scenes in the movies, and I felt it would be uncharacteristic to make Jane the only person to talk to Todd, when he is uncomfortable around new people. I also have no clue who the Chemistry teacher is, and I made up a name for him. I should be updating this story once a week, as the chapters are long and take a while to write, or perhaps once every two weeks, if I’m going to start including more imagines and things into my blog. Enjoy!

Chapter Two, Seize The Day, Boys, Make Your Lives Extraordinary.

A thick, invasive, kind of sting eloped within my gaze, and I struggled to see through the blur of my reddened eyes. For although the sunrise had been beautiful - an azure of deep pinks, and of supple yellows - I found myself longing, greatly, for more slumber. I had merely stood among the strewn clothing, and the grave ruckus - the doing of none other than my wondrously divine twin - and I remained stoic, unmoving. I had, rather reluctantly, as I’m sure you may understand, begun to declutter the disorganised sabotage, fluttered around my room; each motion slowed, furtherly gradual, for I were in some kind of daze, a trance - awash with the morning, and despising my lack of sleep.

I had seemed to dissolve among the sweet grasp of slumber, hardly a moment after my head graced the naked pillow, and thus, there I had been, earlier that morning, as the clock licked upon the grace of six-thirty-seven, a.m; disorientated, bleary-eyed, fully-clothed, with crease indents upon my dribble stained cheeks. A true beauty, one could argue.

Oh, how I hated mornings, I thought, a sigh slipping from within my silence.

For as the day had progressed, and the school hours crawled on forward, I found myself perched to the very back of the classroom, tucked away within the furthest corner, and I knew that Chemistry would be no better than the day had solemnly been.

The depth in which my notes had seemed to forlorn had simply thinned, the farther forward in which the lesson progressed, and I found myself doodling, though only something light, amongst the margin of the lined pages. Mr Donovan - His tone, the way in which he spoke, were of something so deafeningly dull - so monotonous, so dreadful - I had discovered myself unable to pay all too much attention, as his words fell, from one ear, and through the other. I retained little, and merely hoped a curt revision session would indeed replenish the necessary information I had not withheld.

There had been three boys, each lanky, each particularly mundane, dispersing the crimson textbooks; all of which I dreaded to receive. “Pick three laboratory experiments from the project list,” Mr Donovan had droned on, as the thick echo of the dropped book fell upon my desk. “and report on them every five weeks.” Solemn glances of silent protests rang through the expressions of those attending, and I, myself, reciprocated a glaze of great annoyance. For although I had not thought it to be particularly difficult, it was a simply tedious, and rather frustrating, task to obtain. “The first twenty questions - at the end of chapter one - are due tomorrow.”

A mumbled groan chorused throughout the room, as he grinned something patronizing, and I heaved a great sigh. From a few rows ahead, furtherly to the right than I, Charlie had caught my gaze, his expression pinched - a mantra of disbelief - with his eyes morosely enlarged. I hardly noticed the way in which my features founded a grin, though upon his reciprocence, and a subtly thrown wink, I found myself all too aware of - not only my smile - but the slight blush, also.

With an internally suppressed scolding, I had turned my gaze away from the boy, and doodled something rather intense among my notebook. Scribbles, flowers, patterns, and such, with not but an ounce of talent, and a flush of grave embarrassment.

The lesson had progressed through, and thus I did not note the necessities down - a brave assumption that Meeks were feeling somewhat generous, that day, and would provide a little helping hand - and then the hour had gone, and Latin was upon us all.

Mr McCallister - a man perhaps not quite as awful as his co-workers, though ever-repetitive, and ever-droning, as he tended to be - had recited the list of wording, pronunciation to roll from upon his tongue, as he paced - to and fro - before the blackboard, scripted with scribbles of Latin vocabulary and dread. “Agricolum,” He recited, tone an echo throughout the space of the classroom.

Once more, I were positioned idly, sat within the very corner, with not but a partner for company - entirely my own desk. “Agricolum,” We chorused, my voice little but a mere mutter among the choir.

“Agricola,” He continued, and - again - as did we.

“Agricola.”

“Agricolae,” He spoke with such dull fatuation, I found it - a recurring pattern, you see - greatly difficult to withhold my attention, and to recall and repeat the way in which he spoke. For, yes, I somewhat strived in Latin, and I needed not such draining practice to pass specific examination, yet I were enforced to participate within lesson - and of such, I held no control.

“Agricolae.” I sighed.

“Argicolarum,”

“Agricolarum.”

“Agricolis,”

“Agricolis.” A curtly breathed pause, and I found my eyes drifting to the bare panes of the window panels, shimmering among the autumn glaze, before Mr McCallister spoke once more, and another sigh fell from my lips.

“Agricolas,” He said.

“Agricolas.” We echoed; like mice to the Pied Piper.

“Agricolis.”

“Again, please.” He uttered, and there we each found ourselves, reciprocating such wording with little to no thought; the words, so familiar yet utterly anew, falling from our tongues, with jagged edges that bled unto our boredom.

And then, as the minutes fluttered by, and my attention found the window once more - captured amongst the bustle of settling birds, their company surely for life, and the way in which the sky hinted a subtle pink, trapped among grey; lost upon clouds. A shame, I had thought, as the lesson had drawn to a close, that such beauty may be abandoned within the miserable weather - it was time to emerge upon mathematical equations, and drown among difficultly executed sums.

“Your study of Trigonometry requires absolute precision.” Dr. Hagar said, his arms to clasp behind his back. He wore a suit to a rather formal attire - of such I had found myself lightly giggling at, upon entering the classroom, though silenced myself (particularly quickly) as I received a glare of grave rottenness. He walked within the isle, somewhat on the thinner side, and glanced over the top of his black-rimmed glasses, and approached the corner to which I perched, pages of scribbled - and hardly legible - notes to occupy my book. “Anyone failing to turn in any homework assignment,” He rambled on, pausing to my desk, a glare dripping in something cold. He began to retreat, hands still in tight clasp upon his lower back. “Will be penalised one point off their final grade.” I suppressed the sigh, as it threatened to slip, and I swallowed it with a heavy inhale, and a slight slump to my shoulders.

Dr. Hagar paused, as though hesitant, and he chewed upon his words. His turn were gradual, threatening, as he said - an unwavering gaze fixated upon I, and upon Charlie, as he perched a mere row in front, and to the left, of myself -: “Let me urge you now, not to test me on this point.” With a kind of stare I felt little passion upon provoking. I merely allowed my gaze to lock with his own, a passage of cold bereftness to flow through, until the class continued on.

Upon the coming of our final lesson - for that day, although I yearned for the safety of Saturday, nonetheless - I found myself bitterly submerged within a scowl, tracing the corridor with a slouch to my stride, weighted by the grip of copious - excessively heavy - textbooks, and notebooks, alike. I was tired - exhausted - and in dire need of a greatly induced nap.

“Ja-ane,” Charlie sang, rested upon the doorway of the final destination. He wore a classically imprinted smirk, arms folded across his chest - though slightly restricted, among the serious stack of books, balanced within his hold. “C’mon,” He grinned, “I know you hate it here, but you gotta make the most out of your youth.” He teased, slinging his arm across my shoulders as I drew myself nearer. “Smile, baby.”

I let out a scoff - a slight snort, also, as I came to realise - and muttered my reply. “Hate it?” I said, “Charlie, I want this faculty burnt to the ground.” I found myself far too… Far too caught up among the frustrations of my thoughts, to even utter a stuttered defence upon the nickname he spewed, so carelessly, so effortlessly.

“Ever the dramatic.” He scoffed, a teasing glint to those dough brown eyes. “Jane, Sweetheart, that’d be arson.”

I rolled my eyes, stumbling beneath his hold, as we wandered through the open doorway. “I don’t care what it is.” I said, “I’m sick of this place.”

“Can’t argue with that.” He mumbled.

The class had seemingly already filled in, not but a glimpse of authority in sight, and the rampant noise, bustling between companions and the teasing amongst friends, perplexed upon the fact that - surely - we would be reprimanded at any given moment. Meeks had perched himself within the front row, opposed the rather large oak desk, and Todd two seats to his left. There was Neil, and Pittsie, smothered in the middle of it all, and Richard before them - Knox to the left of Gerard, and Charlie slumped within the seat behind him. The furthest corner of the room, one could argue, and I found myself shoved within the desk beside him.

My books, heavy in their might, landed with a great thud upon the surface, and a sigh slipped from my lips. Mr Keating: he had seemed a calm man - kind, with gentle eyes - and I simply hoped such observations would be somewhat accurate.

For although I would not release any form of… Waterworks, we shall call them, before the entirety of the class, if I were to be yelled at, or simply humiliated - for whichever reason it could surely be - I were almost certain I’d discover myself crying over such a thing the moment I was alone. I were bitterly exhausted, and I loathed myself for disgruntling an otherwise morally regular sleeping pattern, among the depth of summer’s blue.

I slouched within my seat, and I ignored the rising commotion of immaturity around, simply glaring - undoubtedly carrying hefty bags beneath my eyes - to the stripes among the wood of my desk, a blank nonchalance to coax my gaze.

“Hey,” Someone called, a mere hushed whisper among the commotion, “Jane,” I glanced up, the broadened grin of Pittsie’s own blaring back at me. I subconsciously quivered a smile, as he spoke once more, his tone a continuance of something attemptedly quiet - though, truthfully, not that quiet, at all. “You alright? Lookin’ a little down.”

I nodded softly, “Peachy, Pitts.” I smiled. “How’s your summer, huh? I didn’t see you yesterday.”

He rested his forearms along the lip of my desk, chin resting upon the fold, and said: “Ah, it was alright.” With a shrug. “Nothing special. How you findin’ the first day?” His grin tinted a glimmer of something humorous, for he knew the answer all too well.

“Hell.” I muttered, as he breathed a gentle laugh, and my smile - despite myself - seemed to brighten.

“Well, they don’t call it Hell-ton for nothing-” He began, the simmer of a hushed chuckle to bind between his words, as the sharp express of a whistled tune interrupted him. Pittsie spun around - quickly, with such clumsiness, a book clattered from my desk as he went - and I found a soft snort falling from my mouth. Clown, I thought, and smiled a smile of grave fondness.

Silence engulfed the room, strewn paper balls lying idle upon the ground, as we awaited something - anything - amidst the sudden appearance.

There he was - the man of the hour, it should so seem - in all of his glory. Basked within a suit, shirt loosely tucked, and tie a little childishly tied - a small knot - with a certain glaze to his eyes. Clipboard clasped to his side; he strode. With power, though calm - confidently casual, as I had dared to recognize, before. Lips pursed to a whistle, he sung the notes of 1812, Overture, with a curious accuracy, and he walked - unacknowledging, with a smile to his blue stare - through the gap in the desks; not a word, not a yell, not a pause.

We watched him go, like a moth to a flame, as he tossed a single, half-hearted, look over his shoulder, and exited the complex. I furrowed my eyebrows, shared a glance with Pittsie, his pinched expression a mere reciprocate of mine own confusion, and moved to look at Charlie.

Unbothered, the boy was; doodling upon his notes.

I rolled my eyes; of course, I thought, what a fool I’d be to think he’d even notice. I raised an eyebrow, gazing over the guarding hand of his own, and capturing the inspiration upon such a masterpiece. A scoff left my mouth before I found a chance to reel it back, “Charming.” I mumbled. The corner of his mouth tilted, the quiver of a smirk, and he removed his palms, revealing the true detail of such a crude sketch.

A pair of breasts stared back at me, rather large in themselves.

His eyebrows raised, his lips glimmered a proud kind of twinkle, and I found myself laughing lightly - it were incredibly detailed; good, too, if I were to be honest. “Not bad, Dalton.” I sighed, another breathy chuckle. His grin merely widened, furtherly combusting with a sense of confidence, as his gaze fitted to the entryway of the classroom.

There he was - Mr Keating - with an awkward kind of lean, half within the door, and half not. “Well, come on.” He instructed, voice light as it carried throughout the hue of confused silence.

Gapes of inner conflict flooded the room, every head turned to face the curious man, as he disappeared - once more - behind the wall. The murmur of baffled, breathy, laughs, and questioning bewilderment floated throughout the quiet, and I caught the gaze of Charlie once more. His brows were furrowed, slightly puzzled, as his expression dripped in something addled. He shrugged softly, and I turned away, only to catch Richard - the snobby prude, himself - and a few other boys collecting their things.

The entirety of the class followed, I, myself, included, as I collected the Poetry book, and I stood from the proximity of the uncomfortable chair. No longer did a frown paint upon my brows, for I felt - deep within my bones - that Mr Keating was not an ordinary teacher, and that his lessons - that moment, included - would be far from the normality of conformity we had been trained to abide by. I liked that, I decided, and I liked it a lot.

I stood within the doorway, a subtle glance over my shoulder, and noticed the furrowed expression of Charlie, as he hovered at his desk - the final remainder of all that was left among the class. “Come on, Dalton.” I called, following the collection of shuffling feet, as they formed a slight crowd before the strange man himself.

I lingered to the back, as I had always grown accustomed to doing (in order to be unnoticed, one must first go about being unseen) and waited, the shuffling drawing to a close, as we stood before the - rather small - Mr Keating. Charlie perched behind me, perhaps of something diagonal, though I could not physically see the boy - and I listened acutely to the pause of his muffled feet.

“O’ Captain, My Captain,” Keating began, thin lips crinkled with passion.

O’ Captain, My Captain - Walt Whitman. I smiled, for I could not help it, and I knew - I knew it, with a great sense of welcoming - that this man, this Mr Keating, would grow to be everything we had ever needed. Everything we were never taught - and my yearn for knowledge had never ached quite like it did, then, before.

“Who knows where that comes from?” A patient glance, a rumble of silence; Me. “Anybody?” In order to go unseen, one must go about being unheard.

I am Jane, I thought, and fuck their views upon my distraction. “Walt Whitman.” I mumbled, hardly loud enough to be heard. At least I had said it. A few heads turned to meet me, though I trained my gaze to the ground.

“What was that?” Keating spoke, tone regarding, kind.

“Walt Whitman.” I said, fluttering my attention to meet the somewhat proud - dare I say - grin of the man before us. “A poem - about Abraham Lincoln.”

He smiled, “Excellent,” he said, “Miss Darling, is it?”

“Jane, Sir.” I corrected - for, indeed, I were no longer Miss Darling, I were the becoming of mine own self; I am Jane, I thought, and so I shall be known.

“My apologies, Jane.” He said, and I smiled. It had been a long time, far longer than such I could recall, since I had found myself respected by that of an adult. An adult male, to speak the truth. A slight tap on my shoulder, the gentle thud of a book swatting the joint, caused a light jolt to buck through me. I glanced to Charlie, the boy smirking pridefully, and he shot me a playful wink. I merely widened my smile, for what else was I to do? And I turned back to meet the fluttering gaze of Keating, as he studied the expressions of those before him.

“Now, in this class,” He began once more, “you can either call me Mr Keating,” He offered, a glance to the left, and to the right; a wry kind of grin, that seemed utterly infectious. “Or - if you’re slightly more daring - O’ Captain, My Captain.”

Captain. I tried it on my tongue, a mere whisper beneath the murmur of gentle laughter around, “O’ Captain, My Captain.” I mumbled, and I liked the way it rolled from my lips. A kind man, he surely was, and the type of guidance I had never before known.

“Now, let me dispel a few rumours, so they don’t fester into facts,” The Captain continued, and we listened intently. “Yes, I, too, attended Hell-ton,” A smirk, “And survived.” He uttered, eerie, as a soft shimmer of reciprocated grins flustered from the students around. “And, no - at that time, I was not the mental giant you see before you.” He paused, gauged the reaction, and continued. “I was the intellectual equivalent of a ninety-eight-pound weakling.” A breath of a laugh - I smiled. “I would go to the beach, and people would kick copies of Byron in my face.” A stifled spell of giggles graced the small audience, and I found myself breathing a chuckle.

For the first time, I had gathered, thus far, throughout the day; I was enjoying myself. No, I decided; no, he wasn’t ordinary at all. And there was nothing better than that. “Now,” Captain glanced to his clipboard, “Mr…” He frowned, a curt filter of something amused to furrow his expression, “Pitts?” He said, “That’s a rather unfortunate name.” A collective snicker to run through the class. “Mr Pitts,” Keating continued, “Where are you?”

Pittsie, perhaps the tallest of us all, raised his hand, a glaze of something shy to coax his features, a lightly pink tint upon his dusted cheeks. The Captain looked up, and he pointed briefly to the boy’s Poetry book, “Mr Pitts,” He said, again, as though bemused by the way it felt to say. “Would you open your Hymonel to page five-forty-two?” He gazed upon Pittsie’s stumbling fingers, as he tugged open the pages. “And read the first stanza you find there.”

Muffled shuffling was to be heard, collective maneuvering, as the rest of the boys fiddled with the paper, and scuttled through to the incentive instruction. I fluttered through the clumps of paper, and paused upon page five-forty-two; To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time.

A laugh fell from my lips, and a sudden breath fanned upon my cheek, ridden from behind my shoulder. There Charlie stood, eyes fixated upon the poem I held within my hands; his entirely empty. I rolled my eyes, though grinning something fond (for, oh, what else should I have expected?) holding it up slightly, as to relieve the crane within his neck, and he smiled.

“To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time?” Pittsie read aloud, a light sense of anxiousness to coat his tone. The rumble of laughter stuttered between the boys, and Charlie’s snicker fanned against my ear, a ticklish thing, really, as I itched it with my shoulder.

“Go on,” The Captain urged, a subtle smile to be seen, “Somewhat appropriate, isn’t it?”

The laughter drowned out, replaced by none other than the deep rumble of Pittsie’s monotonous voice. “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,” He read, “Old time is still a-flying; and this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow, will be dying.”

“Thank you, Mr Pitts.” Keating smiled, speaking once more, as he dipped his words, his tone, with such passion; it gleamed like melted sugar. “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” He repeated, a subtle pace; once to the left, and two to the right. He turned to face us, a supple grin to grace his thin lips, and said; “The Latin term for that sentiment is Carpe Diem.” With a question sure to follow, “Now, who knows what that means?” He asked.

Latin, although I found myself of grave success among my classes, was not my strongest point. No - no - Meeks; he was the genius in categories as such. And, expectedly, his hand shot up, with hardly an ounce of hesitation. Keating pointed to the boy, and his response came fast - intelligence riddled within. “Carpe Diem,” He echoed, “That’s seize the day.”

“Very good,” The Captain grinned, a step towards the red-headed-blonde. “Mr…?”

“Meeks.” He smiled.

“Meeks?” Keating echoed, a previous step retreated, “Another unusual name.” He said, and I grinned, for who else did we know, with a name such as that? “Seize the day,” Captain continued, addressing the clump of students as he did so, “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” He paused, “Why does the writer use these lines?”

“Because,” Charlie spoke up, chin rested upon the top of my head, “he’s in a hurry.” I snorted, a roll of the eyes, and felt the indent of his grin pressured upon my skull.

Keating pointed to him, “No!” He smiled, “Ding.” And slammed his hand upon a faux bell, “Thank you for playing, anyway.” He said. A spring of laughter coursed throughout the small crowd, once more, - myself included - and I found myself realising, as Neil glanced over, himself smiling something toothy, and the indent of Charlie’s grin continued to press upon my head, that never before had we laughed within a lesson. Not within the company of those authoritative bastards, anyhow. And, with such a thought, I found my smile merely brightening with joy. Perhaps this was the second step, I thought; the second step to freedom. “Because we are food for worms, Lads - and the Lady, Jane.” He said, no longer a smile draped across his face. “Because - believe it or not - each, and every one of us, in this room, is - one day - going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die.”

My eyebrows raised, and a subtle kind of heaviness disbursed among the air. Seize the day, before it’s too late. Carpe Diem.

I thought, a mere moment within the thickening silence, of the summer. Of how closely Death and I had kissed - how awfully lonely such times had been, and how greatly I craved his warm embrace. To romanticize Death were not a thing of intention. Though, as Keating had said himself - each, and every one of us, were going to stop breathing, turn cold, and die - we held no control upon the inevitable; so why bother to fear it? Non-existence seemed so serene, so wonderful, I often craved a taste - a sample, perhaps - to suck upon, when the days would reach their worst.

But now? Now, with my feet beyond the door, two steps progressed, unto the path of freedom - to die so soon seemed something a little less desirable; for what is Death to a girl with dreams?

Carpe Diem, I thought, a gentle smile upon my face; Carpe Diem; Carpe Diem; Carpe Diem.

“I’d like you to step forward, over here.” Keating spoke, a little softer, with more compassion, than passion. He turned to face the display case; an array of old photographs, of faces nobody cared to know, and of awards - achievements - scattered along the shelves. “And peruse some of the faces from the past.” The cloud of boys began to move, to follow such instruction, as Keating continued. “You’ve walked past them many times,” He said, “But I don’t think you’ve really looked at them.”

Only with the subtle push of Charlie's hand, gentle between my shoulder blades, did I flinch into movement. The boys, and I, we crowded in a sparse cluster, observing, though not truly scrutinizing, the morsel of every face we came across. I stood, beside, though not quite touching, Charlie, and Neil, as I gazed upon such display.

“They’re not that different from you, are they?” Keating noted. Well, I thought, I suppose I didn’t truthfully count. “Same haircuts,” He added, “though perhaps a little different, from our Lady Jane.” He offered, and I sighed, for - no - I had once resembled such a cut.

“Unfortunately not, Captain.” I muttered, allowing the soft laughter that fluttered around me.

“Ah, well,” He smiled, “That is the joy of growth, hm?”

I grinned, and I listened - we all did, and it was intently - always intently -- as he continued. “They’re full of hormones, just like you.” He said, a jest of a smile, as his gaze caught that of a few curious students. “Invincible,” He said, and I smirked; for, oh, the passion was back, and yes - yes, we were - we were utterly invincible. “Just like you feel.” We didn’t just feel it - no, no - Carpe Diem; I found it coursing through my veins. “The world is their oyster.” He said, “They believe they’re destined for great things - just like many of you - their eyes are full of hope.” His tone, it fell softer, and so riddled with enthusiasm. “Just like you.” He said; slow, as though to marinate his words.

A beat of silence passed, and I found myself enamoured with my drunken adrenaline, woozy with the passion he bled from every syllable. “Did they wait ‘till it was too late, to make from their lives even one ioda of what they were capable?” He said, though he required no reply, and thus received silence. “Because, you see, Gentlemen - Lady Jane - these boys are now fertilising daffodils.”

Seize the day - Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. I inhaled something deep, something plentiful, and awaited the next strip of gold to fall from between his teeth.

“But, if you listen real close,” He uttered, a stand positioned at the shoulder of Richard’s own, “You can hear them whisper their legacy to you.” A hesitant pause passed us by, and his tone fell to something even quieter, “Go on,” he said, “lean in.” And thus, we did.

We leaned closer toward the glass, as though their picture may utter something truly great, and we waited for something to happen. “Can you hear it?” Keating muttered, and we all tilted that little bit further. “Carpe…” He whispered, a ghostly raunch to his tone. Cameron turned - something slow, with an expression of true annoyance, and I felt a smile crawl its way upon my face. Keating glanced away, feigning innocence, and muttered an almost silent; “Hear it?” As a breathy giggle fell from I. The pair returned their attention back to the cabinet, and there the Captain was, again, breathing the words upon Camerons shoulder. “Carpe… Carpe Diem…” He rasped, surely no louder than the winds of the night, “Seize the day, boys,” He drawled, “make your lives extraordinary.”

The halls were bustling upon dismissal, the bell to ring shrill amongst it’s time, as we strode - clumped together in a manner of silenced astonishment - and chewed upon the words we had been fed. Each carrying his own stack of books, unbothered by their hefty weight, and mine own of something painful - my arms ached, but I simply didn’t care. Carpe Diem, I thought - Seize the day; make your lives extraordinary.

Whether I had noticed it, or not, found little relevance, as a grin crawled upon my features, and I wallowed among the freshly broken quiet. “That was weird.” Pittsie grumbled, sauntered beside Neil, as we exited through the heavily infused door, and spilled upon the courtyard tile.

“But different.” Neil offered, a light sense of welcoming washed between his wording.

“Spooky, if you ask me.” Knox added, a subtle shake of his head.

A pinch found my brows, furrowed in their ways; for was it only I who had discovered something hidden amongst myself? Something locked away, combined with all things passionate? “You guys didn’t like him?” I asked, tone light upon the bustle around.

Knox shrugged softly, “I didn’t hate him.” He said, “He’s just…”

“Different?” Neil repeated.

“Different.” The boy nodded.

“Well, I thought he was great.” I muttered.

Charlie scoffed, a step or two before I, and he uttered - tone of grave teasing - a: “You would, Lady Jane.” With the breath of a laugh to follow. I merely smirked, for I were fond of such a calling - it dripped in power, and it rolled off the tongue - as we all strode together, maneuvering our way through the bustle and commotion.

“You think he’ll test us on that stuff?” Cameron asked, a furrow to his brows.

I rolled my eyes, and muttered something soft beneath my breath. “Jesus Christ.” I mumbled, catching the bemused smirk of the Dalton boy, himself.

Charlie glanced to look upon Richard, frown sinking his expression, “Oh, come on, Cameron,” He scoffed, “Don’t you get anything?” As he turned once more, to face the direction in which he sauntered.

Richard scowled, “What?” he said. The silence remained, and I smirked. “What!” There was a breath of laughter - something mocking, as I came to realise - and Neil spoke once more, interrupting the moment of nothingness that graced us by, as we walked, stride in stride, through the other set of open doors.

“To think - it’s only the first day back,” He sighed, “and we’re already drowning in work.”

I shrugged gently, adjusting the slipping grip upon my books, and said: “I don’t know why you’re surprised.” With a curt pinch to my brows. “They smother us with unmanageable amounts of work, every year, and wonder why we hate it.”

“I’ll second that.” Dalton nodded, “The pretentious fucks don’t know when to stop.”

I laughed lightly, and shook my head. “Yeah.” I mumbled, as Knox offered something quiet.

“God,” He sighed, “the day’s not even over.”

“For you.” I grinned, “Have fun sweating, boys. I’ll be cosied up in bed, catching forty winks before tonight.” Knox glared something playful, and I merely shot a wink in his direction.

“What’s everybody doing, anyway?” Neil asked, a curt glance to be dispersed around, “Soccer? Rowing? Fencing?” A few incoherent mumbles rang about, and I could only roll my eyes, as I spoke something soft.

“Football.” I said, “It’s called Football.”

“Soccer.” They all chorused, a little louder, and accompanied by eyerolls and muttered insults.

“I'm Rowing.” Charlie sighed, “But I’m on the Soccer team, too.” He paused, throwing me a look over his shoulder, and said: “You’re still on, right?”

“The Football team?” I asked, a raised eyebrow, and a supple grin, “I’m not sure. I haven’t asked Nolan.”

Charlie nodded, mumbling a quiet; “Well, you better be.” Before turning back around, and beginning his ascent through the ruckus of the stairwell. The boys were to attend Gym class - their final hour of the day - and thus they had to retrieve their kits, and drop off their numerous textbooks. I, myself, were strictly restricted around the idealism of sporting, and of doing such around boys, especially. Upon the agreement that I were to stay on at Hell-ton, my sporting allowance was dramatically reduced - a mere two hours a week, instead of five - and I were to be fully clothed - entirely dressed in trousers, and in a long-sleeved shirt, or a jumper - or I would simply not participate.

It were true that I was the best goal defence our team had ever seen, and thus - for such reason only, and nothing else but the fact - I was allowed to remain on the Football team, during the final few months of the season, last year. Among Nolan’s sudden knowledge of my… my true identity, he restricted every other sporting access; enforced I be kept on the Football team, and the Football team only. Though, whether he thought quite the same this year, I had not but a clue.

“You coming to dinner, later, Lady Jane?” Charlie asked, as we paused to the mouth of the boys’ hallway. I thought for a moment - about the meal I had missed last night, and the meal I had skipped that morning, and I nodded hesitantly. I were hungry, starved, and I were desiring something fulfilling, though I found myself doubtful I could stomach the dreadful substance that was Hell-ton Hash.

“Yeah, come along.” Neil smiled, “You skipped breakfast, didn’t you?”

“I- uh-” I stuttered, “Yeah.” I said, “I’ll be there.” With a tight lipped grin.

“Great.” Perry said, kindly. “You’ll sit with us, won’t you?”

I furrowed my eyebrows, a shake to the head, and sighed. “Meals are to be eaten alone.” I recited, a roll of the eyes. “I can’t.” I breathed, “It’s one of the rules.”

Meeks, his eyebrows raised, mumbled a: “That’s crazy.” as Pittsie harmonized, with a: “Sounds stupid, to me.” I laughed a breathy laugh and nodded, for it was. Isolation may have been safety during the summer, but amongst the company of the boys - friends, of whom I enjoyed my time with - it seemed utterly ridiculous; unnecessary.

“Here, look,” I mumbled, struggling to balance the rather hefty stack of books with my right hand, as I reached deeply within my inner blazer pocket. I withdrew the crumpled paper, dispelled with the great number of scrawled rules, two sides in depth, and I sighed, offering the folded page to Meeks, as he studied the words before him.

He scoffed, “No perfume?” And I merely shrugged. “What does he think we are, feral?”

“Let me see that thing.” Charlie said, grasping hold of the ever-depressing list, and raking his eyes upon the instructives. “Curfew at eight-thirty? What - are you a child, or something?” He scoffed, orbs wide, and features a frown. “This is ridiculous.” He said. “Seating to be isolated, out of the way, and not distracting?”

“Hair is to be kept up, tied tightly, and not disruptive.” Neil read, leaning up and over Charlie's shoulder as he spoke. “That’s insane,” He said, as he turned his glance to stare at I. “How can hair be disruptive?”

I shrugged, a sigh slipping from between my lips. “Hell, if I know.” I said. It had taken the greater part of thirty minutes, earlier that morning, to retain my curls within a neatened bun, upon the base of my neck; it felt awfully tight - the clasp of such a strong clutch beginning to throb upon my scalp - and I longed for the blissful release.

“Well, at least you get out of Gym class.” Knox sighed.

I shrugged slightly, and uttered my reply. “I liked it.” I said, “It was fun.”

“It’s better than doing nothing.” Meeks added, I found myself nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Overstreet breathed, “But we’ll be late if we don’t get a move on, Gentlemen.”

A mumbled round of agreement coursed throughout them all, as they uttered their goodbyes and took off down the hallway. “I better see you at that study group, tonight, Lady Jane.” Charlie smirked, blowing a teasing kiss to I, as he disappeared behind his door, and Cameron followed suit. The other boys entered their assigned quarters, and I simply smiled, beginning the journey to that of my own room. I bounded up the stairs - hopping two at a time - and I somewhat jogged throughout the length of the corridor, throwing myself through the door, kicking it shut with a dismissive sense of energy.

I paused, standing stoic within my room, as the cool temperature licked upon my flushed cheeks, with heavy breaths, and lightened silence; an unnoticed continuance of heaviness perched within my slouch.

The Play, I thought, the grace of a sudden realisation to dawn upon my conscience. My Play! A noise of great excitement fell from me, as I ripped open the drawer of the bedside table, its oak a mere squeak to the quiet background, and I shuffled through the papers, the sketches of things unimpressive and potently standard, and through the scraps of ideas, and, finally, I clutched my grip upon the worn leather of my notebook. Of the notebook.

A strip of white paper, glued to the cover, read: A Steady Man’s Grave, in the thickest ink I could have found, as I spent my days writing among the beginning of summer.

It was June; the fresh scent of all things blooming, all things wondrously anew, to flutter amongst the butterflies, and hum between the buzz of the bumble bees. I ached for something good, for something productive - a distraction, worth all things enticing - and I had surely found it. Bound between the thick leather covers; cursive handwriting hardly legible among the scribbles, the corrections, the excitement; I wrote until my fingers bled, and my eyes began to sting. From sunrise, to sundown; I wrote. Obsessed, I surely became, with the adoration I dispelled; mingled between each and every word.

I wrote of war; I wrote of love; of anguish, and of betrayal. I found a passion between bloody fists, and swollen cheeks, and I threw myself within its grasp - drowning until I could no longer breathe. Until the final few weeks of summer crawled to play, and Death came knocking at my door. A dark time, surely true, though an experience I found myself unable to entirely regret.

I peeled back the front cover, and I allowed my eyes to fall upon the very first page. A STEADY MAN’S GRAVE, JANE ELIZABETH DARLING. It read, and a tired smile fluttered upon my face. How passionate I had been, how well I had Seized the Day - how greatly I longed to be her, once again. I could recall that I did not finish it - that although my writing were everything prolific, and utterly animated, I were so clouded, throughout those final few dreadful weeks, that I had placed down my pen, and I had not picked it up again.

There was a terrific crack, as I parted the spine, and the breath of a meaningless laugh fell from my tongue. ACT 1, SCENE 1: The Garden-Way. I traced the ink with my finger, riddled with nostalgia, and I pondered - briefly, and to myself - if this were to be the third step. The third step to freedom - to re-discover my passion, and revive all that it could have been. I liked that, I decided, and I liked it a lot.

I wove my way through the lines, reciting such words a mere mumble beneath my breath, and I found myself smiling subconsciously, as I fluttered through the aged, yellowing, pages. The spill of differentiating ink, sprawled among corrections, lie around the text, and I followed the scene with a great sense of welcome nostalgia. Perseus - a soft fellow, with a heart riddled of Love - picked upon the fruit, nibbling at such, from a garden that was not his. He perched beneath the peach tree, limbs thrown in every-which direction, as he stared to the seeping sun, fluttering among the gently swayed leaves.

A moment of silence were to pass, filled with nothing but the tender breeze, as Jullian stumbled upon the scene. Clothed in weapons - with daggers, with swords - and a glare of something stoic, mean. Perseus; his name were bellowed, a menacing growl, and no longer was he alone. The shards of sun, cutting through the gaps within the shrubbery, seemed to sharpen; to flash, and then to hide, and a certain cloud of grey erupted across the land.

The man sighed, a final bite to his fruit, and he arose to a reclined-seated-state, elbows supporting his weight. “Jullian,” He greeted, a somewhat bitter smile stretched within his teeth. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

A breath of quietened, visible, rage were to reciprocate from him, stance rigid; uneasy. “May your carelessness find you wretched.” Jullian spat, a tight clamp to his clenched jaw; he grinded his teeth. “To lie upon my soil - your ignorance may caress the very roots of my earth, and death shall riddle it true.”

“O’ spare me, sweetest children of God.” Perseus mumbled, “For you’re nothing short of dramatic, dear Julian.” He said, “My company - if nothing but - is mere fulfilling, is it not?”

A scoff ripped from his throat, “You know nothing of fulfillment!” He mocked.

“As I am certain you do?” Perseus grumbled, a raised eyebrow, and a sheen of frustration to glaze upon his expression. For, oh, how foolish he had been to fall in love with such a bastard. “O’ to be drunk on yearning, on the blood of enemies - tell me, Jullian, do you feast on those you bury?” He spoke, a supple smile crawling upon the expression of his toned features.

Jullian scowled, a step strode closer, and he spat, with such grave bite: “I shall bury no man.” And Perseus’ grin found something toothy; teasing.

“No?” He asked.

“Such compassion may drabble me a fool - alas, I know it not!” He scoffed, “I may watch such decomposition with great delight, and I will inquire upon the bloom of growth - merely heightened by the salt of a lover's lonesome tears, to weep upon such dirt.”

“You are a cruel man, Jullian.” Perseus sighed, “Do you hold no respect for those in which do perish, by the hand that is your own?”

Julian smiled - a wry, cruel, smile - and he said: “You shall learn to drink up your compassion. For tonight, thus as every night; we dine on blood, and on atrophy, and we fall in love with the silent cries of bloodied choirs, haunting the ache of summer’s eve.”

My fingers clutched upon the body, and I turned the page delicately, reading on with a subtle glimmer of pride. Eyes a cerulean tinge of something stinging, I found a soft ache to begin loitering behind the sockets. Sleep, my mind seemed to cry, Sleep, Sleep, Sleep. Though, still, I could not seem to tear my eyes away from the yellow-kissed paper, and the slanted handwriting, hardly legible. A glance to my drawer; I grasped upon the thin, round, frame of my brown-rimmed glasses, and I shoved such lenses upon my face, slipping them up the slender bridge of my nose, with a subtle sigh slipping from my lips as I went.

The gentle hue of a headache continued to pulse, be it only slightly, around my conscience, and the idea of slumber were ever-more appealing, as I stumbled upon the same line; once, twice, three times more.

“You are riddled with the violence once forced to attain,” Perseus sighed, “And you are unwilling to know, nor to grow - you wish not to learn to love again.”

I read it again, a heavy breath slipping that of my tired throat, and I wove the tip of my tongue along the breach of my lower lip. A subtle sheen of moisture engulfed my gaze, ruptured with the gradually invasive sting, and a tiresome weight picked the skin of my eyelids, drooped immensely with an unnoticed speed, I knew that the turbulence of sleep deprivation was most certainly upon me. The day had been extensive, draining, and the first dip of exhaustion had long since passed. Sleep beckoned me, a gust of rigidness dissolving throughout my muscles, and my shoulders slouched - furtherly, if possible. A particular scowl descended upon my expression, a slight palpitation to flutter my heart. I did not fear sleep, as such, though the events of such dreams were experiences rather left unknown. I dreaded the vividness, the recollection, that would force me to rise with a pounding ache to my skull, and an expression drenched in tears.

Haunted, often, were the plague of my dreams.

I traced the gauge of my blurred writing, once more, and blinked - once, twice, several times more - in grave attempt to rid of such bleariness, though - upon subtle lack of focus, and whole consumption of exhaustion - as the thump of the book, colliding with the loose space of the crowded drawer below, forced my eyes to peel open, the extended blink an unnoticed occurrence, I understood that to fight the tides of slumber would be impossible. Foolish. And so, as I slumped myself upon the cold mattress, my head tucked to the white pillow, and hands wrapped around my frame, I allowed my conscience to drift upon the waves, bobbing only slightly, viewing the turret of the upcoming storms, brewing along the horizon.

~*~

The common room, tucked away and rather small for such a gathering area, were particularly empty upon my own arrival. I had grasped hardly thirty-minutes of slumber, and thus dictated a course of revision, of studious intention, rather than fighting the thickening sleep deprivation that clawed upon my brain. The headache in which I had previously occupied only marginally, had thundered - copious amounts - worse, and resulted to a kind of hellish fire, engulfing the clutch of my mind, as I clenched my jaw, and I sank within the seat of an emptied table.

My curls, they were wild, free, as they spilled across my shoulders, and hardly an inch below. I placed my digits among the roots, and I massaged - circular motions, with a great deal of softness - upon the scalp; clockwise, anti-clockwise, with such delicacy, and a mere slight relief of all things horrid and pressuring. The glasses, perched timidly upon the bridge of my nose, did little to aid such an ache, and neither did the freedom of my blonde locks. Perhaps it unleashed a subtle amount of pressure, though the pain were still enough to riddle me silent and glassy-eyed.

I had dressed within a rather large - rather loose, as my clothing had seemed to increasingly grow - grey shirt, and some long trousers, of which kind I could think not to name. I had previously decided against Hell-ton Hash, and had skipped the meal - another - as a result. I were hungry, though I felt bitterly ill. Sick to my stomach for the ache that rolled behind my eyes, and clattered within my head.

Not often, I could recall, did I find myself burdened by the fester of a rotten migraine, and they usually left me lying amongst thick darkness, unmoving and aching for days, upon hours; though when they did come knocking, come crawling, they were the worst kind of pain I had ever experienced. As I moved, sluggishly, to extract my Latin book, and I flipped the pages beneath my shaking fingertips, I knew that that night were not a night to wallow in self pity.

“Agricolum, Agricola, Agricolarum, Agricolis, Agricolas, Agricolis.” I uttered, a monotonous whisper beneath my breath. I read the list once more, repetitive and utterly drawling, and turned the page.

CARPE DIEM, I wrote, the ghost of amusement to slip within my scowling eyes, SEIZE THE DAY, MAKE YOUR LIVES EXTRAORDINARY. I layered it, I scribbled unto it, and I lined it beneath, until the paper tore through, and I ripped the page free from it’s binder. I crumpled it up, until the jagged formation of a paper-ball glanced me back, and I threw it, carelessly, with not but an ounce of effort, across the room.

It landed with a bounce, and I paused, watching for a mere moment or so, before a sigh fell from my lips, and I returned to my prior position: hands in hair, massaging the deafening ache with a subtlety about it, and eyes tiresomely scanning the text upon the page, as I read throughout the book, and I simply hoped to be retaining such information.

The chair was uncomfortable, though I didn’t truly mind, and the room were of something cold, as I found a soft shiver to run through me, and a sudden shock to pulse through my skull. I gritted my teeth, for - Oh - I hadn’t experienced a migraine quite the same since… Well, not since the beginning of summer.

The shuffle of feet entering the desolated room caught my attention, though I remained unmoving, eyes fluttered to a scrunched close, and I gripped to the roots of my locks. Boys began to file in, gradual, yet somehow at the same time, and the level in which the volume seemed to progress were something manageable, though greatly uncomfortable. I dropped my head, rested upon the cool surface of the open pages, and I awaited the company of the guys I found myself somewhat familiar with.

“Latin that bad, huh?” A familiar voice - Charlie - called, a teasing glint to his tone, as he withdrew the Latin textbook from beneath my elbows, crowed upon the table, my head bowed between them. My expression collided with the table surface, another shrill ache to erupt within the depth of my brain, and a particularly pained groan fell from my gritted teeth. “Jane?” Charlie called, once more, though somewhat softer this time - concerned. “Hey, you alright?” He mumbled, a gentle hand to caress the back of my head.

I bit back the uprising tears, a sharp gulp, and I begged myself to simply hold it together, nodding something tender, as I sighed a great heave. “Yeah,” I muttered, tone - unfortunately, for I - thick with the moisture of unshed hurt.

“What’s the matter, Sweetheart?” He asked, dropping within the seat to my left, as his digits lightly pawed the roots of my curls. It felt nice, comforting, and thus I allowed my arms to drop upon the table, and another sigh left my lips.

I rested my cheek upon the cool surface of the smooth wood, facing the boy in question, as the soft glimmer of moisture remained blurry to my eyes. His eyebrows; they were furrowed, and his eyes large and round - childish, as they always seemed to be, though suddenly tinted with a darkened concern. “I’m fine.” I smiled, a weak, pathetic, smile. “My head just hurts a little.” I lied, my tone a mere mumble against the bustle all around. For I could not open my mouth any wider, the ache a splitting ferocity if I even tried. I knew that routine all too well, unfortunately, and silence were a true virtue for such times.

His gaze softened further, as he mumbled a short, “Oh,” and I merely shrugged lightly. “Well,” He continued, tone quiet - considerate. “I brought you some bread.” He said, withdrawing a bundled up clump of napkins, and resting them upon the lip of the table, with a small smile to occupy his features. “I figured you’d be hungry.” He added, “And, let’s be honest, I’m bettin’ it’s caused that headache, too.” His eyebrow raised, a playful glint to those eyes, and I merely smiled something wider, raising myself to a slouched sit.

“Thank you.” I muttered, somewhat sheepishly, as I unwrapped the buttered bread, and I took a bite of small desire. I was, in fact, utterly starving, and surely thankful for such a crumb, though I wished not to spew it all up, within a moment’s digestion, for my migraine rung true within the depth of my ears, and my stomach clenched, unclenched, and clenched a heartbeat once more. “Oh,” I maundered, placing the nibbled slice back upon the cloth, as I reached for the leather-backed notebook, and I swallowed my mouthful. “Here, look at this.” I said, spoken quietly, as he furrowed his brows, and he leaned a little bit closer.

I handed the book to his extended hand, and watched as his frown merely deepened upon ingesting the title. “A Steady Man's Grave?” He read, aloud. “What’s this?” His gaze upturned to meet my own, and I found myself smiling something small upon deliverance.

“It’s a play.” I said, “A play script.”

“I’ve never heard of it.” He mumbled, a brief flicker through the pages, “Any good?”

A breathy laugh fell from my tongue, and I shrugged lightly, “I’d hope so.” I said, “Considering I spent most of my summer writing it.”

His eyes returned to mine, eyebrows raised something high, and his orbs greatly enlarged. “You wrote a fucking play?” He echoed, “That’s amazing! Why didn’t you mention it before, Shakespeare?” Another breath of laughter dripped from my tongue, and I ignored the heat that erupted within my scalp, merely shrugging softly.

“It never came up.” I said, “And I’d forgotten all about it, ‘til I went back to my room, today.”

“Well, shit,” He smiled, delicately tracing the leather of the cover he held so gently. “Can I read some?” He asked, glance hopeful and slightly hesitant.

“You can read it all, Dalton.” I chuckled, “Read as much as you want.” Charlie grinned, resting back - with a tilt to his chair - as he swung slightly, and scoped upon the first ounce of text. I were surprised - albeit only that little bit - for his ability to read my writing; it was so scribbled and awful, I felt almost sure he’d be struggling.

He read on through, nonetheless, and the calling of Neil’s tone caught my fixated attention. “Jane,” He smiled, “How are you? You missed dinner.”

“Yeah,” I sighed, a little quieter than he, “I- uh-” I paused, licked my lips, and continued, “I’ve a headache.” I mumbled, “Didn’t feel like eating anything.” And I turned to face him, smiling softly in his own direction.

“Oh.” He said, eyebrows raising momentarily, “Well, have you taken anything for it?” I shook my head, for I disliked the idea of taking drugs - not unless I were greeting Death at my door, of course. “Okay,” He mumbled, a furrow to his expression, “You probably should. I think Charlie brought you some food- Hey, Charlie,” Neil called, gaining the brunette's attention, as his gaze slowly lifted to meet us both. He shot me a small smirk, as though slightly distracted, and focused upon Neil. “Did you give her the food?” He asked.

“It’s right there, dumbass,” Charlie grinned, rolling his eyes something fond, as he motioned toward the nibbled slice of buttered, white, bread. “Leave her be, she’s feelin’ rough.” A little worse than rough, I thought, though I smiled nonetheless.

“Oh, right, yeah.” Neil said, a small grin stretched upon his face, “You don’t have any painkillers, do you?”

“Unless you count PlayBoy Magazines, by the dozen, no, I don’t.” He smirked, a subtle wink thrown our way, as he retreated - again - to the words within my notebook. I rolled my eyes - ever the perverted mind - and returned to Neil.

I had hardly noticed the company of the other boys - Meeks and Pitts (with a kind of device I could hardly make out, though it looked a little like the scraps of a naked radio) perched within close proximity to each other, speaking in hushed whispers as they went, and upon a separate table, though only inches apart from our own. Charlie to my left, and Neil across from me, with Cameron perched to his left. Knox was - Knox. Knox was not there. I frowned deeply, “Where’s Overstreet?” I mumbled, similarly noticing the absence of the dirty blonde - the new boy, Tony - No, no. He was- he was... Todd! Todd Anderson. “And Todd?” I added.

“Knox had dinner someplace else.” Neil said, “Friends of his parents’. And Todd hasn’t left the room - something about History work, I think.” I nodded subtly, jaw clenched upon the grave ache, as it spread throughout my head in a ruckus of great frustration.

I glanced upon the closed textbook, resting beside where my cheek had once lay, and to the several others - Chemistry, Trigonometry, and Latin - and I felt my eyes sting, aching deeply with a thickening sense of moisture, crowding amongst my gaze. The pulse, the pressure, within my skull only seemed to worsen, the harsher I fought to digest my upcoming tears, and I pondered whether it would simply explode. If that would be the end of I, and of the end of the room’s company as they knew it.

“Neil?” Cameron called, his tone loud - God, it was so fucking loud - and nasally. “Neil, what’d you get for- uh-” He paused, “Question two?” I could hardly concentrate upon swallowing such a sharp urge to ball my fucking eyes out - never mind the impending gloom of twenty-unscoped-questions, in advanced Chemistry - all of which I had failed to pay any attention to, during the minutes occupying the lesson.

The boys discussed their answers, babbling about this, and about that, and I tried - I truly tried - to focus my attention purely upon the black mark of ink, displaying something small among the red of my textbook. I couldn’t do it, I decided, I could not finish any kind of assignment. Not with that consistent pressure within my skull, at least.

Perhaps I’d Carpe Diem another day, instead, I thought, and thus, I reached - slowly, with desire to please the ache amongst my mind - back for the bread, and I chewed lazily upon its crust.

I had not but a clue for how long I had been sat, staring blankly into nothingness, with my teeth sinking into, and digesting, lumps of plain white bread, though it were surely long enough. “Hey, Dalton,” Cameron practically sneered. I winced, be it only slight, as his tone vibrated around my head. Thump, thump, thump, it bellowed, thump thump thump. “Pick up your textbook, would you?” He paused, glanced to I - where I sat, having finished my food, with a scowl of greatly pained proportions - and said: “You too, Jane.”

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Cameron?” Charlie bit, waving the parted book within the air, as he rolled his eyes, and returned back to my work.

“You can do that later.” Richard scoffed, shoving the textbook far closer than it were before, as it slid across the smooth polish of the wooden table. “What - are you busy, too, Darling?” He snapped, suddenly fixated on myself.

I rolled my eyes, though only slight, for it riddled me elusive with pain, and I spat a little something back. “It’s Jane, Cameron.” I said, “Lady Jane, if you please.”

“Should you even be here?” He scoffed, a contorted frown to cross his features.

I scowled bitterly, “In case you hadn’t noticed, Bootlicker, you all sat with me. Not the other way ‘round.” I said, tone slightly raised, and somewhat defensive. The grave throbbing within my skull seemed to rush like a wildfire, and I clenched my jaw awfully tight, attempting to remain stoic amongst the great rush of intensely dreadful warmth. “Jesus,” I breathed, “Just leave me alone, would you?”

“Whatever.” He scoffed, once more, as he returned to a frowning Neil, and a challenging gaze - occupied by none other than Dalton, himself - rolling his eyes, and murmuring about a continuance in studious idioms.

Averting my gaze, I stumbled upon the antics of both Pittsie and Meeks, as they told their jokes and threw their insults, neither heartfelt nor aggressive, and laughed somewhat quietly together. They fiddled with the mechanics of the radio, mocking the other upon the realisation of a simple mistake, and they’d breathe a laugh - carefree, they seemed. It was something quite surprising, to say they were so incredibly intelligent. I decided, as I rose gradually from my uncomfortable position, that I was in grave need of… Well, of being cheered up, I suppose. Meeks was excellent for comfort, and Pittsie was dopey, alike - a wonderful form of entertainment, you understand, and I merely assumed I needed the company.

I wandered slowly, a slight saunter to my stride, and I ensured not but a ragged movement were to be made. I slumped gently within the chair beside Steven, a grovelled sigh to slip my lips, and reciprocated the smile I received. “How’s it goin’, Jane?” Pittsie grinned. “You look like hell.”

“Yeah,” Meeks agreed, and I merely scoffed. “What is it? A headache? Nausea?”

I breathed my response; “Migraine, I think.” And I tilted my head to rest upon his shoulder. A sympathetic coo rang through the pair of them, and Meeks wrapped me beneath his arm, tending to the joint of my shoulder with gentle strokes as he went.

“Well,” He said, “Pittsie and I are working on a Hi-Fi system.” He shrugged.

Pittsie grinned, an utterly enthralled and toothy smile, with an enthusiastic nod to follow. I smirked, “A radio?” I asked.

“Yep.” Pittsie grinned, “And it’ll be the best radio you’ve ever seen.”

The breath of a chuckle fell from me, “I don’t doubt that, Pitts.” I said, “I don’t doubt it at all.”

“I mean, it would be,” He grumbled, “But we can’t find a sufficient connection.”

Meeks nodded, holding up a… a… “Meeks, what the hell is that?” I muttered, pointing to the coiled metal, wrapped loosely amongst his grip as he waved it around.

“Anteni.” He smiled, “It’s what we use to find a connection. Catches the radio waves.”

I nodded, following the wire in which it was connected by, and the breath of a giggle fell from me, “Ever think to plug it in?” I smirked. The pair frowned, glancing quickly to observe my comment, and Pittsie grumbled a light-hearted insult, picking up the loose wires, and connecting such with its correct positioning.

“Duh,” He mocked, a scowl flashed to Meeks’ blank surprise, his tongue shoved behind his lower lip, as another laugh fell from me.

I returned my gaze upon the other boys’ - Neil, of whom stared dumbfoundedly to a question of (what I were led to believe) Trigonometry; Charlie, who shared a glare of grave distaste with the red-headed mutt, his textbook open and hardly revised, and Cameron; who seemed just about ready to tear his hair from its roots. “Just replace these numbers, here,” He pointed to them, a hover above Neil’s shoulder, “for ‘x’ and ‘y’.”

“Of course.” Neil muttered, unmoving and quiet in himself.

Charlie, his pen loosely contained among his grip, shifted his gaze to meet mine own - eyes wide, and his eyebrows drawn down; the Dalton Disbelief, as he so often dispelled. “Help.” He mouthed, and I found myself snickering softly.

“Of course?” Cameron echoed, “So what’s the problem?” And thus was greeted by silence.

My laugh came slightly louder, and it flew around my mind in a whirl of great dizziness, of heightened pain, as I winced, and clenched my eyes to a tight close. The flare in which the heat progressed simmered amongst my skull, and I found my teeth gritting subconsciously, a shaky breath falling from my lips. I needed to sleep, it should seem, and await the pain away. Though I found myself unable to rid for the small smile, slewn across my face, as I gazed upon the scene before me.

“Look, I- What’s not to get?” Cameron sighed, a hand to slither down his expression. “I’ve explained the best I can, Neil.”

Perry nodded, and he mumbled a curt, “I know, I know.” and fell among silence once more. There was a beat to pass, of thickly confused quiet, until he spoke up once more, and Cameron simply frowned, his features a clump of awful impatience. “But how does it apply to finding ‘x’?” He asked.

“Or ‘y’.” Charlie mumbled, a whirl of confusion to crown his stare, as he blinked something blank at his work. A moment of nothingness passed - I shared a glance to Richard, and dared to notice he seemed rather teary eyed - and my smile simply widened. Idiots, I thought, every single one of them.

The red-head turned, a gradual movement, to meet that of mine own stare. “Darling, you’re good with this,” He sighed, a particular furrow to his brows, “Lend a hand, would you?”

“Lady Jane, Cameron.” Charlie said, “Her name is Lady Jane.”

A heaved breath fell from him, and my eyebrow rose. “Whatever.” He sighed, “Lady Jane. Would you just do it, please?”

“Oh, but Cameron! You were doing so well.” I smiled, a bitter smile, one could admit, and caught the infamous smirk of the Dalton boy, himself, as he shot me a wink - a continuous pattern I were beginning to grow accustomed to - and awaited Richard’s response.

His gaze hardened, “Why do you have to be so difficult?” He sneered, “God, it’s like working with bricks!”

“Well,” I scoffed, “Building is a noble pursuit. You live in a brick-built house, don’t you, Dick?”

“Very funny, Lady, you really tickled me there.” He all but snarled.

“Glad I could be of service.” I mumbled, something quieter, now. Quieter, for the pulse within my skull had enforced a great deal worse - flashing, almost, with a sharp shock of subliminal pressure. A thick kind of silence engulfed the tables, and not but a word dared to interrupt it as such.

The door swept, opening a slither, and a creak, as the frame of Knox’s bereft expression eloped with the space. He rested back upon the door, allowing it’s closure a click, and tilted his head for the crown to kiss the wood. “How was dinner?” Charlie called, a sudden breach of such silence. The boy remained unmoving, his jacket held over his shoulder - like that of a romantic poet, stricken by such woes of amorous pain. I felt myself smile at the thought, as he turned dazily, and he raised his eyebrows.

“Huh?” He maundered.

“How was dinner?” I echoed, maneuvering myself to sit in that of my original seat, slightly to the right of Charlie. I ushered the wooden frame closer to the boy, shuffling in regard to the little room remaining for Knox, as he muttered his reply.

“Terrible.” He sighed, a mere mumble upon anticipated silence. He strode away, a swing to his jacket, as he draped it upon the spare seat to my right, and he said, a little louder; “Awful.” As though we hadn’t quite gathered such beforehand.

“Why?” Charlie asked, “What happened?”

I frowned, for the boy’s gaze were so solemn - so woven with grave emotion - and I leaned my elbow upon the lip of the table, chin resting within its palm, as he slumped down within the chair. “You okay, Overstreet?” I said, quietly, for the ache had yet to retrieve.

The boy shook his head, a blank stare upon the wooden table, and he breathed a sigh. “Tonight,” He began, the slither of a gentle smirk to caress his face, as he glanced up, just that little bit. “I met,” He drawled, another pause to be known, “The most beautiful girl I have ever seen, in my entire life.” I snorted a scoff, rolling my eyes - charming, I thought - and harmonized my expression at a similar time to Neil.

“Are you crazy, what’s wrong with that?” Perry breathed a laugh, just the same as I muttered my: “Oh, thanks, Knoxious. Glad to know I’m not Loverboy worthy.”

He smiled, something toothy and bright - and his gaze, it lightened - as he turned to face I. “Don’t take it personal, Jane.” He said, “You’re pretty, but man-” He paused, he visibly swooned, and a laugh fell from me. “Oh, you guys should have seen her.”

“Oh, yeah?” I grinned, “What’s with the moping, then, Romeo?”

He sighed, a curt deflate to his shoulders, and his smile seemed to drop. “She’s practically engaged.” He said, a shake to the head, “To Chet,” He paused, gauged the reactions, and finished with; “Danbury.”

A chorus of groans spilled amongst the boys, mumbled protest to be known, as Charlie uttered something bitter. “That guy could eat a football.” He said. I held not but a clue for who Chet Danbury was, nor did I particularly care for such, though it seemed to have riled the boys up, and - Well - I supposed that were enough for me to develop a stained disliking for him.

“Who is he?” I mumbled, not quite loud enough for any other than Charlie to discover.

“Chet used to go here,” He said, “He’d pick on Meeks, and on Pittsie. ‘Til Pitt’s grew, of course.”

“Ah,” I hummed, and I turned back to meet the group. If I had little to no reasoning behind my disdain before, I certainly had one, now.

“That’s too bad,” Pittsie mumbled, a quick glance - as though disappointed for his friend - to the naked radio before him.

“‘Too bad’?” Knox mumbled, utterly dejected, and - unfortunately, though I could not help myself - rather amusing. “It’s worse than too bad, Pittsie, it’s a tragedy.” He paused, and he motioned with his hands. I bit back a laugh. “A girl this beautiful, in love with such a jerk.” He spat his final word, and I found my giggles breaching the barricade of my lips.

A nudge met my shoulder, and I turned to glance upon a smirking Charlie, his eyes alight with amusement, as I merely returned to a smile, shook my head, and spun back around. “All the good ones go for jerks,” Pittsie said, “You know that.”

I scoffed, my tone overlapping with that of Richards own. “Ah, forget her.” He said, as I spoke to my own defence. “We do not.” I said.

“Oh, sure,” Pittsie scoffed, “It’s not like you would know.”

My eyebrows raised - ouch. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“When have you ever gone for a guy? Let alone a jerk.” Meeks said, “You just don’t count, Lady Jane.”

I paused, frowned, and mumbled my reply. “Uncalled for.” I said, and we left it at that.

“Yeah,” Cameron said, utterly unphased by the entire ordeal. “Open your trig book, and try figure out problem fi-”

“I can’t just forget her, Cameron.” Knox scoffed, a riddle of slight annoyance to coax his expression. “And I certainly can’t think about trig.” The group fell into a silenced agreement, and I found myself bemused by my thoughts. Perhaps he would go and write her some poetry, I pondered, maybe compare her to the moon. A breathy giggle fell from me at the thought, and I held no doubt it’d ring true.

The shrill buzz of a static connection erupted from the naked radio, as I winced and clenched my jaw to the ache within my mind. A sharp pulse of things bitter caressed the grit of my teeth, and the light began to sting my eyes. “We got it!” Pittsie exclaimed, a swat to Meeks’ arm, as the two shared glances of elate measures, and they drew the headphones tightly to their ears.

A wafted breeze brushed me by, as the dark oaked door swung open, and the stature of Dr. Hagar’s stern expression greeted us all with a glare of aged disgust. “Alright, Gentlemen,” He cawed, “Five minutes-” His eyes, they caught my own, and his frown merely deepened. “Miss Darling.” He said, “You should have left thirty minutes ago, no?” He turned to gaze upon my company, an eyebrow raised; “And to be situated with the male students, Miss Darling - I’m afraid such breach of the rules will simply not be tolerated.”

“Dr. Hagar, Sir,” Charlie began, “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake.” I turned to face the boy, his expression a reciprocate of great innocence, and his eyes a twinkle of mischief. “See, Jane, here,” He motioned to I, and continued, “was simply lending a helping hand.”

“Yeah.” Neil nodded, “I couldn’t wrap my head around question five.”

Charlie motioned to Perry, a pout to his features, “He just couldn’t do it.” He said, undoubtedly mocking the aged man, as he shared a calculating glance, and moved on.

“Lets go.” He clapped, as though rounding up sheep, and Charlie made the effort to stand, his pencil tucked behind his ear, and a smirk drawled upon his expression. He bent toward Knox, of whom reciprocated a glance of something pained, and said:

“Did you see her naked?” With a wink and a widening smile. A snicker fell from my lips, as I swatted his stomach, and he brushed me by, digits clutched upon the leather that was my own notebook, and Neil let out a breathy giggle at the comment.

“Very funny, Dalton.” Knox uttered, monotonous and faux. The room were engulfed by muffled shuffling, of boys collecting their things and finishing conversations. Pittsie leaned awkwardly, with his elbows rested upon the table, and I dared to notice that the radio was gone.

I furrowed my eyebrows, and Dr. Hagar spoke with that grovelled tone. “That wouldn’t be a- uh- radio, in your lap, would it, Mr Pitts?”

Pittsie glanced down, as the wail of static connection ran through myself with a great shock, and a slight shiver. “No, Sir.” He said, a short pause to follow. “Science experiment.” He lied. I raised my eyebrows momentarily, for it were an excuse well thought of, as he added a curt; “Radar.” And Meeks raised the anteni with an innocent nod.

Hagar hardly believed them, I dared to notice, though he hardly cared, too, spinning upon his heel and exiting the perimeter. “You’ll come to breakfast, tomorrow, won’t you Jane?” Pittsie asked.

“You have to.” Meeks added, “You haven’t eaten for two days.”

I merely nodded - perhaps I could suffer one meal - and said: “Sure.” With a tight lipped smile.

#dead poets society #nuwanda #charlie dalton #fanfiction #fanfic #steven meeks #gerard pitts #pittsie #meeks #neil perry #carpe diem #seize the day #mr keating #o' captain my captain #knox overstreet #chris noel #todd anderson

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crimson-blade-blog1 · 7 years ago

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Dead Space Fanfic: Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I only own my Oc Seth and his dialogue. All other characters and dialogue belongs to Visceral Studios and EA. Seth’s info is in my blog in “About Seth Rieger”. Enjoy! Union Square; Sciarello was standing at the podium as everyone was at Katie's funeral. "Katie was my assistant for five years. She was devoted to her job, to helping people. But that devotion got Katie killed. She shouldn't have been working that day. But with all the Colony's problems... As you know, everyone's stressed right now. Many of you are probably experiencing it yourselves. You can't sleep, you have bad dreams when you do... The point is, my surgery has never been busier. So Katie stayed late one evening, to clear paperwork. And that was the evening Brant Harris came to see me. Katie saved my life. If she hadn't called P-Sec, is be lying in the morgue right now, and she'd be up here telling everyone I was a workaholic. I'd gladly made that exchange. And I --" His speech was interrupted as he hears a familiar voice. "I know you would, Tom." Sciarello turned to see a ghostly image of Katie. "Katie?" Sciarello eyes widen. "But there are more important things you have to do. You got to stop them..." Katie said to him. "No... No, this isn't real..." Sciarello buried his face his hands. "Tom! You alright?" John Welland asked him. "Sorry, folks, Tom's not feeling too good. Thanks for coming." Welland said to the crowd as a nurse helped Sciarello away from the podium. "Oh, Christ... She's gone..." Was all Sciarello could say. Apartment 35, Row A-7, D-Block; There was a knock on Vera and Seth's Apartment door. They were boyfriend and girlfriend so they shared the same apartment. Vera went to open it, only to see Neumann outside. She yawned a little. "Bram? Oh shit, what time is it?" Vera asked a little panicked. "9:50. Shift started 80 minutes ago. Third day in a row, Vera. I can't keep covering you like this. I mean, we're all exhausted right now, but -- " But he was interrupted. "I can't sleep, Bram! The Doc gave me some pills, but they don't always work." Vera says to him. "You do realize you sound like every other minor we arrested this past week?" Bram pointed out as matter-of-factly. "I know dammit!" Vera snapped at him. "You hallucinating, too? You getting vision of your precious Marker?" Neumann asked nonchalantly. "Alright, that's enough! Get out!" Vera told him as she grabs him by the jacket and drags him out. "Vera, come on. We got a shift to work." Neumann says to her. "So go work it. I'm going to take a sick day." Vera declared as she closed the door. Neumann sighed as Seth walked up to him. "So, how did the conversation go?" Seth asked. "Said she can't sleep. She going to take a sick day." Neumann said to him. Seth sighed. "I'll keep an eye on her once I'm off shift... Wait, did you say she can't sleep?" Seth asked. "Yea, look I know what you're thinking. But think about it, it's been a week since we found that rock, and we have one person in the morgue, and a bunch of minors under arrest." Neumann pointed out matter-of-factly. Seth pondered this. "Damn it, I don't know. Maybe it is odd how everything is unfolding since we found the Marker. But I'm still not sure. Let me see what else happens and I'll see what I think." Seth informed him. "That's all I'm asking. Just make sure that you and Vera are going to be alright?" Neumann asked. Seth nodded as both went onto their shift. Dig Site GL-426; After Seth got off shift, he and Vere went with Unitologists to see the Marker. Seth thought it was best if Vera got some rest, but Vera shrugged off the suggestion. As Unitologists were praying, Seth was talking to Vera. "Vera, I love you, and I know that you wanted to see the Marker. But you should be at home resting." Seth said to her honestly. "Seth, I already told you. I feel fine. Listen, I love you, but I'm beginning to get the feeling where you don't trust me." Vera said to him. "Of course I trust you! I'm just worried about your well-being is all." Seth responded. "I know, I appreciate your concern but--" She was suddenly interrupted by a voice that belonged to Neumann. "Cortez? You're supposed to be laid up sick!" Neumann reminded her. "Abbott said I should come here, instead. And I feel better already." Vera said. Seth, however, thought otherwise. "This is crazy. What the fuck happened to 'I don't let it affect my work'?" Neumann asked, showing a little bit of aggravation. "The Marker changes everything, Bram. Honestly, I feel sorry for you. You don't understand what you missing." Vera told him. Seth was beginning to feel a little worried now. The Vera he knew never talked about Unitology like this. "I know exactly what this bullshit is about! I lost my wife to your fucked-up cult, remember?" Neumann yelled. 'Oh shit... He actually just went there.' Seth thought, knowing that this was only going to get worse. "Hey, hey! Is there a problem here?" Karll asked. "No, Karll. My partner just hasn't seen the light yet." Vera spoke in a calm tone. "'Seen the light'?! If Commander James catches you out here, all you're gonna see is your severance." Neumann said to her. "Some things are too important, Bram. Don't you see that?" Vera argued. Karll then got between them. "Think you better leave the lady alone, buddy." Karll warned him. Neumann fumed. "'Buddy'?! I'm P-Sec, you moron! And so is she! You're coming with me, Cortez. I'm booking you in for a psyche eval." Neumann declared as he grabs hold of Vera. "NO!" Vera screamed. "Okay, guys? How about we just calm down for a moment and talk this thro--" Seth tried to calm down to two but Abbott interrupted. "Let go of her! You have no right. Vera is here on her own free will." Abbott states firmly. "Free Will? My ass! Just what kind if scheme are you pulling here, Abbott?" Neumann questioned. "No scheme, Sergeant. This is our sacred calling." Abbott said to him. "Sacred bullshit. You don't even know if it's a real Marker! Hey, you guys! You're supposed to be guarding this thing. Give me some back up here." Neumann called out to Natalia and Jerry. "You're disturbing the prayer group. You should leave." Natalia spoke firmly. Neumann was dumbstruck at what she just said. "What? It's these idiots who should leave." Neumann argued with them. "No, I don't think so. Now get back in your crawler and go home." Jerry told him. Seth grabbed Neumann by the shoulder. "Neumann, just listen to them. The way I see it, things will only get worse if you argue with them. I promise you, Vera won't be out here much longer." He whispered to him. Neumann pondered this for a moment until Sciarello called out. "Come on, Neumann. They're not listening." Seth looked at Sciarello surprised. "Doc? When did you get here?" Seth asked him. "I hitched a ride with Neumann. And I don't want to be here a second longer." Sciarello explained as Neumann nodded. Soon both Neumann and Sciarello left the Dig Site. Seth turned to the group. "What the he'll was that?" He questioned. "What was What?" Abbott asked confused. "Don't 'what' me. It looked like you guys were about to attack him!" Seth accused. "Bram was going to take me away from the Marker." Vera stated. "Well I'm beginning to think he had the right idea. It's been a week since we found the Marker, and already people are beginning to lose it at the Colony." Seth told them. The Unitologists look at him. "Seth, the Marker us our salvation. The Marker will bring us a new life beyond death." Abbott informed him. "Last time I checked, Marker's don't give people insomnia and make them see things and go crazy!" Seth declared and sighed. "I'm going home. I've had enough of this craziness for one day." Seth said as he began to walk away. "Wait! I'm going with you. As you said before, I need to rest." Vera said to him. Seth smiled at this as they went into their crawler and drove home. P-Sec HQ; Seth was finishing up some paperwork. As soon as he finishes, he begins to record one of his audio logs. "This is Seth Rieger, Engineer First Class. P-Sec HQ, 10:40 p.m. One week since Marker discovery. Things have been crazy since we found the Marker. A man named Brant Harris, killed a nurse earlier this week. After that, people around started gaining Insomnia, including my girlfriend. Vera and I went with some Unitologists to visit the Marker, then Abraham Neumann came by with Dr. Sciarello. But something weird happened, first it was Neumann being aggressive. Then some of the Unitologists started showing aggression toward Neumann, then the guards started showing it! If Neumann didn't leave, a fight would've broken out. Later today, someone got past the guards and made a vid of the Marker, it was a hand held, not helmet cam and the I.D. was wiped. Then Natasha killed a minor named Carver after she refused to leave the Marker. They have her locked up in the Quad right now. I better go check on Vera after this. Seth Rieger, signing off." He stops recording and leans back in his chair sighing. 'What the he'll is going on?' He thought. He then heard a conversation starting. He left his desk to see what was going on. He saw Neumann and Commander James talking to Carthusia through the monitor. "I'm telling you, we need to just leave that thing alone and get the he'll out of here." Neumann said to Carthusia. "Officer Neumann--" "SERGEANT!" "-- This is a very important find." Carthusia continued after Neumann's outburst. "Important enough for people to die?" The Commander asked rhetorically. "You're reaching Commander. Some miners get the colony crazies, and suddenly it's because we found a rock?" Carthusia exclaimed. "Don't pull tgat shit with me, Hanford. We've got TWO dead already, and things are only getting worse. Who knows what the toll will be the end of the week? I strongly advised you call CEC and tell them we're pulling out." The Commander advised. "So let me get this straight. This operation has already cost hundreds of billions over two and a half years. Aegis VII has trillions of saleable resources. But now, in less than three weeks from Planetcrack, you want me to abort... Because a couple of miners died? I'll be very clear Commander. NOT A CHANCE. Besides, you'll get your wish. Just be patient." Carthusia states firmly to them. Neumann worked an eyebrow at Carthusia last statement. "What are you talking about?" He finally asked. "In four days' time, the artifact will be lifted and brought here, awaiting the Ishimura. When the ship arrives, it will be transferred on board." Carthusia explained to them. "You're bringing it binto the Colony? How much fucking damage do you wanna do?!" Neumann fumed. "Don't get hysterical, Sergeant." Carthusia advised. Seth decided that enough was enough and spoke up. "Um, excuse me?" Everyone's attention turned toward Seth. "I'm Seth Rieger, Engineer First Class, and, yes, a Unitologist... But if the Marker is causing the insomnia and the dementia to the miners, I highly protest bringing the Marker into the Colony." Seth informed. Carthusia pondered this as he was surprised to hear a Unitologist protest against bring the artifact into the Colony. "I appreciate your input, Mr. Rieger. But preparations have already been made." Carthusia explained. "Are you blind?" Neumann yelled. "Goodbye gentlemen. Thanks for your input." Carthusia said to them as he hangs up. Neumann looked at the Commander. "What the he'll do we do now?" He asked. "Brace ourselves." The Commander answered. Seth and Neumann left HQ to head back to their apartments. Neumann turned to Seth. "Hey, uh, just wanna say thanks for backing us up back there." Neumann says to him. "Its no problem, Neumann. If the Marker really is causing all of this, it's best to leave it where it is." He says says to Neumann. Neumann chuckles at this. "You have got to be the first Unitologist to ever question the Marker." Seth laughs at this and replied. "Yea, quite ironic, isn't it? Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow." Neumann waved goodbye as Seth enters his apartment, only to see Vera sitting at the side of the bed. Seth frowned and sat beside her. "Still can't sleep?" He asks her. "No, still can't sleep." She answers. Seth pulls her into a hug. "Its okay, I'm right here for you." Vera smiles at his words and looks up at him. An idea crossed her mind as she decided to pin him down and kiss him on the lips. Seth was surprised by this action but didn't resist as he kisses back. They remain like that throughout the night.

#Dead Space #Oc #Abraham Neumann #Vera Cortez #Deakin Abbott #Hanford Carthusia #Commander #Carver #Natalia Deshinov #Jerry #Katie #Tom Sciarello #Karll #Fanfiction

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 8 years ago

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Soft Names, Soft Touches

Chapter Eleven

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Bucky x OC | Word Count: 4.2K+

Warnings: Angst. Violence. Russian that may or may not be correct.

Franki sank onto the seat of the swing in Central Park and sobbed softly against the chain. Everything she knew was a lie. Everything she felt was only a fabrication by Hydra. Her serum, her body, all of it had been one big genetic experiment to create matches for the Winter Soldier program.

She was a broodmare.

The only reason they had trained her this well was so if her partner ever got too aggressive, she could defend herself long enough for help to arrive. She wasn’t a field operative and the missions they had wanted to send her on, the ones she’d always refused, had been breeding missions. She was supposed to entice her soldier into fucking her until she was pregnant, and then she would be put in stasis, a chemically induced coma so she couldn’t abort the child until the offspring was born and they could begin the cycle anew.

It made her sick.

They’d played with her pheromones, done something to her to make her sexually attractive to the winter soldiers. That was why they put her in the room that day. Not to kill her, but so he could beat her down long enough to fuck her. Only she’d fought to the bitter end, and they’d been afraid he would actually kill her so they’d pulled her out.

Then she’d healed and made herself very interesting. What if they could unlock her genetic code? Create a bevy of females that healed like she did? Imagine the soldiers they could create. They could put their altered females back in with the men in days rather than weeks.

“Oh god… we were nothing more than animals…” she whimpered, leaning her head against the chain.

But it hadn’t worked the way they wanted it to. The men were all too feral, too dangerous, and eventually killed their partner. Whether on purpose or by accident the reports didn’t say. She’d been the last, and they had screwed with her the most. They’d played with her chemical makeup. Changed it, messed it up, and had turned her into a walking weapon. A weapon aimed… at Bucky.

She didn’t know how they’d done it, but, somehow, they’d made her into the perfect woman for the first Winter Soldier. Her scent was altered to be something he couldn’t resist, and when his skin came in contact with hers, it released a chemical reaction that bound them together. The closer they got, the tighter the bond. If she had slept with him before his leaving… it could have been so much worse.

It had been Hydra’s plan all along to dump her on Bucky’s doorstep. From there it was only a matter of time before nature took its course, and then Hydra would have done everything to get her back.

And Bucky would have come for her, do anything they said to save her because he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself. She was a danger to him, and the farther away she was, the better. They hadn’t completed the bond yet, and if they stayed apart, it would, she hoped, fade. But for now, it fucking hurt.

“Hey? You okay? You need help?”

The voice was familiar, as was the flash of light over her face, and Franki looked up to find Officer Jack looking back.

“Franki Romanoff?” he murmured quietly, staring in horror at the woman. She looked absolutely devastated, and he took a step towards her. “Ma’am, are you alright? Do you need me to call the tower?”

“No!” she hollered, jerking upright. “Don’t call the tower. I am fine. I will go.” She got to her feet and nearly fell.

“Miss, if you’ll pardon my say so, you ain’t alright,” Jack murmured, moving to take her arm.

Jerking it away, Franki shook her head, tears streaming from her eyes. “Please… don’t… nothing good comes of people touching me.”

“Ma’am… Franki,” he said softly, watching her fold in on herself, “You got a place to stay tonight?”

“I’ll be fine.” She smiled for him, but it was a weak one.

“Course you will. You’re coming home with me. My wife will be pleased as punch to have you.” He motioned for her to join him. “Come on, now.” He didn’t know what had happened between her and her team, or her and Sergeant Barnes, but he wasn’t about to leave a clearly upset woman alone in Central Park; didn’t matter who she was.

She looked at him standing there, all of thirty-five if he was a day, but he had that look that she’d come to think of as the dad look. Steve wore it sometimes, or Tony, when they were trying to be patient, but they expected obedience. “I do not wish to be trouble.”

Her accent grew thick and made him smile. “No trouble. Promise.” Slowly, she walked out of the park, and carefully stepped over the fence with him. She moved like she was broken, but he couldn’t tell if it was physical or emotional damage. “We have to go through the park and a bit down the other side. You going to be alright?”

“I’ll be fine. Super… soldier….” She made to remind him but faltered when she remembered that wasn’t what she’d been made for.

“Hey, you want to talk about it? I’m a pretty fair listener,” he urged softly, heading home with what felt like a shadow in a red coat dogging him.

“No, thank you,” she murmured, head down, keeping pace.

“You change your mind…” he offered, but when she only looked away, he began to talk about anything and everything. Little antidotes of things he’d heard or seen in the park. Stories about people he’d met or arrested. Comments on things that had changed or stayed the same for years, until he came to the brick building that housed the apartment he shared with his wife and son. “It ain’t much, but its home.”

“It is quaint,” Franki murmured.

“Well, it’s no Stark Tower, that’s for sure,” Jack chuckled.

“I lived in an eight by ten cell for roughly thirteen years,” Franki mumbled, looking at the glowing windows, and wondering about the lives and the stories behind them. “This is nice.”

It wasn’t the information that caused his heart to plummet, no, it seemed all those who called themselves Avengers were destined for tragic backstories, but the way she said it. It was so off-the-cuff like it was normal in her world to have been kept like an animal for what must have been a good chunk of her life. “Come on,” he encouraged, holding open the door.

She stepped past him, taking in all points of entry, before following Jack up the stairs to his third-floor apartment. She wasn’t really sure why she’d agreed to follow him home like a lost puppy, but, maybe it was for just that very reason. A lost puppy was precisely what she felt like.

Opening the locks on his door, Jack stepped inside to a softly glowing stove light. “Looks like Tam’s already gone to bed, but I can make us some tea if you want?” He offered quietly, shrugging out of his jacket and placing it on the hook behind the door. He looked at her expectantly, but she only huddled deeper into the red wool. “Franki, you don’t mind if I call you Franki, right?” She shook her head, and he smiled. “You’re safe here. Why not take your coat off and stay awhile?”

He held out his hand, and she clutched the collars of her coat tightly before slowly shrugging it free and handing it over. It went on top of his, and when he motioned her to take a seat on the pea green sofa, she did so without fuss.

While he was busy in the kitchen, Franki had a quick look around, again noting the entrances and exits, but her eyes were drawn to all the brick-a-brack that sat on every flat surface. There were china dogs and painted ladies, and cats, and birds. There were crystal candy dishes and glass animals. On the back of the sofa was a colourful lap quilt that looked old and well loved. Pictures hung on the walls, family gatherings and outings.

A wedding photo had her looking swiftly away. That hollow feeling that had bloomed in her chest when Bucky was gone, returned with a vengeance and made it hard to breathe.

In the kitchen, Jack kept his hands busy making tea but took the time to send a quick text to his partner to get in touch with Stark Tower and let them know Franki Romanoff was safe and in his home. If she looked like this, he could only imagine what the others looked like.

When the kettle boiled, he filled the cups and returned to find her staring at one of his wife’s weird statues with a funny look on her face. “Tam calls it collecting. I call it hoarding.” He chuckled softly, setting the cup down in front of Franki and sitting across from her.

“Are they always this…”

“Go ahead, you can say it. They’re hideous.” He chuckled again and sipped at his tea.

Picking up her cup, Franki quelled the quick twitch of her lips. “Do you always invite strangers home with you in the dead of night, Jack?”

“Only strangers I know,” he quipped back, head turning when he heard the squeak of floorboards. “Why don’t you come out and say hello, Jimmy.”

Franki’s eyes darted to the partially opened door where the fuzzy blond head poked through. The boy was no more than five and was absolutely precious in his soft grey jammies with the red stars all over them. It slammed through her that these were his Bucky Barnes pajamas, and she had to quickly swipe a tear away. “Hello, Jimmy,” she murmured, her voice raspy.

Shooting her a glance, Jack wondered if she had issues with kids, but the look on her face was the same one she’d worn for Barnes. Evidently, his son had captured another feminine heart, this one an Avenger. “Jimmy, this nice lady is Franki Romanoff. She works with Sergeant Barnes.”

His sweet, cherub face lit up when he looked at her and matched the charming voice. “You know Bucky Barnes!?”

His eyes were huge, and she nodded slowly. When Jack had turned his son to face her, she felt her heart clench in her chest for the little boy’s left sleeve hung empty. But his eyes were big and bright, so full of excitement that she couldn’t help but smile. How could someone so small be so adorable already? “I do, yes.”

“My daddy brought me a picture! I like Bucky! He’s my favourite Avenger.”

His enthusiasm made her smile, even though her heart shattered. “Me too,” she whispered. Was it any wonder Bucky was his favourite?

“Are you an Avenger, too?” he asked, eyes big and round.

“I am…” or, at least, she had been. “I’m the one they call Reaper,” she murmured and pulled her hood up over her head. The display came to life, and she found multiple messages from all the team, begging her to come back. They could figure this out, work it out together, and when the little red flashing notice read tracking she murmured, “Friday… I can’t yet. Please. I need time.” The notice turned off, and she sighed, “Thank you.” Pushing back her hood, she looked tiredly at Jack. “Can I use your phone?”

“Sure!” he leapt up, his son in his arms, and found her the cordless one. “Here you go!” He took Jimmy and headed into the kitchen to give her a semblance of privacy.

Franki dialled a number she knew by heart and was unsurprised when it rang only once. “Sestra.”

“Sestranka! Where are you? Are you alright? I’m coming to get you.” Natasha was on her feet and turned for the door when the phone was wrenched from her hand.

“Franki? Tell me where you are!” Bucky demanded.

“Bucky…” a sob broke free.

It made his heart ache. “Moya zvezdochka, come home. We can work this out together.”

“Did you read it?” she whispered.

“Da.”

“Then you know why I can’t. I’m a danger to you. You can’t be with me.” A second sob broke from her, and she pressed her hand to her mouth.

“That’s not true! Come home, Francessca!”

“Nothing you feel for me is real. It’s all lies! I won’t be your weakness, Bucky. I won’t!” She hung up the phone and collapsed over her knees, sobbing into her arms. It felt like she'd just torn out her own soul.

It took her a few moments to notice the slight weight on her shoulder that was stroking down her arm, almost as if it was petting her. When she turned to look, little Jimmy patted her arm.

“It’s okay to be sad,” he said, tears dripping from his eyes. “I’m sad cause my Pop-Pop went to heaven. Sometimes Nonna cries when she thinks I’m napping. She calls tears liquid memories.” Pushing at her arms, he crawled up on her knee. “Are you and Bucky fighting? My momma and daddy do, sometimes, but then they say sorry and kiss each other, and everything is all better.”

His big hazel eyes looked up at her with such trust, such sincerity, she started to cry all over again and hugged the little boy tightly. Something about him soothed a part of the hollowness inside her; his innocence like nothing she’d ever known. “It’s not that simple,” she murmured into his crown of golden fuzz. “I’m bad for him. He won’t be safe with me around.”

“Sergeant Barnes can handle anything! He’s the Winter Soldier!” Jimmy stated, thinking it strange that she would worry for someone so strong.

Tucking her face down in his hair, she breathed in a scent that she would never forget. How was it possible for a trust to have a smell? Or hope? Or love? Yet, this boy in her arms smelled like all of the above. “You’re a good boy, Jimmy. Thank you.” He snuggled closer, and she lightly stroked his back.

They stayed that way for a while, his breathing slow and steady, and his presence in her arms a soothing one. Jack drank his tea in companionable silence, not asking though she knew he wanted to until a knock came at the door.

Looking sharply to Jack, Franki murmured, “You expecting anyone?” This was not the time of night one got random callers at the door.

“No.” He shook his head.

Getting up slowly, careful of the little boy who’d fallen back to sleep, she handed him to his father. “Go into the room with your wife. Lock the door and don’t come out until I tell you it is safe.” She tucked the phone down with him. The knock came a second time, and she mouthed the words "who is it?"

“Who is it?” Jack called out.

“Jack? It’s Ronny. Let me in.”

“Ronny?” That was weird. “Just give me a sec to put Jimmy down. I’ll be right there.” He looked into the suddenly cold silver eyes of Franki and shivered as he confessed, “I told him to call the tower, tell them you were here and safe. That was it.”

“How long has he been your partner?”

“Couple of years.” But… when Shield had fallen after Hydra had been outed, they’d all learned the evil organization was good at blending in. “There’s a handgun on top of the fridge in a lockbox. Key is hanging there.” He nodded his head toward the wall. “Franki…”

“No, Jack. Keep your family safe. You redial that last number. That’s Natasha. Tell her code red, and she will find me with the snow cats.” She pushed him towards the door on the other side of the kitchen and reached for the lock box. A quick tug snapped the lock, and he stared at her, amazed before she gave a sharp jerk of her head. “Go!” she hissed, turning to pull knives out of the block beside the stove. The door shut behind him, and she heard the lock snick before something heavy landed in front of the door.

Flicking her hood up, she looked towards the hallway. There were five men out there. Five Hydra agents, she just knew it, and she stepped closer to Jack’s bedroom door. “Jack, make that call. Do it now.” She could just hear him talking as she turned out the stove light and skated into shadows, making her way to the door. Removing the chain as silently as she could, Franki grabbed the lock and whispered to Friday, “I need to sound like Jack.”

“Go ahead.” The AI said.

“Come on in, Ronny. Just keep it down. Franki fell asleep on the couch.” She turned the deadbolt and leapt up to sit nimbly on top of the curio cabinet behind the door. It banged inwards, the men swarming with weapons drawn, but she waited until the last one was through before slamming it shut and leaping into the darkness.

Two went down with knives through their necks, the third took one in the thigh that she wrenched out and swiped across his throat. He fell through Jack’s coffee table, taking out a host of Tam’s collectables.

The fourth managed to fire his weapon. The bullet slammed into her side causing heat to erupted along her skin. It fractured a rib, tore through her liver, and exited out the back according to Friday and Franki knew it was bad. The amount of blood that poured down her side was a terrible thing.

She shot him point blank in the chest. The last one was Ronny, and she sank back into the shadows to buy some time, pressing her hand against the front of her wound. “Hydra send you?”

“Like you don’t already know,” he scoffed, turning a circle to find her.

“They going to try and use me against Bucky?”

“Well, look at you go, sweetheart. Got it in one,” he sneered, swinging his gun towards a shadow he thought had moved.

“I refused to be Hydra’s pawn for thirteen years. I’m sure as hell not going to be their pawn now, and I will never let them use me against Bucky!” Stepping up behind him out of the dark, she grabbed his head and gave it a quick, concise twist to the right. The snap was most gratifying.

As his body fell, she dashed to the windows that overlooked the street. More men had arrived, most in tactical gear, all packing weapons. “Jack!” she called out. “You’re going to need to move your family. I’m sorry about the mess. I’ll make sure it’s handled. Your partner was a Hydra agent.”

A female voice called back, “I knew there was something wrong with him!”

“Tam, not now.” Jack sighed. Shoving the dresser from the door, he walked into the kitchen. “Well… damn…” he whistled. There were five dead people in his living room.

“You may not want your wife to see…” but the woman in the pink nightgown was already striding into the room, Jimmy’s face tucked firmly against her chest with her hand over his eyes. The little boy didn't even whimper, and she was impressed with how tough he was.

“Honey, I’m retired Army Ranger. You go, girl!” Tam grinned.

A smile worked its way onto Franki’s face. “You three better get out of here. You got a neighbour you can go to?”

“Right in here, sweetie! I heard all that commotion. You three come with me.”

Came a voice from the hall and Franki turned to see a woman, who had to be seventy if she was a day, open the door and wave them over. “Good, go. I’ll get them to follow me. They’re not after you. Did you speak with Nat?” she asked, stepping into the hallway and grabbing for the wall when her vision dimmed.

“Jesus, Franki! You’re bleeding!” Jack reached for her, and she stepped away. “You need help!”

“Friday?” The suit sealed over. “I’ll be fine. Get going.”

He shook his head, but she shoved him in the door of his neighbour's apartment. “I will not be responsible for you ending up dead! Stay here and stay quiet!” She’d barely gotten the door shut when the ones at either end of the hall slammed open.

Diving back through the doorway, she jumped over the dead men and went straight through the glass window onto the fire escape, making as much racket as possible. More agents were climbing up, and she shot the front-runner through the eye causing him to fall back and domino the rest. Darting up the stairs, she muttered, “Friday, I need options!” Calculating flashed a few times before a route was mapped out that led to the zoo and the snow leopard pen. “Da!”

Climbing quickly, she made for the roof.

Bucky placed Natasha’s phone down with extreme care. It was that or throw the thing as hard as he could. “She won’t come back. Says it was all lies. Nothing we feel is real.”

“Horseshit!” Helen snapped from her place before the computer.

“Doctor?” Tony asked, intrigued.

“She clearly didn’t read these through or didn’t understand what she was reading. Her skin and your skin react to each other, release pretty potent pheromones, and are creating a chemical bond.”

“What?” Bucky gasped.

“She’s your chemically perfect match. It was what they were trying to create with the other pairs, but here’s the kicker. This program of Hydra's? It didn’t work. Not with any of the other subjects and they were abandoning it. She was slated to be terminated the same day you rescued her. Originally they had planned to mess with her systems and drop her on you, but when the reconditioning continued to fail, and then none of the other pairs worked, they gave up.”

Helen turned to look at them all staring at her with different levels of stunned confusion. “Don’t you get it? Hydra has no idea that Franki is Bucky’s match! They haven’t got any clue that she literally holds the keys to his sanity! Look at this!” She drew up medical scans of Bucky that Friday had been compiling. “Testosterone, elevated. Cortisol, elevated. His whole damn endocrine system is going into overdrive! If you don’t get her back here, he’s liable to go into a rage, become highly aggressive, and will continue to be so without thought or desire for anything else.”

“What are you saying, doc?” Steve finally asked, needing the clarification, but he was pretty sure he knew what she meant. She’d basically describe the last three weeks.

“I’m saying…” Helen sighed, passing a hand over her face. “It’s too late. Whatever Franki thought she was saving you both from by running… it’s too late. She’ll do more damage than good at this point. But she’s wrong when she says what you feel are lies. Tony told me you two got together around the same time I did my last batch of tests?” Bucky nodded, and she smiled. “Then what you feel is most certainly real. Did you have feelings for her before touching her?”

“Well, yeah…” Bucky murmured.

“And did you ever come in contact with her skin before then?”

“No.” Bucky knew it for certain. Francessca didn’t like to be touched, and he’d respected that until things between them had changed.

“How you feel about someone has little to do with pheromones. Sure they can make that person more attractive to you, but they can’t make you fall in love. Shit, if you were going to fall victim to some Hydra shenanigans, some chemical pairing they planned to make you compliant by taking away your woman, you would have succumbed to your hormonal urges within a week of meeting her. Hell, we are all susceptible to pheromones. You’re with her because you want to be, right?” Again the man who was the Winter Soldier nodded. “Then for god's sake go get her!” She jerked up another screen, showing the same readings for Franki. “Just like with you and all your aggression, she needs you to balance her too, but she goes the other way. For her…” Helen pulled up the video from the pool, the one Tony had sent her and showed it to Bucky. “It becomes extreme grief.”

Bucky's heart plummeted to his feet as he watched her cry her eyes out. “Steve…”

“We’ll find her, Buck,” Cap said. “Trace on that call?”

“Narrowed to a five-block area. She’s on the other side of the park,” Sam muttered.

“Her suit just came online again!” Tony called out, working fast to make certain he could pinpointing her location before she shut the tracking down again. “Got it!” He smacked his hand down on the console and had his latest Iron Man suit crawl up his arm.

Nat’s phone rang in her hand, and she quickly answered it. “Franki?”

“Natasha Romanoff? This is Officer Jack O’Shea, I met Franki and Sergeant Barnes in Central Park about four weeks ago. She’s been at my place tonight. I was told to call and tell you code red, you’ll find her with the snow cats.”

“Dammitl! How the hell did they find her before we did? Thank you, Officer. We're on our way.” She ended the call. “Everyone gear up! Hydra’s after Franki!”

“I thought you said they didn’t know!?” Bucky snarled at Dr. Cho.

“They don’t, but that doesn’t mean they won’t still try and use her against you. Your relationship isn’t exactly a secret!” Helen shouted back.

“Neither of you are helping matters!” Tony stepped between them. “Barnes! She needs us! Hurry up! I’m going on ahead.” Before anyone could say otherwise, he flew out the window that opened in the ceiling.

Next chapter

#avengers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #fanfiction #winter soldier fic #winter soldier #soft names #avengers #avengers au

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donaldresslerfanfic · 4 years ago

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Up.

Rating: M

Word Count: 3160

Donald Ressler X OC Maggie Waters.

Chapter: Seventy-Six

Chapter Index

Story on Wattpad

Ressler.

I locked the bathroom door behind me and opened the faucet, splashing water on my face.

I felt hot and cold at the same time, I felt like I was about to faint. It was amazing how much a phrase had fucked me up, today of all days.

"Samar and I are leaving" Aram said pulling me to the side "I got a message from the hospital, they said Liz woke up"

Liz woke up, and I didn't know if I should be happy or a little sad. My job now was the perfect clash between two worlds, between me being able to still do my job as an agent, and not having to put my family aside for a case, no surprise trips, no people constantly wanting to kill my partners, not the occasional overwhelming sensation of putting everyone I loved in danger.

I dried my face with a towel and took a deep breath before opening the door again and exiting the bathroom. I walked back out, taking the paper plates I intended to reach to Maggie before I got the news, then walked out to the back yard.

Maggie was standing next to the table with the cake, talking with one of her aunt's who'd come from Maryland to Alma's first birthday. Surprisingly enough Maggie hadn't gone all out for Alma's birthday, saying that the kid wasn't going to remember it. She just made a good cake, and since it was the dead of summer we made a huge outside BBQ party for her, pool included for the kids and everyone who wanted to take a shot at it.

I placed the plates next to her on the take, she looked at them and took one, looking to start serving the cake, we'd already done the happy birthday thing and Alma had already messed her and Maggie's cute dresses with cake frosting.

Everything had been just fine, I had been excited for the birthday, excited to see my girl all grown up, she was more like a little girl each passing day, she just babbled and said made up words in her own language. I was trying so hard for her first word to be Mom and not Dad, I didn't know why but I felt like Mags deserved it more than I did.

I was like a robot the rest of Alma's party, dragged things from one place to the other, quietly helped clean up the table, every time someone asked me a question I answered shortly, I was so mind boggled with this whole thing.

I mean, what was going to happen now? Was Liz going to be ok to operate? Was she going to want to keep operating? Just the thought of someone telling her that it had been a little over 10 months and that her husband was now dead made me sick to my stomach.

I don't know exactly when, but at some point there was no one else at the house, night time was falling upon us, and I was absorbed into my own thoughts, cleaning a tray that I was sure was already cleaned, but I needed to be doing something.

"We lost your there" I heard Maggie say next to me, I gave her a quick look and continued.

"I was here" I tried to answer nonchalantly.

"Yeah, and then we sang Happy birthday and you like, shut down, what happened?"

I have her a quick twist of my lips, as if I didn't know what she was talking about.

"Hey" she said leaning in and shutting down the stream of water, I looked at her and put the tray aside to dry. "What happened?"

I looked back and took a quick step to the kitchen stool, sitting on it heavily.

"Aram got a call, Liz woke up" she walked a short step to me, her arms crossed at her chest.

"Well, that's great news"

"Are they?" I said a little too defensively "is she going to be the same? Is anything going to be the same? Are we going to go back to work? And what if Liz doesn't want to go back to work?"

"Wow, okay" she interrupted me, placing both hands on my shoulders. She had a little smile, like I was overreacting, but I felt my chest swell up again and I took a deep breath, trying to release some pressure. "Are you going to the hospital?"

"No" I said instantly "what for? They're not going to tell me anything and besides, it's my daughter's birthday"

"She's not going to know that you left for an hour"

"I'll know"

She tried to hide a little chuckle, cupping my cheek and placing her other hand on my neck.

"I understand that these news have shaken you up as bit, tomorrow you'll see things more clearly, why don't you head to rest?"

I shook my head instantly, standing up from the stool.

"No, I'm too anxious for that, where's Alma?"

"Alma?" Maggie called out, we heard rustling of clothes and paper from the living room. "Where are you?" She asked again, walking to the living room, I walked behind her, finding Alma crawling on the floor. "There you are" she looked up and gave us a quick look, resuming her shuffling to where we were, she grabbed onto Maggie's leg and pulled herself up, Mags caught her halfway and pulled her on her arms, fixing her dress. "Can you believe it's been a year already?" She asked me quietly.

"Mm, how about we go out and get some ice cream? Mm? Alma?" She gave me a look, fully comprehending what ice cream meant, then she smiled. "Okay, let's get in the car" I said patting my pockets, feeling my keys and my wallet, I only needed my phone. Before I turned to to kitchen to look for it, Maggie handed me Alma.

"Take her for ice cream, then go to the hospital"

"I-"

"Yes, go to the hospital or you're sleeping in the guest room, I'm not going to have you roll around in bed all night" I was about to say something again, but she tilted her head, making me stop.

"Fine" I said giving up "say bye to your mom" I said to Alma, she looked at Mags, then lifted her hand, waving it goodbye. I smiled at her and have her a kiss on the temple.

I did took Alma for ice cream because I knew even though she couldn't talk, she was fully aware of what we were doing, and that ice cream was a thing that was happening soon. I had her sat on a high chair, and since she knew how to eat, she didn't need my help with anything.

"Is it good?" I asked, she just gave me a look, then nodded. I was never going to stop being amazed at how big she was, how far away she was from that little thing I held a year ago, how her big greens weren't even open at this time last year.

I searched from my phone on my pocket, realizing just now that I hadn't picket it up at the house. I wasn't going to go to the hospital, and I was planning on calling Aram whilst I was here.

I let out an angry sigh, knowing that this wasn't going to let me sleep at night, Alma looked at me, giving me a confused look.

"What do you think I should do? If I go to the hospital it's not like they're going to tell me anything, they'll probably tell me that it's too soon to know, they have to run some tests, that time would tell, and what I Liz doesn't want to work anymore, and what's worse, what if she can't? What if her injuries are so..." I sighed, leaning in to clean Alma's chin with her bib.

"Let's just go home" I said, lifting Alma from the high chair. She gave me whine when I took the empty cup and threw it, and I knew she was about to start crying, partly because she must've been tired as well, she had been up all day.

It didn't surprise me when I looked at the rearview mirror and saw her fast asleep in the back seat. I thought for a second that the sugar was going to keep her up, but getting her in the car to make her sleep still worked like a dream.

I parked the car in the garage, and after I tried my hardest not to wake up the kid as I took off her clothes and placed her on the bed, I headed to the bedroom. Weirdly enough Maggie wasn't in bed. It didn't take me long to find her. She was finishing up having some dinner in the kitchen island.

"Mmm" she said after seeing me, chewing and covering her mouth with her hand "can you believe I ate nothing during the birthday?"

I stood at the other side of the counter, one look was needed for her to figure out that I hadn't gone to the hospital, making her give me mix of a scolding and comprehensive look.

"I was going to call Aram to ask if he knew anything"

"Calling is not the same as actually going, and assessing everything for yourself "

"I'm fine" I said after a few seconds of silence "going out for a few minutes was helpful"

She walked towards the door of the kitchen, I followed suit towards the bedroom.

"That and the plus of talking to someone who doesn't talk back"

"Enjoy it while it lasts" she opened the door of Alma's bedroom quietly when we walked past it, giving the little one a look and checking if she wasn't awake. There had been a few times when I had walked in and saw her standing in the crib, holding herself up by grabbing onto the bars.

When she was satisfied we reached the bedroom and smiled at her when she began to bat her hands on her face.

"Oh my God I don't want to cry" I heard her whisper, she turned to me with a little smile "you know when you two left I like, uploaded a few pictures of the birthday and stuff and in my memories it showed up pictures of her when she was just born and I started crying in the couch because..." She fell quiet, shaking her head a little, I walked a little step to her and held her by the shoulders. "I sometimes still can't believe that this is my life. And I know that you're fucked up over Liz and her whole thing and I know that keeps you awake at night sometimes but..."

I gave her a smile, rubbing her shoulders as she smiled.

"You have the right to brag about us, and to be proud of what you have" she nodded at me, then leaned in for a short kiss.

"I'm going to bed I'm..." She let out a tired puff or air whilst turning to the bed. "exhausted, I should've asked for that day off tomorrow"

I followed suit, and did managed to get some sleep after maybe two hours of being wide awake.

I'd completely forgotten about my phone when I came home one more time, and I ended up waking up when Maggie's alarm rung. I had a whole routine that started maybe two hours before Mags woke up. Usually at this time I would be on my way back from my run and hopped into a quick shower. Now I was waking up when Maggie was. She yawned after she shut down the alarm, giving me a confused look when I jumped out of bed.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, groggily sitting on the bed.

"My alarm didn't rang because I didn't get my phone last night" I said exiting the bedroom quickly.

I felt so unhinged right now, like nothing was going my way.

I must've been looking for my phone for half and hour, trying to make memory on where'd put it last, I didn't find it, and I was weird to see Mags all cleaned up and ready to go, placing Alma in the baby chair near the island.

"I could call your phone if you didn't have it on silence"

The landline rung, and Maggie picked it up whilst I checked under the couch.

"You know when I was young I had my friend's mom's to look up as examples for what a mother was, and they always did this thing where, say, something went missing and they were like "I bet when I look for it I'll find it", and it's like a superpower I think I need to start like developing" she motioned at the hall with her hand "so why don't you go and take a shower and I'll look for your phone, because Jim is coming to pick you up right now"

I assume that James, my current partner, had called me to tell me he was coming to pick me up and head to do what we did, ground work for maybe start a case or maybe some follow up on another.

I gave up and headed to take a shower. I don't want to think that all of this could've been avoided if I'd just gone to the hospital, I didn't believe in butterfly effects.

When I walked out all dressed up and feeling a little bit more collected I could hear the both of them talking, more than likely about me, from the hallway.

"I think I would've done the same. And I obviously don't know Ressler as much as you do, but I wouldn't go either, if I'm not getting a definitive answer then what's the point? I think it's a guy thing"

Even not looking at her right now I could see her eyes roll.

"But if he's-" James stopped talking when I walked in, giving me a little look as he drank some coffee.

"Found it" Maggie said proudly pointing at my phone "it was outside, baking in the heat, and it's out of battery"

I gave Maggie a thankful nod, then looked at James.

"I assume I have a few missed calls from you"

"2 maybe. We're not to far out, that's why I came to pick you up"

I nodded leaning in to kiss Maggie shortly.

James and I were walking down the path of my house towards the car when he stopped and turned to face me.

"Hey Ressler, i-"

"I'm fine" I interrupted.

He dodged my gaze for a second, then gave me a little smile.

"We've got a search warrant, and a location on Blanco, we're heading there now, and I'm talking full Kevlar, SWAT team... And I can't trust you if your head is not 100 percent on this"

"I am, you don't have to worry about me, I can compartmentalize"

I liked James as a partner, he reminded me of myself when I first got the Reddington case, I was always focused, determined, relentless, although sometimes I did think that he was an adrenaline junkie, and the fact that he didn't have a family always made me think like he could one day take a risk that was too big for his own good. But like me, he had been in a classified taskforce before and he wasn't allowed to talk about it, which put me in the position of not having to talk about mine. We were good together, and I'd almost forgotten what it was like to partner up with another man. The two women I'd partnered with were both fierce, I wasn't going to deny that, but working with another man was different.

Over the course of that day, between smoke grenades, raids, and maybe one too many bullets hitting me on my bulletproof jacket, I made my way to the hospital after I finished with my day.

The last time I went to see Liz it was maybe six months ago, and to me time hadn't passed by fast, but looking at Liz now, it felt like 10 years had suddenly piled on her. She was much skinnier, she had big black bags under her eyes, her gaze was lost, I couldn't imagine what was going through her head.

I talked to the doctors before going in, they'd told me that besides the muscular atrophy from being bedridden for ten months was the only thing to be worried about, Liz would be like new after a few months of rehabilitation. She didn't have any memory loss, but she was prone to suffer from some sort of depression or PTSD, which was understandable.

Liz's eyes darted to me when I opened the door, she gave me the weakest smile she could, I reciprocated, walking slowly to her.

"I'm not going to ask any obvious questions, I just wanted to see you, let you know that I'm here for anything you need"

I sat uncomfortably in the chair next to her.

"I wish that I could say-"

"You don't have to say anything" she said with a weak and scruffy voice.

I gave her a sad smile, then leaned in to place my hand on her shoulder, rubbing it supportingly.

"How's your daughter?" She asked. I was a little taken a back, I mean, I doubted she cared, but at the same time I must've guessed that she would talk about anything in the world other than the events that had happened, she probably hadn't processed anything in the time she'd been awake.

"She's fine, she turned one yesterday" I answered rapidly, realizing I'd spent maybe too much time quiet. "Want to see a photo?" I pulled my phone out of my inner pocket and pressed a few icons on the screen, producing the latest photos I had of Alma. As I showed her one and was about to scroll to the next one, my phone vibrated in my hand. I looked at James' number flashing in the screen, then gave Liz an apologetic look.

"Ressler" I answered turning away a little.

I could barely hear James' voice over the police sirens and car horns.

"The transportation team got ambushed, the three we caught today are at large, we need everyone searching, the first hour is important"

"Yeah" I said standing up, I gave Liz a look, she just gave me a little smile and waved me, I gave her a nod and walked rapidly out of the hospital.

If anything, going to see Liz hadn't brought me as much comfort as I thought it would. I felt as if I needed to work things out for her, give her answers, but the only one who had them was Reddington, and sure has hell wasn't going to give them to me.

#donald ressler #donald ressler x oc #the blacklist #the bl fanfic #donald ressler fanfic

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3one3 · 7 years ago

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The Sequel - 885

RIP Thomas Müller

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“Why don’t you ever do photoshoots in an outfit like this? I would like those prints.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t like anyone else seeing them.”

“That’s true. You’re much too sexy for anyone but me.”

“Where do you most want to kiss me right now?”

“Am I allowed to touch?”

“You can point.”

André pointed to the inside of his girl’s right breast- a feature prominently displayed by her Marco Reus-approved lingerie. He’d already considered how weird it was that his friend saw her in the black outfit before he did. He loved the look, and the way it barely covered Christina’s chest. He liked the brief part too, because it emphasized how tiny her waist was. But it was actually the sheer robe that really did it for him, and he had no idea why. Even her makeup turned him on, which was weird because she didn’t change it between dinner and bed. At dinner her smoky black eye and nude pink lip and yards of lush lashes were just beautiful and complementary for her gorgeous blues. They turned explicitly seductive with the robe.

Christina said he wasn’t permitted to touch her anywhere yet. She sat on his thighs in bed and touched him- everywhere, really, but mostly around his chest, and stomach, and below that- but he wasn’t allowed to touch or kiss her. Her warm, soft hands were doing plenty to make good on the visual stimulus caused by her body and the fabric it was wrapped in. She talked a lot too, about how handsome he was, and how sexy his body was, and how his cute smiles made her feel. Her hair was big and fluffy and she kept playing with it- something both players in her love life found an incredible turn on. Her obvious delight in teasing him was kind of exciting too.

“How much longer are you going to sit there stroking in slow motion?” he questioned when the previous answer garnered no change in her behavior.

“I dunno. How much longer can you-“

“Mommy! Daddy! I need to come in,” a very panicked and unwelcome little voice shouted at its maximum volume at the locked bedroom door. The little boy it belonged to was supposed to be sound asleep.

“Oh come on,” Christina pouted, shoulders slumped.

“Is this going to be a thing now?” André asked with almost equal frustration.

“Daddyyyyyyy!” Lukas whined. The urgency coming through the door did earn some sympathy. His dad knew he was really upset or scared when he called him that way. Daddy saved him from the really terrible stuff. Mommy was for everything else, or for after the terrible thing happened.

“Go see what he wants,” he told her.

“I don’t want him to see me in this!”

“You want him to see this instead?” The player gestured with both hands at his erection and frowned. She told him to put his briefs back on and picked them up off the end of the bed for him, then hid herself under the comforter.

“Daddy’s coming!” she assured the unhappy child who was continually trying to pull on the door handle.

“The monster in his room better be really scary,” André grumbled as he tried to pull on his underwear and walk at the same time. He unlocked the door and then opened it carefully in case Lukas was still holding onto the other handle. His son ran through the opening as soon as it was big enough for him, and hugged his legs. “What’s wrong, Mausi?”

“Thomas Müller!”

“No, sweetie, he’s okay now,” Christina assured. “He scored the other night. His new manager loves him, I promise.”

“He’s not-“ Lukas was devolving into tears, and that came with hiccups that made it difficult for him to speak. “Swimming! He’s not swimming!”

“He means the fish, Prinzessin.” André bent in half to rub the child’s back. His panic was making him hot, even through his penguin pajamas. Why did his fish have to die the night she wears new lingerie and wants to tease me, the footballer complained to himself. Why was he even awake to see that the fish is dead?

“He’s probably just sleeping...” his girl tried.

“Nooo! Help him!” Lukas wasn’t buying it.

“Okay, I’ll go check on him,” Dad replied. “You stay with Mommy.” He picked him up, kissed his head, and delivered him to his mother for additional comforting, and hopefully calming, but he was already afraid he was getting himself into trouble. What am I supposed to do if it’s dead? Just take the bowl out of his room and tell him he’s at the fish doctor? Chris is so much better at this kind of thing. She’s more creative. This is so uncomfortable, André grumbled, adjusting himself on the way to Lukas’ room. The turtle nightlight’s glow reached all the way into the hallway.

He fully expected to find the sizeable goldfish floating upside down in his bowl on the shelf, so it was a surprise to find the bowl empty but for the ugly bottom-feeder fish they got to keep things clean, and an even bigger surprise to discover Thomas Müller on the carpet. Did he commit suicide? Chris said she had suicidal fish when she was a kid. Is he actually dead? Lemme... The BVB man carefully gripped the orange creature by the tail fin and lifted him for a loser inspection. He looks pretty dead, but...lemme just see if he’s just out of it... He eased it back into the water and leaned down, hands on knees, to see if it would reanimate. It didn’t. It just floated sideways.

“Rest in peace, Thomas Müller,” André sighed. What do I tell Mausi now? He lived a good life and he’s in a better bowl now? Do we do a funeral and bury him in the garden? I guess I should get him out of there before the vacuum fish starts eating him. He reached back into the bowl with his fingers and managed to grab the fish, but it was slimy and slipped out of his grip onto the floor. Where did he go? It’s so dark in- Hey, did Mausi take him out of the water in the first place, he wondered. His son said the fish wasn’t swimming, and he figured he probably would have mentioned it if the reason he wasn’t swimming was that he was lying on the carpet, so he considered that maybe Lukas reached in to poke at it or something and then dropped it on the floor like he’d just done. The stack of books down there made him think of it. Is he smart enough to pull his books from there and make a step so he can reach into the fishbowl? Am I going to have to deal with him being convinced that he killed his fish now? And where is the fucking fi- “Oh fuck.” There was a wet, squishing sensation under his left foot, which was very much in the shadow zone created by the giant stuffed giraffe blocking the nightlight. Disgusting. Ugh, so disgusting. His gag reflex kicked in and overwhelmed the worry over how to explain to his son that his fish was not only deceased, but smooshed into the rug. He knew there were wipes in the top drawer of the dresser, so he hopped over and got one to at least get the fish mush off his foot so he could then hop down the hall to the bathroom and thoroughly wash away the evidence. Cleaning the dead fish out of the carpet was a problem he thought best addressed by his wife.

“Babe?” she called when she saw the bathroom light go on in the hall. “Is Thomas Müller okay? Does he need a doctor?” She was trying to set him up with something to tell Lukas, to buy them time. If we say we’re sending him to the doctor it gives us a day to figure out how to explain death, the rider reasoned. Please be smart enough to see the assist I’m laying on for you right now, boyfriend.

“Uhhh, just a second!” André turned the water on for a few seconds to get it warm, and then wet some wadded up toilet paper with hand soap to scrub his foot. Then he chucked it in the toilet and flushed so that the bathroom wouldn’t smell like dead fish. The sound evoked immediate panic for Christina. Oh god- Is he- He better not be flushing him! You can’t do that to a kid! You have to let him see the dead thing or he never understands! “Hi,” André said in the doorway a second later, unsure of how to communicate the situation to her with Lukas right there. The little boy looked over at him from Mom’s lap with a tear-streaked face and tons of expectation.

“Did you help?” he asked, pleading almost.

“Uhhh...I...well...”

“Is he sick? Did you put him in the plastic bag so he doesn’t get the other fish sick before we can take him to the hospital?” Christina asked leadingly. Her own expression was just as pleading. She was begging him to follow her plotline.

“Uhh yeah. He’s not feeling well and he needs to be alone, Mausi, like when Mommy was sick a few weeks ago. I...er...I’ll drop him at the doctor in the morning.”

“He’ll get better?” his son asked.

“We’ll see,” Mom hastened to reply before her partner could say something that would dig them in deeper. “Goldfish don’t live very long, sweetheart. Why don’t we get you back into bed, and-“

“Actually, I need some Mausi hugs first,” André interjected, eyes wide. He then hurried into bed and held his arms out so that Lukas could sit in his lap, and he grabbed his phone to type out an explanation for what he considered a borderline inexplicable situation. “Fish was dead. Accidentally dropped him on the floor, then accidentally stepped on him-“ She’s going to think I’m an idiot, he realized, lifting his eyes from the screen to glare at the wall across the room. She’s going to think he wasn’t even dead until I squished him into the carpet. How about... “He was on the floor. Looked pretty dead. I put him back in the water just in case, but he was really dead so I tried to take him back out, dropped him on the floor, and accidentally stepped on him. Also, Lukas piled books to stand on and maybe took him out of the water in the first place. You need to go clean him out of the carpet. Sorry. You can sit on my face until you come as many times as you want. Sorry.” The iPhone was passed over to the rider with cringing trepidation.

Christina’s brows moved closer and closer together as she read the screen. He watched over Lukas’ shoulder, since the upset little boy was clinging around his neck. He saw her look up for a second and then re-read the couple of sentences. Then she turned and mouthed “what the fuck?” at him. His eyes got big again, and he shrugged. Christina scowled.

“I’ll be right back...” she muttered before climbing out of bed and scurrying into her dressing room to change. There was no way she was scraping a dead goldfish out of the rug in $1500 worth of Agent Provocateur lingerie. The night was officially ruined beyond repair, and it really upset her. She really wanted a sexy, romantic evening with her partner- in part because it was just fun and in part because she felt they might need it. They were doing great on all the parts of being together except that one, and Christina was always wary that she was

letting her sexual relationship with Juan negatively influence her sexual relationship with her husband.

André let Lukas watch TV while she cleaned, hoping that it would help calm him down. He was still very worried about his pet. Christina used a cake icing tool to literally scrape up the pet into a plastic bag, and then attacked the crime scene with the wet/dry vacuum and finally some mild air freshener in a spray can. All evidence of the accidental death and subsequent mutilation was gone. Only the hauntingly empty fishbowl remained to remind the rider that she needed to come up with an explanation for Lukas. The bottom feeder fish was hidden under the rock or in the treasure chest, so the water really did look completely devoid of life. She figured they would need to get another fish, too, and considered the possibility of trying to fool the child into thinking it was Thomas Müller. That would be tough though considering they didn’t even have a dead fish to photograph and try to match in the store. If they told him he didn’t make it, what would they do if he demanded to see the corpse? Or give it a proper burial? Or send it into the sunset on a flaming raft? It was late and her mind was tired and overwhelmed. For the time being, Thomas Müller was quarantined, needed to be left alone to get better, and would be going to the doctor in the morning. Christina knew even that basic story posed potential future challenges though. She wondered if Lukas would react badly the next time he got sick and needed a doctor if his fish went to the doctor and died, or if she told him he’d get better and he remembered that she said his fish would get better but didn’t, or she or André got sick and tried to assure him they would be fine. She thought everything about the incident had been handled badly thus far, but really she just thought her husband an absolutely useless, clumsy oaf for even trying to pluck the fish out of the water, for dropping it, and most especially for doing all of it in the dark and consequently stepping on the thing. He waited patiently while she tucked Lukas in, sold him again on the illness concept, and read him a story. It took forever to get him to sleep. He interrupted the picture book multiple times to ask questions about Thomas Müller.

“I’ll go to the store tomorrow and get him a new one,” André vowed as soon as his girl shut their bedroom door behind her. “I’ll get a nicer fish, like one from the Nemo movie. He can call him Mesut Özil and- I don’t know- We’ll tell him Thomas Müller fell in love with his nurse and swam away to elope.”

“Babe, he’s two and a half, not retarded.” Christina frowned at him, hands on hips, and didn’t feel even remotely moved by his apologetic and sympathetic expression and body language. He was still wearing only his underwear, and tried to welcome her into his lap after she took off her sweatpants and left them on the floor. “That is so over for the night,” she scoffed. “You don’t get any sex after you step on our child’s pet with your big dumb foot and then make me clean it up.”

“He was already dead!”

“Why would you not turn the fucking light on and use the fucking net thing to scoop him up? Or just leave him in the bowl and move the bowl?”

“Because I- I don’t know,” the player shrugged as she got under the blanket. “I was thinking about what to tell him, not what I was doing. And I was in a hurry to get back to bed with you...”

“Tough. I’m going to sleep. We should probably just tell him the truth. The fish died because that’s what goldfish do.” Her tone was growing bitter. She was just trying to shame me and highlight how ridiculous this was before, André realized. But now she’s getting angry. Don’t poke the bear. But...

“All right, we can tell him that. Together. But what do we say we did with the body?” he questioned, careful. “I think it would be horrible for him if we tell the truth on that part.” Christina sighed like she was getting ready to unleash a torrent of agitation and grievance upon him for so overcomplicating one of their kid’s early life milestones, but then she sighed again, more softly, as if to relent.

“Tell him you buried him in one of the flowerbeds and I’ll show him how to make a cross out of popsicle sticks or something to stick in the dirt. I’ll explain what it means.”

“You’re a good mom, Prinzessin.” He leaned over on his elbow to kiss her cheek before she could get all the way turned around away from him on her side. “And the best to be a parent with.”

#I know no one is reading anymore but YOU SHOULD READ THIS ONE CUZ ITS FUNNY

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