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qvid-pro-qvo · 4 years ago

Note

Hopefully I’m doing this right 😅. Could I request a fic with Barba with the prompts “I brought you an umbrella” and “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better,” where Barba found reader walking home in a downpour after her car broke down? Thank you in advance 💖

rafael barba x gender neutral reader.

word count: 2275

rating: teen, for implications a good compliment can give (flirtationship galore, implied sexual content if you squint).

Rafael watches the people outside like it’s his job. He’s in the middle of a five-minute break, perfectly scheduled out before he dives back into the caseload in front of him, and he often chooses to allow his gaze to linger out the windows of his offices. It’s a way to pass the time, to allow his brain a bit of a respite, and as long as he does so with the blinds mostly closed off, no one notices.

But he notices. He notices you. Perhaps a little too much.

After all, in this moment, you’re hard to miss. It’s a downpour outside, and most of the New Yorkers gathered around One Hogan Place have an umbrella up to catch the droplets. But not you. Not you, no, you’re sprinting to the curb, desperately trying to wave down a taxi. Unfortunately, they don’t see you. The rain is thick, and the only reason Rafael really notices is his angle. The droplets aim downward, and he doesn’t have to peer through them.

It helps that he recognizes you. The public defender’s office is notably involved with SVU despite the Unit’s best efforts to fight them at every turn, and you often come through their doors with your chin lifted, your eyes scanning the environment like the desks themselves are an obstacle to tackle. He often shakes your hand, because he’s polite like that, but that’s where the kindness usually ends. Your charges usually end up being some of the more intense, and he knows that their crimes are usually matched with your verve.

You’re a damn good lawyer, he’s realized. And when you come through those doors, he notices the sharp sighs of the detectives around him. Liv, especially, who often pulls Rafael aside to assure him of the quality of the evidence so he can face you.

And outside of the courtroom, there’s a cordial tone to your interactions. A softness to your smile, as the two of you chat about things in the elevator. There’s a mutual respect for the process, a mutual fight that makes his heart race faster when he sees you stand in the courtroom, give a sharp, closed-lip smile, smooth suit jacket down, and deliver your opening.

“Members of the jury…”

Your hair is noticeably flatter, your clothes are soaked. He takes a moment to mourn the undoubtedly expensive blazer on your back, the shirt that could be salvaged but in that moment is nothing more than a formality. And he watches as you, and your strong will, lift your chin and start walking.

Wait. Walking?

He has your number, because of the job, and he finds himself pulling out his phone, giving you a call. He hears it ring, once, twice, three times before you pick up, and he can see your hand rummaging around your blazer before pulling your phone out.

“Barba,” you say, and any energy you had from waving down the taxis sounds leeched from you. And in the fall rain, there’s a shiver in your voice. “What a surprise. I thought our next face-off was rescheduled.”

“Cold there, counselor?” he responds, and your little snort makes him smirk. “One Hogan scare you that much? Get out of the rain, stay under the awnings.”

“You make a habit of watching the unfortunate shortcomings of members of the New York Bar Association?” Your voice is wry, and he can hear the rain clearly pounding against the pavement.

“Only the ones who look truly stranded. Come to the overhang, let me help you out.”

“Help me out?” But even with your look up in the approximate direction of his office, the raised brow you surely have, he can see you start maneuvering over to the front doors of the building. “What, you’ve got a car that’ll take me home?”

“I can order you one,” he offered. “Or a coffee, if that’ll make you feel better about taking help from the enemy.”

You stop for a moment, and your face is clear from this distance – he’s looking down at you now, and you’re looking up into the rain, the droplets landing on your features. He offers a wiggle of his fingers, for some banal reason like childishness, and you wiggle yours back, shaking your head before pushing on.

“The only enemy I have is my own stupidity. It’s what I get for assuming a check engine light shouldn’t be checked,” you counter, and he can picture the roll of your eyes, a brilliant color emphasized by the brightness of your intelligence. Perhaps it’s the rain that’s making him feel a little romantic, wax a little poetic, but either way, he likes listening to you. Particularly when the rain fades away to a distant murmur once you get to safety.

“What do you mean?” he reaches for his coat, for the umbrella resting against the corner of his desk, and starts making his way down to the front of the building. When he passes by Carmen’s desk, she offers him a raised brow, obviously concerned that he even dared leaving his office this early in the day. “Hold my calls, Carmen, I’m taking lunch.”

“Anyone in particular?” she asks in return, but he’s already pushing past, offering a shake of his head in response.

She doesn’t look too convinced.

When you speak again, there’s a tone to it that takes him by surprise. It’s not warm, but… friendlier. Not as world-weary as you started to sound. “Taking lunch? Didn’t realize I meant that much to you.”

“I’m not heartless, unlike the rumors have you believe.” He laughs at himself a little, thinking about when he first arrived to the Special Victims Unit. Heartless wasn’t right, but. He was definitely… more forceful than he should’ve been.

“I never thought that.” You’re quick to dismiss it, which shocks him.

“Are you saying I’m not intimidating?” he asks, and at that point he’s making his way to the lobby, and he can see you through the glass doors. Up close, you look even more soaked, if that were possible, and you have your blazer wrapped around you like a shield.

When you chuckle, the thought of cold fades away, especially as he opens the door and he hears it full force. “I’m saying that you’re a softie, actually,” you laugh.

“Bold words from someone I wiped the floor with in our last match-up,” he retorts, and when he responds you jump, spooked by his sudden appearance behind you.

Your glare is playful, and you reach up to wipe rivulets from your face, shaking your head at the mere sight of someone who isn’t damp to the bone, at his biting words. “Wiped the floor with me? God. I’ve changed my mind. You’re an asshole, then. A real piece of shit.”

“I brought you an umbrella. How much of an asshole can I be?”

You have a hard time hating Rafael Barba. But you suppose, in the end, it’s for the better.

You don’t want to hate him, you suppose. You do know that he’s not heartless. And much of the ire that’s directed at him is because he’s a good lawyer, because he has a good relationship with Special Victims Unit, because he’s, in the end, a man who gets the job done. The snide remarks you shoot at him during cases are only banter after all, and you admire the way that he gives as good or even better than he gets.

Your little crush on him is short-lived anyway (or at least, you try force it to be). His sharp green gaze and the quirk of his lips he always walks around with is infuriating during trial, and the unfortunate way he’s always incredibly put together in three-piece suits with suspenders makes your public defender’s salary whimper and hide in a corner. And you don’t really pay too much attention as he walks by, and you don’t take to heart the handshakes after tough cases or the nods he gives you in the halls of the courthouse, or the way he’s given you an eye roll in chambers, or…

Anyway, he’s hard to hate. He’s, under all of the pomp and circumstance he parades around with, a good person. He could be above it all, especially to you. He could be a dick, and he could be a piece of shit, but he’s not. You think it’s because you bring a lot of respect to the table. More than someone like Buchanan.

And he does bring you an umbrella. And… is that coffee, in his hand, too?

He offers it to you, and there’s a brilliance to his whole being at the thought of him being the deliverer of fresh caffeine. Warm caffeine. You find your eyes drawn to his hand holding the cup. “Please tell me…”

“I’m not a monster. Not taunting you.” And when your eyes meet again, he almost looks bashful, perhaps. That’s the word. Embarrassed? You don’t know what crosses his face, but. You like it. Looks like it humbles him. Or it’s just good to look at. “Here. Drink this. You’ll feel better, think more clearly than you have been for thinking you could escape my kindness.”

No maybe. Don’t think about it. Just accept the damn umbrella, you think to yourself, and with a smile you reach for it and the coffee, sighing.

“I suppose you’re not the worst you could be,” you return, lifting your chin. You open the protection, lift it over your head, and try to ignore how pointless it seems now. “What do I owe you? My firstborn? A shitty cross?”

“Just the promise you won’t walk,” Barba returns, and you feel warmth suddenly spike through you, especially as his eyes scan your… unfortunate state. It makes you blink, a couple of times, the water that’s still dripping from your hair, the frizz that surely has overtaken any product you attempted to comb through with your fingers that morning. “I can call a car…”

“My apartment isn’t that far, Barba. And I’ll give you the umbrella back.”

He seems to consider the prospect. He looks you up and down again, and something twists on his features, something that looks a lot like pity. You want to pull away, then, but then his face shifts. There’s something playful on his features, and you find your lips curling despite yourself.

“Let’s play this out, then,” he offers. “You don’t want to impose, I insist. We’ll banter, back and forth, until we finally settle on this: I need lunch anyway, I’m sure there’s a spot by your apartment, so I’ll order myself a car and you can tag along to make it back to your place. And that way, the umbrella never leaves my sight, so I don’t have to accuse you of stealing and sic SVU on you.”

A laugh is startled out of you. You shift in your wet shoes, your wet clothes, and the thought of home in a warm car is definitely appealing. “Well. I guess that’s settled, then. Why anyone bothers to argue with you when you come to the natural conclusion on your own is beyond me.”

It’s a poke that’s followed by a prod of his own. “Knowing you, I’ll get a fight all the way to the curb when the car comes up.”

You grin. Take a sip of the coffee, brilliantly hot.

“A coffee, an umbrella, and a ride,” you count off on your fingertips. “Well. I definitely owe you.” For a moment you bite your lower lip, watch as he lifts the phone to his ear. You can’t impose, you can’t assume. “Let me pay for lunch, then.”

He’s on the phone, so he can’t answer right away. But the offer piques his interest, raises his brow. And when he organizes the ride he needs, and puts his phone away, there’s a glance around, as if a member of SVU could run up at any moment and accuse him of fraternizing with the enemy.

“Lunch,” he hums. Then, in a perfect mimic of you, lifts his chin, stares you down, and nods. “As long as you join me.”

Another laugh, almost a giggle. It’s the cold, the delirium of wet, surely. “Then my apartment is our first stop, Mr. Barba,” you counter. “Because God forbid I get caught having lunch with an A.D.A. and in wet clothes.”

There’s something at war in the lawyer before you, but a smile seems to win out. There’s a fire in his eyes, now, like a match has been lit, one that settles as his hands go to the pockets of his coat. “Like wet clothes would stop you from outshining me anywhere we go.”

And when you blink, and blink again, the mood shifts. The lunch feels imperative, important, and your grip on the umbrella tightens as you look at him. He looks back, green eyes a startling shade of emerald, brought out by the warm color of his tie, a contrast to the dreary world around you.

“I don’t think that’s true,” you finally respond. And you let your eyes do a slow scan, letting yourself feel comfortable with the motion. You look him, up in down, his pristine three-piece suit your full view. “But we can test that theory.” You glance toward the curb, where the car he’s called pulls up. “Clothes first. Then lunch, and we’ll see whose eyes we draw.”

“Deal.”

The rain is unimportant, the clothes are unimportant. All that’s important is the destination, and the feeling of his hand on your back the two of you walk through the downpour.

#prompt fill #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba #gender neutral reader #law and order: svu #my fic

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takoyakitenchou · 4 years ago

Text

meddling; the good kind

i decided to clear up a few questions abt how Marui Zenji became Bookmaster of WGO in Genesis so ig this is also my commission payment/holiday gift for @polar-stars

in which a double shot of jager (with some help from the nakiri cousins) pretty much cements marui zenji’s future.

If nothing else, Yoshino Yuki knew turkey. Like, really well.

Much to Zenji’s chagrin, the only takeaway he’d gotten from the American history seminar he and the rest of the PSD gang had enrolled in was that the Pilgrims rode a Dutch fluyt to Virginia back in 1620, but they’d decided to turn Christmas into a Polar Star tradition nevertheless. Wait. Massachusetts? Thanksgiving?

After losing pitifully in a game of hangman to Yukihira Souma of all people — seriously, how was the English lang and composition seminar supposed to prepare him to guess “#tarkeyshet” — Zenji had retreated to the corner of the kitchen to sulk and drink Sakaki Sake while Yukihira paraded around fixing an imaginary pair of glasses and knocked back a shot of Smirnoff Watermelon from Kurokiba’s locker at Legislation.

“Those specs really were for nothing,” Yuki grinned as she pulled him to his feet, took away his solo cup, and handed him a masher. “Come on, Marui. You can vent at the potatoes.”

Zenji aggressively articulated his ire at said potatoes to the point where Yuki had to yank the bowl from him. “The hell, are you trying to make extract? Go kill another turkey if you’re feeling murderous.”

“I’m fine,” sighed the dark-haired chef, massaging the bridge of his nose. “It’s out of my system now. But the sake is not.”

Yuki leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Sacrifice one battle and you’ll win the war.”

“Now since when have you been all philosophical?”

Without missing a beat, Yuki countered, “Since you got all mopey. Now help me bring the turkey out.”

Just then, Nakiri Erina entered the kitchen after knocking on the doorframe. The first seat took one look at Yuki with her mouth basically on Zenji’s ear and dropped her vodka. “I apologize for the intrusion!”

She was already halfway out the door when Yuki and Zenji bellowed, “This isn’t what you think it is!”

Erina glanced doubtfully at the space (or lack thereof) between the Polar Star originals. “Um… in that case. Yoshino-san, do you mind if I talk to Marui-kun for a moment?”

“Not at all,” Yuki replied, and Erina was too distracted to notice the slightest inflection of irritation in the teal-eyed girl’s voice as she took the turkey out of the kitchen.

“How may I be of assistance, Nakiri-san?” Zenji asked, shifting his glasses and sitting on a kitchen stool.

“I was talking to my mother earlier today,” Erina said after picking up her cup, a diplomatic air automatically washing over the area. “She was wondering when you would be available for an interview sometime in the next few days over winter break.”

Zenji gave a prominently uncharacteristic “Eh?”

With a thin smile, Erina continued, “My mother would like to have you intern with her so she can judge if I was right when I told her you’re going to be the next WGO bookmaster. I remember you mentioned something about memorizing all of the WGO guides in first year?”

Zenji blinked once. Twice. “You’re kidding me.”

“No, I am not,” the heiress replied. “I never kid.”

He gestured at her. “That was a kid just now.”

“Besides the point, Marui-kun. My mother would like me to give you her phone number so you can text her your schedule availabilities directly.” Then she added, “Also, that’s more convenient for me because I don’t have to be a mediator.”

At this, Zenji’s eyes bugged out to the size of his fucking glasses. The WGO bookmaster — and Nakiri Erina’s mother to boot — wanted to give him her phone number?

Marui Zenji needed medical care hella fast.

“Um… I’m available whenever she is…?”

Erina shook her head. “I wouldn’t get used to it, but she’s catering to you.”

A sheen of sweat broke out on Zenji’s forehead. He pushed back his bangs and gave a long, pronounced exhale. “In five seconds, Nakiri-san, I will wake up and be so disappointed that I miss classes for the first time in my entire life.”

“You have a perfect attendance record, don’t you?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Perfect. That means you can afford to skip a day without getting detention. Unlike me and Yukihira.” Erina tapped her chin thoughtfully as Zenji made an indignant noise, then as if to deter any individuals that may have been eavesdropping, said in a low voice, “The one stipulation for giving you my mother’s phone number is that you ask Yoshino-san on a date.”

Zenji promptly fell off the stool. “Say what now?”

The eavesdropping individual made her debut just then. “Yes, well, as official relationship counselor of Nakiri Mansion and Polar Star, I am privy to some very public confidential information that you and Yoshino-san are both absolute nuts for each other. So I am prescribing you the following action: get the hell on with it already.”

The Nakiri cousins looked extremely pleased with themselves.

“I agree with Alice,” Erina said primly. “It’s pretty obvious how much she likes you. And since we’re both extremely well-versed in the subtleties of romance, I do believe we’re more than qualified to make this diagnosis.”

“Oh, and look, Marui-kun. Your ears are turning red. Actions speak louder than words. Your silence speaks volumes.”

Zenji squinted at Erina. “Nakiri-san, am I correct to assume that even if I already had the Bookmaster’s phone number, we’d still be having this conversation?” “Duh,” said Alice. “Now’s your chance, Marui-kun.”

“I think I’d rather lose to Yukihira in another game of hangman,” he said nervously.

At this, Alice gave a sympathetic smile. “You, my friend, do not have the emotional capacity of a brick, unlike Ryo and Yukihira, so you should have nothing to worry about. Come on.” Alice grabbed Zenji’s wrist and yanked him to his feet. “She’s in the dining hall. Have a shot if you need the liquid courage.” She passed him a cup of Jager.

The scholar ran a hand through his bangs in an attempt to organize his hair, despite the fact that he already had the neatest cut in like… a ten-mile radius.

“This is for the Bookmaster,” Zenji said, trying to convince himself more than the cousins.

“No, it’s really not,” Alice replied. “Now get to it. Clock is ticking.”

“Also, every second you spend stalling is technically another second you’re ghosting the Bookmaster.”

Zenji exploded into action. He threw back the Jager and sprinted out of the kitchen at a velocity nobody would’ve dared imagine possible for someone of his figure… or his alc tolerance.

“That worked better than I thought it would,” Erina mused.

“Yukihira’s rubbing off on you,” Alice intoned. “You sounded a lot like him just now.”

Rolling her eyes and fighting the blush, the first seat waved off the statement. “As if I would ever be associated with anything influenced by his plebeian mouth.”

“Like… your tongue?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Alice grinned and tapped her cup against her cousin’s. “Damn right I will, Erina. No need to emphasize the truth.”

The others were all gathered in the dining hall by the time the Nakiri cousins emerged from the kitchen. Zenji was — as expected — sweating as he attempted to approach Yoshino Yuki.

Souma and his strangely acute senses noted exactly what was happening (read as Erina had already filled him in on the details of the plotcounseling session), and he vaguely motioned for Yuki to turn around.

“Yoshino-san,” Zenji began, and those that knew what was going on were all surprised at how steady his voice was despite the fact that he’d just drank what had to be two normal shots of herbal liquor at an ungodly speed. “If you’re available, I was just wondering if you’d like to go on a date with me?”

Yuki’s eyebrows disappeared behind her bangs. “Wait, what?” The rest of the dorm gave an excited whoop.

“… to the Polar Star garden…?”

“GODDAMMIT, MARUI,” they all squawked. Yuki managed an awkward grin and the will to live utterly disappeared from Marui Zenji.

Erina and Alice exchanged a glance. “Call the jet.”

“Gotcha. Ryo, can you fetch the Eclipse, please?”

“It’s on the roof already,” drawled Alice’s former aide. “Come on, Marui,” Ryo continued. “You’re gonna be like the rest of us by the time the sun comes up.”

“The hell does that mean?” sighed the dejected erudite as Ryo dragged him to the rooftop staircase in the back of the building.

“We’re destroying your perfect attendance record so you don’t have more honors cords than all the Elite Ten members combined at the graduation ceremony. Don’t even think about complaining. This is for our—I mean, your—good.”

The Nakiri cousins herded Yuki out of the dining hall after him, and the rest of the social club followed.

“In you go,” Ryo ordered once they were in front of the jet. He damn near picked up the chef who was probably half his weight and chucked Zenji through the hatch. Yuki was prodded on board after him, bleating timid complaints the entire time.

Ryo briefly entered the jet and they heard him instruct the pilot, “Take them to the Nakiri resort in Kobe. Don’t let them come back until tomorrow evening, am I clear?”

“Yessir,” replied the pilot, and then Ryo jumped out and the engines roared to life.

The inhabitants of Nakiri Mansion looked rather pleased with themselves as the jet departed Totsuki campus.

“You think that did it for their first date?” Ryo asked the heiresses.

“Duh,” Alice said with a flippant wave. “Erina and I are professionals. Now, we should start planning for their wedding. It’s Yoshino Yuki getting married, so teal dresses for the bridesmaids should do it.”

Erina nodded seriously. “I’ll start tasting cakes and contacting florists. The wedding’s going to be in Malibu, right?”

“You read my mind, Erina. Turns out we’re the same person after all.”

“Hell no.”

Ryo watched the cousins dive into all-out wedding prep mode over Christmas dinner and held back a smile—whether this was out of the mellowed amusement that arose from watching them bicker like five-year-olds or out of sympathetic pity for the involuntary fiances was up to debate, but it was a smile nevertheless, and that was all that mattered.

And the rest, of course, was history.

#marui zenji #yoshino yuki #maryu #shokugeki no soma

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i-am-not-anon · 6 years ago

Text

Under the eye of an institution

part 5

Summary: Logan and Patton (both 16), the older students, are expected to look after two groups of freshmen in Watersouth boarding school for boys. Both of them despise the tradition of bullying that is subjected to the newcomers by older students. The two respectively get a student in their groups who is a little different from the ordinary crowd: Roman and Virgil (both 15).

Author’s note: Here we go again! Logan takes action to help Roman, while Patton is still trying to form any sort of connection between him and Virgil. Message me for getting into the taglist, please.

Triggers: Bullying, abuse, violence, violent punishments, panic attacks, self-deprecation, name-calling, i n s t i t u t i o n

Other parts here

...

Logan shook his head as Roman stood at the doorway of his room. ”I refuse to order you to lick anything. I assumed soccer is one of those outdoor games where shouting is allowed, even encouraged?” Logan put his pen down, turning on his chair to face the younger student.

Roman fidgeted with his hands behind his back.

”I guess I’m too loud for anyone’s standards, sir.”

”That sounds pretty self-deprecating, Roman.”

”Maybe it is,” the younger boy released his hands to gesture with them. ”I don’t understand what for I even am here in this school. I’m going to get kicked out soon anyway, sir,” he complained.

”That simply depends on how determined you are to learn to obey the rules,” Logan answered.

”Sir, you don’t understand,” Roman argued. ”I’ve tried so hard this whole time. Well, at least after I spoke up at the first assembly.” the boy sighed. ”I’m just more stupid than everyone else. I should just go home.”

Logan thought for a second. ”So you suppose you are different from other students here?”

Roman rolled his eyes. ”That’s literally what I said.”

Logan frowned. ”Watch your tone. Now, have you been diagnosed with any learning difficulties or such?”

”No, sir. Mom doesn’t trust the healthcare system, so actually I wouldn’t know if I have been diagnosed with something at some point.”

Logan rubbed his chin. ”Okay. I think it should be useful to carry out some psychological tests for you. I will be taking my time to research about those, and you will be coming back here tomorrow, at six past noon.”

”What kind of tests?” Roman’s eyebrows shot up.

Logan waited until Roman would realize what he had forgotten.

”Oh, sorry, what kind of tests, sir?”

”I will not carry out any tests that would humiliate or hurt you,” Logan answered. ”You are free to go. Maybe there is another game outside you could get invited to join? Aside from that, don’t forget to come by at six past midday tomorrow.”

”Yes sir,” Roman grinned and sprinted back to the hallway. Logan watched him go before turning back to his homework.

….

The next day Logan spent researching terms associated with learning difficulties and the ’symptoms’ Roman had been showing while attending the school. He chose a handful of internet questionnaires, all of which warned that they weren’t official and an individual should be diagnosed by their doctor before taking the matter too seriously. Logan decided, that as he wasn’t trying to diagnose Roman, only to help him to survive in the school environment those should be enough.

At 6 pm, Logan waited in his room for Roman. He believed the boy must remember his appointment, as he had reminded him every time the rascal had been sent to Logan for disrupting the class. However, time passed by and Logan frowned at the clock as it ticked 6.10, as it was the machine’s fault Roman didn’t show up on time. The older student sighed, turning to look through the window. There, on the yard, absorbed in some kind of role-play situation was the boy he was waiting for. Logan stood up, taking his coat from the hanger and headed downstairs.

…

”Roman Pears!”

Roman looked up from a crusade he had joined in. He huffed quietly, leaving his stick representing a sword on the ground, quickly waving at the other boys as he jogged to Logan.

”Yeah?”.. ”um, yeah, sir?”

”Where were you supposed to be fifteen minutes ago?” Logan looked at his watch for confirmation.

Roman looked rather puzzled for a second before he remembered the promise he had made yesterday.

”Oh, gosh, I’m sorry, sir.” he rubbed his hands together.

Logan didn’t answer, simply opening the door for his student. ”Let’s go.”

…

”I said the thing,” a boy stopped in front of the leader of Virgil’s new gang, Matthew. ”I called him ass. He got really mad,” he added, offering a weak grin.

Matthew smiled. ”I’m proud of you. What you got?”

”Kneeling,” the boy answered, rubbing his knees.

”I think it was worth it, don’t you?” Matthew suggested. ”Mr. Brass hates that name. We got power over him now. You got power.”

The other boy nodded seriously, lighting up to a smile. ”yeah.”

Matthew grinned, patting the boy’s back. ”That’s what I thought. Now go on with your free time.”

As the other boy jogged away, he was careful to not bend his legs too much. Virgil stared at him, deciding he was not going to ask what ’kneeling’ meant after all. Matthew turned over to the quiet boy.

”Look, Virgil. We are going to make it big. Mr. Brass will feel in his bones what it means to insult you.”

Virgil nodded quietly.

…..

Contrary to his assumptions of being able to go on with his homework, Logan had to keep eye on Roman the whole time he was filling the questionnaires. The younger boy kept going back to staring at nothing, his pen tapping on the table as he was lost in thought. Once Logan even had to order him to sit back down.

”But I want to see the whole field,” the boy complained, and Logan had to turn his table around so Roman could focus on the questions instead of the soccer game outside. Finally, after one and a half hours, Roman was done. He slapped the pen on the table, standing up in a hurry.

”I’m done, sir! Can I go now?”

Logan stood up. ”Not yet. Let me see if you finished everything.” He took the papers, looking at them individually and checking every question. He put three pages back on the table. ”Look at those again. You missed some exercises,” he ordered.

Roman flopped down on the chair, scanning over the pages. ”But I don’t know what this means!”

Logan looked at the paper, and explained what ’tactless’ meant, as well as suggested Roman to fill in the other missing parts despite the student’s complain about ’too much text’ on the question. Finally Logan let him go, and he sprinted out of the room despite Logan shouting after him about running being prohibited inside.

Logan rubbed his temples. Analyzing Roman’s answers would have to wait for another day, he still had his homework to deal with.

….

Patton walked around the schoolyard, taking his students to a talking-to one by one. He really wanted to work together with his students and get to know them. Some of his group members already considered him a safe person to tell about their worries, and Patton felt a sense of pride and happiness about that.

”Virgil! Come talk with me for a moment, please,” Patton shouted. He had observed the shy boy had gotten a group of students to hang with, and he was very glad about that.

Virgil walked to Patton, his heart pounding. Had his tutor heard about the way Matthew had decided to bully Mr. Brass? And how he had basically accepted it? Or something else, had he been doing bad at classes? The cheers and apologetic glances from his gang members didn’t help his stress at all. Virgil was shaking lightly as he stood before Patton.

”Y-y-y-yes, ssss-ir,” he answered, looking at the ground.

”Hey, kiddo, I’m not going to hurt you,” Patton reassured. ”You have done nothing wrong.” his tone was calm and accepting. ”Let’s sit down, shall we?”

Virgil followed Patton to one of the benches and they sat down.

”I’m going from student to student to simply have a little chat about how you are feeling and how has the school year started for you,” Patton began. ”I see you have gotten a few friends, which sounds really great.”

Virgil tried to stop shaking but he couldn’t help it. Had Patton asked him something? Was he supposed to answer? ”Y-y-yes, sir,” he tried.

Patton smiled softly. ”That’s good. How are you doing otherwise?”

Virgil wasn’t going to tell how often he had been laughed at for his stuttering, or how he felt his heart was going to rip out of his chest every time a teacher asked him something. ”We-well, sir.”

”Very good. Have you have been laughed at of bullied by anybody?” Patton’s tone was as soft as before, but he had leaned slightly forward to see Virgil’s facial expressions better.

”N-n-no sir,” Virgil answered, just a little too hastily. Great. Awesome. You ruined everything again, Virgil. He knows about all the bullying now, and he will confront them, and you’ll get bullied even worse. You will have to move schools again.

Patton rubbed his hands together. ”I’m assigned as your tutor to help you. You can choose to tell me what you want, but remember I only want the best for you.” Patton wanted to hug the poor boy, but thought twice about it since the kid seemed like he would jump from the tiniest noise, so a hug would make him fly at least to the moon or further than that.

”That was all. I hope you can settle in and find the daily routine comforting after you’ve gotten used to it, Virgil. I’m rooting for you,” Patton gave Virgil a thumbs-up before standing back up. ”I assume you would like to join your friends now.”

”Thank you, sir,” Virgil breathed and stood up. He walked back to the group, trying to breathe normally again.

...

Taglist: @daring-elm @creativity-killed-thekitten @heck-im-lost @uwillbeefoundtonight @gabe-killed-me-with-ace-cream @just-another-rainbowblog @buddypallady @aromanticandaromatic @marshmallow-the-panda

#uei #under the eye of an institution #sanders sides #roman #patton #virgil #logan #highschool au #boarding school au #violence #punishments #bullying #institution #pain

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lunacyofdukevenomania · 6 years ago

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Chapter 6-Elluka Clockworker; Scene 8

The Lunacy of Duke Venomania, page 233-243

As the blonde haired woman came back to the mansion once more after that, he decided to agreeably invite her inside.

"I'm terribly sorry to be coming again at this time of night. However, I heard that you are often absent during the day," she said, bowing her head as though in shame.

"I don't mind. …By the by, have you told your other associates that you were coming here?"

"Associates?"

"You are investigating into the disappearances aren't you? I mean the members of your investigation team."

"No…I have no such associates. I always tend to work alone."

"Oh? Then you're saying no one knows you've come here?"

"Hah…I guess you could put it that way."

This was ideal for Sateriasis. Now that he couldn't conduct the "ritual", he needed to make doubly sure that he left no traces of evidence when ensnaring a woman.

"Well then, are you planning to ask me questions, Elluka Clockworker?"

"Yes…Though, there's only one thing I want to ask. My Duke…I suspect that you are the culprit in this case."

"…Good grief."

It was the same pattern as Maylis. A far too straightforward interrogation.

On the flip side, this woman having come to this mansion alone made clear that the royal family and the authorities had yet to obtain any proof that he was the criminal here.

He had abducted Yufina and Maylis. If it got out that they were here, then he was liable to have the army sent his way. That would happen even if he was one of the "Five Dukes".

I'm still on, this isn't over yet, IR. I will evade suspicion until the country gives up on its investigation.

For the time being, I must focus on the woman before me now. She intends to run me down.

IR did say that the spell would work on her. Though she may be a sorceress, she is a woman after all. I just need to make her my prisoner with my magic.

"Even if that were true…Do you have any proof?"

"No, I have no proof. And…I don't want you to misunderstand. I didn't really come here to question you."

She had started to say something fairly strange. If not that, then what purpose did she come here for? Sateriasis was a little confused at Elluka's words.

"If…if you are kidnapping women, and keeping them here…I was…wondering if you might…take me in too." Having said that, she cast her eyes down in embarrassment. "From…from the moment I first saw you, my duke…I…fell in love with you…"

…This is a trap.

If Sateriasis hadn't known that much about this being called "Elluka Clockworker", he might have believed in her words.

But this was a woman that even IR was cautious about.

…How shallow. Your thinking is far too shallow, Elluka Clockworker. You clearly have some plan to gain evidence by pretending to be head over heels for me and joining my harem...I guess that's the kind of person you are after all, despite being a sorceress.

He should have turned her away, but instead he decided to go along with his opponent's strategy.

"What's this, that I might hold the favor of a beautiful woman such as you! It's a privilege, Elluka. Very well, I will do as you say--I will grant your wish."

Sateriasis brought his face closer to hers.

"Come, Elluka. Look into my eyes--"

No matter what idea she'd had, once he'd applied his "Lust" spell it would all be the same.

She wouldn't be able to go against Sateriasis anymore.

Sateriasis began to cast his spell on her, with his eyes that had changed to red.

"…"

While he did, the woman merely blankly gazed into his eyes.

When he was done casting his spell, and the color of his eyes had returned to purple, standing there now was--

Sateriasis' new "wife".

"Come, Elluka. I shall show you around the 'harem' that you are going to be living in from now on."

Sateriasis placed a hand on her shoulder, and then brought her before the door that led to the basement.

One by one he unlocked the triple padlock. They were locks he'd had installed after Carol went to get the painting on her own volition. The only person who could open this door was Sateriasis, who had the key, and someone like IR who could use unlocking spells.

Nowadays there was no one left who could enter without Sateriasis' permission.

…Hold on? Elluka's a sorceress as well, so she might able to unlock this door too. I'll have to make sure to pay particular attention to her, so that she doesn't go upstairs.

When they got downstairs, they were in Sateriasis' true domain.

His basement harem.

It was time for romance. Several of the women ran from their rooms to seek him out.

Mirigan, Sonika, Tette, Rindo. His beloved wives, all different in race, background, and age.

"So sorry, but I won't be having any of you as my companion tonight."

Sateriasis advanced along with his sorceress in tow, gently brushing aside the women crowding around him.

"Gahaha, a new girl this time eh?"

"Looks like things'll get fun again."

"I wanna be yer girl tomorrow~"

"Well it-it's not like I'm lonely or anything!"

It was already late. He could introduce her to the other women tomorrow.

While listening to the women chattering behind them, Sateriasis and Elluka finally arrived at the room that IR had once lived in.

"This room's just become available, you see. I'll make this one yours. If you don't care for the decorations, just let me know tomorrow and I'll give you whatever you need."

Though Sateriasis entered the room, she made no move to follow after him.

While smiling, she was standing frozen at the entrance.

"What's wrong, Elluka? Come to me."

At Sateriasis' invitation, she ran in as though steeling her nerve--into the room, and then into Sateriasis' arms.

"Haha, what a cute girl you are. If you're up for it, let us love each other to our heart's content."

Sateriasis embraced her, and grinned.

"Come, shall we dance, Elluka--"

In that moment--

"What an idiot you must be."

He felt a sharp pain.

Blood stained his chest.

Wh…what is…this. What…happened?

A knife was sticking out of Sateriasis' chest.

The person holding the handle of the knife was none other than the woman before him.

--No, he was not a woman.

"So you were the culprit after all, Duke Venomania!"

He pulled the knife from Sateriasis' chest, and took off the blonde wig that he'd been wearing.

Underneath it was short blue hair.

"You're…a…man…!?"

Sateriasis fell on the spot.

"It was a magnificent female disguise, wasn't it? I hadn't expected it to work so well."

He--Karchess--flashed him a faint smile, and then ran from the room with his bloodstained knife in hand, shouting loudly as he did so.

"Yufina! Where are you!? I've killed Duke Venomania! Let's escape from here together!"

Karchess sprinted away.

From the entrance to the room he could hear the sound of several doors opening.

"Cough…I have…I have a 'demon' inside of me. So much blood…from a wound like this…what's…going…on…"

He had sustained several wounds when fighting with Marquis Donald as well. They would have been lethal to a normal person, but thanks to his contract with the "demon" his regenerative ability had increased, and so the blood had soon come to a stop, and he had been able to spend the night with Yufina afterwards.

But this time it didn't go that way.

"…Why won't this…blood stop. Wh…y?"

The blood mixed with his sweat, and its color changed to purple.

It looked to be the blood of not a human, but a "demon".

How tedious…

I guess it's over already

The echoing sound was the voice of the demon, which he hadn't heard in some time.

Hey, what's the meaning of this!? Why is the blood not stopping!? Am I to die to a single…a single wound like this? I…

Your enemy is to blame

That knife was the "Golden key"

It is a "Vessel of Deadly Sin" wherein dwells one of my colleagues

…Stop messing around! Do something about this now! If this keeps up, you and I both will--

I won't die

I'll just return to the katana

Until I find a new owner

In several decades from now…or centuries

Sateriasis could feel himself losing the power of the demon, little by little.

Well then

Goodbye

Give my regards to the Master of the Hellish Yard

Then the demon vanished from inside him completely.

In that moment, an even stranger phenomenon began to happen to Sateriasis.

"Gugh!? …Wh…my face…my face is…"

His right cheek was hot, as though burning. When he touched it, he could tell that some kind of birth mark was beginning to take shape.

Sateriasis moved around on his hands and knees, and managed to make it to the mirror in the room.

"What is…this. This face…on my face is another…face."

The birth mark on his cheek had taken a form that looked like there was a new face there.

"A face scab…That's right…Finally, I've remembered everything. I…I am…!"

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dustin-parrish-blog · 7 years ago

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From Outer Space - Part 1 | Izel & Dustin

Date: Sunday, 27th August, 2017

Warnings: Gore, vomiting

Ripley: How do we kill it, Ash? There's gotta be a way of killing it. How? How do we do it? Ash: You can't. Parker: That's bullshit. Ash: You still don't understand what you're dealing with, do you? The perfect organism. Its structural perfection is matched only by its hostility.

- Alien (1979)

It was only reluctantly that Dustin rode his bike all the way north to the Overlook Drive-in Theatre. He wasn't on a mission to watch a movie, no (it would be more than lame to go to a drive-in theatre and watch something sitting on your bike). He needed to get a job. After all, maybe it was a bit unfair to let Lea pay for most of Aria's supplies. He really needed to earn some money as well. He'd felt incredibly lucky when he'd seen the poster at the store that the theatre was looking for more employees. He enjoyed movies a lot, and this job couldn't turn out horrible, right? When he chained up his bike and made his way towards the concession building where he would talk to the manager for his interview, he caught a brief glimpse of the screen. He couldn't see much, except that someone was running through some dark tunnels... the sign to his left showed that this was Alien (1979). Ah. A classic - just one he'd never watched before.

The interview went well. It didn't seem like they were looking for any specific qualifications, since Dustin had pretty much none. They just wanted someone who was available most weekends and wouldn't object to being paid nothing more than minimum wage. Now and then, Dustin could hear yelps or screams from the visitors outside, but at some point, he almost had a feeling they were getting much more frequent and louder. It had to be an especially frightening part of the movie. "Jesus," Dustin remarked as a piercing screech nearly shattered the window. "Are they always this loud?"

There was a strange shine coming out of the Overlook cinema. Izel'd never been one for the cinema, especially not since it had been replaced, and at first she assumed it was the cinema screen. But no, the shine danced in her periphery, and whites and blues and a black light she knew human eyes were not meant to see. But it was too big by far to be an aura. Frowning, she stepped through the gate with a concerned quizzical look. A porter asked her to buy a ticket but she waved him away with a promise to be out in a few minutes. Around the other side of the concession building she saw it fully, flickering in and out like it was shining through a crack in a doorway. There were people milling around, even a couple walking straight through the light like it wasn't even there. On the screen a black worm erupted from a man's chest, eliciting a few brief screens, but no one blinked twice at the slit of light hovering nearby

"Excuse me, ma'am, if you're going to stay you really need to pay..." The young porter said, approaching her quickly and quietly.

"Can't you see it?" She asked, pointing right at the light. "It's not a person, I don't understand where it's coming from."

"Uuhhh, see what?" The porter looked at where she was pointing and back at her, eyebrows raised skeptically. "Um, security, I need helping escorting a lady off the premises, I think she's confus-" Izel didn't hear the last word as the light slammed open into a wide shimmering pool of liquid light, unlike anything else she'd ever seen. Now people were staring at it and screaming.

A large stick or pole started emerging, seven foot long with fine bristles covering from head to toe. A second joined it just as the first bent sharply downward. Then a third and a fourth, tapping the ground and stepping forward. Stepping, that was so not the word she wanted to be associating with this, but it fit the moment it flitted into her mind. Time seemed to stop as a giant body started to emerge, with six beady eyes and pincers that could hypothetically slice through cars. Or not so hypothetically.

Izel screamed. "RUN!"

Dustin’s manager, Craig according to his nametag, chuckled. "Yes, they can get very scared sometimes during the Sunday shows. But as long as it's this kind of screams everything is a-ok and nothing to be concerned about."

Dustin frowned. There were a couple of more screams now, loud and terrified, and most importantly, the screaming didn't stop. That was odd. Normally, a movie had maybe one scary scene followed by another moment of suspense. This was more than strange. "Sorry. I really think there is something wrong," Dustin protested.

Craig shook his head. "Don't worry, boy, after working here for a while you will see that this is-"

The glass of the window next to him burst into a thousand pieces as long, black thing pierced through the window. Craig's eyes flew wide open in terror before the thing sliced right through his chest and pinned him to the opposite wall like a dart. Dustin, who had cowered down the second the window burst, tried his best not making a single sound. Because this thing... there were bristles on it. And it seemed to be alive... like this was its leg. Fuck. How big was this thing? And where did it come from? It was only after the leg moved back, leaving Craig to collapse to the ground, that Dustin moved towards him, feeling for a pulse. "Come on, come on," he whispered to himself despite the giant gaping hole in his stomach leaking blood didn't look good. There was no pulse. Hands shaking, Dustin got up from the ground. He tightened his grip around the doorknob before opening the door to see for himself what the hell was going on outside.

Spiders. Why did it always have to be spiders? Why did it have to be spiders that made her feel like that ant in Bug's Life? Izel dropped to the ground as a leg swung over her head, shards of glass dropping from its bristles. Jumping to her feet she sprinted to the side of the concessions building, hiding from the portal. If anything else came through she didn't want it seeing her first. While at first the spider was slow and disorientated, skittering fast for something that could take on an elephant, but as it got its bearing its eyes focused in on the glimmering green beetles around it, ejecting a giant silk line and trapping a car inside it. Izel watched with her fist in her mouth as it tipped the car over, rolling it over and over and sealing it in a silver nest. She only saw one flash of red inside the car as the metal crumpled and crushed. She felt nauseous as it clearly pushed the now mumified car aside for later, looking for new prey. A door nearby swung open as it happened to step in her direction. The taste of lavender filled her mouth. She spun and spotted purple, and instinctively grabbed the boy's arm as she ran and hid around the furthest side of the building from both the portal and the giant spider. He had a little blood on his hands. Eyes wide, she demanded "Are you okay?" Something was buzzing, and with every step of spider the trashcan nearby rattled.

Whatever it was that Dustin imagined to find outside the door, it wasn't a giant spider cocoon an entire car in its silky web. What the hell. Before Dustin could dart back inside (even though technically he knew that staying inside the building wouldn't help him, as Craig's fate showed) something grabbed his arm. Dustin let out a loud scream, but as he was dragged towards the side of the building he noticed that no, this wasn't another dinosaur-sized spider, this was a human being, a woman. Dustin gave her a panicked nod. He wasn't okay, not at all, but she probably wasn't asking him about his psychological wellbeing right now. And he wasn't injured, he'd gotten lucky. The glass shatters easily could have blinded him. "And you? Are you hurt?" he asked. Fuck his promise, if this woman was injured, he was damn well going to heal her right then and there. A loud, screaming noise of terror made him freeze, and he darted around the corner to see. This wasn't just a spider, no. There was this thing - it was huge, and its tail was red, but it had wide, nearly transparent wings. In its legs, it was clutching a screaming woman with dark brown hair. Before Dustin could take his next breath, the huge thing - it looked like a dragonfly in some ways - rose up into the sky before the woman came crashing down onto an old pick-up truck, denting its roof.

"NOO!" The scream was coming from a teenage girl, holding onto the hood of another car. Her shirt, originally white, was stained dark red at the front, and so were her hands. She stumbled forwards, then fell to her knees. Heart racing like an army of elephants was galloping inside his ribcage, Dustin darted towards her.

"Sorry sorry sorry!" Izel hissed at his scream, pressing her fingers briefly against his lips to stop him before they noticed. Did insects even have a sense of hearing? Did monster insects? She didn't let go but eased her grip, hoping it became something among the lines of comforting. "No, not yet, but we need to get out of here. Look, I have to ask, do you know what caused it? What kind of W-" Izel tore away from the young man - the boy - and followed him around the corner at the sound of the scream, already too invested in getting the kid out of this alive, especially if he had something to do with it, however accidentally. Her heart stopped as a body crashed to the ground, 60 feet away from the silk wrapped car. Her blue and pink aura went out like a broken fuse as her skull smashed, contents dripping out like a dropped egg. All the king's horses... Izel felt sick. The kid was suddenly nowhere near, sprinting to a girl with a wavering aura. "Kid, no!" Izel warned, reaching for her phone only to discover it wasn't in her pocket. Probably forgotten at home. No help was coming, not from anyone who actually dealt with monsters. Gunshots began to ring across the cinema as gun owners open fired, but the spider's exoskeleton didn't even chip, but instead just drew its owner's ire. Eyes fixed on the spider, Izel hurried to hide by a nearby abandoned car, away from the open exposed pair of teenagers she was watching, the sickening dread of an awful certainty spreading in her stomach. But there was no way to warn him.

When the woman had asked him about whether he knew where these monsters were coming from, Dustin shot her a confused glance. Why would she assume that he knew anything more than she did? He had just wanted to get a job. Well, at least she wasn’t hurt.

Blood kept seeping out of the poor girl’s stomach, and as he got closer, he recognised her face. Mary Cooper. She hated doing maths in her head, but she was almost the quickest in the entire class if you gave her a calculator. Her perfume had made Dustin’s sneeze on numerous occasions. They’d never really talked. “Don’t worry,” Dustin whispered as he kneeled down. “Everything is going to be okay.” He lifted her shirt which had begun to stick to her skin due to all the blood. This was not the time to worry about privacy, and they both knew that. When he saw the wound, he was nearly sick. He’d seen blood before, he’d seen scratches and stabs and even ripped stitches. But never anything like this. He pressed his hand to the skin right next to the gaping wound. Fuck, how did he even- How could he fix this when he didn’t know exactly what needed fixing? How deep was this wound? What needed to be repaired? This went way beyond the first layers of skin.

“Dustin?” Mary’s voice was faint. Hopeless. “My mum. That thing just-“

“Shh,” Dustin said again, closing his eyes as he poured magic through his hand. He tried to concentrate on what was wrong, on all the tissues that needed fixing, but the sound of gunfire drew his head out of what he was doing. Fuck. He needed to do this. Now. Before that giant dragonfly are that spider came back to snack on them. “Come on, come on,” Dustin chanted to himself, redirecting blood flow, trying to do something. Eyes shut tightly, he managed to close top layer of skin at the injury site.

Mary’s eyes fell shut.

Clank. Clank. Crash. Izel tensed with every smash, looking around the side of the Chevrolet she was crouched behind as the Spider dragged an SUV through the dirt, a crash shaking the dirt each time it was turned to be wrapped. The doors were sealed shut with silk like steel, but the windows were rolled down and a middle aged man inside with a brilliant green aura was hacking at it with a pocket knife every time he found his balance, trying desperately to escape. Swallowing, she looked back at the two teenagers, the boy she'd dragged out of the way focusing hard on the girl's exposed stomach. Izel didn't need to see her insides to know it was bad, and even as the guy's aura started glowing warmer, purple flitting around the turquoise and fresh splatters of black, the girl's faded, flickering briefly under his administrations, but then flashed out too. Izel gagged, and carefully crept forward. He'd seemed to know her and grief was one heck of a paralytic. "Look, um, you need to go. We need to leave." People were pouring out at every exit, and she didn't want to be the last fish in the barrel. If he didn't come... Izel was pretty sure she'd leave him.

"Come on, wake up. Don't go to sleep now!" Dustin instructed his classmate, taking his hand from her stomach to shake her shoulders. She didn't open her eyes, and her body shook moved obediently in the rhythm of his shaking. "Fuck!" When he lifted his hands, two bloody handprints on her shoulder marked where he'd touched her. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice talking to him, but it was just the woman who'd grabbed him earlier. "Are you sure? I can't just- I mean, maybe she will wake-" In the middle of his sentence, he pressed his fingers to her neck. No pulse. "And if she is- we can't just leave her, right? Those things are gonna get back and what if they eat her?" He jumped at the sudden whirring of the giant dragonfly making her way across the theatre ground, grabbing one of the last people in line by its feet.

"Yeah, I'm- I'm sure." The words caught in her throat. Izel wanted to slap his hand away, wasting valuable time feeling for a pulse he wouldn't find. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. It was getting closer. Her heart pounded faster in her chest, trying to escape her and get to safety itself. "We have to. Unless you want them to eat you??" She put an urgent hand on his shoulder, looking up at the dragonfly up above again. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry, but unless you have something impressive up your sleeve we have to go now!"

Dustin shook his head. No, he didn't want them to eat him, or her. But it felt wrong to just leave her like that. She'd just died, a couple of moments ago, if they brought her to a doctor or a skilled witch or someone like that, maybe they could help? But then, trying anything like that, and he might as well die himself. "Okay," Dustin murmured as he felt her hand on his shoulder. If only he'd known how to fix a wound like that. If only he'd practiced more, if he was more skilled in anatomy... But for now, he needed to get out. Reluctantly, he pulled away, awkwardly getting on his feet. His legs were shaking badly, and for a second he worried they would not bear his weight. But they did. He ducked underneath the next car. "Do we... do we make a run for it? Or try to sneak off?" he whispered. Right now was a painful reminder of how useless he was in these situations.

Izel took a deep breath as he stood up, looking at him mournfully before diving for cover by a blue mini. "That is a really, really good question," Izel answered, scanning through the glass for other auras. Several were crowded around the entrance, trying to squeez around or over two abandoned cars, parked as if the drivers wouldn't let the other go first and instead had abandoned them, the gates completely knocked. In the other direction, the dragonfly was collecting a... a nest, a nest of dead bodies staining dented cars red. In a couple, she could just about see the outline of dead bodies in the cars too, where impacts had crushed them. "Sneak - fast- until we get to the exit, then run like hell. My home's not far, it's safer." The car they were crouched by bounced as the ground shook from the spider's step and the car the dead child was lying next to was dragged away by spider silk. Izel bolted, running three cars further, hoping he was following her, and glanced again for the dragonfly. Of the two, that one was the most inescapable. Her eyes caught the screen, showing a young woman running through metal hallways from an unseen terror. Where her waist should have been, a big red stain coated the screen. Izel swallowed, looked at Dustin, and ran the next stage, illuminated by the red sunshine pouring from the portal.

Sneak fast? Dustin wasn't sure if he could do that. Most of the time, whenever he had to move fast, it couldn't exactly be called sneaking. But he nodded. If he wanted to get out of there alive, he needed to follow this woman's lead. And he didn't even know her name - though now didn't seem like a good time to ask. As the spider got closer, Dustin pressed his hand to his mouth to stop himself from making any noise, and then quickly pulled away again as he smelled the blood on his hands. Fuck. He had to concentrate hard on not throwing up. When the woman made a run for it, he followed her without second thought, he just needed to get away. Frowning, Dustin's eyes followed the woman's gaze. The movie was still running... Doing his best to make his shaking legs follow his command, he ran the woman. The exit was close now... And after they were through, they would have to run. Dustin swallowed. Running wasn't his thing, the asthma making it impossible to keep up tempo for any time, and it wasn't like he was in good condition, either. "If I can't keep up," he whispered. "You need to run."

Izel pun to look it, eyes stern, scanning his face. "Then you better keep up, okay? You've got this, you're running hot on adrenaline." She'd drag him if she had to, she hoped. It was easier to envision yourself a hero than a coward. "Ready? Run!" She grabbed his wrist and set off into a deep sprint, holding tight as she squeezed through the gap between the cars and onto the open road. She looked back to make sure she still had the boy in her hand, the slick blood on his hands and wrists spreading to hers, but they couldn't stop yet. Something like a dog sized pill bug climbed over the cards and scuttled towards them at breakneck speeds, forcing them to sprint again. Izel could feel Dustin's grip slipping in her hand as she outpaced him, forcing herself to slow down to stay with him as the store front came into view. "Nearly there, come on!"

Adrenaline wasn't going to open his lungs though, Dustin wanted to say, but before he could voice his protests the woman started running. Seeing as she had grabbed his wrist, he had no choice but to follow after her. He didn't look back, didn't try to see if one of the monsters was following them. If they did, they'd be fucked either way. He was too focused on getting further, running a bit longer, trying to breath regularly. Suddenly, the woman picked up more speed. Fuck, he couldn't keep up. The ache in his sides was becoming nearly unbearable fast, and his breathing was going faster, and more shallow. It felt as if one of the spiders had caught up with them and was squeezing his trachea shut with its spiny legs... Just a bit more. Dying off an ashma attack had to be more pleasant than getting eaten, anyway. "Com- ing," Dustin breathed in response of the woman's words, finally catching up with her.

Izel pulled the keys out of her pocket and half slammed into the store door, key fumbling in her hand before she heard the satisfactory click of it unlocking. She fell through as it swung open and dragged the boy through it so hard she pulled him off his feet. On the wall behind her desk she'd mounted the bleeding sword she'd won from the auction, the only weapon in sight. Pushing Dusting behind a bookshelf and out of sight Izel lunged for the sword, awkwardly lifting it from the stand. She'd forgotten how heavy it was and it slipped in her hand, slicing a thick corner off the edge of her desk and cutting into the carpet. The door rattled as the giant bed bug skittered through. There were ugly in the photos from infomercials, but up close its roughly shingled exoskeleton sent shivers up its spine, and even while she couldn't see its mouth, she could hear it as it wriggled around, looking for a meal. Before it got to her, it turned towards where she'd abandoned Dustin, and started crawling over a book table to reach him. Izel sturdied her grip on the sword, climbed over her desk, and leapt, driving the sword straight into it. The exoskeleton shattered and greek gunk sprayed out as the tip of the sword sank through it like butter, shattering it's abdominal shell too and sank 6 inches into the floor. The Bed Bug squirmed but was pinned in place. Izel couldn't looked away as it frantically scratched its legs for any purchase whatsoever. Slowly, it stilled, and Izel carefully stepped over it to reach the boy, who was looking very pale around the gills. "Hey, you - hggggh- alright? Can you breathe? Do you have an inhaler? ...Sorry."

Dustin let out a loud yelp as the woman hauled him into the bookstore, and he had just gotten back onto his feet before the woman pushed him again, this time to hide behind a bookshelf. Shit, what were they going to do? The creatures seemed to come out of the liquid-thing at the theatre, and who knew how many had pushed out of there since they ran away. There was no way they were going to stay in one place once they had finished their meal... of people. Fuck. They were going to eat Mary and the others. From one moment to the next, the woman carried a sword in her hand. Who the hell kept actual swords in a bookstore- and wait a second, did that sword just slice through the wooden material of the desk as if it was a slice of cheese?! He jumped at the sudden noise at the door, bumping into a bookshelf behind him. Several books fell to the floor with a loud crash. Dustin winced. This was almost more terrifying than the giant dragonfly. He hated bugs like that, and even more when they were the size that they might consider him their meal. And it was coming right towards him... shit shit shit. There was nothing he could do. There was no spell he could remember that could save him from this. Without keeping his eyes off the bug slowly crawling towards him, Dustin grabbed one of the heavy books from the floor. As this thing crawled over a book table, antennae twitching in anticipation, he was briefly reminded of one of the books he'd been forced to read for school. The Meta-something. How he had hated that book. He took more steps back as the thing got even closer, even though there was nowhere to run. It was right then that the woman sliced right through its abdomen, green ooze spraying out of it. Eyes wide, he looked at the woman as she came up to him, giving her a shaky nod. He could breathe. He didn't have his inhaler - it was somewhere in his backpack which he'd left at the theatre - but he would make it through this. He knew he could breathe, because his chest was moving up and down and there was definitely oxygen going to his brain, even though it still felt like something was pushing on his chest, keeping a tight grip around his throat. He glanced at the dead bug behind the woman, at its thick shell and long legs and sharp mouth parts. What were the other creatures doing, were they currently eating- Dustin barely had time to tilt his head away as he was sick all over the floor. "Sorry," he whispered, his voice shaking a little. "I'm really sorry. I-" He had to stop. He had to get it together. "I'm-" He threw up a second time. "I'm Dustin," he managed to say between gags.

Izel took a half step back, tilting her head away and closing her eyes as he heaved, wishing there was a way to close her ears. "It's okay, I probably need a professional-" she grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut further as he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor, "-cleaner, anyway. I'm, um, Izel." She took a deep breath and straightened up, looking at the dead beetle she'd pinned to her floor. God did she hope these things didn't swarm. "Let's get you cleaned up." She offered a hand to him and helped him around the bug as police sirens squealed past. "Oh!" Izel looked around for her phone, but couldn't see it anywhere, and dialling the desk's landline got her a failing dial. "Phone's down, which means internet is. You got any slayers in your phone book? Um, bullets ricocheted off that spider like nobody's business and the police aren't..." Izel sighed, wiping her forhead and smearing blood across it. "Kitchen's through here..."

Dustin looked up as he was finished, wiping at his mouth. His eyes grew wide at her statement. "Shit, this is your place? I'm really, really sorry," he said again. He felt terrible for throwing up in her bookstore, although maybe her owning this place was a good thing. This way, at least they wouldn't have to explain the giant dead bug to a clueless and poor owner. "But nice to meet you, Izel. Though I wish this was happening under nicer circumstances." He followed her, frowning as she mentioned that the phone was down. There went his chance to call and warn his family and Quinn. "Slayers? Like vampire slayers? Those things aren't vampires, at least not how I would imagine vampires," he told her, following her into the kitchen. "You should- um, you should probably get cleaned up. You look horrible. No offense!" Ah, a tap. Great. Dustin went straight through the room, holding his mouth under the water to get the terrible taste out of his mouth. "What are we gonna do?" he wondered. His heart was still going way too fast. "I mean, those things- how do we- we need to warn people. What if people are out there and they just run into- into whatever it is those things are?"

Izel shook her head. Sick on the wood was the least of her concerns. Her eyes flicked to the door and flinched as distant gunshots rang out. "Likewise." How he was thinking of niceties right now was beyond her, but she appreciated it beyond words, even if hers were a little sparse. "Yeah, Slayers. Actually, anyone with super strength, speed and combat training will be swell. I mean, nothing I've ever covered included giant spiders and bed bugs. Where do you even find a bed big enough for that?" She gestured at the mess in the hall. She nodded. "You too, hon." He clearly agreed, given how he rushed to the tap. Izel leant against her sideboard, shaking with misplaced adrenaline. "Police are there, people will know not to approach. There's not much else we can do unless you've got something big under those sleeves of yours, we just gotta stay safe until someone takes them down." But bullets had bounced off them, which probably meant regular knives would too. Unless it was a severely irregular knife. Izel looked at the bed bug once again. Now that was worrying - an idea had just started taking shape in her head.

#touchofchatzy #touchoffinale #potw: 1 minute to midnight #izel #from outer space #gore tw #vomiting tw

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categorically-patheic · 8 years ago

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Fic: Hero Syndrome, Pt.1 Ch. 2

I can’t believe I wrote 2700 words of fanfiction. Holy shit.

Early mornings at Ostagar are lethargic and tepid, like wading through cooling molasses. Dew mottling the battlegrounds glisten in the torrid dawn, glittering the grass and reflecting pinpricks of light onto the decorated ashen armor currently being leisurely adorned by each sleepy-eyed soldier. Within the barracks, the recruits move in sluggish synchronicity with one another; sitting up from their cots, changing their bedclothes, retrieving their weapons were all actions memorized by their muscles from the daily monotony of training.

As each Grey Warden filters into the main staging arena, the rows of tables fill with broad bodies and heaping servings of this day's breakfast: grains, dried fruits, and lukewarm ale. An unsatisfactory morning meal made irrelevant by the mirth and good-natured ribbing being shared between brothers-in-arms. Soon the still air rumbles with a crescendo of the usual boisterous clangor of warriors rowdily conversing and laughing, the commotions consuming the battlements. Pats on the back and slaps of metal-on-metal crash ringingly in a supine expression of camaraderie.

Not far from the vociferous mess, Shepard emerges from her own beige tent well-rested and radiant. Blades of grass squish between her bare toes when she walks along the verdure, inhaling the cool breeze with focused, deep breaths. Her milky skin gleams with a matte sheen in the rising sunlight, the dark brown dotting freckles and moles scattered across her face and upper arms giving contrast to the pale, almost-white cream color of her flesh. Her large, dark eyes scan the horizon in search of danger, but find none. With the feeling of security, she initiates her morning routine by attaching her plate chest piece to her mage light-wear, working her way to the pauldrons and arms pieces down to her legs and finally slipping on her boots. She dons the armor diligently, and her honey-tinted hair bounces and falls against the side of her head with her snappy movements; the short waves of her sandy locks fall charmingly along her face and the back of her neck, framing her head with upward curves of golden, wispy thread.

She finishes her preparations, slings her knapsack upon her shoulder, and begins to saunter along the tents and armaments to greet her cavalry, and the sound of refreshingly familiar tumult of hundreds of overzealous soldiers makes her smile to herself as she marches upon the beaten, gravel path with firm and distinct steps crunching softly under her dainty frame.

It's the first morning of her new career serving as Ferelden's Commander of the Grey. She actually isn't sure if the hordes of mercenaries and volunteers had even been notified of their contemporary officer. That doesn't really matter, though, for she'll whip their asses into shape regardless if they want her to do it or some hulking human templar. All they have to do is show up; she'll rip the passion and enthusiasm out of each soul with her bare hands if she had to. Ferelden, Thedas really, needs defending, and she is going to be the one leading the charge, whether they like it or not.

The discordian melody of amicable banter peters out when the sight of her Warden-Commander mail and the amber-colored vestment underneath comes into view. And with that reaction, Shepard has her answer. The tranquil smile splayed across her lips shifts subtly into a sneer at the revelation that they do know of her becoming their new leader and don't like it at all. She'd always loved a challenge, and this'll probably be the most daunting of her life. The thought makes her heart bubble giddily and feet pick up speed.

Shepard approaches a crate of dehydrated fruit at the front end of the mess and effortlessly hops up and climbs onto the box, adding an additional two feet to her meager five foot three. Her hips are held in her hands in a cocky spectacle as she her face beams with joy and just a hint of sinister intentions. "Grey Wardens of Ferelden, look upon the Warden-Commander who will lead you into inevitable victory against the Blight!"Confidence ripples throughout her speech, her voice booming across the ramparts. Her physique is curved in a convex arch, and the body language amplifies her boisterous complexion.

The proceeding silence is deafening and painful; every millisecond drags out as if lifetimes had gone by. Her eyes flicker across each confused and unaffected face as her whole body deflates under the disconcerting stillness. Finally, one man dares disturb the quiet when a masculine cry comes out of the lines of men and women, unseen by most but heard by all. "As if we'd take orders from a puny rabbit!"

The stillness remains for only but a second. Cacophony reborn, a roar of cackles and shrieks replace the lull, building up in volume and intensity and expounding on itself with each individual snicker. A nerve is struck within her, though not out of a lack of self-confidence or even anxiety. It was more of an overwhelming desire to prove all of them wrong. Not waning for any self-assured jackass, Shepard's eyes turn dangerous, the satisfied gleam all but killed in the instant the bellow carried about the air.

"Well, this rabbit's got teeth. You think this is funny? We'll see how hard you're laughing at the end of 20 laps around the perimeter. Come on, break time's over." She claps her hands twice before she crosses her arms with perhaps a bit too much force in a gesture of impatience and ire. Groans and protests emit from the mob, a faceless coagulation of silver shuffling falteringly in position at the front gates to prepare for their punishment. Shepard leers at the stragglers, shoving them forward and scaring them straight with her glare alone.

Heavy footsteps indent the grass behind her, pausing at her side to look out at the recruits, watching them sweatily sprint in a broad circle around Ostagar. She deviates her deadly gaze downward and catches the sight of her King Kryik staring passively and unimpressed ahead with his arms bent behind his back, only about a foot and a half shorter than her still atop the wooden container. She feels a warmth spread down her neck and into her spine, a nervous energy bunching up within her chest and settling densely in her stomach.

"Good morning, your Highness. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Overly formal and rather excessive for her tastes, Shepard extends the common and polite greeting to one's sovereign ruler.

Without so much as glimpsing to her, he subtlety smiles and slants his head and scrutiny to his left where she stood uptight and suspicious. "You've made quite the impression so far." His amused disposition isn't lost on her. He's enjoying her abuse of power as much as he's trying to cast an unspoken admonishment upon it. She can't imagine Saren getting a kick out of this as much as they are.

"Most of them know me from training anyways, they understand I don't take any shit. They're just testing their boundaries." Her words are light and aloof, but the feeling of disappointment douses every syllable in venom. Her use of 'curse words' was known and disregarded when she was included within the featureless mass; no one really cares how the trainees talk as long as they get the job done. But this is different, this is the king. She's playing the same game as the teasing squall this incident was born from, pushing at the confines of her role as his inferior.

His mood is promoted from amused to entertained when he realizes a banter has been achieved between them. She's capable and proficient enough that chewing her out for insubordination seems unnecessary, but she still needs to learn her place. She may run this operation, but he runs every thing around it, and he intends to reminder her of that.

"Perhaps you'd like to join them. You've gotta stay limber if you hope to be a capable Commander." He teases her and prods where he know he can without going too far. With this report they've established between them, they could pretend that they don't see each other as a threat, masquerade the tension that arises between two people given authority. Just maybe, they could convince themselves they're comrades fighting side-by-side and not begrudging associates locked in an uneven power struggle. It seems King Nihilus is a magnet for rivalry and infighting.

A wry smile smears across her lips in understanding. The king was quite well-known for his unique and oddly playful propensity for delivering genuine advice in the form of ironic quips. Knowing him and his quirks all too well, she takes the hint and bounds off of the storage unit and onto the ground in a crouching position, holding her left hand in front of her to break her fall. She slowly erects, marinating in the moment and basking in the mid-morning heat before announcing her departure and letting him win this encounter, "I think I'll do just that, your Majesty. I'll keep the troops on their toes."

Nihilus chuckles breathy all in one syllable, "Heh. I'm sure you will, Commander. I'll be watching." As ominous and foreboding as the parting message was, Kryik adorns an innocent expression as his penetrating regard bores holes through her eyes and into her deepest thoughts. The king turns around and retraces his steps back the way he came to his tent. Shepard is left somewhat dumbfounded, gawking obtusely as his back until it vanishes behind its tent's flap. She shakes her head, clearing it of his mind games, and squats down onto the balls of her feet to meet eye-level with the latch of the platform she'd just jumped off of. She slips the crate's lid open and sneaks a handful of dried apple slices before raising back to her full height and prepares to move onward. She slides the strips of fruit into her side-satchel and trudges forward in what she can only hope appears as a nonchalant amble to the front gates of Ostagar.

She crosses the fortress in minutes, hurried and tight strides tracing a beeline from the mess to the starting point of those laps she'd angrily ordered of her army. She was starting to regret that decision, feeling it a touch harsh for just giving her a hard time -- always brash and impulsive, her. Maybe she'd make it up to them later, throw them a sort of celebratory bash if they preform at least acceptably when sparring in the afternoon.

Lost in thought, she almost bumped into her best friend and second-in-command in the chaos of scampering armored conscripts. "Kaidan-- shit, sorry." Shepard put a hand to her forehead, ripping herself out of her petty musings and wiping the perspiration she'd accumulated from just standing around in the broiling daybreak. Yeah, she definitely owes every single recruit a beer.

"Hey, Shepard. I- I mean--" He fumbles as he straightens his posture and folds his right arm over his chest inelegantly. "Commander." He tries his damnedest to respond to her salutation with as much tribute as he has within his soul, voice gruff and face unwaveringly obstinate. The spectacle makes her snicker quietly, his eyes brightening as she does so.

Kaidan (Warden-Constable Alenko, now) was probably her only true friend within the Grey Wardens; he really was someone she could trust with her secrets and whom she could count on to have her back. They'd bonded over their shared interests, what with them both being spirit healers and having a knack for the technical: mechanical engineering, trap-making, weapon design, etc. She'd gravitated towards him almost immediately when he was delivered to the grounds by that Nevarran First Enchanter with high praise only 3 months ago, when the first signs of the Blight had sprung up.

But her intrigue in him wasn't due to his magical proficiency or impressive Circle resume, not really. It was because there was something so soft and nonthreatening within him that emanated out to her the first time they'd met eyes; that placid aspect about him had made her feel better about herself in contrast, though now she felt guilty admitting that to herself. Shame begins replacing the relief of finding him amidst the mob, and it stains her cheeks a subtle red as he stares at her wide-eyed and hanging on her trailed words, awaiting her orders.

"Stand down, Warden-Constable. No need to get all fancy on me now." Her warm words dissolve the tension between the two; things had gotten rather high-strung when it came to her personal relationships with her crew now that she was their boss. She guesses they feel as though they can't be themselves around her anymore lest they get the boot. Her heart beats ice cold at the idea that her connections to these people were so thin that they'd untwine under such a seemingly minor shift in power.

"What d'ya think of my method of discipline? Too harsh?" Shepard says it in such a way that he could think her joking, laugh, and move on-- or he'd see it for the plea for guidance it truly was. She'd 'exhibited strong leadership qualities in her training' (quote High-Constable Anderson), but this was the real deal. Shepard wouldn't dare say this out loud, but she's scared. Actually, she's entirely fucking petrified at the idea of leading this entire army to their deaths, which is most likely exactly what the next 2 days would entail. At this point, she'd trade every possession she owns if it meant someone would slap her in the face and explain everything she was doing wrong. Was fantasizing about being physically abused healthy?

"Ehh... You could've gone easier on them, but they need to know who's boss," he expresses reverently. His right hand travels from the fisted position against his chest to rub the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with giving his commanding officer leadership advice.

Ignoring his apprehension, she continues, "Yeah, I know I really need to reign it in, but that 'rabbit' comment just pissed me off too much for me to let it go in the moment." Her arms fold over each other as she looks upwards and into this eyes.

"It'd piss anyone off, Shepard. They disrespected you, you punished them for it. I think you should just stop worrying about it and move on." Her faint wince on the word 'punished' didn't escape Kaidan, and he begins to imagine the numerous self-deprecating things she's probably projecting onto herself now. He frowns at thought. If he'd been asked, he'd say he thinks she's too nice for her own good. He'd also say he's completely aware of the fact that she believes the same about him. But while he can be somewhat of a pushover, her undying need to placate and attend to the needs of everyone around her will, in his opinion, drag her down. They both need to harden up for their own well-beings.

"So how's the promoted life feeling? Are they scared shitless of you yet like they are me?" As long as she keeps the conversation light and surface level, she won't need to analyze the concerned expression he's studying her face with.

"It's weird, if I'm being honest. I mean, I don't know if I'm cut out for this. Leading is more of your thing." Somehow he manages to tell her the last thing she wants to hear every time, today being no exception. She runs a hand pensively through her short, thin locks as she considers his misgiving. She sighs, defeated and already tired, despite waking but 3 hours ago.

"Alright. I'm not gonna make you do anything you don't feel comfortable with. I'll ask Williams later if she'd take the position. You're certain you can't make this work, though?" She feels like she's pressuring him, which she is, but her hopes had been high to see him in a management role. It'd be a learning experience for all of them, something for the better. He'd get grips on his confidence, and perchance they'd discover some goddamn respect.

"I-- Yeah. I am, Commander." His speech is tense and definite.

Her brow tilts upward just so, eyes searching his. "Okay. You're officially off the hook," she jokes with her hand on his shoulder, and his stance loosens with a release of unease. "Don't worry about the laps. Looks like they're about done, anyway."

Without giving him the chance to replay, she turns to her left and walks passed him and the other Grey Wardens, most of them panting and reclined against the brick walls of the parapet. All she can see in her periphery is dirty looks and anxious grimaces. Shepard reaches into her pack and pulls out the preserved apple slices, nibbling on the end of a ribbon of fruit. She lowers her head and watches the dirt pass underneath her feet as she walks.

Today was gonna be a long day.

#me #fic #mine

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