Ruinous Warmthby BlueDrillsChapters1A - First Taste1B - First Touch2A + Imprint Distillation2B - Receding Flavor1A - First TasteA chilling wind blows through the halls. Dejectedly lowering her hand, a girl looks on as the dove that had previously sat on the windowsill flies away into the gray skies. A single feather flutters down in its wake, and the urge to capture it comes to her. She reaches for it, but it manages to spin and slither just shy out of her grasp. With a defeated sigh, she returns her hand to her front, grasping her bag, and resumes walking down the long halls of the high school. Her footsteps lightly echo throughout the deserted walkway. The bulk of the school's student body is down at the cafeteria and its outskirts, with the rest scattered on the fields and main halls of the school. A bite of loneliness gives her a light shudder, despite the layers of uniform she was under. I'm sorry... A light apology voices in her mind, not exceedingly repentant or sorrowful, rather simply a default utterance she's used to give when nothing else comes to mind. Not exceedingly, but she's still not in her best mood. The turn of the year had shifted something in the young woman. Something so maddeningly immaterial and nondescript it drove her to a fist-clenching, deep-breathing frustration at times, completely uncharacteristic of her. Well, she thinks it was the turn of the year, but in reality she just started really noticing it then. It started with a fading enjoyment in her hobbies and duties. Each time the animals at the shelter came up excitedly to her, each time she watched her favorite shows, and even each time she managed to work out a happy glimmer in her pet's eyes... Each time, she enjoyed it a tiny little bit less. She figured it was simply her growing accustomed to them, or maybe even the natural progress of time taking its toll on her. Like a distant coin drop, she felt a light pulse of anxiety at that thought. Although she was technically already one, the image of "the adult world", as her earlier years called it, didn't really hold much interest or joy for her. She was fine with what she had. Had being past tense, of course. Unnoticed by her, little by little, she started reaching further out each time an animal turned away from her. Sighs became deeper and deeper, and she held onto her pillow a little bit longer, a little bit tighter every day. And yet, the feeling of utter... meaninglessness? Uselessness? It was hard to describe. Hard to describe, but not hard to suffer from. She tried what she could. She tried diving further in to her pastimes. Staying longer with the rescues. Attempting to create art or stories. Talking to her rabbit deep into the night. She even tried to learn guitar! But in the end, it was fruitless. Every time, she felt unfulfilled. She didn't understand what she was doing wrong, or what she actually wanted for that matter. It was as if those things that once gave her day-to-day life meaning slowly but surely stopped connecting with her at her core. It came to the point that, one particularly stressful evening, her pet snapped at her. He bit her arm, struggling wildly to free himself from what she thought was just an affectionate hug. He scampered out of the house in a flash, and she would find him, a couple of weeks later, among the animals at the shelter, unwilling to return to her. The caretakers would explain to her about how rabbits need their space, and how she shouldn't force him to be with her, and all manner of things she thought she clearly understood. Worried about the rabbit's reaction to her, she'd later agree upon, they withheld custody of it from her. No recourse or hope apparent, she even turned to her friends, the growing despair she felt overcoming her adversity to burdening others with her issues. This would only turn out to reinforce that adversity. Sorry... The apology comes more genuine this time. It's not that she dislikes them, or that she doesn't appreciate the time they spend together, but... They tried, they really did. Bless their hearts, they'd been giving it their all for her. They tried to be there for her at every step, tried to help her find out what was ailing her (blindly guessing at everything from her family to her body to her social status to her beliefs), tried to distract her from it all, but all in vain. With every meeting, every project, every night spent together, every outdoor hour they pulled her out of her silent home for her sake, it not only drove that enigmatic stake deeper in her heart, it showed her just how far away they all stood from her. All of them had places where they belonged in. Whether it be with family, peers, or on their own pursuits, she could imagine them living healthy and fulfilling lives five, ten, even twenty years into the future. Unlike her, they all seemed to have a place that called to them, a road to follow, while the one she thought was hers was slipping away. Not only that, but she knew that they could at least get a glimpse of that feeling in her eyes. They tried to hide it from her, but she could see their winces. Small sighs in disappointment. Tiny grunts of frustration. Defeated shrugs. Worried glances when they thought she wasn't looking. It all just made her mad at herself for not just... getting fixed. She felt terrible for feeling terrible, an ungrateful notion towards all their care. Felt terrible for making everyone worry about her, making it so they thought she needed them to spend so much effort on her. It all felt so wrong. She eventually started to separate from them at school. It was an insidious effort; Whenever they had their attention on her, she would just sit and bear it. She couldn't hide her dour mood, but they didn't need to know her discomfort towards them. So everyday, every time, she looked for an opening to excuse herself. If they tried to pull her back in, she would not resist, but if she could just manage to escape their notice, to feign ignorance that she kept spending more and more time alone, she could keep a semblance of innocence towards them and their well-intentioned efforts while not slowly being driven mad by them as well. If she could just pack it all in, and smile through it, no one else needed to sting her with those dreadful, distressed stares... She catches herself gripping her bag tight enough to make her knuckles white. Taking in a breath to calm herself, she practically feels her stance deflate in resignation. Her parents weren't much help either. Her demure nature clearly inherited from them, they were apprehensive about forcing themselves upon her personal life, despite being able to see hints of her emotional descent. Hints were all she would allow, as she made sure to essentially keep them at arm's length about the issue. If she couldn't decipher the source of her issues, how could she begin to explain her problems to them? It would only serve to spread her gloom, and besides, with their aging bodies and worrying after Zephyr and his escapades across the ocean as an exchange student to take their time, there was no room for her own troubles. She was an adult, after all, and adults take care of their own business. Even if she was only a senior in high school, and the thought of battling with her confusing feelings alone into the future only filled her with dread. It was on that thought that her gait was slowed to a stop, her long reverie of reflection interrupted by a light gust of cold wind, blowing in from the open doors to the hall's balcony. The darkness of the day seeming to reflect upon her morose mood, she feels beckoned by the scenery outside. The high wall of the balcony obstructing the view of the fields, and nothing but endless grays filling the skies, it almost feels as if the space beyond these gates is its own world. While almost humorous to entertain such a thought, it still pushes her onward, if only to detach herself in her mind briefly. Stepping "outside", predictably, nothing but a light shift in brightness and temperature occurs. However, a quiet sound and a shadow in her periphery alerts her to something more. With a fright, she notices a boy sitting on the floor against the wall. Recollection rides through her mind as it tries to pin down his identity, though she had trouble doing so. She knows he's on her year due to his uniform that mirrored hers, a white blazer with a dark blue shirt, different from their underclassmen. Her train of thought fades away to distress in the second it appeared, thoughts of intruding on someone else's search for solitude multiplied by her own dread of having to suddenly converse with someone in her current state resulting in a wave of shivers going down her spine. As another second passes though, a new sort of panic shocks through her, as she pays more attention to her hearing and looks closer upon the person practically crumpled on the floor. His legs are splayed haphazardly on the ground. One of his heels digging into the bookbag half open beside him, seemingly thrown without care against the wall. His shirt is partially pulled up, revealing red marks in his skin, in streaks and bumps, most likely self-inflicted. Her gaze finally turns to his face, although his eyes are covered by his hands. Nose dribbling, streaks of tears flow out from between his fingers, as they seem to fiercely grip and dig into his scalp. His face is reddened in spots, and twisted into a pitiful grimace as he shakes and hiccups, making a visible effort through clenched teeth to keep as quiet as possible. Her panic shifts from one side to the next, blanking on what she should do. She wants to get away, both to run from him, and to get someone else to help him. Her fear spikes ever higher, and she feels herself losing control from the stress. However, it takes a third overly-long second to realize she isn't falling unconscious. In fact, it seems her body had moved in the brief flash of darkness, though surveying in which way pushes her fright to new, heart attack-inducing heights. In the short moment she lost awareness, she had dived to her knees, tights scraping on the tiled floor, and scooped up the weeping boy. One hand slipped under his back to pull him up and hold him tight against her, the other running through his dark green hair as she pressed his head to her chest, snugly resting her head on his. Although she was internally screaming at her actions, her mien betrayed nothing but sympathy and kindness as she gently cradled and hushed him. He seemed to be in similar shock to her own mind, his hands hanging behind her and his breathing stopping short. Several unsure seconds pass, her inner mental breakdown building to brand new levels in the meantime, before he crosses his arms behind her back, hands gripping at her as he desperately holds on to her, his stuttering, now barely silent cries redoubling as his tears soak into her sweater vest. His leaning into her manages to put a stop to her rising terror, as something within her just... releases. Like the discovery of an oasis in a vast, burning desert, or light of a sunrise after a dark, long and stormy night, a feeling of relief and euphoria rushes through every twist and corner of her very being. Her mind completely relaxes as waves of that blooming warmth wash over her, hands contently and lovingly stroking at her charge. Her soft shushing fades as the boy's whimpers peter out, breath stabilizing. She gently pulls him with her as she sits. His grip on her softens, but never leaves, making her placid smile widen. Her eyes droop almost sleepily as she feels him shift slightly before settling upon her. Her head is swimming, mind completely stupefied and smothered in the moment, and the two lay entwined, feeling each other's heartbeats as the moment extends to a minute, then two, then five, then fifteen... The shrill, loud ringing of a bell over head gives them both a harsh start. Numbness follows as her mind races to catch up on just what she had been doing for the last half hour of lunchtime. Her teal eyes fall upon the boy's yellow ones, as if to confirm with him, despite not having even shared a word of dialogue the entire time. Her intense shock and reddening face mirrored on him, as well as the resonating beats between them, serve as confirmations to her. With a yelp, they practically jump off each other, Fluttershy snatches her bag away from its discarded place near them, and she sprints away like a terrified gazelle, hands pushing into the front of her skirt. 1B - First TouchA chilling wind blows into the balcony from the empty halls. The heavy bag slams into the railing, discarded with grief and borderline-hate. Maybe something in it broke, maybe not. The trailing concern gets quickly drowned to the point of corruption in piling resentment. You should've just tossed it over the barrier into the ground below anyway, make sure things ended up smashed, bent and soaked, unusable. It's not like they had any worth; they're yours after all, and you deserve nothing. Yeah, just throw away the things entrusted to you like trash, you ungrateful, disgusting piece of shit. An useless pig like you deserves nothing but a kick in the teeth and a knife down your throat. Let someone find it, worriedly return it to the Lost-and-Found, then absolutely fail to explain yourself like the mentally deficient little faggot you are once someone gets your name from it. Maybe that'll push you hard enough to finally do the world the only justice you're capable of and rid it of yourself. But no, that sounds scary, doesn't it? You don't even have the fucking balls to start that chain off, do you? How disgusting. Then I'm just as horrid as usual, aren't I? How are you surprised that a scumbag continues to be a scumbag? It's called having a fucking conscience, you rancid vomit, which honestly just makes it worse that you continue to dig further below rock bottom with every second you persist in breathing despite knowing what you should do. The boy slams himself into the back wall, head bouncing off it once before landing on it. A ringing pain spreads from the impact, practically squeezing at his tear ducts. Is it bleeding? Most likely not, world's unfair like that. He's not strong enough to do that anyway. Pulling his sleeves all the way up his arms with force, he digs his damaged nails into his upper arms. Skin breaks and scrapes as he tightens his grip, but doesn't reach to the point of bleeding. He could say he's just making sure he doesn't bring any attention to himself by leaving marks, but its more like he's such a bitch he won't dare do it. What stupid bullshit was it this time? Oh right, that, being too braindead to do simple tasks literally everyone can do. It was almost humorous, really. He slams his fist into the floor in rising frustration, the action only resulting in a barely audible, pitiful thump to contrast the pain that shoots up from the side of his hand and pinkie. He had to run from there, crybaby's waterfalls threatening to burst. He was teetering dangerously close to losing the cold yet eternally disgruntled mask he keeps on. It was completely foolish to think he was capable of fooling anyone with his ridiculous efforts, and yet no one really approached him, so he could at least pretend to be a decent actor. Of course, the only role he's fits in is as an extra to his and everyone else's life, but that's for the best. Back to the point; You're an irredeemable dumbass who plateau'd from day one. Aren't you supposed to be smart? Logic dictates that if you're smart, then the only other conclusion here is that you're failing on purpose, so it's your fault! Just the recollection of moments prior brought a flurry of shame, hate, rage, despair, resignation and a million other variations of repugnance towards his own existence rushing and flooding his mind. He had just sat there. Staring at the board, at his work, then back at the board, lost. He looked to the others in the room, but them? They were fine. Smiling, composed, even relaxed, like what was in front of them was the most obvious and easily understood subject in the world. And yet here he was, completely dumbfounded at everything. Actually, completely was incorrect(as he always is). No, there were bits and pieces he understood, or at least thought he understood. It just made it worse, when he tried everything he believed should work, and all that came out was failure. Failure, failure, failure like every single other fucking thing he puts his mind to, and everything he will ever put his abominable, revolting, cursed hands on! The fact that he hasn't been drawn and quartered already for wasting so much of everyone's time and resources is a godsdamned crime against all who live, along with the rest of his detestable life and body! Face twisted in wrath, another fist swings, this time straight into his cheek, knuckle making painful contact with the cheekbone. The skin stings immediately, but he keeps swinging in a flurry, now aiming at his torso. Two, three, four hits land on his midsection, alternating sides, until the internal pain catches up to him and overcomes his flare of fury, immobilizing him from continuing. His breath catches as he slides down the wall, holding the area he just started to pummel, with a whispered fear of something inside rupturing drifting through his head as he doubles over. The world should be so lucky, his brain comments, adding feelings of further loathing and twisted hope into the mix as fingers hook into his flesh with what little strength his self-defenses will allow. It is like this every day. Both the complete failure to keep up in practically every way with his juniors, and the process of choking on his own madness and indignation when given the space. Among the people he called underclassmen just last year, he was a simple, almost generic loner. Sat on the back corner of the class, didn't speak more than a dozen words on a good day (class exercises not withstanding, which assured to them he actually could speak), would shut down all but the most formal, work-related of approaches, and generally gave off a negative vibe to any who dared to acknowledge his existence. Multiple people had tried to make contact with the boy; Friendly gestures from good-natured people, curious prodding from the more sprightly classmates, and even some mocking jabs from some of the more ill-mannered of his peers, it all consistently received nothing but cold apathy and silence. After a particularly persistent case of attempts to bait a reaction out of him caught the attention of the staff and several people a date with the counselor's office, it seemed they had all come to an agreement to just generally ignore the repeat year student, much to his relief and desolation in equal parts. That's what's right. That is the correct course of action to take with you; to treat you like what you are worth, and what awaits the rest of your infection of the planet, absolutely nothing. As long as they avoid you, as long as the world forgets your wretched existence completely, you can minimize the damage you cause to all you manage to interact with, if only microscopically. Obviously never enough to make your continued survival forgivable, but we both know you're not fixing that yourself. His hands drag up his torso, digits drawing red lines on his skin. Yeah, because I'm too much of a fucking worthless little bitch, alright?! Too afraid to act, too stupid to find a way out, and-- His shirt catches on his fingers. He tries to lift his hands, but his index finger's nail catches on the cotton. Frustration levels already unstable, he wildly pulls in anger. --too much of a godsdamned vile blight on the universe to just fucking end myself! He tears a very small hole on the hem, and splinters his nail. His hand free, his rage quickly chills, all the way around into desperation. He stretches his crumpled form back out, and he throws his legs carelessly in whichever way they may fall. His palms come up to cover his eyes, ever-clawing fingers digging through his basil green hair into his scalp in an effort to shut everything out in darkness and pain. His head once more slams into the wall, pushing his already running tears out as he grits his teeth, wails of anguish and sorrow barely being held back. His breathing hitches and shudders along with the rest of him, his grip on his head tightening. Silence envelops everything but his own gasps, as is routine. Please, just kill me. I can't do it myself. Don't let me wake up again. I beg of you. I can't stand it. The incoming inner derisive retort is stopped in its tracks as the world suddenly shifts. He barely hears a thump beside him before he feels thin, unknown hands slide beneath him. His arms move from in front of him in surprise, his eyes getting a blurry glimpse of light before his face is obstructed again. With a disproportionate amount of force compared to the arms around him, he feels himself being held up, the hand on his back supporting a good deal of his weight while his head is pushed forward by the other, fingers gently running through his hair onto his still-stinging skin. After the rare moment of actual inner silence born out of shock passes, his mind starts processing sensations in overdrive. The sound of sweet, whispered hushing in his right ear. The slowly intensifying heartbeat on his left. The blurry image from his right eye of close-up fabric and skin. The scent of honey with a hint of strawberry. But most of all, the feeling. Softness. Warmth. Kindness. Compassion. More so than the decidedly feminine body holding him so tenderly close, gradually adding heat to his own, he felt a wave of clemency and benevolence flow through him. The poisonous tongue of his mind lashed out, berating him for letting yet another poor soul come into contact with his putrid self and shaming him for his physical enjoyment of her touch, but to no avail. While his memory was surely engraving the words into the deep recesses of his brain for later, his consciousness was being too quickly overwhelmed by the comforting feeling of the girl's touch to really react or even understand the admonishments. With a final jeer over how easily he submit to the slightest touch of affection, he feels even that omnipresent voice muffle out into the core of negative emotions in his depths, the soothing heat giving him that silence he desperately desired. His brain finally slowing down for once in his life, he only feels half-aware as he realizes he's clinging tightly onto the unidentified caretaker. With nothing but muted hints of grievances from the far reaches of his soul to object to his actions, he fully gives in to her, pushing himself further into her embrace as his shivering gasps begin to slow. A deep breath is let out against his ear. Her hands start stroking at his hair and back, sending ripples and vibrations through his body he could only describe as beauty itself given form in physical touch. He could, if his head didn't feel dull and full of clouds and cotton and relief and all things kind. Their intertwined balance shifts as she pulls him with her. His relaxation extends to his arms as they lose some of the strength he was pulling himself close with, but he doesn't let go. He would never even dare to lose her embrace, he'd rather be torn to pieces first if at least one of them could stay here, with her. The sensation of her warmth only intensifies as he breathes deeply against her, distantly noticing the feeling of wetness on the area his left eye was pressed against. Settling against the wall, he pulls his dragging legs up to a slightly more comfortable position, and finishes weaving himself into her grasp, practically melting on top of her. As their slow respiration synchronizes into a sleep-inducing, sluggish rhythm, he feels his eyelids descend to the calming beat of her heart pushing up against him, reciprocated by his own in kind... Until, that is, the piercing ringing of the school bell marking the end of lunch period detonates with the fright of a nuclear alarm. Awakening with a jump, he shakes his head quickly, disoriented and confused. The feeling of warmth on him completely alien to him, he turns only to meet his yellow eyes with a pair of large teal ovals on a borderline-crimson face, which he noted felt like it mirrored his own, along with their shared embrace and something else. It only lasts a quarter of a second as remembrance stampedes through his head, and they both push off each other. His liftoff is, unfortunately for him, less graceful than that of the girl he now recognizes, Fluttershy. He just kicks off backwards and lands on his back, head getting slammed for a third time. He puts his hands on the impact spot, curling up and eyes closing in pain for a few moments. Third time's the charm, it seems, as he feels a little wetness from it. Trying to push past the pain, the yelling in his head returns full force as he makes for his bag. He notices the pink-haired girl's vanished, no trace from her even in the hall coming up to the balcony. A deep groan falls from his grimacing mouth, dreading whatever mess he's now surely brought upon himself awaits him. The pain in his head dulls under the smarting of cold air against the wound. The thought of just straight skipping class crosses his mind, but remembers that she's in the next class with him, and is probably going to tell on him if he's absent for roll call. No choice but to get fucked, then. That thought has his memory bring up the feeling he had while he was dozing. ...Yeah right, who're you kidding? Your emotional disaster of a head is already having extremely stupid dreams of being close to her. Someone gives you an inch and you come running for the whole mile. You're. Disgusting. With a heavy sigh, his entire being droops into his trademark hunched over stance, shouldering his overfilled bag. He starts walking, bracing himself for what's likely to be months of creepy attraction for the girl, pathetic failures in emotional intelligence, and the intensifying hatred of a thousand suns for himself. So disgusting. 2A + Imprint DistillationTrailing Point. The boy’s name was Trailing Point. The scared girl struggled to regain composure inside the bathroom stall, the past half hour assaulting her mind. Breathing heavy and panicked, body and lungs burning, legs and arms shaking... She could only do her best to keep herself quiet, practically holding herself up by grabbing at the walls surrounding her. She was currently alone in the women's bathrooms, though as students spread evenly across the buildings with the period starting, her fortunate solitude could end at any moment. It was hard to focus on any single thought, her frantic heartbeat throbbing in her head, ears, chest, and... The increased dryness of her heaving mouth started to become more irksome as seconds passed, so she focused on the feeling to try and center herself. Pausing her breathing to swallow and wet her tongue, she forced herself to inhale as deeply as she could. Filling her airways with the residual taste of chlorine from the washroom's frequent cleaning, she holds it in with closed eyes. She slowly removes her hands from the tiled dividers between the toilets, and attempts to take control back. I'm fine... I'm fine... I'm safe... I'm not in danger... Nothing's wrong... Everything will be fine... I'm fine... I'm fine... While not as effective as she wished the practiced mantra was, she could feel as she gained some semblance of stillness in her being. Letting the air out with a shaky sigh, she opens her eyes. She hears the murmur of people returning to the building. Her posture softens as she focuses on her breathing, feeling cold sweat trailing down the sides of her heated face. She starts to cool and settle down... Well, mostly. Shifting uncomfortably as she sits on the padded cover of the toilet, she's finally able to start examining her current situation with a somewhat more focused mind. Of course, her 'situation' is mostly regarding the throbbing that remained in her chest--- which, it so happened, also flowed down to a certain uncomfortable bulge in her skirt. Taking a moment to make sure she was alone (a silly sentiment since she couldn’t imagine anyone would come in to the restrooms specifically to intrude on locked stalls), she braced herself with a bite of her lip, and hiked up her skirt. Sure enough, her thing was pushing up against her tights and panties. The flushing in her face returns as she felt it wasn’t just a casual, non-provoked hard-on too, if the twin itches in her chest meant anything. The earlier events were still fresh in her mind. The recollection of the boy’s pacified breathing on her, the tight and needy way he pulled into her, the lingering warmth of the damp spot near her neckline... It all presented itself to her mind’s eye in a less frantic fashion compared to her previous racing, allowing for her attention to be momentarily captured by the memory, before it elicited a sobering throb in response. She stared at the tent between her legs in alarm. A moment’s shift revealed it wasn’t the only one excited down there, either. What’s... wrong with me...? Fluttershy had been born a hermaphrodite. While it came as a shock, her parents had made every effort to embrace and nurture her intersex nature, treating all the peculiarities of her life with patience and care. As such, even after she had decided to identify entirely as a female, she didn’t see her ‘additional’ organs as anything other than just another quirk of her being, no more shameful or important than any other imperfection she had, like say, the sunspots on her back, or the slightly-above-average size of her canines. Well, of course, she was still generally flustered about broaching the subject of genitalia, just in general, and occasionally she had to deal with unbidden erections that had her crossing her legs or holding things over her lap, but those had been just part of her normal life. Unlike randomly snuggling wailing boys and getting uncomfortably aroused by it! The hot and sweet feelings brought from the time she spent with the ‘class creep’ mixed with the chilling, frightening shock of her own loss of control over her body’s reactions in her head, serving up a nauseating cocktail of dissonant emotions that threatened to overwhelm her again. Feverishly trying to divert her head from any thoughts about either the moment or him, her ears took the lead in grabbing her attention, specifically, to the silence in the halls. She suddenly remembered the school day still wasn’t over, a fact she had forgotten in her freak-out. Quickly standing and grabbing her bag from its spot beside her, she attempted to pull down and smooth out her skirt, but the very reason she was here showed it wasn’t having none of it. Moving her bag in front of her with practiced composure, she exited the stall and made for the door before she remembered what class she was having. Once more, ice ran down her nerves. Oh no... Today is Thursday! That’s English in the last two periods, and he’s going to be there too! She winced as with just that thought she felt a pair of twitches downstairs. Getting frustrated with her rebellious privates, she strategically held her bag between the door and her as she sidestepped towards the sinks. While paying close attention to her hearing in case she needed to stop procedures suddenly, she once more hiked up her skirt and pulled on her undergarments. Frowning and blushing at the situation, she pulled out her moderately unimpressive, um, staff, and her... marbles. Her brow furrowed in frustration and flushing embarrassment at her increasing twitching under her own handling. Pressured by her increasing tardiness, she got fed up with her body’s insolence and turned on the faucet, placing her hand under the severely cold flow of water. With a quick brushing of her hand to dry it on her blazer, she planted her freezing grip on her nethers with a loud whisper. “Could you... You... You jerks just please stop it already?!” She tried to touch as much surface area as possible, the sudden chill starting to discourage her arousal. The cold touch seemed to do the trick, and she repeated the process of cooling, drying and fondling a couple of times before she had satisfyingly softened and dried enough in her respective places. With a mix of relief and exasperation, she gave a huff and fixed her garments before peering outside, her blush remaining as an errant thought had her observe that she had just tried to give verbal orders to her crotch. Now that, would’ve been the worst moment for someone to-- “Eep!” Just as the thought crossed her mind, a student with shades of green hair rounded the corner, spooking her, which in turn spooked her classmate. “Oh gosh, Fluttershy, you surprised me!” The jade-headed girl smiled at her, her stance relaxing. If she remembered correctly, she was likely coming from the same class she was headed to. “I’m sorry, Medley, I was a little distracted.” Stepping completely out of the doorway, she politely signaled for the shorter girl to hopefully pass through quickly, not too confident her body had entirely settled down. Sprinkle Medley moved past leisurely, shaking her head. “No worries. I’d ask you to wait for me, but you should probably rush back to class. You know how ‘Mr. Loud Mouth’ gets if you come in too late.” “Hmhm, yeah...” With a half-hearted chuckle, Fluttershy heeded her fellow student’s advice, even if the promised ire didn’t really faze her at the moment, and moved with fast-paced strides of her long legs while pulling her bag over her shoulder. After a hurried, nervous visit to her locker, and a check-up on her state in a window’s reflection, she arrived at Professor Echoed Voice’s classroom, she gently rapped at the closed door. Ducking lightly to peer through the door’s vertical window, she saw him frown at her, then proceed speaking to the class. He might as well, his usual treatment of late students prevailing, as she took the moment to brace herself for both the man’s impending berating, as well as... She actually decided to focus her mind on their teacher’s intimidating voice and attitude for once, the alternative dangerous for her to think about. She would have to deal with it in moments, but she wanted to extend her break from it as long as possible. She heard him finish giving instructions, and tightened her grip on her bag’s strap as he walked to the door. Opening it widely, her breath hitched as she immediately spotted the green-haired source of her unrest in the corner opposite to the door. Before even a single spark could fly through her body, though, her mind was ‘thankfully’ saved from dunking back into that whirlpool of feelings by the professor’s booming voice. “Alright, so care to explain WHY you’re arriving LATE to my lesson?” The man leaned forward, leveling his glaring gaze on her as she tried and failed to make eye contact. Her quiet voice sputtered as she tried to form sentences. “I-I was just... The- the bathroom, and...” She shrunk back in shame. He placed his hand on his side as he leaned further in. “And HOW many times have I TOLD you all to go BEFORE the break is over?” “A-a lot of times, s-sir...” Her eyes fell on the floor, her awareness trying to block out both the man’s and the class’s stares. The dulling of her joy in the previous months had a silver lining, as it had equally managed to soften the sting of negative social situations like these. She suspected that, if this situation played out last year, she would’ve already started tearing up at this point. It was the only measure of comfort she could hold to as her teacher gave an exasperated sigh. “Well go on then, hurry and take a seat. I won’t have any of you dragging behind this year.” He waved her inside. Trying to move past the remaining shame from the encounter, she ducked slightly to scan the room for empty seats, before dread resumed its new favorite game of catching and letting her go in regular intervals. The class was packed, save for the two seats adjacent to the corner that darned, poor, sweet boy occupied. She felt the jarring beginnings of inner conflict sprout as she noted the seat in front of him still had a book open on its desk, and a bag hanging from its backrest. She figured that was Medley’s seat, so her only option was to be beside him... No, she could just, ask someone to switch places with her! Or, shift her desk and partner up with her neighbor on the other side! Rose was nice, wasn’t she? She’d understand even if she faked difficulty with the material, and-- Their eyes locked. Heat and cold restarted their whirling motions inside her, conflicting impulses and thoughts going back and forth as she froze on the spot. It would be easy. Even if they had to tell a white lie to the professor, she knew Rose would understand exactly why she’d ‘suddenly’ need help with her work when seated next to him. It didn’t take a shy personality like hers to want to shift away from what was the year’s black cloud. And yet, as the day’s moments insisted on their presence in her head, she found what in times previous was a passive flicker of resigned pity for the outcast begin to feed into a feeling of protectiveness, even indignation, towards herself, the others, or the status quo. She didn’t really know who she felt it towards, but it was there. His shaded eyes broke contact, pointedly looking away from her to the wall with a huff, a furrowed brow and a scowl. A reaction all too familiar to everyone who had tried to interact with him, which in normal circumstances deterred most but the most stubborn or oblivious of classmates. However, as the theme seemed to run for the day, recalling their saccharine embrace put his visage in a new context, and filled her with a drive that seemed to stamp down at her fears. There was a crack, minuscule enough to be hidden, in the cold and angry stone wall he was to all around him. Looking into that crack, she saw the glimmer of defeat, of acceptance, in his eyes. Her contemplation of his position in the group was interrupted by a voice she had almost forgotten in the few seconds she had stood outside. “What are you waiting for, an INVITATION? Sit down and get to work!” Her professor’s voice ringed in her ears as she skipped inside, an alarmed “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” escaping from her as she moved past the rows. A couple of sympathetic glances went her way as she passed by, although they barely came to her notice as she took a seat on the back, pulling out her workbook and utensils in a rush and looking to the whiteboard for the current assignment. “Yeesh, rough going, huh?” She heard a whisper coming from her side. Brushing her long hair behind her ear as she checked to make sure their teacher was occupied, she turned towards Rose. “Do you want to partner up?” Her namesake-haired classmate nodded towards the rest of the room, which had lost some of its organization as people grouped up to work. “I know you’re not really the ‘teaming up’ type, but I’d feel bad leaving you alone with...” The tail end of her words did not escape Fluttershy’s ears, the implication leaving a newfound kindling of distaste in her mouth. She looked back towards him. His chair leaned back to rest on the back wall, she saw an expression of anger on his face, his glare trained on the notebook on his tilted desk. Movement from in front of him grabbed her attention, as the student two seats ahead from him grabbed Medley’s book from her table. She saw as they seemed to be copying answers from their own book to the missing girl’s, while keeping an eye on Mr. Voice. She processed the sight for a second before the pieces connected, and her temper soured a little more. A prod on her shoulder made her turn back to a confused face. “Fluttershy?” On some level, she wanted to accept. She was worried about the way her emotions were getting away from her after that ‘moment’ in the balcony, and despite that giving her new perspectives to look at the boy from, Trailing Point still exuded a great negative pressure around him. However, with the state of events at the forefront of her mind, willingly distancing herself further from him felt... wrong. Reprehensible, even. It gave her an unease that drove deep into her core, more than the agitation his mere being caused on her emotions. Feeling something akin to a flame of conviction suppress the diminishing wariness she felt at him, she finally shook her head. “Um, thanks for the offer, Rose, but I’ll... I’ll be fine on my own.” Thunder chose that moment to clap, a wave of gasps and yelps going over the class as the sound came in a second later. While rain made a timely entrance following it, Rose let the shock out of her system with a low chuckle and nodded at Fluttershy. “Heh, well, alright then. Hey Silver, mind if I join in with you guys?” Her neighbor’s attention moving on from her, she breathed deeply as she took inventory of the settling thoughts inside her. She felt the last wisps of her trepidation drifting away, as she realized she was fine, despite sitting in the boy’s proximity. Even thinking of him wasn’t making her body react with disorienting heat, although a certain warmth still framed the events private to the two of them. Plus, speaking of good feelings, that flare of strength that had been briefly lit inside her had lowered its intensity, and in its wake left traces of fulfillment. They were small, but she could feel the tiny pearls of satisfaction roll around inside her as she felt secure that she had managed to take a few steps towards making things right again. It took her a second to notice the corners of her mouth were lightly twitching. She hadn’t felt anything like that in a long time. She dared to peer towards the green-haired loner, in an effort to assure herself. His face was unfortunately obscured by his arm as he rested his head on his hand, and although a muted desire to reach to him vaguely registered in her metaphorical periphery, she felt nothing but security well within her as she easily turned away. With a spin of her pencil and a glance back at the whiteboard, she set back to routine, happily shelving away the matter of Trailing Point for later. Everything will be fine. 2B - Receding FlavorThe distant murmur of people approaching slowly grows as his hand presses one last time against the back of his head before inspecting it, a hint of iron in the air as he keeps it close to his face. It feels like its stopped... The aggravated boy descended the stairs, passing an increasing mass of students climbing through and moving his gaze from his palm to the walls beside him. He had made a beeline for the watering fountain near the restrooms after leaving the balcony. He knew it was honestly stupid of him(what a surprise), but the usual ritual of clearing his face of any evidence of turmoil with water was higher on his priority list than doing anything about the small bleeding spot on the back of his head, even as he walked while applying pressure on it in hopes it would stop faster. Rounding the corner, he saw the door to Echoed Voice’s class open, devoid of people. Little late, shithead. His brow furrowed slightly at not only that, but the potential for his teacher to give him shit over it(unfortunately doubtful), and the chance someone had taken either of his self-designated spots on the back corners of class as well. More than that, however, his heart quivered as he sped his pace up, dreading whatever may come after that intensely vulnerable moment with the girl. How insensitive of you to emphasize that word, jackass. Then again, that didn’t seem to affect your dick’s reaction, now did it? His slouch curving further inwards in an attempt to pull back his hips, thoughts of a possible remaining stiffness needling him. Going through the door, he felt some of the irritation drain as most of the class hadn’t even sit down yet, Voice just now unlocking the drawer on his desk. Without breaking pace, he kept his gaze low as he pushed through the still-standing students. His rushed movement to claim his seat backfires, however, as his large bag clips a bottle of water on its way through. Feeling the collision before the bottle even hits the ground, he grabs the bulging bag close as he turns around, its inertia pulling roughly on his shoulder. Although thankfully the bottle was sealed, avoiding any mess it could’ve made, a moment’s glance up froze him on the spot. He is greeted by the silencing of a voice, and then a borderline neutral expression from resident archer Pizzelle, if not for a slight twitch of the eyebrows. And here it comes. Apologize. Pick up the bottle. DO SOMETHING. REACT, YOU INCONCEIVABLE MORON. The girl with the blonde bunned hair leans over to pick up her displaced refreshment, Trailing Point already backing away with a mumbled “Shit, sorr...” The incomplete word only serving to highlight how the apology was to be unheard as Pizzelle continued where she left off with Silverspeed, the small trip-up already forgotten as if it had never even occurred in the first place. That’s never stopped you, though. Because you’re absurdly incapable of basic tasks, but when it comes to writhing in ‘pain’, you’re right on that shit, aren’t you? Finally reaching the empty corner seat, he roughly pulls it back so it stands closer to the back wall, before dropping his bag beside it. His head burns and his back chills as he hurriedly pulls out his materials, as well as a black notebook he slides under the large English workbook. That ridiculous little diary filled with your pathetic bitching and horrid attempts at imagery, if we’re skipping the pages and pages of psychotic cacography that is, you fucking useless mess of a person. Can you just chill for a fucking minute? At least until the day is over and we’re home so we can fucking... Stew on just how much garbage I am without risking making a fucking scene? Considering I am you, meaning I both am an immense idiot and also wish you would cease to breathe forever, how about you eat a fucking dick you piece of shit? No, really, even if its just your unusable brain feeling things that aren’t there, seems to me deep down you really want to gargle on some cock, you little bitch! Sitting down and hoping his usual cold poker face is well in place after that little bottle incident, he leans the chair back so it rests on the back wall. I bet you actually think you look cool like this, you poser. Eat shit and die already. Yeah, I wish we would. The noise of a chair’s legs skidding on the floor catches his attention. He looks to see Stormfeather pushing back Sprinkle Medley, chuckling in victory as they playfully struggle over the seat. “Come on, get up!” ”No way!” ”Come on, man!” ”I beat you fair and square, deal with it!” ”Don’t be a dick!” ”You don’t be a dick!” Oh gods would you just shut up and sit down already for fuck’s sake! Wow, jealous much? Fuck off! A stern glance from their professor followed by the awkward silence of the class stops the pair in their play. A pair of soft apologies are let out as the jade-haired girl turns to the seat behind Stormfeather. The mild blush in her face drains as she pauses for a moment when she makes eye contact with Point. With a very unconvincing smile, her eyes dart away from his to the side as she makes for her seat quickly. Echoed Voice stares at her for a few more seconds before he gets off his desk with a huff, clipboard in hand. “Alright, well, if you’re ALL seated, I’ll take attendance while you pull out the TEXTBOOK and WORKBOOK both. APPLE SPLIT?...” At this point, the boy basically painted in the corner would’ve started tuning the class out, waiting to raise his hand when called as his last interaction of the day. He would, if he didn’t see his classmate ahead nervously sneak a glance back at him, twice in a row now. If she thinks she’s discreet, she’s miserably failing at it. Aw, she’s imitating you. “...COMPASS STAR?” “Here.” “FLUTTERSHY?” The name stands out, despite the loner’s best efforts to turn any thought of the girl into part of the negative maelstrom he’s used to. Not to say he wasn’t starting to sink back into dreading the consequences of their little moment upon remembering her, of course not, but a certain lightness persists in his heart when he thinks about it anyway. A lightness that manages to become its own separate brand of sinking weight when he finally realizes she hadn’t been in class the whole time. “...Alright, ABSENT. GOLDENGRAPE?” Where... Where did she go? She vanished, before anything could be said, and... Isn’t it obvious? She realized who you were. The usual response to finding someone crying like a fucking baby is to try and help them. Yes, that is what you do with people. But that’s not you, me, us, all of us, is it? You are not a person. You don’t even come close to making the minimum fucking standard. She understands that, so when she saw your putrid face, of COURSE she fucking bolted! Poor thing’s probably retching her organs out for ever being touched by such a grotesque fiend! Never fucking forget, idiot, you’re nothing but blight and malevolence misshapen into the vague figure of a person, and all you’re capable of doing is ailing, hurting and stealing from everyone in your presence, by your presence. ...h... There was no retort to be made. That small point of worry for her was being taken full advantage of, and he could practically feel himself squeezing his lungs empty as he somehow managed to even now summon more rage and despair over himself, and started losing it again. His flat expression was beginning to crack, and his baleful gaze slowly weakened. Looking forwards, he barely recognizes Sprinkle’s eyes on him. The eyes of someone disgusted by his existence as they tried to hide their deep unease at being forced to sit so close to him. His ears selectively mute and enhance sounds to give his self-immolating pyre more fuel. “-SPEED? There you are. SPRINKLE MEDLEY?” With one last glance back, the girl stands back up. “Here, sir! Also, can I please go to the bathroom super quick?” Echoed Voice’s brow furrows. “WHAT have I TOLD you, TIME and TIME again?” Sprinkle Medley is pushed a little by the booming voice, but isn’t deterred. “I know, and I’m really sorry, but I really, really need to go! I promise I’ll be on pace with the class before the end of the day!” There was a convincing tinge of urgency in her voice, but you’d have to be even more of an infinitely moronic ignoramus than you already are to believe it has anything to do with bladder emergencies. Its probably closer to being fear and terror at being around you. The man’s green eyes stare into her for a few more seconds, before with a frustrated sigh and roll of the eyes, he waves towards the door. “Fine. But you WON’T make a habit of it. REMEMBER this next time I DENY you exit.” Bounding off in a hurry, a rushed ‘ThanksalotMr.Voice!’ is left in the air as she swings the door open, then slams it back closed in a show of desperation. There’s little room for it to really land, as the educator continues on. “STORMFEATHER?” “Hi.” “TRAILING POINT?” His hand automatically goes up, although the twitching of his hand brings him unease toward his facade. So, in summation, fucking bet Sprinkle just did the same and got the hell out of dodge just to get away from you, you horrid turd. You know, just in case you needed a second opinion on what the best course of action when dealing with you is. “TWILIGHT SKY?” His mind begins to recede and tune out the world around him. So how long do you think you have left? The jig is most likely up, after all. Once Fluttershy speaks to a counselor or a teacher, or gods forbid her friends, they’re not going to leave you alone. From then on its just a matter of time before you break. What’s it gonna be? Will you have a massive freak-out in public, cementing your state as fucking insane for the rest of your most-likely short life? Or will you finally get the courage to take responsibility for your existence and end yourself quietly into the night before anyone can intervene? Will you at least free these poor people from you and leave forever? Either way, the pain you will feel will be entirely deserved, so its not like it’ll make much of a difference. Ge- He lets go of his white-knuckled grip on the desk’s edge as the sound of the classroom’s door opening draws him out of his internal flogging. He looks up, and besides the notes on the whiteboard he didn’t see the professor make, there she was. Relief sneaks through his body at her image. The voice reminds him this means little, and that it is still very likely she’s just going to report him to the proper staff eventually, but he can somehow muffle the words into the back of his mind with her visage in focus. This does not last long however, as he realizes their professor is pressing her on her tardiness without mercy. Seeing her shrink towards the door frame had him renew his grip on the desk in restraint, as well as invigorated the voice back in reaction to himself. Oh what, are you actually feeling protective of her, you fucking joke? Let’s just go past the fact that you can’t do jack-diddly-shit for her, and get to the real issue; What fucking entitlement are you already feeling of her? She hugged you once, now you get rabid when the teacher rightly admonishes her for being late? Get over yourself you fucking child. You’re nothing to her, and she’s absolutely NOTHING of yours. Don’t try to act like this is some righteous feeling. You want to white knight for her to get close to her! You disgusting piece of trash! That was effective in neutering his spike of rage, swiveling it around to aim it at himself. Incapable of disagreeing with, well, himself on how immaturely volatile he was being, the tenseness in his arms partially drooped in defeat. A waste of time and sanity in the end, as he saw her step past Echoed Voice, looking at the class. He saw her look at the seats around him, and her growing unrest just echoed to how much disgust he felt coming from Sprinkle when she ran. Finally, her eyes locked onto his. While the urge to look away rapidly built, he almost hoped she could understand his thoughts in that one moment, if for nothing else but the penance involved. I’m sorry you have to deal with me. No one deserves that. Just do as I sadly can’t, and please forget about my existence. It’s for the best. He turned to the wall as he felt the waterworks attempting to start up. Pushing them down with the plentiful anger he had, he fought to try and keep from anything spilling out. An emotion, a tear, even a slightly louder breath. Nothing must come out. You’re just the angry asshole in the corner, as usual. Nothing deeper. Come on. Vaguely registering her movement closer as she went to the one free desk in the room, the one beside him, he placed his gaze on his unopened books as control came back to him. Well, over his mask, at least, as he felt the urge to look to her again take over him slowly. Opening his text book, he shifted his sight towards the floor to his right. From that view, he started to shift his focus to try and see with only the edge of his vision, towards her. You’re really disgusting. The reprimand almost make him shake. It's endless with you, isn't it? You can't spend a single fucking second without being absolute trash, can you? He rested his face on his right hand to try and block her from his perverse eyes, and opened the black notebook, although he really had no desire to vomit out any of the torrent of destructive emotions he was currently cycling through into paper. Facing him was one of the more raging pages where his writing quickly lost form into nothing more than forceful swipes and streaks that barely resembled letters. The page had a few holes in it from some particularly strong pen-jabs, and was a little more damaged than the book's overall rough state from the harsh treatment. On the next page, aside from marks from the previous page, something vaguely recognizable as a person was depicted, screaming with black ink running from their face. Oh I'm sorry, I forgot that shit was you, it's just so hard to tell from how stupidly shaky your bitch of an arm is! Despite the unending cascade of hate inside him, he felt the mask stabilize outwardly anyway. Something laughable about that being his normal state of mind, if it wasn't so pathetic. Still, poking out like a buoy in that black sea, however, was worry and confusion towards that girl. Her presence gave him an unexplained sense of peace, but the meaning behind that presence only caused him an even deeper feeling of unrest at his core. Why is she just, there? Why isn't she saying anything? Yeah, unexplained, sure. Any opinions on that, doctor dick? He realized the threats his body was making to him at that. Just from the continued presence of her in his proximity, he couldn't forget the feelings and, most importantly, the silence he experienced in her embrace. His blood heated as well, and veered on the edge of making his emotions visible from beyond the mask's reach. He could only hope time would speed up towards the end, whether it be of the day or of his life, he didn't care which. It was all he could do as he barely held his composure together. His mind once more managed to retire the punishing rage at himself thanks to her, but only so it could be battered by panic and fear this time. He could not get the thoughts of her out. I won't last like this.
1A - First TasteA chilling wind blows through the halls. Dejectedly lowering her hand, a girl looks on as the dove that had previously sat on the windowsill flies away into the gray skies. A single feather flutters down in its wake, and the urge to capture it comes to her. She reaches for it, but it manages to spin and slither just shy out of her grasp. With a defeated sigh, she returns her hand to her front, grasping her bag, and resumes walking down the long halls of the high school. Her footsteps lightly echo throughout the deserted walkway. The bulk of the school's student body is down at the cafeteria and its outskirts, with the rest scattered on the fields and main halls of the school. A bite of loneliness gives her a light shudder, despite the layers of uniform she was under. I'm sorry... A light apology voices in her mind, not exceedingly repentant or sorrowful, rather simply a default utterance she's used to give when nothing else comes to mind. Not exceedingly, but she's still not in her best mood. The turn of the year had shifted something in the young woman. Something so maddeningly immaterial and nondescript it drove her to a fist-clenching, deep-breathing frustration at times, completely uncharacteristic of her. Well, she thinks it was the turn of the year, but in reality she just started really noticing it then. It started with a fading enjoyment in her hobbies and duties. Each time the animals at the shelter came up excitedly to her, each time she watched her favorite shows, and even each time she managed to work out a happy glimmer in her pet's eyes... Each time, she enjoyed it a tiny little bit less. She figured it was simply her growing accustomed to them, or maybe even the natural progress of time taking its toll on her. Like a distant coin drop, she felt a light pulse of anxiety at that thought. Although she was technically already one, the image of "the adult world", as her earlier years called it, didn't really hold much interest or joy for her. She was fine with what she had. Had being past tense, of course. Unnoticed by her, little by little, she started reaching further out each time an animal turned away from her. Sighs became deeper and deeper, and she held onto her pillow a little bit longer, a little bit tighter every day. And yet, the feeling of utter... meaninglessness? Uselessness? It was hard to describe. Hard to describe, but not hard to suffer from. She tried what she could. She tried diving further in to her pastimes. Staying longer with the rescues. Attempting to create art or stories. Talking to her rabbit deep into the night. She even tried to learn guitar! But in the end, it was fruitless. Every time, she felt unfulfilled. She didn't understand what she was doing wrong, or what she actually wanted for that matter. It was as if those things that once gave her day-to-day life meaning slowly but surely stopped connecting with her at her core. It came to the point that, one particularly stressful evening, her pet snapped at her. He bit her arm, struggling wildly to free himself from what she thought was just an affectionate hug. He scampered out of the house in a flash, and she would find him, a couple of weeks later, among the animals at the shelter, unwilling to return to her. The caretakers would explain to her about how rabbits need their space, and how she shouldn't force him to be with her, and all manner of things she thought she clearly understood. Worried about the rabbit's reaction to her, she'd later agree upon, they withheld custody of it from her. No recourse or hope apparent, she even turned to her friends, the growing despair she felt overcoming her adversity to burdening others with her issues. This would only turn out to reinforce that adversity. Sorry... The apology comes more genuine this time. It's not that she dislikes them, or that she doesn't appreciate the time they spend together, but... They tried, they really did. Bless their hearts, they'd been giving it their all for her. They tried to be there for her at every step, tried to help her find out what was ailing her (blindly guessing at everything from her family to her body to her social status to her beliefs), tried to distract her from it all, but all in vain. With every meeting, every project, every night spent together, every outdoor hour they pulled her out of her silent home for her sake, it not only drove that enigmatic stake deeper in her heart, it showed her just how far away they all stood from her. All of them had places where they belonged in. Whether it be with family, peers, or on their own pursuits, she could imagine them living healthy and fulfilling lives five, ten, even twenty years into the future. Unlike her, they all seemed to have a place that called to them, a road to follow, while the one she thought was hers was slipping away. Not only that, but she knew that they could at least get a glimpse of that feeling in her eyes. They tried to hide it from her, but she could see their winces. Small sighs in disappointment. Tiny grunts of frustration. Defeated shrugs. Worried glances when they thought she wasn't looking. It all just made her mad at herself for not just... getting fixed. She felt terrible for feeling terrible, an ungrateful notion towards all their care. Felt terrible for making everyone worry about her, making it so they thought she needed them to spend so much effort on her. It all felt so wrong. She eventually started to separate from them at school. It was an insidious effort; Whenever they had their attention on her, she would just sit and bear it. She couldn't hide her dour mood, but they didn't need to know her discomfort towards them. So everyday, every time, she looked for an opening to excuse herself. If they tried to pull her back in, she would not resist, but if she could just manage to escape their notice, to feign ignorance that she kept spending more and more time alone, she could keep a semblance of innocence towards them and their well-intentioned efforts while not slowly being driven mad by them as well. If she could just pack it all in, and smile through it, no one else needed to sting her with those dreadful, distressed stares... She catches herself gripping her bag tight enough to make her knuckles white. Taking in a breath to calm herself, she practically feels her stance deflate in resignation. Her parents weren't much help either. Her demure nature clearly inherited from them, they were apprehensive about forcing themselves upon her personal life, despite being able to see hints of her emotional descent. Hints were all she would allow, as she made sure to essentially keep them at arm's length about the issue. If she couldn't decipher the source of her issues, how could she begin to explain her problems to them? It would only serve to spread her gloom, and besides, with their aging bodies and worrying after Zephyr and his escapades across the ocean as an exchange student to take their time, there was no room for her own troubles. She was an adult, after all, and adults take care of their own business. Even if she was only a senior in high school, and the thought of battling with her confusing feelings alone into the future only filled her with dread. It was on that thought that her gait was slowed to a stop, her long reverie of reflection interrupted by a light gust of cold wind, blowing in from the open doors to the hall's balcony. The darkness of the day seeming to reflect upon her morose mood, she feels beckoned by the scenery outside. The high wall of the balcony obstructing the view of the fields, and nothing but endless grays filling the skies, it almost feels as if the space beyond these gates is its own world. While almost humorous to entertain such a thought, it still pushes her onward, if only to detach herself in her mind briefly. Stepping "outside", predictably, nothing but a light shift in brightness and temperature occurs. However, a quiet sound and a shadow in her periphery alerts her to something more. With a fright, she notices a boy sitting on the floor against the wall. Recollection rides through her mind as it tries to pin down his identity, though she had trouble doing so. She knows he's on her year due to his uniform that mirrored hers, a white blazer with a dark blue shirt, different from their underclassmen. Her train of thought fades away to distress in the second it appeared, thoughts of intruding on someone else's search for solitude multiplied by her own dread of having to suddenly converse with someone in her current state resulting in a wave of shivers going down her spine. As another second passes though, a new sort of panic shocks through her, as she pays more attention to her hearing and looks closer upon the person practically crumpled on the floor. His legs are splayed haphazardly on the ground. One of his heels digging into the bookbag half open beside him, seemingly thrown without care against the wall. His shirt is partially pulled up, revealing red marks in his skin, in streaks and bumps, most likely self-inflicted. Her gaze finally turns to his face, although his eyes are covered by his hands. Nose dribbling, streaks of tears flow out from between his fingers, as they seem to fiercely grip and dig into his scalp. His face is reddened in spots, and twisted into a pitiful grimace as he shakes and hiccups, making a visible effort through clenched teeth to keep as quiet as possible. Her panic shifts from one side to the next, blanking on what she should do. She wants to get away, both to run from him, and to get someone else to help him. Her fear spikes ever higher, and she feels herself losing control from the stress. However, it takes a third overly-long second to realize she isn't falling unconscious. In fact, it seems her body had moved in the brief flash of darkness, though surveying in which way pushes her fright to new, heart attack-inducing heights. In the short moment she lost awareness, she had dived to her knees, tights scraping on the tiled floor, and scooped up the weeping boy. One hand slipped under his back to pull him up and hold him tight against her, the other running through his dark green hair as she pressed his head to her chest, snugly resting her head on his. Although she was internally screaming at her actions, her mien betrayed nothing but sympathy and kindness as she gently cradled and hushed him. He seemed to be in similar shock to her own mind, his hands hanging behind her and his breathing stopping short. Several unsure seconds pass, her inner mental breakdown building to brand new levels in the meantime, before he crosses his arms behind her back, hands gripping at her as he desperately holds on to her, his stuttering, now barely silent cries redoubling as his tears soak into her sweater vest. His leaning into her manages to put a stop to her rising terror, as something within her just... releases. Like the discovery of an oasis in a vast, burning desert, or light of a sunrise after a dark, long and stormy night, a feeling of relief and euphoria rushes through every twist and corner of her very being. Her mind completely relaxes as waves of that blooming warmth wash over her, hands contently and lovingly stroking at her charge. Her soft shushing fades as the boy's whimpers peter out, breath stabilizing. She gently pulls him with her as she sits. His grip on her softens, but never leaves, making her placid smile widen. Her eyes droop almost sleepily as she feels him shift slightly before settling upon her. Her head is swimming, mind completely stupefied and smothered in the moment, and the two lay entwined, feeling each other's heartbeats as the moment extends to a minute, then two, then five, then fifteen... The shrill, loud ringing of a bell over head gives them both a harsh start. Numbness follows as her mind races to catch up on just what she had been doing for the last half hour of lunchtime. Her teal eyes fall upon the boy's yellow ones, as if to confirm with him, despite not having even shared a word of dialogue the entire time. Her intense shock and reddening face mirrored on him, as well as the resonating beats between them, serve as confirmations to her. With a yelp, they practically jump off each other, Fluttershy snatches her bag away from its discarded place near them, and she sprints away like a terrified gazelle, hands pushing into the front of her skirt.
1B - First TouchA chilling wind blows into the balcony from the empty halls. The heavy bag slams into the railing, discarded with grief and borderline-hate. Maybe something in it broke, maybe not. The trailing concern gets quickly drowned to the point of corruption in piling resentment. You should've just tossed it over the barrier into the ground below anyway, make sure things ended up smashed, bent and soaked, unusable. It's not like they had any worth; they're yours after all, and you deserve nothing. Yeah, just throw away the things entrusted to you like trash, you ungrateful, disgusting piece of shit. An useless pig like you deserves nothing but a kick in the teeth and a knife down your throat. Let someone find it, worriedly return it to the Lost-and-Found, then absolutely fail to explain yourself like the mentally deficient little faggot you are once someone gets your name from it. Maybe that'll push you hard enough to finally do the world the only justice you're capable of and rid it of yourself. But no, that sounds scary, doesn't it? You don't even have the fucking balls to start that chain off, do you? How disgusting. Then I'm just as horrid as usual, aren't I? How are you surprised that a scumbag continues to be a scumbag? It's called having a fucking conscience, you rancid vomit, which honestly just makes it worse that you continue to dig further below rock bottom with every second you persist in breathing despite knowing what you should do. The boy slams himself into the back wall, head bouncing off it once before landing on it. A ringing pain spreads from the impact, practically squeezing at his tear ducts. Is it bleeding? Most likely not, world's unfair like that. He's not strong enough to do that anyway. Pulling his sleeves all the way up his arms with force, he digs his damaged nails into his upper arms. Skin breaks and scrapes as he tightens his grip, but doesn't reach to the point of bleeding. He could say he's just making sure he doesn't bring any attention to himself by leaving marks, but its more like he's such a bitch he won't dare do it. What stupid bullshit was it this time? Oh right, that, being too braindead to do simple tasks literally everyone can do. It was almost humorous, really. He slams his fist into the floor in rising frustration, the action only resulting in a barely audible, pitiful thump to contrast the pain that shoots up from the side of his hand and pinkie. He had to run from there, crybaby's waterfalls threatening to burst. He was teetering dangerously close to losing the cold yet eternally disgruntled mask he keeps on. It was completely foolish to think he was capable of fooling anyone with his ridiculous efforts, and yet no one really approached him, so he could at least pretend to be a decent actor. Of course, the only role he's fits in is as an extra to his and everyone else's life, but that's for the best. Back to the point; You're an irredeemable dumbass who plateau'd from day one. Aren't you supposed to be smart? Logic dictates that if you're smart, then the only other conclusion here is that you're failing on purpose, so it's your fault! Just the recollection of moments prior brought a flurry of shame, hate, rage, despair, resignation and a million other variations of repugnance towards his own existence rushing and flooding his mind. He had just sat there. Staring at the board, at his work, then back at the board, lost. He looked to the others in the room, but them? They were fine. Smiling, composed, even relaxed, like what was in front of them was the most obvious and easily understood subject in the world. And yet here he was, completely dumbfounded at everything. Actually, completely was incorrect(as he always is). No, there were bits and pieces he understood, or at least thought he understood. It just made it worse, when he tried everything he believed should work, and all that came out was failure. Failure, failure, failure like every single other fucking thing he puts his mind to, and everything he will ever put his abominable, revolting, cursed hands on! The fact that he hasn't been drawn and quartered already for wasting so much of everyone's time and resources is a godsdamned crime against all who live, along with the rest of his detestable life and body! Face twisted in wrath, another fist swings, this time straight into his cheek, knuckle making painful contact with the cheekbone. The skin stings immediately, but he keeps swinging in a flurry, now aiming at his torso. Two, three, four hits land on his midsection, alternating sides, until the internal pain catches up to him and overcomes his flare of fury, immobilizing him from continuing. His breath catches as he slides down the wall, holding the area he just started to pummel, with a whispered fear of something inside rupturing drifting through his head as he doubles over. The world should be so lucky, his brain comments, adding feelings of further loathing and twisted hope into the mix as fingers hook into his flesh with what little strength his self-defenses will allow. It is like this every day. Both the complete failure to keep up in practically every way with his juniors, and the process of choking on his own madness and indignation when given the space. Among the people he called underclassmen just last year, he was a simple, almost generic loner. Sat on the back corner of the class, didn't speak more than a dozen words on a good day (class exercises not withstanding, which assured to them he actually could speak), would shut down all but the most formal, work-related of approaches, and generally gave off a negative vibe to any who dared to acknowledge his existence. Multiple people had tried to make contact with the boy; Friendly gestures from good-natured people, curious prodding from the more sprightly classmates, and even some mocking jabs from some of the more ill-mannered of his peers, it all consistently received nothing but cold apathy and silence. After a particularly persistent case of attempts to bait a reaction out of him caught the attention of the staff and several people a date with the counselor's office, it seemed they had all come to an agreement to just generally ignore the repeat year student, much to his relief and desolation in equal parts. That's what's right. That is the correct course of action to take with you; to treat you like what you are worth, and what awaits the rest of your infection of the planet, absolutely nothing. As long as they avoid you, as long as the world forgets your wretched existence completely, you can minimize the damage you cause to all you manage to interact with, if only microscopically. Obviously never enough to make your continued survival forgivable, but we both know you're not fixing that yourself. His hands drag up his torso, digits drawing red lines on his skin. Yeah, because I'm too much of a fucking worthless little bitch, alright?! Too afraid to act, too stupid to find a way out, and-- His shirt catches on his fingers. He tries to lift his hands, but his index finger's nail catches on the cotton. Frustration levels already unstable, he wildly pulls in anger. --too much of a godsdamned vile blight on the universe to just fucking end myself! He tears a very small hole on the hem, and splinters his nail. His hand free, his rage quickly chills, all the way around into desperation. He stretches his crumpled form back out, and he throws his legs carelessly in whichever way they may fall. His palms come up to cover his eyes, ever-clawing fingers digging through his basil green hair into his scalp in an effort to shut everything out in darkness and pain. His head once more slams into the wall, pushing his already running tears out as he grits his teeth, wails of anguish and sorrow barely being held back. His breathing hitches and shudders along with the rest of him, his grip on his head tightening. Silence envelops everything but his own gasps, as is routine. Please, just kill me. I can't do it myself. Don't let me wake up again. I beg of you. I can't stand it. The incoming inner derisive retort is stopped in its tracks as the world suddenly shifts. He barely hears a thump beside him before he feels thin, unknown hands slide beneath him. His arms move from in front of him in surprise, his eyes getting a blurry glimpse of light before his face is obstructed again. With a disproportionate amount of force compared to the arms around him, he feels himself being held up, the hand on his back supporting a good deal of his weight while his head is pushed forward by the other, fingers gently running through his hair onto his still-stinging skin. After the rare moment of actual inner silence born out of shock passes, his mind starts processing sensations in overdrive. The sound of sweet, whispered hushing in his right ear. The slowly intensifying heartbeat on his left. The blurry image from his right eye of close-up fabric and skin. The scent of honey with a hint of strawberry. But most of all, the feeling. Softness. Warmth. Kindness. Compassion. More so than the decidedly feminine body holding him so tenderly close, gradually adding heat to his own, he felt a wave of clemency and benevolence flow through him. The poisonous tongue of his mind lashed out, berating him for letting yet another poor soul come into contact with his putrid self and shaming him for his physical enjoyment of her touch, but to no avail. While his memory was surely engraving the words into the deep recesses of his brain for later, his consciousness was being too quickly overwhelmed by the comforting feeling of the girl's touch to really react or even understand the admonishments. With a final jeer over how easily he submit to the slightest touch of affection, he feels even that omnipresent voice muffle out into the core of negative emotions in his depths, the soothing heat giving him that silence he desperately desired. His brain finally slowing down for once in his life, he only feels half-aware as he realizes he's clinging tightly onto the unidentified caretaker. With nothing but muted hints of grievances from the far reaches of his soul to object to his actions, he fully gives in to her, pushing himself further into her embrace as his shivering gasps begin to slow. A deep breath is let out against his ear. Her hands start stroking at his hair and back, sending ripples and vibrations through his body he could only describe as beauty itself given form in physical touch. He could, if his head didn't feel dull and full of clouds and cotton and relief and all things kind. Their intertwined balance shifts as she pulls him with her. His relaxation extends to his arms as they lose some of the strength he was pulling himself close with, but he doesn't let go. He would never even dare to lose her embrace, he'd rather be torn to pieces first if at least one of them could stay here, with her. The sensation of her warmth only intensifies as he breathes deeply against her, distantly noticing the feeling of wetness on the area his left eye was pressed against. Settling against the wall, he pulls his dragging legs up to a slightly more comfortable position, and finishes weaving himself into her grasp, practically melting on top of her. As their slow respiration synchronizes into a sleep-inducing, sluggish rhythm, he feels his eyelids descend to the calming beat of her heart pushing up against him, reciprocated by his own in kind... Until, that is, the piercing ringing of the school bell marking the end of lunch period detonates with the fright of a nuclear alarm. Awakening with a jump, he shakes his head quickly, disoriented and confused. The feeling of warmth on him completely alien to him, he turns only to meet his yellow eyes with a pair of large teal ovals on a borderline-crimson face, which he noted felt like it mirrored his own, along with their shared embrace and something else. It only lasts a quarter of a second as remembrance stampedes through his head, and they both push off each other. His liftoff is, unfortunately for him, less graceful than that of the girl he now recognizes, Fluttershy. He just kicks off backwards and lands on his back, head getting slammed for a third time. He puts his hands on the impact spot, curling up and eyes closing in pain for a few moments. Third time's the charm, it seems, as he feels a little wetness from it. Trying to push past the pain, the yelling in his head returns full force as he makes for his bag. He notices the pink-haired girl's vanished, no trace from her even in the hall coming up to the balcony. A deep groan falls from his grimacing mouth, dreading whatever mess he's now surely brought upon himself awaits him. The pain in his head dulls under the smarting of cold air against the wound. The thought of just straight skipping class crosses his mind, but remembers that she's in the next class with him, and is probably going to tell on him if he's absent for roll call. No choice but to get fucked, then. That thought has his memory bring up the feeling he had while he was dozing. ...Yeah right, who're you kidding? Your emotional disaster of a head is already having extremely stupid dreams of being close to her. Someone gives you an inch and you come running for the whole mile. You're. Disgusting. With a heavy sigh, his entire being droops into his trademark hunched over stance, shouldering his overfilled bag. He starts walking, bracing himself for what's likely to be months of creepy attraction for the girl, pathetic failures in emotional intelligence, and the intensifying hatred of a thousand suns for himself. So disgusting.
2A + Imprint DistillationTrailing Point. The boy’s name was Trailing Point. The scared girl struggled to regain composure inside the bathroom stall, the past half hour assaulting her mind. Breathing heavy and panicked, body and lungs burning, legs and arms shaking... She could only do her best to keep herself quiet, practically holding herself up by grabbing at the walls surrounding her. She was currently alone in the women's bathrooms, though as students spread evenly across the buildings with the period starting, her fortunate solitude could end at any moment. It was hard to focus on any single thought, her frantic heartbeat throbbing in her head, ears, chest, and... The increased dryness of her heaving mouth started to become more irksome as seconds passed, so she focused on the feeling to try and center herself. Pausing her breathing to swallow and wet her tongue, she forced herself to inhale as deeply as she could. Filling her airways with the residual taste of chlorine from the washroom's frequent cleaning, she holds it in with closed eyes. She slowly removes her hands from the tiled dividers between the toilets, and attempts to take control back. I'm fine... I'm fine... I'm safe... I'm not in danger... Nothing's wrong... Everything will be fine... I'm fine... I'm fine... While not as effective as she wished the practiced mantra was, she could feel as she gained some semblance of stillness in her being. Letting the air out with a shaky sigh, she opens her eyes. She hears the murmur of people returning to the building. Her posture softens as she focuses on her breathing, feeling cold sweat trailing down the sides of her heated face. She starts to cool and settle down... Well, mostly. Shifting uncomfortably as she sits on the padded cover of the toilet, she's finally able to start examining her current situation with a somewhat more focused mind. Of course, her 'situation' is mostly regarding the throbbing that remained in her chest--- which, it so happened, also flowed down to a certain uncomfortable bulge in her skirt. Taking a moment to make sure she was alone (a silly sentiment since she couldn’t imagine anyone would come in to the restrooms specifically to intrude on locked stalls), she braced herself with a bite of her lip, and hiked up her skirt. Sure enough, her thing was pushing up against her tights and panties. The flushing in her face returns as she felt it wasn’t just a casual, non-provoked hard-on too, if the twin itches in her chest meant anything. The earlier events were still fresh in her mind. The recollection of the boy’s pacified breathing on her, the tight and needy way he pulled into her, the lingering warmth of the damp spot near her neckline... It all presented itself to her mind’s eye in a less frantic fashion compared to her previous racing, allowing for her attention to be momentarily captured by the memory, before it elicited a sobering throb in response. She stared at the tent between her legs in alarm. A moment’s shift revealed it wasn’t the only one excited down there, either. What’s... wrong with me...? Fluttershy had been born a hermaphrodite. While it came as a shock, her parents had made every effort to embrace and nurture her intersex nature, treating all the peculiarities of her life with patience and care. As such, even after she had decided to identify entirely as a female, she didn’t see her ‘additional’ organs as anything other than just another quirk of her being, no more shameful or important than any other imperfection she had, like say, the sunspots on her back, or the slightly-above-average size of her canines. Well, of course, she was still generally flustered about broaching the subject of genitalia, just in general, and occasionally she had to deal with unbidden erections that had her crossing her legs or holding things over her lap, but those had been just part of her normal life. Unlike randomly snuggling wailing boys and getting uncomfortably aroused by it! The hot and sweet feelings brought from the time she spent with the ‘class creep’ mixed with the chilling, frightening shock of her own loss of control over her body’s reactions in her head, serving up a nauseating cocktail of dissonant emotions that threatened to overwhelm her again. Feverishly trying to divert her head from any thoughts about either the moment or him, her ears took the lead in grabbing her attention, specifically, to the silence in the halls. She suddenly remembered the school day still wasn’t over, a fact she had forgotten in her freak-out. Quickly standing and grabbing her bag from its spot beside her, she attempted to pull down and smooth out her skirt, but the very reason she was here showed it wasn’t having none of it. Moving her bag in front of her with practiced composure, she exited the stall and made for the door before she remembered what class she was having. Once more, ice ran down her nerves. Oh no... Today is Thursday! That’s English in the last two periods, and he’s going to be there too! She winced as with just that thought she felt a pair of twitches downstairs. Getting frustrated with her rebellious privates, she strategically held her bag between the door and her as she sidestepped towards the sinks. While paying close attention to her hearing in case she needed to stop procedures suddenly, she once more hiked up her skirt and pulled on her undergarments. Frowning and blushing at the situation, she pulled out her moderately unimpressive, um, staff, and her... marbles. Her brow furrowed in frustration and flushing embarrassment at her increasing twitching under her own handling. Pressured by her increasing tardiness, she got fed up with her body’s insolence and turned on the faucet, placing her hand under the severely cold flow of water. With a quick brushing of her hand to dry it on her blazer, she planted her freezing grip on her nethers with a loud whisper. “Could you... You... You jerks just please stop it already?!” She tried to touch as much surface area as possible, the sudden chill starting to discourage her arousal. The cold touch seemed to do the trick, and she repeated the process of cooling, drying and fondling a couple of times before she had satisfyingly softened and dried enough in her respective places. With a mix of relief and exasperation, she gave a huff and fixed her garments before peering outside, her blush remaining as an errant thought had her observe that she had just tried to give verbal orders to her crotch. Now that, would’ve been the worst moment for someone to-- “Eep!” Just as the thought crossed her mind, a student with shades of green hair rounded the corner, spooking her, which in turn spooked her classmate. “Oh gosh, Fluttershy, you surprised me!” The jade-headed girl smiled at her, her stance relaxing. If she remembered correctly, she was likely coming from the same class she was headed to. “I’m sorry, Medley, I was a little distracted.” Stepping completely out of the doorway, she politely signaled for the shorter girl to hopefully pass through quickly, not too confident her body had entirely settled down. Sprinkle Medley moved past leisurely, shaking her head. “No worries. I’d ask you to wait for me, but you should probably rush back to class. You know how ‘Mr. Loud Mouth’ gets if you come in too late.” “Hmhm, yeah...” With a half-hearted chuckle, Fluttershy heeded her fellow student’s advice, even if the promised ire didn’t really faze her at the moment, and moved with fast-paced strides of her long legs while pulling her bag over her shoulder. After a hurried, nervous visit to her locker, and a check-up on her state in a window’s reflection, she arrived at Professor Echoed Voice’s classroom, she gently rapped at the closed door. Ducking lightly to peer through the door’s vertical window, she saw him frown at her, then proceed speaking to the class. He might as well, his usual treatment of late students prevailing, as she took the moment to brace herself for both the man’s impending berating, as well as... She actually decided to focus her mind on their teacher’s intimidating voice and attitude for once, the alternative dangerous for her to think about. She would have to deal with it in moments, but she wanted to extend her break from it as long as possible. She heard him finish giving instructions, and tightened her grip on her bag’s strap as he walked to the door. Opening it widely, her breath hitched as she immediately spotted the green-haired source of her unrest in the corner opposite to the door. Before even a single spark could fly through her body, though, her mind was ‘thankfully’ saved from dunking back into that whirlpool of feelings by the professor’s booming voice. “Alright, so care to explain WHY you’re arriving LATE to my lesson?” The man leaned forward, leveling his glaring gaze on her as she tried and failed to make eye contact. Her quiet voice sputtered as she tried to form sentences. “I-I was just... The- the bathroom, and...” She shrunk back in shame. He placed his hand on his side as he leaned further in. “And HOW many times have I TOLD you all to go BEFORE the break is over?” “A-a lot of times, s-sir...” Her eyes fell on the floor, her awareness trying to block out both the man’s and the class’s stares. The dulling of her joy in the previous months had a silver lining, as it had equally managed to soften the sting of negative social situations like these. She suspected that, if this situation played out last year, she would’ve already started tearing up at this point. It was the only measure of comfort she could hold to as her teacher gave an exasperated sigh. “Well go on then, hurry and take a seat. I won’t have any of you dragging behind this year.” He waved her inside. Trying to move past the remaining shame from the encounter, she ducked slightly to scan the room for empty seats, before dread resumed its new favorite game of catching and letting her go in regular intervals. The class was packed, save for the two seats adjacent to the corner that darned, poor, sweet boy occupied. She felt the jarring beginnings of inner conflict sprout as she noted the seat in front of him still had a book open on its desk, and a bag hanging from its backrest. She figured that was Medley’s seat, so her only option was to be beside him... No, she could just, ask someone to switch places with her! Or, shift her desk and partner up with her neighbor on the other side! Rose was nice, wasn’t she? She’d understand even if she faked difficulty with the material, and-- Their eyes locked. Heat and cold restarted their whirling motions inside her, conflicting impulses and thoughts going back and forth as she froze on the spot. It would be easy. Even if they had to tell a white lie to the professor, she knew Rose would understand exactly why she’d ‘suddenly’ need help with her work when seated next to him. It didn’t take a shy personality like hers to want to shift away from what was the year’s black cloud. And yet, as the day’s moments insisted on their presence in her head, she found what in times previous was a passive flicker of resigned pity for the outcast begin to feed into a feeling of protectiveness, even indignation, towards herself, the others, or the status quo. She didn’t really know who she felt it towards, but it was there. His shaded eyes broke contact, pointedly looking away from her to the wall with a huff, a furrowed brow and a scowl. A reaction all too familiar to everyone who had tried to interact with him, which in normal circumstances deterred most but the most stubborn or oblivious of classmates. However, as the theme seemed to run for the day, recalling their saccharine embrace put his visage in a new context, and filled her with a drive that seemed to stamp down at her fears. There was a crack, minuscule enough to be hidden, in the cold and angry stone wall he was to all around him. Looking into that crack, she saw the glimmer of defeat, of acceptance, in his eyes. Her contemplation of his position in the group was interrupted by a voice she had almost forgotten in the few seconds she had stood outside. “What are you waiting for, an INVITATION? Sit down and get to work!” Her professor’s voice ringed in her ears as she skipped inside, an alarmed “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” escaping from her as she moved past the rows. A couple of sympathetic glances went her way as she passed by, although they barely came to her notice as she took a seat on the back, pulling out her workbook and utensils in a rush and looking to the whiteboard for the current assignment. “Yeesh, rough going, huh?” She heard a whisper coming from her side. Brushing her long hair behind her ear as she checked to make sure their teacher was occupied, she turned towards Rose. “Do you want to partner up?” Her namesake-haired classmate nodded towards the rest of the room, which had lost some of its organization as people grouped up to work. “I know you’re not really the ‘teaming up’ type, but I’d feel bad leaving you alone with...” The tail end of her words did not escape Fluttershy’s ears, the implication leaving a newfound kindling of distaste in her mouth. She looked back towards him. His chair leaned back to rest on the back wall, she saw an expression of anger on his face, his glare trained on the notebook on his tilted desk. Movement from in front of him grabbed her attention, as the student two seats ahead from him grabbed Medley’s book from her table. She saw as they seemed to be copying answers from their own book to the missing girl’s, while keeping an eye on Mr. Voice. She processed the sight for a second before the pieces connected, and her temper soured a little more. A prod on her shoulder made her turn back to a confused face. “Fluttershy?” On some level, she wanted to accept. She was worried about the way her emotions were getting away from her after that ‘moment’ in the balcony, and despite that giving her new perspectives to look at the boy from, Trailing Point still exuded a great negative pressure around him. However, with the state of events at the forefront of her mind, willingly distancing herself further from him felt... wrong. Reprehensible, even. It gave her an unease that drove deep into her core, more than the agitation his mere being caused on her emotions. Feeling something akin to a flame of conviction suppress the diminishing wariness she felt at him, she finally shook her head. “Um, thanks for the offer, Rose, but I’ll... I’ll be fine on my own.” Thunder chose that moment to clap, a wave of gasps and yelps going over the class as the sound came in a second later. While rain made a timely entrance following it, Rose let the shock out of her system with a low chuckle and nodded at Fluttershy. “Heh, well, alright then. Hey Silver, mind if I join in with you guys?” Her neighbor’s attention moving on from her, she breathed deeply as she took inventory of the settling thoughts inside her. She felt the last wisps of her trepidation drifting away, as she realized she was fine, despite sitting in the boy’s proximity. Even thinking of him wasn’t making her body react with disorienting heat, although a certain warmth still framed the events private to the two of them. Plus, speaking of good feelings, that flare of strength that had been briefly lit inside her had lowered its intensity, and in its wake left traces of fulfillment. They were small, but she could feel the tiny pearls of satisfaction roll around inside her as she felt secure that she had managed to take a few steps towards making things right again. It took her a second to notice the corners of her mouth were lightly twitching. She hadn’t felt anything like that in a long time. She dared to peer towards the green-haired loner, in an effort to assure herself. His face was unfortunately obscured by his arm as he rested his head on his hand, and although a muted desire to reach to him vaguely registered in her metaphorical periphery, she felt nothing but security well within her as she easily turned away. With a spin of her pencil and a glance back at the whiteboard, she set back to routine, happily shelving away the matter of Trailing Point for later. Everything will be fine.
2B - Receding FlavorThe distant murmur of people approaching slowly grows as his hand presses one last time against the back of his head before inspecting it, a hint of iron in the air as he keeps it close to his face. It feels like its stopped... The aggravated boy descended the stairs, passing an increasing mass of students climbing through and moving his gaze from his palm to the walls beside him. He had made a beeline for the watering fountain near the restrooms after leaving the balcony. He knew it was honestly stupid of him(what a surprise), but the usual ritual of clearing his face of any evidence of turmoil with water was higher on his priority list than doing anything about the small bleeding spot on the back of his head, even as he walked while applying pressure on it in hopes it would stop faster. Rounding the corner, he saw the door to Echoed Voice’s class open, devoid of people. Little late, shithead. His brow furrowed slightly at not only that, but the potential for his teacher to give him shit over it(unfortunately doubtful), and the chance someone had taken either of his self-designated spots on the back corners of class as well. More than that, however, his heart quivered as he sped his pace up, dreading whatever may come after that intensely vulnerable moment with the girl. How insensitive of you to emphasize that word, jackass. Then again, that didn’t seem to affect your dick’s reaction, now did it? His slouch curving further inwards in an attempt to pull back his hips, thoughts of a possible remaining stiffness needling him. Going through the door, he felt some of the irritation drain as most of the class hadn’t even sit down yet, Voice just now unlocking the drawer on his desk. Without breaking pace, he kept his gaze low as he pushed through the still-standing students. His rushed movement to claim his seat backfires, however, as his large bag clips a bottle of water on its way through. Feeling the collision before the bottle even hits the ground, he grabs the bulging bag close as he turns around, its inertia pulling roughly on his shoulder. Although thankfully the bottle was sealed, avoiding any mess it could’ve made, a moment’s glance up froze him on the spot. He is greeted by the silencing of a voice, and then a borderline neutral expression from resident archer Pizzelle, if not for a slight twitch of the eyebrows. And here it comes. Apologize. Pick up the bottle. DO SOMETHING. REACT, YOU INCONCEIVABLE MORON. The girl with the blonde bunned hair leans over to pick up her displaced refreshment, Trailing Point already backing away with a mumbled “Shit, sorr...” The incomplete word only serving to highlight how the apology was to be unheard as Pizzelle continued where she left off with Silverspeed, the small trip-up already forgotten as if it had never even occurred in the first place. That’s never stopped you, though. Because you’re absurdly incapable of basic tasks, but when it comes to writhing in ‘pain’, you’re right on that shit, aren’t you? Finally reaching the empty corner seat, he roughly pulls it back so it stands closer to the back wall, before dropping his bag beside it. His head burns and his back chills as he hurriedly pulls out his materials, as well as a black notebook he slides under the large English workbook. That ridiculous little diary filled with your pathetic bitching and horrid attempts at imagery, if we’re skipping the pages and pages of psychotic cacography that is, you fucking useless mess of a person. Can you just chill for a fucking minute? At least until the day is over and we’re home so we can fucking... Stew on just how much garbage I am without risking making a fucking scene? Considering I am you, meaning I both am an immense idiot and also wish you would cease to breathe forever, how about you eat a fucking dick you piece of shit? No, really, even if its just your unusable brain feeling things that aren’t there, seems to me deep down you really want to gargle on some cock, you little bitch! Sitting down and hoping his usual cold poker face is well in place after that little bottle incident, he leans the chair back so it rests on the back wall. I bet you actually think you look cool like this, you poser. Eat shit and die already. Yeah, I wish we would. The noise of a chair’s legs skidding on the floor catches his attention. He looks to see Stormfeather pushing back Sprinkle Medley, chuckling in victory as they playfully struggle over the seat. “Come on, get up!” ”No way!” ”Come on, man!” ”I beat you fair and square, deal with it!” ”Don’t be a dick!” ”You don’t be a dick!” Oh gods would you just shut up and sit down already for fuck’s sake! Wow, jealous much? Fuck off! A stern glance from their professor followed by the awkward silence of the class stops the pair in their play. A pair of soft apologies are let out as the jade-haired girl turns to the seat behind Stormfeather. The mild blush in her face drains as she pauses for a moment when she makes eye contact with Point. With a very unconvincing smile, her eyes dart away from his to the side as she makes for her seat quickly. Echoed Voice stares at her for a few more seconds before he gets off his desk with a huff, clipboard in hand. “Alright, well, if you’re ALL seated, I’ll take attendance while you pull out the TEXTBOOK and WORKBOOK both. APPLE SPLIT?...” At this point, the boy basically painted in the corner would’ve started tuning the class out, waiting to raise his hand when called as his last interaction of the day. He would, if he didn’t see his classmate ahead nervously sneak a glance back at him, twice in a row now. If she thinks she’s discreet, she’s miserably failing at it. Aw, she’s imitating you. “...COMPASS STAR?” “Here.” “FLUTTERSHY?” The name stands out, despite the loner’s best efforts to turn any thought of the girl into part of the negative maelstrom he’s used to. Not to say he wasn’t starting to sink back into dreading the consequences of their little moment upon remembering her, of course not, but a certain lightness persists in his heart when he thinks about it anyway. A lightness that manages to become its own separate brand of sinking weight when he finally realizes she hadn’t been in class the whole time. “...Alright, ABSENT. GOLDENGRAPE?” Where... Where did she go? She vanished, before anything could be said, and... Isn’t it obvious? She realized who you were. The usual response to finding someone crying like a fucking baby is to try and help them. Yes, that is what you do with people. But that’s not you, me, us, all of us, is it? You are not a person. You don’t even come close to making the minimum fucking standard. She understands that, so when she saw your putrid face, of COURSE she fucking bolted! Poor thing’s probably retching her organs out for ever being touched by such a grotesque fiend! Never fucking forget, idiot, you’re nothing but blight and malevolence misshapen into the vague figure of a person, and all you’re capable of doing is ailing, hurting and stealing from everyone in your presence, by your presence. ...h... There was no retort to be made. That small point of worry for her was being taken full advantage of, and he could practically feel himself squeezing his lungs empty as he somehow managed to even now summon more rage and despair over himself, and started losing it again. His flat expression was beginning to crack, and his baleful gaze slowly weakened. Looking forwards, he barely recognizes Sprinkle’s eyes on him. The eyes of someone disgusted by his existence as they tried to hide their deep unease at being forced to sit so close to him. His ears selectively mute and enhance sounds to give his self-immolating pyre more fuel. “-SPEED? There you are. SPRINKLE MEDLEY?” With one last glance back, the girl stands back up. “Here, sir! Also, can I please go to the bathroom super quick?” Echoed Voice’s brow furrows. “WHAT have I TOLD you, TIME and TIME again?” Sprinkle Medley is pushed a little by the booming voice, but isn’t deterred. “I know, and I’m really sorry, but I really, really need to go! I promise I’ll be on pace with the class before the end of the day!” There was a convincing tinge of urgency in her voice, but you’d have to be even more of an infinitely moronic ignoramus than you already are to believe it has anything to do with bladder emergencies. Its probably closer to being fear and terror at being around you. The man’s green eyes stare into her for a few more seconds, before with a frustrated sigh and roll of the eyes, he waves towards the door. “Fine. But you WON’T make a habit of it. REMEMBER this next time I DENY you exit.” Bounding off in a hurry, a rushed ‘ThanksalotMr.Voice!’ is left in the air as she swings the door open, then slams it back closed in a show of desperation. There’s little room for it to really land, as the educator continues on. “STORMFEATHER?” “Hi.” “TRAILING POINT?” His hand automatically goes up, although the twitching of his hand brings him unease toward his facade. So, in summation, fucking bet Sprinkle just did the same and got the hell out of dodge just to get away from you, you horrid turd. You know, just in case you needed a second opinion on what the best course of action when dealing with you is. “TWILIGHT SKY?” His mind begins to recede and tune out the world around him. So how long do you think you have left? The jig is most likely up, after all. Once Fluttershy speaks to a counselor or a teacher, or gods forbid her friends, they’re not going to leave you alone. From then on its just a matter of time before you break. What’s it gonna be? Will you have a massive freak-out in public, cementing your state as fucking insane for the rest of your most-likely short life? Or will you finally get the courage to take responsibility for your existence and end yourself quietly into the night before anyone can intervene? Will you at least free these poor people from you and leave forever? Either way, the pain you will feel will be entirely deserved, so its not like it’ll make much of a difference. Ge- He lets go of his white-knuckled grip on the desk’s edge as the sound of the classroom’s door opening draws him out of his internal flogging. He looks up, and besides the notes on the whiteboard he didn’t see the professor make, there she was. Relief sneaks through his body at her image. The voice reminds him this means little, and that it is still very likely she’s just going to report him to the proper staff eventually, but he can somehow muffle the words into the back of his mind with her visage in focus. This does not last long however, as he realizes their professor is pressing her on her tardiness without mercy. Seeing her shrink towards the door frame had him renew his grip on the desk in restraint, as well as invigorated the voice back in reaction to himself. Oh what, are you actually feeling protective of her, you fucking joke? Let’s just go past the fact that you can’t do jack-diddly-shit for her, and get to the real issue; What fucking entitlement are you already feeling of her? She hugged you once, now you get rabid when the teacher rightly admonishes her for being late? Get over yourself you fucking child. You’re nothing to her, and she’s absolutely NOTHING of yours. Don’t try to act like this is some righteous feeling. You want to white knight for her to get close to her! You disgusting piece of trash! That was effective in neutering his spike of rage, swiveling it around to aim it at himself. Incapable of disagreeing with, well, himself on how immaturely volatile he was being, the tenseness in his arms partially drooped in defeat. A waste of time and sanity in the end, as he saw her step past Echoed Voice, looking at the class. He saw her look at the seats around him, and her growing unrest just echoed to how much disgust he felt coming from Sprinkle when she ran. Finally, her eyes locked onto his. While the urge to look away rapidly built, he almost hoped she could understand his thoughts in that one moment, if for nothing else but the penance involved. I’m sorry you have to deal with me. No one deserves that. Just do as I sadly can’t, and please forget about my existence. It’s for the best. He turned to the wall as he felt the waterworks attempting to start up. Pushing them down with the plentiful anger he had, he fought to try and keep from anything spilling out. An emotion, a tear, even a slightly louder breath. Nothing must come out. You’re just the angry asshole in the corner, as usual. Nothing deeper. Come on. Vaguely registering her movement closer as she went to the one free desk in the room, the one beside him, he placed his gaze on his unopened books as control came back to him. Well, over his mask, at least, as he felt the urge to look to her again take over him slowly. Opening his text book, he shifted his sight towards the floor to his right. From that view, he started to shift his focus to try and see with only the edge of his vision, towards her. You’re really disgusting. The reprimand almost make him shake. It's endless with you, isn't it? You can't spend a single fucking second without being absolute trash, can you? He rested his face on his right hand to try and block her from his perverse eyes, and opened the black notebook, although he really had no desire to vomit out any of the torrent of destructive emotions he was currently cycling through into paper. Facing him was one of the more raging pages where his writing quickly lost form into nothing more than forceful swipes and streaks that barely resembled letters. The page had a few holes in it from some particularly strong pen-jabs, and was a little more damaged than the book's overall rough state from the harsh treatment. On the next page, aside from marks from the previous page, something vaguely recognizable as a person was depicted, screaming with black ink running from their face. Oh I'm sorry, I forgot that shit was you, it's just so hard to tell from how stupidly shaky your bitch of an arm is! Despite the unending cascade of hate inside him, he felt the mask stabilize outwardly anyway. Something laughable about that being his normal state of mind, if it wasn't so pathetic. Still, poking out like a buoy in that black sea, however, was worry and confusion towards that girl. Her presence gave him an unexplained sense of peace, but the meaning behind that presence only caused him an even deeper feeling of unrest at his core. Why is she just, there? Why isn't she saying anything? Yeah, unexplained, sure. Any opinions on that, doctor dick? He realized the threats his body was making to him at that. Just from the continued presence of her in his proximity, he couldn't forget the feelings and, most importantly, the silence he experienced in her embrace. His blood heated as well, and veered on the edge of making his emotions visible from beyond the mask's reach. He could only hope time would speed up towards the end, whether it be of the day or of his life, he didn't care which. It was all he could do as he barely held his composure together. His mind once more managed to retire the punishing rage at himself thanks to her, but only so it could be battered by panic and fear this time. He could not get the thoughts of her out. I won't last like this.
