thoughts on ira and ryu
My thoughts? They're fucking insane, and I love them. Smoke and dance buddies GET THEM A STAGE NOW!!! Best oc duo we have besides whatever Clay and Ira have going on
(Love you đ really random oc question)
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@madmanspiral
thoughts on ira and ryu
My thoughts? They're fucking insane, and I love them. Smoke and dance buddies GET THEM A STAGE NOW!!! Best oc duo we have besides whatever Clay and Ira have going on
(Love you đ really random oc question)
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CHARACTERS: Aldéric Desrosiers (Death to the Elite OC)
WORDS: 3.6k
WARNINGS: Emotional abuse, neglect, French people
GENRE: Angst with no comfort
SUMMARY: The Desrosiers have been known for their prominent success in France. However, success is not eternal. What happens if success cracks?
âĄâąââ ă» âËđ„â±â§âË. ă» âââąâĄ
âWOLFSBANE ACADEMY was founded in 1713, just outside of a small French town called ACONITUM.Â
âFor centuries, elite families from all around the world have sent their children to this prestigious boarding school, be it to reform their misbehaviors or to get their children the highest of education possible. Either way, discipline is learned and education is drilled in, leading Wolfsbane Academy students to prosperity, success, and years of knowledge to come."
With Wolfsbane Academy came one of the household names in all of France, especially in the Aconitum region, in all sorts of aspects. Whether it be technology, medicine, engineering, music, or film, the said family reigned supreme due to the starting couple: SĂ©bastien and AngĂ©lique Desrosiers. Wolfsbane molded the two together as teenagers and shaped them into the start of what can be akin to a dynasty. They chalked it up to Wolfsbane Academy for their success with pure grit and enough intelligence to graduate at the top. The couple wed and had their first child, of whom they sent to Wolfsbane at the right age. Somehow, that Desrosiers child found love at the school and dove deep into his work while also having his own child. The shared fate between his parents and himself was scarily similar, and the same could be said for the third-generation student at Wolfsbane. Every single generation since SĂ©bastien and AngĂ©lique graduated at Wolfsbane, found love at the academy, and sent their child away like clockwork. What could they say? Wolfsbane started the Desrosiersâ success. Success is oftentimes the only meaning for the Desrosiers, the only way that they can stay on top where they want to be. Now, itâs time to put it to the test for the youngest of the next generation: AldĂ©ric Rainier Desrosiers.
AldĂ©ric Rainier Desrosiers⊠the black sheepâor black roseâof the family. Little, lonesome AldĂ©ric with his little heart made of gold and happy-go-lucky attitude. Yet, to truly understand how dire success is in the Desrosiers lineage, we looked at AldĂ©ric in middle school.
âĄâąââ ă» âËđ„â±â§âË. ă» âââąâĄ
âCe n'est pas ton meilleur travail, Desrosiers. Je m'attendais Ă mieux. [Not your best work, Desrosiers. I expected better],â his teacher sprawled out a graded test right in front of him, then moving onto the next person. She never had time for fun and games, much less AldĂ©ricâs high-maintenance in ways. Her heels clacked against the polished floors without care for him. Sure, she cared for him, but she was never the type to coddle him and baby him. He wasnât a baby; he was a young teenager who could handle a smidge of disappointment. It would happen at some time in his life. He better get used to it before his world crashes in front of him.
He knows the feeling of being the blunt of disappointment already.
His head turned from speaking with a friend of his right behind him, a smile ever-present on his face. His famous and charming smile rarely escaped his face; it was more rare to see him without it than with it! His innocent grins and chuckles never once were rehearsed or put on to please the crowd. Sure, he would hide his emotions behind a mask of lies if the time asked for it⊠but why would he do that? AldĂ©ric had never been one to lie, especially not well, for his parents taught him better than that. Lying was for the cheap and scummy, and the Desrosiers were never and will never be cheap and scummy. His grin dropped as soon as the test was given back to him. Eyes scanning the pageâŠ
How can this be?! He studied for hours straight days before the test was given! His heart dropped down to his stomach as he saw the mediocre grade: a 78%. The room suddenly gained temperatures too hot for Aldéric. Beads of sweat adorned his hairline, which was pushed upwards as his fingers dove into his hair. The wisps in his hair fell by him combing through it without care.
âOh mon Dieu! Oh mon Dieu! Non! Non, non, non, non, non, non!! Ăa ne peut pas arriver! Il doit y avoir une erreur! [Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness! No! No, no, no, no, no, no!! This can't be happening! There must be a mistake!]â the boyâs voice transformed from such confidence and joy to a panicked mess. His words lumped together in stress, and, not only did his hands shake, but his voice did, too.
The first pair of eyes landed on him in a crowd of about twenty. Her gaze to AldĂ©ric helped him none, not even a pitied look. A monotone voice spoke out to cut through the thick tension of his own scrambled one. âSi vous avez un problĂšme, prenez rendez-vous avec moi aprĂšs le cours. [If you have a problem, set up a time with me after class.]â
AldĂ©ric looked up to the voice for some form of desperation in his face: his pleading eyes, cheeks reddened from embarrassment, lips pouting as if he was begging for her to reconsider. For a slight second, she held his gaze, only for it to be short-lived as she focused on her own task. Thatâs when the rest of the eyes in a sea of pupils landed on him like an empty boat in a vast ocean. To his left, right, up, down, everywhere, the peering eyes stung him. A few stifled chuckles erupted from his friends in a far-away corner at the thought. Really? AldĂ©ric Desrosiers starting to cry like a baby over a bad grade? The grade wasnât even that terrible! Surely, someone with a status as his shouldnât be as upset as him. Heâs a teenager now, and his family has more than enough money that they know what to do with. They can just pay his teacher to wave off the grade and turn a blind eye, so whatâs the big deal?
On the other hand, some students felt horrible for AldĂ©ric. They knew what would happen through AldĂ©ricâs mouth, and it was borderline neglectful. Yet, they remained quiet in pity for him. Not empathy, not sympathy. Pity. They knew that they couldnât stop it. AldĂ©ric will just come back to school normally⊠right? He always did! Has he ever come to school without a complete smile on his face, warding away the intimidation that he was born with, saying good morning to everyone?
No one spoke to AldĂ©ric, nor did he speak to anyone. An island in the sea full of dead calm water. A boy so alone in a room full of people. No one was there to grab his hand and to pull him out from the pool of worries that he drowned himself in.Â
âĄâąââ ă» âËđ„â±â§âË. ă» âââąâĄ
He knew what was going to happen to him. The scenes played out in his head in the series of events. First, his body was to be frozen over as he refused to meet the same gaze as his parents: their eyes so cold that he could die of hypothermia as soon as he stepped into their sight. He had no right to speak to them, for he already knew what he did wrong. If he even spoke up a syllable, then his punishment worsened. Two days without any social activity beyond school, a silent dinner table, and so many words by candlelight that they all became one from his exhaustion of study. Thatâs number two, or, well, number three. Number two was reserved for his parents scolding him. If AldĂ©ric never knew fear before, then his parents let him go scot-free and never had the reason to let him know his wrongs.
âAldĂ©ric Rainier Desrosiers. Entre avant d'avoir de plus gros ennuis. [AldĂ©ric Rainier Desrosiers. Get inside before you're in bigger trouble.]â
The muffled voice from inside the mansion made him drop his arm from opening the door. His heart already began to race as his chauffeur drove him closer and closer to the Desrosiersâ residence, and all that his body could allow him to do was stare at the door. He never wanted to be in trouble when he worked so hard for a test that he knew he would do well on. He wasted over twenty candles to study with in the past week! Two candles per weekday and adding two more for the weekends after his violin practice. Was that not enough?
The doors swung open in front of AldĂ©ric, and close to the doorway stood his incredibly disappointed parents. Both adorned in formal clothing standing taller than AldĂ©ric at 5â4, and their gaze downcast on him was nothing short than a flurry of embarrassment and fear. Neither of them were so heartless that they laid an abusive finger on him. Yet, the eyes burning holes into his skin forced him to walk inside and not meet their gaze.
âTu sais oĂč aller. [You know where to go.]â
ââŠOui, PĂšre. [âŠYes, Father.]â
His voice was almost akin to that of a mouse, quick and oh so quiet. His feet dragged along the floors to the room dedicated just for Aldéric. They kept it for when the first-born acted up and needed to be alone to learn his actions⊠yet he learned his mistakes quickly. The same fate weaved itself into the second-born, then into his sister. The youngest Desrosiers used the room the most, for he knew no better as a child than to be cold and hide behind a tapestry that lacks emotions.
AldĂ©ric was an innocent child who wanted the same experience as his peers: to have sleepovers, to have playtime, to talk their parentsâ ears off about anything, to draw these grand stories⊠A Desrosiers was nothing of the sorts. A proper Desrosiers spends his or her life behind papers to succeed early and get ahead to cement their place.
His feet dragged himself to the quiet room. Every step that he took riddled his anxiety more and more, for he knew what would happen. He never enjoyed being scolded for something as trivial as a satisfactory grade. Aldéric knew that he would do better next time! Some information slipped his mind for a minute, but it always came back! He knew what he was doing for that test! If only he had the courage to speak to his parents about how sometimes it was so hard for him to retain information. He knew that he could. After all, he was a Desrosiers! Desrosiers never faltered, no matter how tough it was for them to succeed!
His trail to the room was short-lived as his feet managed to get him there as fast as possible. If he hurried up, then he could get this over with and start to study for his next test for mathematics, do his assignment for English, practice his violin until marks dug into his fingers and needed three hours to regain their structure.
âCombien d'heures as-tu passĂ© Ă apprendre pour ce test? [How many hours did you spend learning for this test?]â his mother stood over him as AldĂ©ric sat down in the lonesome chair. When he was little, there used to be three other chairs to accompany his, one for each of his siblings. At present, his was the only one to remain. His brothers and sisters moved on and learned their lesson from their fair share of scoldings. Talking out of line, being unprofessional, arguing with the teacher to fix a grade, but they knew better from their own ways of punishment.
It didnât matter how they took it because AldĂ©ric was different from them. They all loved AldĂ©ric and his silly shenanigans; they loved his rants about everything and anything while they had downtime and could afford time to listen; and they loved how sweet he was. He fit out of the mold, and they wished that he could fit in for his sake.
âJ'ai enregistrĂ© mes heures comme ĂvangĂ©line me l'avait demandĂ©. Je ne me souviens plus du nombre total d'heures, mais⊠[I logged my hours like ĂvangĂ©line told me to do. I cannot remember how many hours I took overall, butâ]â his voice trailed off into total silence. Normally, he knew what to say. That was one of his âunprofessionalâ traits that his parents criticized him for: his excessive talking. Some days, they found it endearing to hear him talk. It was one of their best escapes from their own stressful work days, and they loved how he spoke. He spoke with such fluidity that you couldnât tell when he moved from topic to topic as he usually did. On other days, they hated that he did that. They want peace and quiet, not some child rambling their ear off, not even their own child.
An aggressive, masculine voice yelled out âĂVANGĂLINE!â, the syllables reverberating off of the walls.
Quiet footsteps scattered over towards the degrading room. There was nothing there that could comfort a person while they were being broken down into the Desrosiersâ mold, especially AldĂ©ric. He was always looking for something to stimulate him, to entertain him, but all that he could take in that room was his parents' words. Another woman who looked akin to AldĂ©ric showed up as soon as her name was called, despite the size of the mansion. âOui? [Yes?]â
âRĂ©cupĂšre le journal dâAldĂ©ric pour savoir combien d'heures il a passĂ©es Ă rĂ©viser pour cet examen. Il a obtenu un maigre 78%. Il sait que c'est inacceptable. Ne lui parle pas tant qu'il n'a pas compris la leçon. [Retrieve AldĂ©ricâs log for how many hours he spent studying for this test. He received a measly 78%. He knows that this is unacceptable. Do not speak with him until heâs learned his lesson.]â
The two siblings locked eyes for a moment, sharing a mixed array of emotions. For Aldéric , he begged for an escape that he knew was impossible. Tears lined across his waterducts that threatened to spill at a moment's notice. As soon as his parents would lay it onto him, he knew that he was done for. He already learned his lesson with the multiple spikes in his heartbeat earlier, and he knew that he would never do it again. Why must his parents continue to do this when he knew what he did wrong?
Yet, with ĂvangĂ©line, she knew that she had to mask her own emotions. She despised that look on his face, and she held more anger that she wished that she could force onto them. Who cared about success when he was only a child? Sure, he was in middle school and a year from entering Wolfsbane Academy, where she attended, but why should he care so much? They knew that AldĂ©ric was extremely sensitive to being scolded, and they knew that he wanted out of this strict family. He wanted to receive love from his parents, even a fraction of what they were willing to give, and he wanted to play like a normal child. ĂvangĂ©line could spew her hatred for doing this to her youngest brother and for how she was raised, but she knew better than to raise her voice. With defeat, she walked away to gather the document that her father sent her in the room for.
As they waited, the Desrosiers of the thriving generation wasted no time to start their speech. Both cut in at intervals to have their own things to say, and their words held such strength that, if this was war, Aldéric had no option except for admitting defeat.
âAldĂ©ric, nous sommes tellement déçus. Tu sais qu'il faut obtenir 90% ou plus Ă n'importe quel devoir pour ĂȘtre le meilleur de ta classe. C'est lĂ que tu dois⊠[AldĂ©ric, we are so disappointed. You know that you have to make 90% or higher on any assignment to be the highest of your class. That is where you have to beâ]â
Their words dragged on for seven minutes before ĂvangĂ©line returned with the document. On it in perfect cursive, the large circled 62 hours jumped out to him. 62 hours? Thatâs it? He couldnât spare another three hours to make it to 65? He spent twenty candlesâ12 that burned for three hours, five that burned for four, and three that melted away after two hoursâAldĂ©ricâs father shooed ĂvangĂ©line away. It wasnât her scolding, not anymore, for it belonged only to AldĂ©ric.
AldĂ©ric couldnât listen anymore as their words smushed into one, voices so monotone that they sound like theyâre combined as they calmed down from the initial action of his grade. His neck pushed his head up and down whenever they asked if he understood, and his lips were sealed shut from the lack of words he was allowed to say. Not a peep from his room unless it was an emergency or from his violin until dinnertime. Even then, he would not say anything in embarrassment. Embarrassment of disrespecting the Desrosiers title with his silly mistakes that he forgot certain information on or was incorrect about. The last thing that he remembered his parents instructed him to do was write a two page (minimum) apology letter to SĂ©bastien and AngĂ©lique Desrosiers for failing the family name that he was so lucky to be born into. He was lucky to attend Wolfsbane. They would shape him up into a fine young man with business on his mind and not some silly friends or a childhood meant for a kid.
âĄâąââ ă» âËđ„â±â§âË. ă» âââąâĄ
AldĂ©ric was stuck in his room for the next couple hours until it was dinner time. His parents told him to write that letter to his very distant relatives, but how was he supposed to when all that he could think about was how he failed the Desrosiers name? Was he a true Desrosiers, or did he only manage to receive the title with no evidence to back his claim? Could he truly succeed as a Desrosiers, or will he be forced to be the only one of the rose branch to give into defeat? The thoughts spiralled in his mind, enough to make him lay his head on his pillow in shame and cry the river of tears that the levees in his eyes kept from spilling. Not to talk to anyone, not to interact with anything, only to focus on this letter to apologize for all that he had done. Nobody came to comfort him. Not his father, not his own mother, not his sister, and certainly not his brothers. No knock at the door, no yelling through the door. The Desrosiers knew that they couldnât because of their parents. AldĂ©ricâs father received the worst of it all when he was a child and his parents did this to him, and AldĂ©ricâs mother broke into the mold of the plague of ambition and success at Wolfsbane.
What was worse was that they all cared for poor AldĂ©ric Rainier Desrosiers. He was so charming with his sweet words and actions, the countless hugs and asks for cuddles when he was a toddler, his charm. They couldnât say no to him no matter how strong their will was. He knew that they loved him and this was another example of tough love. This whole encounter? Perfectly normal for a child in his deluded mind. Some children did not receive this mental torture and anguish? Well, they must have been lucky!
âĄâąââ ă» âËđ„â±â§âË. ă» âââąâĄ
At present, AldĂ©ric moved on. He knew that his life didnât end at just one scolding. It never did! He had to muster up the courage to continue and right all of his wrongs. AldĂ©ric attended Wolfsbane for the past years, and he was ready to graduate! He wanted to be a doctor to help others with their medical problems! His college was already picked out to accept him, the same one that many other Desrosiers who pursued their interest in medicine attended. For now, however, he had to wait it out for his next year of school.
A new day woke him up, and he was ready to take on the world. He glided over to his class taught by Professor John Stratford, a smile ever-present on his face as he handed his present to him. He felt such joy to be in his class again, even if he had to witness a gruesome fight yesterday. Desks flipped over, a book thrown, his friend Liam being brought into the fire, even his own teacher being hit! All such a doozy! However, a new day is a new day!
With that new day came a scolding that AldĂ©ric never wanted to hear. No, he wasnât in trouble, but Stratfordâs words hit him. His venomous words spat into his skin, corroding it all the way to the bone and then some. His happy-go-lucky attitude and complete joy quickly faded into one of sorrow and fear. It was only the third day! How could he have messed up this student-teacher relationship already?! Was he not quick enough to stop the fight? Was Stratford upset with him for not making sure the fight didnât happen by letting August and Leo go? Did he disappoint another adult for not stepping up and being the leader at that moment like he told AldĂ©ric to do? The water ducts in his eyes began to fill immediately, and AldĂ©ric's neck craned down for escape. Nobody should see a Desrosiers cry, especially not someone like him.
The thought of causing a scolding for the whole class in his deluded mind wrecked him inside. He felt sick to his stomach. AldĂ©ricâsheart dropped down to his stomach and began to disintegrate in his acid. His throat closed up. His chest felt heavy with emotion.
Iâm so sorry, Professor Stratford.
When I catch you, Noelle. When I catch you.
Evil aah parents
đȘđ» đđœđ đ đđđ đ”đđđœđđ
âĄâąââ ă» âËđ„â±â§âË. ă» âââąâĄ
âĄâąââ ă» âËđ„â±â§âË. ă» âââąâĄ
CHARACTERS: Aldéric Desrosiers (Death to the Elite OC)
WORDS: 3.6k
WARNINGS: Emotional abuse, neglect, French people
GENRE: Angst with no comfort
SUMMARY: The Desrosiers have been known for their prominent success in France. However, success is not eternal. What happens if success cracks?
âĄâąââ ă» âËđ„â±â§âË. ă» âââąâĄ
âWOLFSBANE ACADEMY was founded in 1713, just outside of a small French town called ACONITUM.Â
âFor centuries, elite families from all around the world have sent their children to this prestigious boarding school, be it to reform their misbehaviors or to get their children the highest of education possible. Either way, discipline is learned and education is drilled in, leading Wolfsbane Academy students to prosperity, success, and years of knowledge to come."
With Wolfsbane Academy came one of the household names in all of France, especially in the Aconitum region, in all sorts of aspects. Whether it be technology, medicine, engineering, music, or film, the said family reigned supreme due to the starting couple: SĂ©bastien and AngĂ©lique Desrosiers. Wolfsbane molded the two together as teenagers and shaped them into the start of what can be akin to a dynasty. They chalked it up to Wolfsbane Academy for their success with pure grit and enough intelligence to graduate at the top. The couple wed and had their first child, of whom they sent to Wolfsbane at the right age. Somehow, that Desrosiers child found love at the school and dove deep into his work while also having his own child. The shared fate between his parents and himself was scarily similar, and the same could be said for the third-generation student at Wolfsbane. Every single generation since SĂ©bastien and AngĂ©lique graduated at Wolfsbane, found love at the academy, and sent their child away like clockwork. What could they say? Wolfsbane started the Desrosiersâ success. Success is oftentimes the only meaning for the Desrosiers, the only way that they can stay on top where they want to be. Now, itâs time to put it to the test for the youngest of the next generation: AldĂ©ric Rainier Desrosiers.
AldĂ©ric Rainier Desrosiers⊠the black sheepâor black roseâof the family. Little, lonesome AldĂ©ric with his little heart made of gold and happy-go-lucky attitude. Yet, to truly understand how dire success is in the Desrosiers lineage, we looked at AldĂ©ric in middle school.
âĄâąââ ă» âËđ„â±â§âË. ă» âââąâĄ
âCe n'est pas ton meilleur travail, Desrosiers. Je m'attendais Ă mieux. [Not your best work, Desrosiers. I expected better],â his teacher sprawled out a graded test right in front of him, then moving onto the next person. She never had time for fun and games, much less AldĂ©ricâs high-maintenance in ways. Her heels clacked against the polished floors without care for him. Sure, she cared for him, but she was never the type to coddle him and baby him. He wasnât a baby; he was a young teenager who could handle a smidge of disappointment. It would happen at some time in his life. He better get used to it before his world crashes in front of him.
He knows the feeling of being the blunt of disappointment already.
His head turned from speaking with a friend of his right behind him, a smile ever-present on his face. His famous and charming smile rarely escaped his face; it was more rare to see him without it than with it! His innocent grins and chuckles never once were rehearsed or put on to please the crowd. Sure, he would hide his emotions behind a mask of lies if the time asked for it⊠but why would he do that? AldĂ©ric had never been one to lie, especially not well, for his parents taught him better than that. Lying was for the cheap and scummy, and the Desrosiers were never and will never be cheap and scummy. His grin dropped as soon as the test was given back to him. Eyes scanning the pageâŠ
How can this be?! He studied for hours straight days before the test was given! His heart dropped down to his stomach as he saw the mediocre grade: a 78%. The room suddenly gained temperatures too hot for Aldéric. Beads of sweat adorned his hairline, which was pushed upwards as his fingers dove into his hair. The wisps in his hair fell by him combing through it without care.
âOh mon Dieu! Oh mon Dieu! Non! Non, non, non, non, non, non!! Ăa ne peut pas arriver! Il doit y avoir une erreur! [Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness! No! No, no, no, no, no, no!! This can't be happening! There must be a mistake!]â the boyâs voice transformed from such confidence and joy to a panicked mess. His words lumped together in stress, and, not only did his hands shake, but his voice did, too.
The first pair of eyes landed on him in a crowd of about twenty. Her gaze to AldĂ©ric helped him none, not even a pitied look. A monotone voice spoke out to cut through the thick tension of his own scrambled one. âSi vous avez un problĂšme, prenez rendez-vous avec moi aprĂšs le cours. [If you have a problem, set up a time with me after class.]â
AldĂ©ric looked up to the voice for some form of desperation in his face: his pleading eyes, cheeks reddened from embarrassment, lips pouting as if he was begging for her to reconsider. For a slight second, she held his gaze, only for it to be short-lived as she focused on her own task. Thatâs when the rest of the eyes in a sea of pupils landed on him like an empty boat in a vast ocean. To his left, right, up, down, everywhere, the peering eyes stung him. A few stifled chuckles erupted from his friends in a far-away corner at the thought. Really? AldĂ©ric Desrosiers starting to cry like a baby over a bad grade? The grade wasnât even that terrible! Surely, someone with a status as his shouldnât be as upset as him. Heâs a teenager now, and his family has more than enough money that they know what to do with. They can just pay his teacher to wave off the grade and turn a blind eye, so whatâs the big deal?
On the other hand, some students felt horrible for AldĂ©ric. They knew what would happen through AldĂ©ricâs mouth, and it was borderline neglectful. Yet, they remained quiet in pity for him. Not empathy, not sympathy. Pity. They knew that they couldnât stop it. AldĂ©ric will just come back to school normally⊠right? He always did! Has he ever come to school without a complete smile on his face, warding away the intimidation that he was born with, saying good morning to everyone?
No one spoke to AldĂ©ric, nor did he speak to anyone. An island in the sea full of dead calm water. A boy so alone in a room full of people. No one was there to grab his hand and to pull him out from the pool of worries that he drowned himself in.Â
âĄâąââ ă» âËđ„â±â§âË. ă» âââąâĄ
He knew what was going to happen to him. The scenes played out in his head in the series of events. First, his body was to be frozen over as he refused to meet the same gaze as his parents: their eyes so cold that he could die of hypothermia as soon as he stepped into their sight. He had no right to speak to them, for he already knew what he did wrong. If he even spoke up a syllable, then his punishment worsened. Two days without any social activity beyond school, a silent dinner table, and so many words by candlelight that they all became one from his exhaustion of study. Thatâs number two, or, well, number three. Number two was reserved for his parents scolding him. If AldĂ©ric never knew fear before, then his parents let him go scot-free and never had the reason to let him know his wrongs.
âAldĂ©ric Rainier Desrosiers. Entre avant d'avoir de plus gros ennuis. [AldĂ©ric Rainier Desrosiers. Get inside before you're in bigger trouble.]â
The muffled voice from inside the mansion made him drop his arm from opening the door. His heart already began to race as his chauffeur drove him closer and closer to the Desrosiersâ residence, and all that his body could allow him to do was stare at the door. He never wanted to be in trouble when he worked so hard for a test that he knew he would do well on. He wasted over twenty candles to study with in the past week! Two candles per weekday and adding two more for the weekends after his violin practice. Was that not enough?
The doors swung open in front of AldĂ©ric, and close to the doorway stood his incredibly disappointed parents. Both adorned in formal clothing standing taller than AldĂ©ric at 5â4, and their gaze downcast on him was nothing short than a flurry of embarrassment and fear. Neither of them were so heartless that they laid an abusive finger on him. Yet, the eyes burning holes into his skin forced him to walk inside and not meet their gaze.
âTu sais oĂč aller. [You know where to go.]â
ââŠOui, PĂšre. [âŠYes, Father.]â
His voice was almost akin to that of a mouse, quick and oh so quiet. His feet dragged along the floors to the room dedicated just for Aldéric. They kept it for when the first-born acted up and needed to be alone to learn his actions⊠yet he learned his mistakes quickly. The same fate weaved itself into the second-born, then into his sister. The youngest Desrosiers used the room the most, for he knew no better as a child than to be cold and hide behind a tapestry that lacks emotions.
AldĂ©ric was an innocent child who wanted the same experience as his peers: to have sleepovers, to have playtime, to talk their parentsâ ears off about anything, to draw these grand stories⊠A Desrosiers was nothing of the sorts. A proper Desrosiers spends his or her life behind papers to succeed early and get ahead to cement their place.
His feet dragged himself to the quiet room. Every step that he took riddled his anxiety more and more, for he knew what would happen. He never enjoyed being scolded for something as trivial as a satisfactory grade. Aldéric knew that he would do better next time! Some information slipped his mind for a minute, but it always came back! He knew what he was doing for that test! If only he had the courage to speak to his parents about how sometimes it was so hard for him to retain information. He knew that he could. After all, he was a Desrosiers! Desrosiers never faltered, no matter how tough it was for them to succeed!
His trail to the room was short-lived as his feet managed to get him there as fast as possible. If he hurried up, then he could get this over with and start to study for his next test for mathematics, do his assignment for English, practice his violin until marks dug into his fingers and needed three hours to regain their structure.
âCombien d'heures as-tu passĂ© Ă apprendre pour ce test? [How many hours did you spend learning for this test?]â his mother stood over him as AldĂ©ric sat down in the lonesome chair. When he was little, there used to be three other chairs to accompany his, one for each of his siblings. At present, his was the only one to remain. His brothers and sisters moved on and learned their lesson from their fair share of scoldings. Talking out of line, being unprofessional, arguing with the teacher to fix a grade, but they knew better from their own ways of punishment.
It didnât matter how they took it because AldĂ©ric was different from them. They all loved AldĂ©ric and his silly shenanigans; they loved his rants about everything and anything while they had downtime and could afford time to listen; and they loved how sweet he was. He fit out of the mold, and they wished that he could fit in for his sake.
âJ'ai enregistrĂ© mes heures comme ĂvangĂ©line me l'avait demandĂ©. Je ne me souviens plus du nombre total d'heures, mais⊠[I logged my hours like ĂvangĂ©line told me to do. I cannot remember how many hours I took overall, butâ]â his voice trailed off into total silence. Normally, he knew what to say. That was one of his âunprofessionalâ traits that his parents criticized him for: his excessive talking. Some days, they found it endearing to hear him talk. It was one of their best escapes from their own stressful work days, and they loved how he spoke. He spoke with such fluidity that you couldnât tell when he moved from topic to topic as he usually did. On other days, they hated that he did that. They want peace and quiet, not some child rambling their ear off, not even their own child.
An aggressive, masculine voice yelled out âĂVANGĂLINE!â, the syllables reverberating off of the walls.
Quiet footsteps scattered over towards the degrading room. There was nothing there that could comfort a person while they were being broken down into the Desrosiersâ mold, especially AldĂ©ric. He was always looking for something to stimulate him, to entertain him, but all that he could take in that room was his parents' words. Another woman who looked akin to AldĂ©ric showed up as soon as her name was called, despite the size of the mansion. âOui? [Yes?]â
âRĂ©cupĂšre le journal dâAldĂ©ric pour savoir combien d'heures il a passĂ©es Ă rĂ©viser pour cet examen. Il a obtenu un maigre 78%. Il sait que c'est inacceptable. Ne lui parle pas tant qu'il n'a pas compris la leçon. [Retrieve AldĂ©ricâs log for how many hours he spent studying for this test. He received a measly 78%. He knows that this is unacceptable. Do not speak with him until heâs learned his lesson.]â
The two siblings locked eyes for a moment, sharing a mixed array of emotions. For Aldéric , he begged for an escape that he knew was impossible. Tears lined across his waterducts that threatened to spill at a moment's notice. As soon as his parents would lay it onto him, he knew that he was done for. He already learned his lesson with the multiple spikes in his heartbeat earlier, and he knew that he would never do it again. Why must his parents continue to do this when he knew what he did wrong?
Yet, with ĂvangĂ©line, she knew that she had to mask her own emotions. She despised that look on his face, and she held more anger that she wished that she could force onto them. Who cared about success when he was only a child? Sure, he was in middle school and a year from entering Wolfsbane Academy, where she attended, but why should he care so much? They knew that AldĂ©ric was extremely sensitive to being scolded, and they knew that he wanted out of this strict family. He wanted to receive love from his parents, even a fraction of what they were willing to give, and he wanted to play like a normal child. ĂvangĂ©line could spew her hatred for doing this to her youngest brother and for how she was raised, but she knew better than to raise her voice. With defeat, she walked away to gather the document that her father sent her in the room for.
As they waited, the Desrosiers of the thriving generation wasted no time to start their speech. Both cut in at intervals to have their own things to say, and their words held such strength that, if this was war, Aldéric had no option except for admitting defeat.
âAldĂ©ric, nous sommes tellement déçus. Tu sais qu'il faut obtenir 90% ou plus Ă n'importe quel devoir pour ĂȘtre le meilleur de ta classe. C'est lĂ que tu dois⊠[AldĂ©ric, we are so disappointed. You know that you have to make 90% or higher on any assignment to be the highest of your class. That is where you have to beâ]â
Their words dragged on for seven minutes before ĂvangĂ©line returned with the document. On it in perfect cursive, the large circled 62 hours jumped out to him. 62 hours? Thatâs it? He couldnât spare another three hours to make it to 65? He spent twenty candlesâ12 that burned for three hours, five that burned for four, and three that melted away after two hoursâAldĂ©ricâs father shooed ĂvangĂ©line away. It wasnât her scolding, not anymore, for it belonged only to AldĂ©ric.
AldĂ©ric couldnât listen anymore as their words smushed into one, voices so monotone that they sound like theyâre combined as they calmed down from the initial action of his grade. His neck pushed his head up and down whenever they asked if he understood, and his lips were sealed shut from the lack of words he was allowed to say. Not a peep from his room unless it was an emergency or from his violin until dinnertime. Even then, he would not say anything in embarrassment. Embarrassment of disrespecting the Desrosiers title with his silly mistakes that he forgot certain information on or was incorrect about. The last thing that he remembered his parents instructed him to do was write a two page (minimum) apology letter to SĂ©bastien and AngĂ©lique Desrosiers for failing the family name that he was so lucky to be born into. He was lucky to attend Wolfsbane. They would shape him up into a fine young man with business on his mind and not some silly friends or a childhood meant for a kid.
âĄâąââ ă» âËđ„â±â§âË. ă» âââąâĄ
AldĂ©ric was stuck in his room for the next couple hours until it was dinner time. His parents told him to write that letter to his very distant relatives, but how was he supposed to when all that he could think about was how he failed the Desrosiers name? Was he a true Desrosiers, or did he only manage to receive the title with no evidence to back his claim? Could he truly succeed as a Desrosiers, or will he be forced to be the only one of the rose branch to give into defeat? The thoughts spiralled in his mind, enough to make him lay his head on his pillow in shame and cry the river of tears that the levees in his eyes kept from spilling. Not to talk to anyone, not to interact with anything, only to focus on this letter to apologize for all that he had done. Nobody came to comfort him. Not his father, not his own mother, not his sister, and certainly not his brothers. No knock at the door, no yelling through the door. The Desrosiers knew that they couldnât because of their parents. AldĂ©ricâs father received the worst of it all when he was a child and his parents did this to him, and AldĂ©ricâs mother broke into the mold of the plague of ambition and success at Wolfsbane.
What was worse was that they all cared for poor AldĂ©ric Rainier Desrosiers. He was so charming with his sweet words and actions, the countless hugs and asks for cuddles when he was a toddler, his charm. They couldnât say no to him no matter how strong their will was. He knew that they loved him and this was another example of tough love. This whole encounter? Perfectly normal for a child in his deluded mind. Some children did not receive this mental torture and anguish? Well, they must have been lucky!
âĄâąââ ă» âËđ„â±â§âË. ă» âââąâĄ
At present, AldĂ©ric moved on. He knew that his life didnât end at just one scolding. It never did! He had to muster up the courage to continue and right all of his wrongs. AldĂ©ric attended Wolfsbane for the past years, and he was ready to graduate! He wanted to be a doctor to help others with their medical problems! His college was already picked out to accept him, the same one that many other Desrosiers who pursued their interest in medicine attended. For now, however, he had to wait it out for his next year of school.
A new day woke him up, and he was ready to take on the world. He glided over to his class taught by Professor John Stratford, a smile ever-present on his face as he handed his present to him. He felt such joy to be in his class again, even if he had to witness a gruesome fight yesterday. Desks flipped over, a book thrown, his friend Liam being brought into the fire, even his own teacher being hit! All such a doozy! However, a new day is a new day!
With that new day came a scolding that AldĂ©ric never wanted to hear. No, he wasnât in trouble, but Stratfordâs words hit him. His venomous words spat into his skin, corroding it all the way to the bone and then some. His happy-go-lucky attitude and complete joy quickly faded into one of sorrow and fear. It was only the third day! How could he have messed up this student-teacher relationship already?! Was he not quick enough to stop the fight? Was Stratford upset with him for not making sure the fight didnât happen by letting August and Leo go? Did he disappoint another adult for not stepping up and being the leader at that moment like he told AldĂ©ric to do? The water ducts in his eyes began to fill immediately, and AldĂ©ric's neck craned down for escape. Nobody should see a Desrosiers cry, especially not someone like him.
The thought of causing a scolding for the whole class in his deluded mind wrecked him inside. He felt sick to his stomach. AldĂ©ricâsheart dropped down to his stomach and began to disintegrate in his acid. His throat closed up. His chest felt heavy with emotion.
Iâm so sorry, Professor Stratford.
Maybe, baby. It's just time.
PAIRINGS:Â Sawyer Thalassa and John Stratford
WORDS:Â 3k
GENRE:Â Hurt and comfort
SUMMARY:Â Sawyer is completely thrown off his game after waking up later than he usually does. This causes him to forget to take his medications and make a series of unfortunate decisions that would lead to his downfall.Â
A/N:Â To my friends that I write this for. I was being dramatic, Sawyer is nowhere near death lol. Enjoy this!
KANE WHEN I CATCH YOU KANE /ref