Noelle ♡

hiiii

[hannniehaae]

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 🙏 really random oc question)

[madmanspiral]

𝒪𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑅𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝐵𝓊𝓈𝒽𝑒𝓈

⟡•—— ・ ₊˚🥀♱‧₊˚. ・ ——•⟡

⟡•—— ・ ₊˚🥀♱‧₊˚. ・ ——•⟡

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?

⟡•—— ・ ₊˚🥀♱‧₊˚. ・ ——•⟡

“WOLFSBANE ACADEMY was founded in 1713, just outside of a small French town called ACONITUM. 

“For 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: Sébastien and Angélique 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 Sébastien and Angélique graduated at Wolfsbane, found love at the academy, and sent their child away like clockwork. What could they say? Wolfsbane started the Desrosiers’ 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, it’s time to put it to the test for the youngest of the next generation: Aldéric Rainier Desrosiers.

Aldéric Rainier Desrosiers… the black sheep—or black rose—of the family. Little, lonesome Aldéric 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 Aldéric in middle school.

⟡•—— ・ ₊˚🥀♱‧₊˚. ・ ——•⟡

“Ce n'est pas ton meilleur travail, Desrosiers. Je m'attendais à mieux. [Not your best work, Desrosiers. I expected better],” 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 Aldéric’s 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 wasn’t 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? Aldéric 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 page…

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.

“Oh mon Dieu! Oh mon Dieu! Non! Non, non, non, non, non, non!! Ça 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!]” the boy’s 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 Aldéric helped him none, not even a pitied look. A monotone voice spoke out to cut through the thick tension of his own scrambled one. “Si vous avez un problème, prenez rendez-vous avec moi après le cours. [If you have a problem, set up a time with me after class.]”

Aldéric 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. That’s 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? Aldéric Desrosiers starting to cry like a baby over a bad grade? The grade wasn’t even that terrible! Surely, someone with a status as his shouldn’t be as upset as him. He’s 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 what’s the big deal?

On the other hand, some students felt horrible for Aldéric. They knew what would happen through Aldéric’s mouth, and it was borderline neglectful. Yet, they remained quiet in pity for him. Not empathy, not sympathy. Pity. They knew that they couldn’t stop it. Aldéric 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 Aldéric, 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. 

⟡•—— ・ ₊˚🥀♱‧₊˚. ・ ——•⟡

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. That’s number two, or, well, number three. Number two was reserved for his parents scolding him. If Aldéric never knew fear before, then his parents let him go scot-free and never had the reason to let him know his wrongs.

“Aldéric Rainier Desrosiers. Entre avant d'avoir de plus gros ennuis. [Aldéric Rainier Desrosiers. Get inside before you're in bigger trouble.]”

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 Desrosiers’ 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 Aldéric, and close to the doorway stood his incredibly disappointed parents. Both adorned in formal clothing standing taller than Aldéric at 5’4, 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.

“Tu sais où aller. [You know where to go.]”

“…Oui, Père. […Yes, Father.]”

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.

Aldéric was an innocent child who wanted the same experience as his peers: to have sleepovers, to have playtime, to talk their parents’ 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.

“Combien d'heures as-tu passé à apprendre pour ce test? [How many hours did you spend learning for this test?]” his mother stood over him as Aldéric 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 didn’t matter how they took it because Aldéric was different from them. They all loved Aldéric 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.

“J'ai enregistré mes heures comme Évangéline me l'avait demandé. Je ne me souviens plus du nombre total d'heures, mais… [I logged my hours like Évangéline told me to do. I cannot remember how many hours I took overall, but–]” his voice trailed off into total silence. Normally, he knew what to say. That was one of his “unprofessional” 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 couldn’t 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 “ÉVANGÉLINE!”, 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 Desrosiers’ mold, especially Aldéric. 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 Aldéric showed up as soon as her name was called, despite the size of the mansion. “Oui? [Yes?]”

“Récupère le journal d’Aldéric pour savoir combien d'heures il a passées à réviser 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 Aldéric’s 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 he’s learned his lesson.]”

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 Évangéline, 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 Aldéric 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. Évangéline 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.

“Aldéric, nous sommes tellement déçus. Tu sais qu'il faut obtenir 90% ou plus à n'importe quel devoir pour être le meilleur de ta classe. C'est là que tu dois… [Aldéric, 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 be–]”

Their words dragged on for seven minutes before Évangéline returned with the document. On it in perfect cursive, the large circled 62 hours jumped out to him. 62 hours? That’s it? He couldn’t spare another three hours to make it to 65? He spent twenty candles–12 that burned for three hours, five that burned for four, and three that melted away after two hours–Aldéric’s father shooed Évangéline away. It wasn’t her scolding, not anymore, for it belonged only to Aldéric.

Aldéric couldn’t listen anymore as their words smushed into one, voices so monotone that they sound like they’re 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 Sébastien and Angélique 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.

⟡•—— ・ ₊˚🥀♱‧₊˚. ・ ——•⟡

Aldéric 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 couldn’t because of their parents. Aldéric’s father received the worst of it all when he was a child and his parents did this to him, and Aldéric’s mother broke into the mold of the plague of ambition and success at Wolfsbane.

What was worse was that they all cared for poor Aldéric 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 couldn’t 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!

⟡•—— ・ ₊˚🥀♱‧₊˚. ・ ——•⟡

At present, Aldéric moved on. He knew that his life didn’t end at just one scolding. It never did! He had to muster up the courage to continue and right all of his wrongs. Aldéric 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 Aldéric never wanted to hear. No, he wasn’t in trouble, but Stratford’s 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 didn’t 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 Aldéric to do? The water ducts in his eyes began to fill immediately, and Aldéric'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. Aldéric’sheart dropped down to his stomach and began to disintegrate in his acid. His throat closed up. His chest felt heavy with emotion.

I’m so sorry, Professor Stratford.

[cainepitarchives]

When I catch you, Noelle. When I catch you.

[madmanspiral]

Evil aah parents

[madmanspiral]

𝒪𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑅𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝐵𝓊𝓈𝒽𝑒𝓈

⟡•—— ・ ₊˚🥀♱‧₊˚. ・ ——•⟡

⟡•—— ・ ₊˚🥀♱‧₊˚. ・ ——•⟡

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?

⟡•—— ・ ₊˚🥀♱‧₊˚. ・ ——•⟡

“WOLFSBANE ACADEMY was founded in 1713, just outside of a small French town called ACONITUM. 

“For 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: Sébastien and Angélique 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 Sébastien and Angélique graduated at Wolfsbane, found love at the academy, and sent their child away like clockwork. What could they say? Wolfsbane started the Desrosiers’ 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, it’s time to put it to the test for the youngest of the next generation: Aldéric Rainier Desrosiers.

Aldéric Rainier Desrosiers… the black sheep—or black rose—of the family. Little, lonesome Aldéric 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 Aldéric in middle school.

⟡•—— ・ ₊˚🥀♱‧₊˚. ・ ——•⟡

“Ce n'est pas ton meilleur travail, Desrosiers. Je m'attendais à mieux. [Not your best work, Desrosiers. I expected better],” 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 Aldéric’s 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 wasn’t 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? Aldéric 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 page…

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.

“Oh mon Dieu! Oh mon Dieu! Non! Non, non, non, non, non, non!! Ça 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!]” the boy’s 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 Aldéric helped him none, not even a pitied look. A monotone voice spoke out to cut through the thick tension of his own scrambled one. “Si vous avez un problème, prenez rendez-vous avec moi après le cours. [If you have a problem, set up a time with me after class.]”

Aldéric 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. That’s 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? Aldéric Desrosiers starting to cry like a baby over a bad grade? The grade wasn’t even that terrible! Surely, someone with a status as his shouldn’t be as upset as him. He’s 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 what’s the big deal?

On the other hand, some students felt horrible for Aldéric. They knew what would happen through Aldéric’s mouth, and it was borderline neglectful. Yet, they remained quiet in pity for him. Not empathy, not sympathy. Pity. They knew that they couldn’t stop it. Aldéric 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 Aldéric, 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. 

⟡•—— ・ ₊˚🥀♱‧₊˚. ・ ——•⟡

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. That’s number two, or, well, number three. Number two was reserved for his parents scolding him. If Aldéric never knew fear before, then his parents let him go scot-free and never had the reason to let him know his wrongs.

“Aldéric Rainier Desrosiers. Entre avant d'avoir de plus gros ennuis. [Aldéric Rainier Desrosiers. Get inside before you're in bigger trouble.]”

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 Desrosiers’ 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 Aldéric, and close to the doorway stood his incredibly disappointed parents. Both adorned in formal clothing standing taller than Aldéric at 5’4, 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.

“Tu sais où aller. [You know where to go.]”

“…Oui, Père. […Yes, Father.]”

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.

Aldéric was an innocent child who wanted the same experience as his peers: to have sleepovers, to have playtime, to talk their parents’ 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.

“Combien d'heures as-tu passé à apprendre pour ce test? [How many hours did you spend learning for this test?]” his mother stood over him as Aldéric 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 didn’t matter how they took it because Aldéric was different from them. They all loved Aldéric 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.

“J'ai enregistré mes heures comme Évangéline me l'avait demandé. Je ne me souviens plus du nombre total d'heures, mais… [I logged my hours like Évangéline told me to do. I cannot remember how many hours I took overall, but–]” his voice trailed off into total silence. Normally, he knew what to say. That was one of his “unprofessional” 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 couldn’t 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 “ÉVANGÉLINE!”, 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 Desrosiers’ mold, especially Aldéric. 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 Aldéric showed up as soon as her name was called, despite the size of the mansion. “Oui? [Yes?]”

“Récupère le journal d’Aldéric pour savoir combien d'heures il a passées à réviser 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 Aldéric’s 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 he’s learned his lesson.]”

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 Évangéline, 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 Aldéric 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. Évangéline 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.

“Aldéric, nous sommes tellement déçus. Tu sais qu'il faut obtenir 90% ou plus à n'importe quel devoir pour être le meilleur de ta classe. C'est là que tu dois… [Aldéric, 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 be–]”

Their words dragged on for seven minutes before Évangéline returned with the document. On it in perfect cursive, the large circled 62 hours jumped out to him. 62 hours? That’s it? He couldn’t spare another three hours to make it to 65? He spent twenty candles–12 that burned for three hours, five that burned for four, and three that melted away after two hours–Aldéric’s father shooed Évangéline away. It wasn’t her scolding, not anymore, for it belonged only to Aldéric.

Aldéric couldn’t listen anymore as their words smushed into one, voices so monotone that they sound like they’re 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 Sébastien and Angélique 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.

⟡•—— ・ ₊˚🥀♱‧₊˚. ・ ——•⟡

Aldéric 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 couldn’t because of their parents. Aldéric’s father received the worst of it all when he was a child and his parents did this to him, and Aldéric’s mother broke into the mold of the plague of ambition and success at Wolfsbane.

What was worse was that they all cared for poor Aldéric 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 couldn’t 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!

⟡•—— ・ ₊˚🥀♱‧₊˚. ・ ——•⟡

At present, Aldéric moved on. He knew that his life didn’t end at just one scolding. It never did! He had to muster up the courage to continue and right all of his wrongs. Aldéric 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 Aldéric never wanted to hear. No, he wasn’t in trouble, but Stratford’s 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 didn’t 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 Aldéric to do? The water ducts in his eyes began to fill immediately, and Aldéric'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. Aldéric’sheart dropped down to his stomach and began to disintegrate in his acid. His throat closed up. His chest felt heavy with emotion.

I’m so sorry, Professor Stratford.

[cainepitarchives]

Maybe, baby. It's just time.

PAIRINGS:  Sawyer Thalassa and John Stratford

WORDS:  3k

GENRE:  Hurt and comfort

SUMMARY:  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. 

A/N:  To my friends that I write this for. I was being dramatic, Sawyer is nowhere near death lol. Enjoy this!

The light flooded through the blinds of the room, shining a bright beam of yellow straight into his eyes. He whined and arched his back, stretching out as he started to roll his joints around. Everything hurts. Tremendously. 

He rolls over to look at his alarm. 7:00AM. Despite all the pain riddling him to the bed, he shoots up from his lying position. Curly hair strayed everywhere, comfort strewn everywhere but where it needs to be.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He threw his covers around even more and stood up as quickly as possible. His head spun around and he clutched the wall, using it as a crutch so he could get dressed. 

Sawyer is known for waking up 3-4 hours before he had to be anywhere. He had an entire routine to go through. A step-by-step plan that he had to go through one by one, or his day would be completely thrown off. 

He threw on a simple button up and slacks combo, before putting on socks and his italian leather shoes. Sawyer grabbed his bag and practically sprinted out of the door. 

Sawyer was running, bolting it to the other side of the campus. All the could think about what how the stupid dormitories he lived in were on the other side of the fucking academy. In order to not be late, he had to book it to the other side. He ran down three flights of stairs, across the front lawn, and once he was in the hallways he finally started to slow down. 

By the time he was able to calm down and quickly walk to his classes, he could barely hear anything from the loud pounding of his heart radiating through his body. Sawyer made a beeline for his classroom, walking in about five minutes after the bell rang. 

“Good morning, students. Apologies for being late, I had some business to attend to.” He lied, hoping none of his students would catch how winded and pained he looked. “We’re going to go ahead and open your journals, spend 15 minutes on the first entry, then we’ll move into today’s lesson.”

He moved over to his desk, placing down the bag and pulling out his lesson plans. As he stared down at the desk everything started to spin, he couldn’t hear the soft chatter of the students, or if they may have been asking him any questions. All he could do was stare at the wood as he slowly lowered himself into his chair. 

Hopefully, this feeling would go away by his next class. 

He decided to throw off the lesson plan for today. He’ll pick it up tomorrow. He felt physically ill sitting at his desk.

Instead of the connections game he had planned out, he gave the students a prompt for their journal. He challenged their brains, and told them to keep writing till the end of class. 

While sitting at his desk, he frantically searched for any sort of electrolytes or salt packets he might have hidden for this purpose. Hell, even some Tylenol would do. Just to get the pain to lessen a little more. He sighed harshly when he came up with nothing. 

That’s when he heard the door open, and oh how fantastic, it was Stratford. He walked up to the desk and leaned over it. 

“Sorry for the intrusion, I forgot you had a class at this time.” Sawyer thought that was a lie, an excuse maybe. “Are you… feeling okay? You look a little warm.”

He just sighed again and said, “It’s not a problem, and I’m fine. Just a little hot in the school today. I’m sweating in this outfit,” he laughed a little bit to throw off the pain.

It had been about a month or so since Sawyer had the heart to heart with him about his disability. They had talked about the hypotension, and rheumatoid arthritis, and the fact his doctor wanted him using a mobility aid. Sawyer was stubborn though. He didn’t want to be defined by a cane.

“You sure?”

“I’m just a bit light headed is all, Stratford. What did you need help with?” He snapped. Sawyer didn’t mean to be snappy with him, but he didn’t need the students to think something was up with him. 

Either way. Stratford looked pretty hurt by the snappy comment. He decided not to mention it again, he didn’t want Sawyer to get upset with him.

“I… Was just wondering if you could proof my lesson plans at lunch?” He asked softly.

Sawyer softened a bit, he felt guilty for snapping at him. Yet, he moved on because he didn't want to bring it up again. He already felt like shit. “Yeah, of course I will. I’ll see you at lunch then?” He gave him a gentle smile. Stratford nodded in response and took that as his cue to leave.

Sawyer watched as he dreadfully treaded out the door. He would make it up to him later, maybe with a coffee to appreciate him. He felt his chest tighten again, this time he couldn’t tell if it was his lack of meds or the feelings he kept hidden. 

By the time he was done with his first two classes, the insane thumping of his heart had decreased ever so slightly. Now he was just having to deal with the pain of forgetting his meds and running across the campus. 

He groaned, rubbing his temples as he picked up his work bag. Since his third period didn’t have a class, we would always head upstairs to his counseling office. 

He started to tread lightly down the halls. Every chance he needed to, he would use the wall as a bit of support. Maybe he should listen to his doctor. Instead, he continued down the halls. 

He smiled and waved at the faculty who acknowledged his presence. However, he couldn’t make out a word of what they were saying. He was too busy focusing on the amount of time it was taking for him to just reach the staircase.

When he finally got to it, he stared up at the flight of stairs. “Fuck, why did they have to put my office so far up…” he mumbled that along with a few swear words under his breath as he painfully made it his way up.

He took no breaks, taking it one step at a time. He attempted to go up as quickly as possible, however that seemed to be giving him more problems. He slowed down as he came upon the last two flights of steps. 

The steps curved around each other, first going up the right side, then going up the left. That’s when you would reach the next floor. It was killing him to have to walk all the way up. Yet, he couldn’t grieve for himself. Come on, Thalassa, it’s just a few stairs. Stop being such a bitch about it.

He could hear all the voices of people in his life who gave him shit. That’s all he could think about as he walked up the stairs.

“Come on, Thalassa! It’s barely a 3 mile run!” His volleyball coach.

“You’ve gotten slower, Thalassa. What happened to my best swimmer?” His swim coach.

“Quit being a fucking bitch about everything, Sawyer. It’s barely a few flights of stairs, and you’re still young!” His late father. 

Sawyer was doing all he could to just tread carefully up the stairs. He couldn’t let this make him weak. He couldn’t let a few fucking stairs beat him. Not when he was a top athlete and student in his early days. And especially not when it was just stairs!

However, that notion was challenged when he made it to the last, left side flight of stairs. He stared upward at them. It was barely ten steps. Yet, his heart was running a horse’s race, and he was starting to lose his vision. 

He could’ve taken a break. He should have taken a break. However, he couldn’t help but to think that he could make it. 

So, he started up the stairs, but as soon as he got three steps up—SLAM!

Sawyer had succumbed to his illness and passed out cold on the stone steps. He lay there unconscious on the ground. His chest fell up and down in quick, patterned, heavy breaths, almost like uncontrollable gasps of air. 

When he finally came to, he was looking up at a ceiling he didn’t recognize. Though it was a familiar ceiling, it wasn’t where he was before. 

His vision was blurry, stars danced across his eyes and grains like a tv screen filled his sight. He was sweating. Everything was hot, he could barely breathe, and whatever was talking–no, no–whoever was talking was barely making any sense. It was just a buzz. 

His vision got less tunnelly, and he was able to recognize the outline of two faces out of the few that were huddled around him. Stratford and the school nurse stood over him like some kind of guardians waiting to take him to the boat of Chiron. 

Stratford noticed he was awake, and tried to speak to him. Sawyer couldn’t respond. He could barely see what was happening around him. 

When his vision finally cleared, and the room around him didn’t sound like buzzing, he could finally understand Stratford. He seemed to be frantically asking what happened, and why he didn’t say anything before. 

“I’m just… not feeling too well. I forgot to take my meds,” Sawyer croaked out. 

“Damnit, Sawyer.” Stratford sighed and started to rub his temples. Sawyer could tell he was mentally scolding him. Whatever it was, he wasn’t lecturing him yet. 

“His blood pressure is dangerously low—” The nurse started but Sawyer cut her off. 

“I’m gonna stop you there. That’s normal for me, I just need to… to lay here for a minute,” he sounded winded, yet he hadn’t moved since they had apparently moved him. 

Instead of calling any paramedics, Sawyer explained the condition to the nurse. It wasn’t a very uncommon condition, she understood quickly. They decided to have Stratford take Sawyer back to the dorms. Both of them would have been given subs, and excused for the rest of the day. 

Stratford helped Sawyer off the floor, they moved slowly but surely. It was silent the entire time. Sawyer knew what he was in for once they got back to the dormitory. 

It took them roughly over twenty minutes of uncomfortable silence for them to get to the dormitory, then another ten minutes of grumbling hell up the stairs. Stratford didn’t care about taking care of him, he didn’t care that he had to assist this man at any point. He enjoyed taking care of him. What he was mad about was the sheer lack of care for his own safety and well being. 

Once they got into Sawyer’s room, he helped him onto the bed with a wince. Sawyer looked up at the other man, who was already posted up like an upset father. He started to feel guilty. 

“Thank you, I’m.. sorry for all that, let me at least make you a cup of tea for all the trouble–” Sawyer went to stand up in which Stratford protested, making him sit down. 

“No, Actually you’re going to sit there while I get your meds and an ice pack for you,” He huffed and rubbed his face with one hand, “What the hell Sawyer? Not taking your meds? Are you absolutely insane?”

“It’s not that I didn’t want to take them. I just forgot!” He snapped back. “And… happened to forget them up here as well…” He sighed, “Look, I was running late this morning—which never happens—My whole schedule got thrown off by it!”

“Late or fucking not, Sawyer, your meds are absolutely crucial to take! You know that better than anyone, It’s your medical issues!”

“You don’t fucking get it, Stratford. I’m never off my game. I’m never late. I never wake up late. This was the first, and only, time.” His voice grew louder. “I get we’re close friends, and you care… But it’s not your problem! So why do you care so fucking much?” 

For a moment Stratford had gone completely silent. Like he was fighting back the words to say. Like he was holding onto something. A deeper secret. There they sat for a few minutes, silently huffing at each other. They both were hurt. 

“I’m– I’m sorry, Stratford. That was… That was a lot, I didn’t mean–”

“No, no. I understand. I just–” He choked on his words and decided instead to sit next to Sawyer. He thought of the words to say. They couldn’t come out of his mouth. He can’t just admit that for the past few months he’s been spiraling about his feelings for Sawyer. “Listen, I just care about you. A lot. You’re very important to me, and I hate to see you get hurt. Especially when you do it to yourself. I don’t understand why I care so much, but I do.”

Sawyer looked up from his lap, staring directly into Stratford’s eyes. Those deep, brown eyes that he could never get off his mind. He almost understood what he was trying to say. They both sat there in silence, staring at each other. Gazing into the eyes of one another, waiting for someone to make a move. 

He couldn’t help but swoon, softening his demeanor for the adoring man. The way his hair curled over his forehead. His skin is soft to the touch. The blasted long coat he always wore. His hands fumbled with each other in his lap. His fingers twiddled around each other. Those soft, subtle lips that begged for attention… and those stupidly, adorable brown eyes. Those deep, chocolate brown pools of entrancement. 

Sawyer couldn’t help himself. His eyes flickered between his eyes and lips. He noticed Stratford doing the same thing. It clicked in Sawyer’s mind almost immediately. He inched further to him, begging for Stratford to close the gap. Instead, gravity let that happen. Like a magnet to a pole, the two were intertwined in each other’s presence almost immediately.

As they kissed, Sawyer’s hands found his way to wrap around the other. Easing him closer so their bodies were as close as they could be in this position. The other hand found its way to gingerly hold the back of his neck. Whilst Stratford melted to his touch, wrapping his longing arms around the other’s frame. 

They stayed like this for a short minute, both pulling away with hesitation. Staring at each other. There were no other words between them. Just soft smiles and longing looks. 

Back they went, closing the gap between their lips again. The tension breaking in the air, finally.

Once they finally pulled away from each other, distancing maybe a few inches, Sawyer smiled at him and scoffed. 

“I’ve wanted that… For a long time.” His smile only grew as the other grinned. “I think it was worth the wait.”

“You’ve driven me crazy thinking about it…”

“I’m sorry for snapping at you, and making you worry, and–” Sawyer was cut off by Stratford laughing. 

“Hush, hush. Just let me take care of you for now, okay?” He gave the other another quick peck on the cheek, before slowly moving from his grip. 

He had gotten some water for him, along with his meds and some pain killers. He fixed a bag of ice to soothe Sawyer’s swollen joints, before joining him back on the bed. 

It wasn’t long before they found themselves in each other’s arms. Cuddling up under the warm blanket together. Sawyer wrapped his arms around Stratford’s frame, giving him kisses that trailed from the back of his neck, to his shoulders. There they slept, cuddled together after a long day of hell. 

A few weeks later, Sawyer had finally obtained a mobility aid. His cane, that he thought was properly boring.

As a lesson for his psychology class, he allowed his students to each take a turn painting something on the cane. He brought in some acrylic paints and brushes, and just let them go crazy. It was a great bonding experience. 

Afterwards, he gave them the note of having learned a lesson on the importance of bonding. How important it was for people to come together and care for one another. The class laughed, shared experiences, and enjoyed the art time. Sawyer knows he’d done his job right that day.

After classes were over, Stratford visited him in his office. 

Sawyer was admiring the work on his cane. The horse that had a heart next to it from Liam. A few stars about it from Alderic. Then there were waves and a school of fish created by Ryung and Rex. Lastly, but not least, a dagger that Ramona had made. Just to name a few of his favorites. 

“Admiring?” Stratford tore his attention away from the cane. He looked up with a blank, curious stare, but soon melted seeing his now boyfriend standing at the door.

“Yes, dear. I let the students paint it. Come see,” he nodded for the other to come over. 

They gawked over the small, hand paintings created by the students. Both of them being able to tell who had made them. 

“See, I told you it wouldn’t be an awful idea. You’re just stubborn.” Stratford scoffed.

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve told me a million times since I finally received it.” Sawyer stared up at him from his chair. 

“And I’ll tell your stubborn ass again, and again.” He leaned down. 

“How kind of you, dear,” he said sarcastically and Stratford just chuckled softly at him.

Instead of continuing to tease him, Stratford stole a kiss from him. Just a short, loving kiss hidden by the door. 

There they would stay. Stealing shared looks and stolen kisses when nobody would be looking. Hidden behind doors, or even bookshelves. Nobody needed to know the fond love they shared. It was something for them, and them only.

[madmanspiral]

KANE WHEN I CATCH YOU KANE /ref