Fiyero Deamorte: Reaction: Death 2: Changing Faces
This wasnāt fair.
Ā This wasnāt fair, this wasnāt fair. After everything thatās happened, everything that has been happening this was still. Happening. No matter what, this was going to keep. Happening.
It wasnāt a surprise. Honestly, it was more surprising that it took so long. He had bet it would have happened a long time ago, maybe a day after the thinly disguised dropped. Even the method didnāt particularly surprise him, heād be a liar if he said he didnāt think that this type of murder wouldnāt happen immediately (and that heād kept his hair products under lock and key because of such).
Good thing he was a liar.
āThis isnāt happening.ā Coming out was probably a mistake. Doing this all was a big mistake, he shouldnāt have run out- but he heard Bland, he heard Bland scream and it set something off in him heād never even thought he was capable of, that he quickly pushed down with a cough, when he skid to a stop in the garden.
This wasnāt. Fair.
Life wasnāt fair though, wasnāt it? He had been forgetting that, people were destined for certain things, built for certain things- Tegan was a good person, a strong person who said what he thought he was big and strong and handsome which basically insured he would die. It was inevitable really.
(Oh he knew that.)
Tegan was someone too good to live in these games; in the movies and real life, because they were the same, here more than anywhere else.
That left one question though: When it comes to the dumb sex object, was he the one killed off at the start, or the one that got through to the end? Well, heās made it this far.
(Dumb sex object til the end then.)
āEw. Ew, lik, super ew ew ew.ā Covering his mouth, he fanned himself, face tinting green. āOh my god, like, this is so not hot! Like, someone couldnāt, like, ew, ew, makeup department! Fix this!ā Stumbling back, he let his heart race as he forced his brain to shut down cell by cell.
Every thought. Shut up.
Shaking, he dropped to his knees in front of the body- this is not that big a deal Fiyero, calm do- of course this is this is awful this- this isnāt real Fiyero la de da stand up you didnāt notice this okay. Within the blink of an eye his expression changed from sickness to a blank curiosity, one of a show dog, one lacking in the intelligence department, an almost sheen scraped over top. āLike, wow, they got, like, a perfect replica. Not touching because, like, ew, but, like, whoaā¦ā
Standing again, he tapped his lips as he cocked his head to the side. āThis, like, I wonder why they chose such like a totes gross death. Eh, whatever, like, Iām sure the show has something planned.ā Scrunching his nose, he began fanning himself again with an almost bored look. āBut like...ew. Okay, like, not playing this one, nope.ā
Nope nope nope nope- stop.
With that, he turned around, and began to walk back to his room, pausing mid step when he realized his posture was slumped, just slightly. The smallest hint of tiredness, anger, maybe something else.
He quickly fixed that. And smiled. Because this didnāt matter.
Itās not like this was real anyway.
It wasnāt. It was just another twitter fight. And he survived another purge. And more importantly (more? When did it become more?) so did Bland.
As he closed himself in his room, letting out a shuttery breath as he let the cold seep through the wall, through his shirt into his skin, he got an idea. Probably his dumbest yet. But it might just work.
