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Oh my gosh, anon, this is absolutely adorable! I can't wait to read more!
Sorry for the wait, I had to finish the comic fill I was working on first. I hope you'll like it!
http://s18.postimg.org/ro53mh4d5/cuddlepile.jpg
http://s18.postimg.org/ro53mh4d5/cuddlepile.jpg
Aww, whoa! So cute! (And Molossia crying in the middle, aww.)
This is really awesome A!A. I feel so bad for Marianne, and I think her reactions and feelings are done really well. Also I love Arthur and lol at his bro too XD
I hope you continue! :D
I hope you continue! :D
AN: Sorry OP, I somehow missed the bit about them being already lovers in your request. So I hope you don't mind if they get together during the course of this fill.
***
“Let’s become Animagi,” Alfred had said, like he was proposing a midnight run down to the kitchens or a jaunt to Honeydukes on a Hogsmeade weekend.
Things always started like this - Alfred proposing wild adventures and impossible stunts for fun, Arthur dragged along in his enthusiastic wake, complaining the whole time.
But this was more than a prank on the Slytherins or a midnight raid for more pudding. Becoming Animagi - unregistered Animagi, no less - was literally life-threatening. The books were full of stories of wizards and witches who’d failed in the delicate yet enormously draining process of becoming Animagi - killed in power backlashes, drained permanently of magic and rendered Squibs, losing their minds in the transformation, forms gone wrong and wretched - the list was endless. Werewolves and centaurs were thought to be the by-products of Animagi rituals gone badly - although centaurs tended to violently disagree with that particular theory.
In short, it was a hideously dangerous idea.
But Arthur said yes, anyway.
It helped that Alfred actually came prepared, for once, instead of expecting things to magically (”We are wizards, after all!”) fall into place. He came with a six-foot scroll already half-filled with handwritten notes, a stack of books he’d special-ordered from Obscurus Books at Diagon Alley, and the order-form for Slug & Jiggers Apothecary. Arthur had melted a little at that.
But, even without Alfred doing homework willingly - even if it was self-assigned homework - Arthur would probably have gone along with his insane proposal anyway. It appealed to his intellectual pride - only the best and brightest wizards ever became Animagi. It appealed to his crafty, practical, ever-vigilant mind, where every advantage in a world that seemed to hate him was worth seizing - an alternate animal form that no one else knew about could prove very, very useful.
And, of course, there was the clincher - Alfred had asked for his help.
And Arthur had never been able to turn Alfred down.
Really, even their big fight in third year could be described as Arthur giving Alfred what he wanted. They were outcasts together: Arthur, the first of the pureblood Kirkland family to not be sorted into Gryffindor for centuries, Alfred the half-breed bastard from America, not even allowed to take his father’s name. Arthur was too Kirkland for Slytherin tastes, too Slytherin for Kirkland tastes, and so was rejected both times - Alfred was simply too loud, too clumsy, too much American, too improperly-born.
When all they had was each other -- Arthur clung too fiercely, he knew. He’d driven Alfred away, that third year, by smothering the boy and trying too hard to protect him from all these things that muggle-raised Alfred didn’t know about the wizarding world. So when Alfred finally exploded and demanded to be left alone, Arthur had done so. It had been the worst six months of his life, especially that particular argument on that rainy night that neither talked about, even now. He'd wept when Alfred finally, shyly, fearfully extended an apology and a wish to be friends again - wept in joy and relief and sheer feelings. He felt better when he'd seen Alfred crying too.
But now they were fifth-years, still defiant outcasts from Slytherin and the school at large, and Alfred had such big blue eyes when he asked, and so Arthur said yes.
***
“Let’s become Animagi,” Alfred had said, like he was proposing a midnight run down to the kitchens or a jaunt to Honeydukes on a Hogsmeade weekend.
Things always started like this - Alfred proposing wild adventures and impossible stunts for fun, Arthur dragged along in his enthusiastic wake, complaining the whole time.
But this was more than a prank on the Slytherins or a midnight raid for more pudding. Becoming Animagi - unregistered Animagi, no less - was literally life-threatening. The books were full of stories of wizards and witches who’d failed in the delicate yet enormously draining process of becoming Animagi - killed in power backlashes, drained permanently of magic and rendered Squibs, losing their minds in the transformation, forms gone wrong and wretched - the list was endless. Werewolves and centaurs were thought to be the by-products of Animagi rituals gone badly - although centaurs tended to violently disagree with that particular theory.
In short, it was a hideously dangerous idea.
But Arthur said yes, anyway.
It helped that Alfred actually came prepared, for once, instead of expecting things to magically (”We are wizards, after all!”) fall into place. He came with a six-foot scroll already half-filled with handwritten notes, a stack of books he’d special-ordered from Obscurus Books at Diagon Alley, and the order-form for Slug & Jiggers Apothecary. Arthur had melted a little at that.
But, even without Alfred doing homework willingly - even if it was self-assigned homework - Arthur would probably have gone along with his insane proposal anyway. It appealed to his intellectual pride - only the best and brightest wizards ever became Animagi. It appealed to his crafty, practical, ever-vigilant mind, where every advantage in a world that seemed to hate him was worth seizing - an alternate animal form that no one else knew about could prove very, very useful.
And, of course, there was the clincher - Alfred had asked for his help.
And Arthur had never been able to turn Alfred down.
Really, even their big fight in third year could be described as Arthur giving Alfred what he wanted. They were outcasts together: Arthur, the first of the pureblood Kirkland family to not be sorted into Gryffindor for centuries, Alfred the half-breed bastard from America, not even allowed to take his father’s name. Arthur was too Kirkland for Slytherin tastes, too Slytherin for Kirkland tastes, and so was rejected both times - Alfred was simply too loud, too clumsy, too much American, too improperly-born.
When all they had was each other -- Arthur clung too fiercely, he knew. He’d driven Alfred away, that third year, by smothering the boy and trying too hard to protect him from all these things that muggle-raised Alfred didn’t know about the wizarding world. So when Alfred finally exploded and demanded to be left alone, Arthur had done so. It had been the worst six months of his life, especially that particular argument on that rainy night that neither talked about, even now. He'd wept when Alfred finally, shyly, fearfully extended an apology and a wish to be friends again - wept in joy and relief and sheer feelings. He felt better when he'd seen Alfred crying too.
But now they were fifth-years, still defiant outcasts from Slytherin and the school at large, and Alfred had such big blue eyes when he asked, and so Arthur said yes.
It took months of research, months of practice, months of brewing potions and learning spells that turned out to be useless for their particular situation. They had less time for classwork but lots of practical hands-on experience, and this resulted in grades that were the same as ever on paper, but fluctuating wildly in actual class performance - some days they seemed not to know anything, particularly not anything in their homework - some days they demonstrated mastery of advanced concepts and applications.
They had no time for anything other than bare class minimums. Sometimes they skipped meals altogether. Alfred had used to fly for fun - having no chance of getting on the Slytherin Quidditch team, not with his lack of bloodlines and connections - now he hadn’t been up on a broom for months. Arthur had used to visit the Romanian groundskeeper Alexandru for tea and the chance to play with the young staffmember’s magical pets - now he no longer had the time.
But finally, midway through their sixth year, using a cobbled-together ritual of their own devising, bolstered by Arthur’s discovery of an ancient Greek scroll on ‘μεταμορφώσεις,’ they succeeded.
***
They did it like this: first they prepared the potions necessary, and then they traced intricate runework into a magically receptive site, deep in the Forbidden Forest. (It had not been ‘forbidden’ to them since their third year - rather, they found the dark, tree-choked wildnerness a pleasant escape from their classmates’ and housemates’ and relatives’ hounding.) Alfred transformed the traced soil into obsidian as Arthur worked the symbols with a silver-tipped dagger, using the black volcanic glass’s receptiveness for transformative magic to boost their runes’ power.
Then they warded it with wardstones, prepared ahead of time, so that no one would disturb the site.
They arranged it so that only one would undertake the transformation, at first - the other would remain ready, wand in hand, to restrain or bind or otherwise help the transformed one should he need it. They both practiced anti-transfiguration spells - spells to force an Animagi back to his original form - should they need them, as well as an array of binding and restraint spells.
In case one of them was an aquatic animal, they transfigured a length of canvas into a waterproof tub, filling it with clear water. In case their animal forms got hungry, they stockpiled some meat and some grass fodder and some fish at the site.
Finally, when they were as prepared as prepared could be, on the night of the full moon, they began their rites.
***
They’d flipped a Galleon to decide who would go first - Alfred called the correct side. Arthur drilled him on every step of the process before he would let Alfred begin. Then Arthur actually hugged him, tight, when Alfred finished rattling off the final steps. Alfred hugged him back, both drawing strength from the other’s touch.
Then Alfred took a deep breath and began.
He drank the potions - moon-white, night-dark, sun-gold - one after the other, shivering at the tastes and coolness of the first two, jumping at the unexpected warmth of the final, golden potion.
His head swimming and his vision blurring - as they had expected, and practiced for - he then cast the complex, multi-layered webwork of charms and transfiguration spells that was needed. He could see Arthur pacing around the perimeter of their runic circle, and although his vision was too blurry to make out such fine details, he just knew Arthur was gripping his wand with a white-knuckled fist.
Finally, he held up the same silver-tipped dagger Arthur had used to draw the runes, slashed it across his left palm, and let his blood drip onto the central rune, filling its deep-carved lines with bright scarlet.
The runes glowed - subtly, as if moonlit - and suddenly Alfred felt himself melting.
They had no time for anything other than bare class minimums. Sometimes they skipped meals altogether. Alfred had used to fly for fun - having no chance of getting on the Slytherin Quidditch team, not with his lack of bloodlines and connections - now he hadn’t been up on a broom for months. Arthur had used to visit the Romanian groundskeeper Alexandru for tea and the chance to play with the young staffmember’s magical pets - now he no longer had the time.
But finally, midway through their sixth year, using a cobbled-together ritual of their own devising, bolstered by Arthur’s discovery of an ancient Greek scroll on ‘μεταμορφώσεις,’ they succeeded.
***
They did it like this: first they prepared the potions necessary, and then they traced intricate runework into a magically receptive site, deep in the Forbidden Forest. (It had not been ‘forbidden’ to them since their third year - rather, they found the dark, tree-choked wildnerness a pleasant escape from their classmates’ and housemates’ and relatives’ hounding.) Alfred transformed the traced soil into obsidian as Arthur worked the symbols with a silver-tipped dagger, using the black volcanic glass’s receptiveness for transformative magic to boost their runes’ power.
Then they warded it with wardstones, prepared ahead of time, so that no one would disturb the site.
They arranged it so that only one would undertake the transformation, at first - the other would remain ready, wand in hand, to restrain or bind or otherwise help the transformed one should he need it. They both practiced anti-transfiguration spells - spells to force an Animagi back to his original form - should they need them, as well as an array of binding and restraint spells.
In case one of them was an aquatic animal, they transfigured a length of canvas into a waterproof tub, filling it with clear water. In case their animal forms got hungry, they stockpiled some meat and some grass fodder and some fish at the site.
Finally, when they were as prepared as prepared could be, on the night of the full moon, they began their rites.
***
They’d flipped a Galleon to decide who would go first - Alfred called the correct side. Arthur drilled him on every step of the process before he would let Alfred begin. Then Arthur actually hugged him, tight, when Alfred finished rattling off the final steps. Alfred hugged him back, both drawing strength from the other’s touch.
Then Alfred took a deep breath and began.
He drank the potions - moon-white, night-dark, sun-gold - one after the other, shivering at the tastes and coolness of the first two, jumping at the unexpected warmth of the final, golden potion.
His head swimming and his vision blurring - as they had expected, and practiced for - he then cast the complex, multi-layered webwork of charms and transfiguration spells that was needed. He could see Arthur pacing around the perimeter of their runic circle, and although his vision was too blurry to make out such fine details, he just knew Arthur was gripping his wand with a white-knuckled fist.
Finally, he held up the same silver-tipped dagger Arthur had used to draw the runes, slashed it across his left palm, and let his blood drip onto the central rune, filling its deep-carved lines with bright scarlet.
The runes glowed - subtly, as if moonlit - and suddenly Alfred felt himself melting.
Not just the fuzzy-warm-feelings melting, like when he let himself dwell too long on how cute Arthur was. Nor the meltdown of anger, when his half-brother pressed just a little too long and a little too hard in that way only he could, and Alfred saw red and ended up swinging and shortly thereafter in the office of his head of house, being handed multiple detentions.
No, this time Alfred felt like he was genuinely and literally melting - as if everything solid in him was turning fluid and amorphous. On half-melted legs, with a half-melted spine, feeling liquid and boneless, he began to pitch forward. Then he shuddered, once, hard, as if a cold snap had set in and frozen him in a new shape...
And he found himself in his Animagi form.
No, this time Alfred felt like he was genuinely and literally melting - as if everything solid in him was turning fluid and amorphous. On half-melted legs, with a half-melted spine, feeling liquid and boneless, he began to pitch forward. Then he shuddered, once, hard, as if a cold snap had set in and frozen him in a new shape...
And he found himself in his Animagi form.
This fill is worthy of a detailed comment like those above... but my brain is currently unwilling to let me focus on formulating one. You gave it too many delicious images to imagine.
AUTHOR: Okay fair warning, up ahead is gore/vampire smut. I was really disturbed writing this and did it twice trying to tone it down some.
Mathias felt worse as the day went on. The sun seem to constantly beam down on him with such a strong intensity that Mathias never felt before. When Mathias was young he once read a book on the tropics and how the sun beat down on exposed skin with greater strength due to the lands location on the equator. That's how Mathias now felt, as if he was stuck in the tropics. But he was in Denmark and he assumed that it was his body reacting weird due to his attack.
Maybe he really wasn't well. Niels would kill him when he finally made it back to the shop sicker than before.
Sighing, Mathias had to wipe his brow of the sweat that was rolling down his face. Not only was he suffering from intense sun exposure but he felt that once surge of energy vanish and his stomach growled and twisted hungrily. Mathias tried to not allow his thoughts to wonder and think of food, for he kept thinking of sick things. It was frustrating. No sane person would ever think of blood and biting. Had he lost it and gone mad?
Gritting his teeth and yanking at his messy, sweat damp hair, Mathias repressed the thoughts and kept trudging on. Their iron powder was bought from a horseshoer who nicely sold it to Niels' shop at a cheap price. From Mathias' understanding their father's had also been friends and selling off his surplus was no big deal. But he lived on the outskirts and Mathias already had a long way to go. He just had to make it to the horseshoer then walk back. Yes, he could do it.
His feet were begining hurt and his skin felt as if it were melting off his bones. By the time he made it, his legs felt weak and his mouth parched. Entering the shop, the horseshoer was alarm by Mathias' terrible condition and gave him beer with a slice of bread. Mathias didn't bother with the bread and drank heavily from his mug. The beer wasn't that great... but nowhere near as foul as the food Tino had cooked that morning. With the iron powder bought, Mathias began his long walk back.
The sun was beginning to go down and by the time he made it back to Copenhagen proper, the lamps were being lit. Had he really walked all day? Man his legs felt like he did. And those disturbing thoughts were beginning to swirl in his head as Mathias stumbled around. He felt so light headed, so hungry. God if Niels were just here he would rip open his deliciously pale neck and roll around in his blood-
"Hey stranger." a sultry voice called to Mathias during his mid fantasy.
Mathias felt worse as the day went on. The sun seem to constantly beam down on him with such a strong intensity that Mathias never felt before. When Mathias was young he once read a book on the tropics and how the sun beat down on exposed skin with greater strength due to the lands location on the equator. That's how Mathias now felt, as if he was stuck in the tropics. But he was in Denmark and he assumed that it was his body reacting weird due to his attack.
Maybe he really wasn't well. Niels would kill him when he finally made it back to the shop sicker than before.
Sighing, Mathias had to wipe his brow of the sweat that was rolling down his face. Not only was he suffering from intense sun exposure but he felt that once surge of energy vanish and his stomach growled and twisted hungrily. Mathias tried to not allow his thoughts to wonder and think of food, for he kept thinking of sick things. It was frustrating. No sane person would ever think of blood and biting. Had he lost it and gone mad?
Gritting his teeth and yanking at his messy, sweat damp hair, Mathias repressed the thoughts and kept trudging on. Their iron powder was bought from a horseshoer who nicely sold it to Niels' shop at a cheap price. From Mathias' understanding their father's had also been friends and selling off his surplus was no big deal. But he lived on the outskirts and Mathias already had a long way to go. He just had to make it to the horseshoer then walk back. Yes, he could do it.
His feet were begining hurt and his skin felt as if it were melting off his bones. By the time he made it, his legs felt weak and his mouth parched. Entering the shop, the horseshoer was alarm by Mathias' terrible condition and gave him beer with a slice of bread. Mathias didn't bother with the bread and drank heavily from his mug. The beer wasn't that great... but nowhere near as foul as the food Tino had cooked that morning. With the iron powder bought, Mathias began his long walk back.
The sun was beginning to go down and by the time he made it back to Copenhagen proper, the lamps were being lit. Had he really walked all day? Man his legs felt like he did. And those disturbing thoughts were beginning to swirl in his head as Mathias stumbled around. He felt so light headed, so hungry. God if Niels were just here he would rip open his deliciously pale neck and roll around in his blood-
"Hey stranger." a sultry voice called to Mathias during his mid fantasy.
Blinking slowly, Mathias looked at the corner seeing a bone thin woman with a low line dress eye him. "Care for a fun night? Or would you rather relax as I take care of you after a long day at work?" Frowning, Mathias realized a whore was talking to him. A whore that had similar milky skin as Niels.
His hands shook as his mind began to race. Who cared if a whore died? It was better than Niels, she had Niels' color. Her hair, though dirtied was blonde and she had deep blue eyes and a pout. That pout, that face. Bringing his shaky hands to his face, Mathias found himself smiling at her. "Name your price." What was he thinking? He didn't have any personal money on him. It was Niels', but this woman was fair like Niels and he would tear open her neck and take his money back.
The whore smiled up at Mathias, revealing her blackened teeth. "Well then stranger, I say fifty ore and you have yourself a deal."
Mathias winced at the price even though he knew he would be just taking it back. Some whores were getting really expensive. Some even charged a whole kroner. Reaching into his pocket, Mathias withdrew a few coins and placed it into the woman's hand. She cocked her head, revealing her pale throat to Mathias before leading him off the main streets and into her little ally business.
Quickly she was on Mathias, her arms wrapping around his neck and latching her lips onto his skin. Skillfully she left pleasurable kisses along the sensitive parts of Mathias' neck making his blood run hot and thick. With the whore being this close, Mathias could smell the sour scent of her corrupt soul mingling with cheap perfume. But it didn't mask the blood that was beginning to pump more rapidly as the whore became slightly aroused.
Desperately, Mathias wanted to hear the blood slush quicker through her body. It was alluring, mouth watering. Placing two hands on her shoulders Mathias pushed her roughly away and into the brick wall behind her. She stared up at him wide eyed and confused and Mathias simply gave her a smile as his fixated on her neck and heaving chest. Without permission, Mathias reached out and undid the tie to her bodice, pushing down her low neckline further revealing her small, yet still pert breasts. Perfect breasts that would be even more perfect when he let her blood flow over them. Mathias could feel himself harden at the very disgusting mental image.
Lightly, Mathias caressed her body, his mouth traveling to her breasts, sucking and hearing the whores heartbeat beginning to thrum. Oh yes, this woman probably wasn't used to such good treatment. He flicked his tongue of her rosy nipples and in return he felt her greedily reach out for his prominent bulge. Mathias let out a growl of approval as he lightly rubbed himself against her hand before lifting her skirts and using his knee to pry her legs apart. With the skill that only a whore could master, she unfastened his britches and freed Mathias' throbbing member with ease.
She placed him on a crate before climbing onto his lap and impaling herself on Mathias' waiting member. He let out a satisfied hiss as her wet heat took him in. With each propelling of her hips, her blood began to pump faster. Eager to get her heart beating at full speed he lunged forward and began to suckle her nipples once more. Out of pure rapture, she began to moan and take deeper breaths, making her blood flow faster through her veins. The speed was intoxicating Mathias he needed to bite he needed to bite. Pausing her hips roughly with his hands, Mathias peered at her, her breast heaving, her face flushed a sweaty. But this wasn't no ordinary look, he gave her a charming smile that revealed his sharp teeth to her. It was an vampiric look that would trick his prey to calmly accept their fate.
His hands shook as his mind began to race. Who cared if a whore died? It was better than Niels, she had Niels' color. Her hair, though dirtied was blonde and she had deep blue eyes and a pout. That pout, that face. Bringing his shaky hands to his face, Mathias found himself smiling at her. "Name your price." What was he thinking? He didn't have any personal money on him. It was Niels', but this woman was fair like Niels and he would tear open her neck and take his money back.
The whore smiled up at Mathias, revealing her blackened teeth. "Well then stranger, I say fifty ore and you have yourself a deal."
Mathias winced at the price even though he knew he would be just taking it back. Some whores were getting really expensive. Some even charged a whole kroner. Reaching into his pocket, Mathias withdrew a few coins and placed it into the woman's hand. She cocked her head, revealing her pale throat to Mathias before leading him off the main streets and into her little ally business.
Quickly she was on Mathias, her arms wrapping around his neck and latching her lips onto his skin. Skillfully she left pleasurable kisses along the sensitive parts of Mathias' neck making his blood run hot and thick. With the whore being this close, Mathias could smell the sour scent of her corrupt soul mingling with cheap perfume. But it didn't mask the blood that was beginning to pump more rapidly as the whore became slightly aroused.
Desperately, Mathias wanted to hear the blood slush quicker through her body. It was alluring, mouth watering. Placing two hands on her shoulders Mathias pushed her roughly away and into the brick wall behind her. She stared up at him wide eyed and confused and Mathias simply gave her a smile as his fixated on her neck and heaving chest. Without permission, Mathias reached out and undid the tie to her bodice, pushing down her low neckline further revealing her small, yet still pert breasts. Perfect breasts that would be even more perfect when he let her blood flow over them. Mathias could feel himself harden at the very disgusting mental image.
Lightly, Mathias caressed her body, his mouth traveling to her breasts, sucking and hearing the whores heartbeat beginning to thrum. Oh yes, this woman probably wasn't used to such good treatment. He flicked his tongue of her rosy nipples and in return he felt her greedily reach out for his prominent bulge. Mathias let out a growl of approval as he lightly rubbed himself against her hand before lifting her skirts and using his knee to pry her legs apart. With the skill that only a whore could master, she unfastened his britches and freed Mathias' throbbing member with ease.
She placed him on a crate before climbing onto his lap and impaling herself on Mathias' waiting member. He let out a satisfied hiss as her wet heat took him in. With each propelling of her hips, her blood began to pump faster. Eager to get her heart beating at full speed he lunged forward and began to suckle her nipples once more. Out of pure rapture, she began to moan and take deeper breaths, making her blood flow faster through her veins. The speed was intoxicating Mathias he needed to bite he needed to bite. Pausing her hips roughly with his hands, Mathias peered at her, her breast heaving, her face flushed a sweaty. But this wasn't no ordinary look, he gave her a charming smile that revealed his sharp teeth to her. It was an vampiric look that would trick his prey to calmly accept their fate.
Even though she would be his first kill, he wasn't in the least surprised when she said, "I'm going to die."
Softly and in a loving voice, Mathias replied, "Yes."
Almost on cue she simply tilted her head back revealing her pale neck to him. Just like Niels. Just like Niels. His brain kept repeating as he ran his tongue over her pulsing artery. Sinking his fangs into her flesh he heard her say a soft 'oh' before resuming to ride Mathias' cock. Mathias didn't have the experience to know that a vampire bite caused a flood of endorphines to flow. The whore was having the best time of her life riding Mathias as he drank her life away. And it was glorious tasting her sweet blood flowing quickly into his waiting mouth as her wet muscles clenched around his arousal, pulling him in deeper and deeper. Her arms even pulled his face closer in a strong grip in a way that seemed like she was afraid he would stop sucking. Frantically he kept swallowing as his belly swelled and frantically she tried to reach her final orgasm. Unfortunately Mathias pulled away from her neck, no longer able to take in anymore blood. A strong trickle of blood flood between her breasts making Mathias' eyes light up in desire forcing him to spike his hips up into her. He knew if he let things be, this whore could possibly survive his feeding. Yet he also knew that wouldn't be wise. This woman would blab and Mathias would be hunted. His instincts told him to kill, and heartlessly, he took his sharp thumb nail and ran it move her bloodied, pale neck. Mathias' nail pierced her skin like a razorblade.
She instantly shuddered as her blood flowed freely. Her muscles convulsed strongly around Mathias erection as she orgasm around him and pushing him closer. The sour whore smell was over rode with her sweet blood. Her perk breast gleamed crimson and Mathias couldn't help but run his tongue over her nipples and up to her gash in her neck as he thrust animalisticly into her limping body. With a long moan he released his seed into near dead body before withdrawing. When placed her on the ground she took one final breath, shuddered then died.
Bending over, Mathias picked up the 50 ore. He was breathing deeply at the site in front of him as his face began to pale in horror.
AUTHOR: Sooooooo we can tell Mathias is not the of the sparkle variety of vampires. I hope you guys didn't mind the dark nature of this post. If I need to tone it back let me know. I really struggled to write this part... Now imagine Norway having to deal with this monster!
Softly and in a loving voice, Mathias replied, "Yes."
Almost on cue she simply tilted her head back revealing her pale neck to him. Just like Niels. Just like Niels. His brain kept repeating as he ran his tongue over her pulsing artery. Sinking his fangs into her flesh he heard her say a soft 'oh' before resuming to ride Mathias' cock. Mathias didn't have the experience to know that a vampire bite caused a flood of endorphines to flow. The whore was having the best time of her life riding Mathias as he drank her life away. And it was glorious tasting her sweet blood flowing quickly into his waiting mouth as her wet muscles clenched around his arousal, pulling him in deeper and deeper. Her arms even pulled his face closer in a strong grip in a way that seemed like she was afraid he would stop sucking. Frantically he kept swallowing as his belly swelled and frantically she tried to reach her final orgasm. Unfortunately Mathias pulled away from her neck, no longer able to take in anymore blood. A strong trickle of blood flood between her breasts making Mathias' eyes light up in desire forcing him to spike his hips up into her. He knew if he let things be, this whore could possibly survive his feeding. Yet he also knew that wouldn't be wise. This woman would blab and Mathias would be hunted. His instincts told him to kill, and heartlessly, he took his sharp thumb nail and ran it move her bloodied, pale neck. Mathias' nail pierced her skin like a razorblade.
She instantly shuddered as her blood flowed freely. Her muscles convulsed strongly around Mathias erection as she orgasm around him and pushing him closer. The sour whore smell was over rode with her sweet blood. Her perk breast gleamed crimson and Mathias couldn't help but run his tongue over her nipples and up to her gash in her neck as he thrust animalisticly into her limping body. With a long moan he released his seed into near dead body before withdrawing. When placed her on the ground she took one final breath, shuddered then died.
Bending over, Mathias picked up the 50 ore. He was breathing deeply at the site in front of him as his face began to pale in horror.
AUTHOR: Sooooooo we can tell Mathias is not the of the sparkle variety of vampires. I hope you guys didn't mind the dark nature of this post. If I need to tone it back let me know. I really struggled to write this part... Now imagine Norway having to deal with this monster!
This is heart-breaking ._. poor Marianne! I'll never understand parents who throw out their daughter just because of an unplanned pregnancy. But well..it happens far too often and somehow I like how it leads to Marianne staying with Arthur and his brothers.
I hope you'll continue because I really like this story :) It has a nice and realistic touch! Good job!
I hope you'll continue because I really like this story :) It has a nice and realistic touch! Good job!
Toris cut the engine as he pulled up in front of the Braginskis’s new townhouse. He looked to his side and nodded at his boss’s son, signalling that they’d arrived- the Braginskis, or Alfred specifically, were still a bit new to the area. Ivan had made sure that Toris knew his way around of course beforehand.
“Is he home right now?” Alfred breathed, his voice a rather low.
Ever since Toris had been hired, the two had become actually close. Alfred didn’t see the shorter man any lower of status than Alfred was, and it worked with Alfred constantly moving to accommodate his father’s job- if it weren’t for the age difference, and of course a certain father, Toris would have been someone Alfred would invite to go to the movie or something. It also made sense for Toris to be the person he confined to when he couldn’t to his father. Toris could tell from the current state of tone that Alfred was somewhere between exhausted and overwhelmed from school. Even if Alfred knew his father loved him with all his heart, sometimes their personalities did clash, and Alfred couldn’t be the son his father wanted to deal with at the moment.
“Uh, yes, Mr. Braginski is in his office. He’ll be out later, but he is expecting you home.” Toris said, almost automatically. He nudged Alfred’s slumping form. “I’d be prepared to answer how your classes were; your teachers and I guess the student body.”
Alfred laughed mirthlessly. “God, Dad is awesome, and I love it when we do shit together, but he’s really pushing the school thing…” He unconsciously fiddled with the straightened tie his father had insisted he wear to fit in. Naturally, Alfred was a keen learner, and did in fact love his classes, but it was another new school…and what that weird Brit had said about appearances…
Agh, what the crap. The entire ride home, Alfred had felt so nervous sitting in the flashy car. Stupid Arthur Kirkland.
“He’s paying a lot for you to attend that school, Alfred.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Alfred chuckled, opening the door. Once Toris handed him his books and backpack, and eventually drove the ‘company’ car away,
Alfred’s eye caught the glint of the shiny Volkswagen emblem and made a mental note.
= =
“Is he home right now?” Alfred breathed, his voice a rather low.
Ever since Toris had been hired, the two had become actually close. Alfred didn’t see the shorter man any lower of status than Alfred was, and it worked with Alfred constantly moving to accommodate his father’s job- if it weren’t for the age difference, and of course a certain father, Toris would have been someone Alfred would invite to go to the movie or something. It also made sense for Toris to be the person he confined to when he couldn’t to his father. Toris could tell from the current state of tone that Alfred was somewhere between exhausted and overwhelmed from school. Even if Alfred knew his father loved him with all his heart, sometimes their personalities did clash, and Alfred couldn’t be the son his father wanted to deal with at the moment.
“Uh, yes, Mr. Braginski is in his office. He’ll be out later, but he is expecting you home.” Toris said, almost automatically. He nudged Alfred’s slumping form. “I’d be prepared to answer how your classes were; your teachers and I guess the student body.”
Alfred laughed mirthlessly. “God, Dad is awesome, and I love it when we do shit together, but he’s really pushing the school thing…” He unconsciously fiddled with the straightened tie his father had insisted he wear to fit in. Naturally, Alfred was a keen learner, and did in fact love his classes, but it was another new school…and what that weird Brit had said about appearances…
Agh, what the crap. The entire ride home, Alfred had felt so nervous sitting in the flashy car. Stupid Arthur Kirkland.
“He’s paying a lot for you to attend that school, Alfred.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Alfred chuckled, opening the door. Once Toris handed him his books and backpack, and eventually drove the ‘company’ car away,
Alfred’s eye caught the glint of the shiny Volkswagen emblem and made a mental note.
= =
“Welcome home, son,” Ivan Braginski beamed, wrapping his arms around his son. Alfred laughed and patted his father’s back.
“Hey, old man,” Alfred replied. When the father and son duo broke off the embrace, Alfred tossed his bag at the side and hung up his blazer.
“They use your mother’s surname, right?”
“Yeah. I am Alfred Jones to them. Don’t worry. The Braginski name is unknown at the school.” Alfred smiled. He knew that his father only made sure of this for safety.
Ivan nodded. “Good. Good.”
Alfred rubbed his hands together and grinned deviously at his father.
“Well, where be the food, dad?”
“Where it always is, Alfred,” Ivan chuckled. He gestured to the kitchen and Alfred chuckled, narrowly missing the stack of U-Haul boxes that almost tripped the teenager. His father sighed in amusement from his son’s attachment to food and reached into the cupboard for some plates.
“I know that you miss living next to the Williams so I figured some pancakes would suffice for you.”
“Bleeeeeeneees.” Alfred mocked, trying his best at his father’s native tongue. His voice dipped a few octaves and he growled when he said it, trying to add what sounded like a German accent, rather than Russian.
Ivan clucked his tongue and fought back the urge to strangle his son at times like these. Even if Ivan had long since left his mother country, he expected respect from his only son. The elder looked down at Alfred and narrowed his eyes.
Alfred looked up at his father and smiled cheekily. “You know you love me, old man.”
“Sometimes I want to toss you out the window,” Ivan grunted, scraping a blini onto a plate. Alfred grabbed a jar of jam and Nutella from the fridge and began scooping the fixtures out. After adding a dollop of the fruit spread onto his blini, he licked his spoon and dug into the Nutella. Ivan gagged from his son’s unsanitary practices.
The teenager chuckled and sat down on a barstool. “Sorry, Dad.”
“I’ll just…put cheese.”
“Cheese is for burgers, man. C’mon how long have you been in America? Oh, so at school, in History class we got to the Cold War-!”
“I saw a lot of girls ogle you as you entered the building,” Ivan mused, ignoring the earlier comment from his son. Instantly, it seemed that
Alfred had dropped his comment about History class and his eyebrows shot up. Then he smirked.
“Well, that shows how super totally hot this American hero is!” Alfred smiled, flexing his long, but lanky arms. Ivan looked at his son, then at the absence of visible muscle. Ivan guffawed.
“Hey, old man,” Alfred replied. When the father and son duo broke off the embrace, Alfred tossed his bag at the side and hung up his blazer.
“They use your mother’s surname, right?”
“Yeah. I am Alfred Jones to them. Don’t worry. The Braginski name is unknown at the school.” Alfred smiled. He knew that his father only made sure of this for safety.
Ivan nodded. “Good. Good.”
Alfred rubbed his hands together and grinned deviously at his father.
“Well, where be the food, dad?”
“Where it always is, Alfred,” Ivan chuckled. He gestured to the kitchen and Alfred chuckled, narrowly missing the stack of U-Haul boxes that almost tripped the teenager. His father sighed in amusement from his son’s attachment to food and reached into the cupboard for some plates.
“I know that you miss living next to the Williams so I figured some pancakes would suffice for you.”
“Bleeeeeeneees.” Alfred mocked, trying his best at his father’s native tongue. His voice dipped a few octaves and he growled when he said it, trying to add what sounded like a German accent, rather than Russian.
Ivan clucked his tongue and fought back the urge to strangle his son at times like these. Even if Ivan had long since left his mother country, he expected respect from his only son. The elder looked down at Alfred and narrowed his eyes.
Alfred looked up at his father and smiled cheekily. “You know you love me, old man.”
“Sometimes I want to toss you out the window,” Ivan grunted, scraping a blini onto a plate. Alfred grabbed a jar of jam and Nutella from the fridge and began scooping the fixtures out. After adding a dollop of the fruit spread onto his blini, he licked his spoon and dug into the Nutella. Ivan gagged from his son’s unsanitary practices.
The teenager chuckled and sat down on a barstool. “Sorry, Dad.”
“I’ll just…put cheese.”
“Cheese is for burgers, man. C’mon how long have you been in America? Oh, so at school, in History class we got to the Cold War-!”
“I saw a lot of girls ogle you as you entered the building,” Ivan mused, ignoring the earlier comment from his son. Instantly, it seemed that
Alfred had dropped his comment about History class and his eyebrows shot up. Then he smirked.
“Well, that shows how super totally hot this American hero is!” Alfred smiled, flexing his long, but lanky arms. Ivan looked at his son, then at the absence of visible muscle. Ivan guffawed.
“You could’ve played along for a sec,” Alfred added a second later under his breath. Still, he knew why his father had brought up that comment. “I know your rule of girls, dad. No commitment until after high school.”
“Or until you get accepted to a university. Whichever comes first?” Ivan clapped. It was at these times Alfred really didn’t know if he father was joking or dead serious. For a 40-something year old, Ivan’s smiles were questionable. Alfred rolled his eyes. “I just want you to do the best and succeed and-“
“I got it, Dad. Don’t worry. No, uh, girl’s really caught my eye. I met a lot, hell, I even have some of their numbers, but, don’t worry…” Alfred mumbled. He ran a hand through his hair, then paused and turned to his father, stuffing a piece of blini into his mouth. “BUT, uh say I did, like go out…what would…happen…”
The mafia boss sucked in his cheeks. This was definitely not the first time Alfred had questioned his rules, but the other times had been in the infancy of Alfred’s puberty and the two always joked about it. He could tell that it was getting to that point where Ivan wasn’t sure if Alfred was seriously considering something because the hormonal craze was starting to cool off. Anytime soon, it could be legitimate crushes, rather than lust driven by the beautiful 14 year old girls that skipped in their skirts. Ivan nonchalantly took a bite of his food and shrugged.
“If she doesn’t impress me, if I think she’s a bad influence, if she’s only wanting you for money, I’ll shoot her.”
Alfred’s face paled.
“I joke, Alfred. I joke.”
“Holy crap, Dad, I nearly fainted.”
Ivan smirked and waggled his finger. “If it is serious, I will judge on the sidelines. And you know how I am with people. But I highly advise you not to pursue girls right now.”
“So basically, no girls, right?”
“You choose her safety, boy. Now eat up and tell me about Physics. What chapter has the professor taught? He is supposed to be a good teacher. I will judge him on that.”
Bah, father/son of Ivan/Alfred was kind of difficult to do XD So used to Arthur/Alfred as father/son!
Thank you for the nice comments!
“Or until you get accepted to a university. Whichever comes first?” Ivan clapped. It was at these times Alfred really didn’t know if he father was joking or dead serious. For a 40-something year old, Ivan’s smiles were questionable. Alfred rolled his eyes. “I just want you to do the best and succeed and-“
“I got it, Dad. Don’t worry. No, uh, girl’s really caught my eye. I met a lot, hell, I even have some of their numbers, but, don’t worry…” Alfred mumbled. He ran a hand through his hair, then paused and turned to his father, stuffing a piece of blini into his mouth. “BUT, uh say I did, like go out…what would…happen…”
The mafia boss sucked in his cheeks. This was definitely not the first time Alfred had questioned his rules, but the other times had been in the infancy of Alfred’s puberty and the two always joked about it. He could tell that it was getting to that point where Ivan wasn’t sure if Alfred was seriously considering something because the hormonal craze was starting to cool off. Anytime soon, it could be legitimate crushes, rather than lust driven by the beautiful 14 year old girls that skipped in their skirts. Ivan nonchalantly took a bite of his food and shrugged.
“If she doesn’t impress me, if I think she’s a bad influence, if she’s only wanting you for money, I’ll shoot her.”
Alfred’s face paled.
“I joke, Alfred. I joke.”
“Holy crap, Dad, I nearly fainted.”
Ivan smirked and waggled his finger. “If it is serious, I will judge on the sidelines. And you know how I am with people. But I highly advise you not to pursue girls right now.”
“So basically, no girls, right?”
“You choose her safety, boy. Now eat up and tell me about Physics. What chapter has the professor taught? He is supposed to be a good teacher. I will judge him on that.”
Bah, father/son of Ivan/Alfred was kind of difficult to do XD So used to Arthur/Alfred as father/son!
Thank you for the nice comments!
A!A here. Thank you so much for posting it. I'm glad you like my work.
A!A wishes to apologise for the punctuality (or lack there of) of this chapter. She could go one for a while about how busy her life was, but she will just say that she was in a difficult play and standardised testing is a bitch.
After having lived in the house for a while, events like that seemed to be getting more and more commonplace. When he left his plates out, he’d turn his back and they’d end up in the sink with a loud clatter. If he left clothes on the floor, they’d end up neatly in his hamper when he’d come back for something. It was strange, but it didn’t scare him. After all, how bad could whatever-it-was (because ghosts definitely weren’t real) be when it cleaned up for him.
What he did find unsettling was that every night since he moved in, he had strange dreams. In his dream, he’d be looking on at a blond boy with a thick, posh accent and massive eyebrows. He was cooking at the stove in what must have been Alfred’s kitchen. He could recognise the windows on the other side, but the stove and the cabinets around it were different. It was eerie how realistic it was, though.The bachelor could only watch as the Englishman would grease the pan and put it on the stove. The instant it made contact, Alfred would jolt awake in a cold sweat. The dream ended in this place every time, leaving the young man to guess that something terrible was to befall the boy in his dream. But what?
It was a little after his cable was working that Alfred came up with an idea to quell whatever-it-was.
He headed up to his room in broad daylight, stripped of his favourite jacket (a WWII-style bomber) and left it on the ground. He then hopped into bed and pretended to sleep, listening carefully for footsteps and the crinkle of fabric. As soon as he heard someone walk over to the shirt, Alfred’s eye flew open, just in time to see a figure for a split second.
His eyes just registered the colour green and a quiet gasp before the apparition vanished, but it was definitely holding his jacket. He saw it flutter to the ground.
“Hey, don’t be scared. I’m not going to hurt you or anything, I promise,” he pleaded, hoping the ghost (because now he was sure of it) could hear him.
The room remained as quiet and still as if the young bachelor was alone. However, now he knew he wasn’t. Alfred Jones was in the company of spirits.
A little bit of both bonuses in this chapter. I really hope I did them to your liking.
After having lived in the house for a while, events like that seemed to be getting more and more commonplace. When he left his plates out, he’d turn his back and they’d end up in the sink with a loud clatter. If he left clothes on the floor, they’d end up neatly in his hamper when he’d come back for something. It was strange, but it didn’t scare him. After all, how bad could whatever-it-was (because ghosts definitely weren’t real) be when it cleaned up for him.
What he did find unsettling was that every night since he moved in, he had strange dreams. In his dream, he’d be looking on at a blond boy with a thick, posh accent and massive eyebrows. He was cooking at the stove in what must have been Alfred’s kitchen. He could recognise the windows on the other side, but the stove and the cabinets around it were different. It was eerie how realistic it was, though.The bachelor could only watch as the Englishman would grease the pan and put it on the stove. The instant it made contact, Alfred would jolt awake in a cold sweat. The dream ended in this place every time, leaving the young man to guess that something terrible was to befall the boy in his dream. But what?
It was a little after his cable was working that Alfred came up with an idea to quell whatever-it-was.
He headed up to his room in broad daylight, stripped of his favourite jacket (a WWII-style bomber) and left it on the ground. He then hopped into bed and pretended to sleep, listening carefully for footsteps and the crinkle of fabric. As soon as he heard someone walk over to the shirt, Alfred’s eye flew open, just in time to see a figure for a split second.
His eyes just registered the colour green and a quiet gasp before the apparition vanished, but it was definitely holding his jacket. He saw it flutter to the ground.
“Hey, don’t be scared. I’m not going to hurt you or anything, I promise,” he pleaded, hoping the ghost (because now he was sure of it) could hear him.
The room remained as quiet and still as if the young bachelor was alone. However, now he knew he wasn’t. Alfred Jones was in the company of spirits.
A little bit of both bonuses in this chapter. I really hope I did them to your liking.
I really like where this is going, how you set up the scene where Alfred finally saw Arthur. I can't wait to find out what Alfred (and Arthur) is going to do now. It's good to see this updated.
I didn't expect anybody to fill this.
I love it! Good job
I love it! Good job
Oh no, cliff-hanger! I like all the details you have included about the process, their lives, their feelings for each other.
I cannot wait to see what happens next and what their animagi forms are.
Update soon, please. :)
I cannot wait to see what happens next and what their animagi forms are.
Update soon, please. :)
Ready when you are!
Gakuen!verse with smut is my secret kink, anon~ an I won't bite. In the end you tried your best and that's all that matters :)
failed test number one ; lithuania/russia - experimenting 1a/?
(Anonymous) 2013-03-31 03:24 am (UTC)(link)i do hope op likes this. i tried to make their relationship as dysfunctional as possible, and also make them more like teenagers and friends than the typical relationship i see between russia/lithuania. hope you like it
“I-If you’re going to kiss me, you might as well do it now.” Toris looks to the side.
Ivan notices how he fists the covers and scrunches his eyes. His expression screams impatience and anger at the same time. This really hadn’t been the best experience though. The only thing that Ivan could rule as enjoyable was the way they had held hands on the way home, and that hadn’t really been new or electrifying. He had held Toris’s hand countless times, just maybe not for that long.
The gray-haired boy grabs the brunette’s arm to turn him towards him. He smiles when Toris looks at him, and they share an awkward chuckle. Ivan’s hand shakes as he runs it up from Toris’s arm to the side of his face. Ivan licks his lips just to make sure that they don’t feel crusty before leaning in and kissing Toris on the lips.
The only kissing Ivan knows is the ones that he’s seen in his sister’s romantic comedies or television shows. He’s never kissed anyone before, and honestly he would have probably cringed if someone had told him that he would have lost his first kiss to Toris three months ago. And he feels foolish.
He knows that Toris has already lost his first kiss. He lost it when he was twelve with a blonde girl that lived on his street. He has experience. He can kiss way better than Ivan can and that makes things worse.
When they pull away, Ivan looks down at his lap. Toris chuckles awkwardly. “Holy, that was awful.” Ivan tries to laugh along, but the embarrassment bites and crawls inside and he wishes he could run away right now, but this is his house, not Toris’s.
“I know right? You need more experience,” Ivan replies. Toris blows his bangs out of his eyes and rolls his eyes.
“Sure, it’s me that needs the work.” When Ivan looks up though, Toris is smiling. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been; because he has that same smile on that he had on when he had walked into their high school the first day.
Many people had heard that there was going to be an exchange student coming from Lithuania, and so they crowded around the school doors so that they could be the first ones to see what he was like. When the student body realized that he wasn’t a stud, and when the host started telling his friends about what he really was like (wimpy and nerdy), people stopped caring about him. He was exciting for one day and that was it.
Ivan had seen a friend in him. On the first day, he learned his name, what his friends were like back home in Lithuania, some of his past girlfriends and the classes that he had for the five months that he would be in Russia. Thankfully, Toris had figured that Ivan was a good guy too.
Toris was one of those guys that would do anything for anyone, it didn’t matter the history. People really couldn’t be mad at him; they couldn’t say that they hated him when he had such a nice smile. Unfortunately, that smile became a dare. Who could break the exchange student? Ivan hadn’t been much of a person to stand up to people until Toris did.
They had been sitting against the brick wall near the gym classes where they had lunches. Toris had bought lunch because the host family never made him a lunch, and Ivan picked at Toris’ food since he hadn’t brought his lunch. Toris was about to complain about how much food he had left because of Ivan when the typical group of bullies came up.
“If you guys aren’t going to be nice then you can just leave,” Toris says before a single insult can be dropped. The bullies say the typical insults: faggots, fags, idiots, foreigner, etc. Toris stands up and pulls Ivan up, too. He punches one in the face and walks away. The principal put it on Toris’s record and he was given a strict warning.
“I-If you’re going to kiss me, you might as well do it now.” Toris looks to the side.
Ivan notices how he fists the covers and scrunches his eyes. His expression screams impatience and anger at the same time. This really hadn’t been the best experience though. The only thing that Ivan could rule as enjoyable was the way they had held hands on the way home, and that hadn’t really been new or electrifying. He had held Toris’s hand countless times, just maybe not for that long.
The gray-haired boy grabs the brunette’s arm to turn him towards him. He smiles when Toris looks at him, and they share an awkward chuckle. Ivan’s hand shakes as he runs it up from Toris’s arm to the side of his face. Ivan licks his lips just to make sure that they don’t feel crusty before leaning in and kissing Toris on the lips.
The only kissing Ivan knows is the ones that he’s seen in his sister’s romantic comedies or television shows. He’s never kissed anyone before, and honestly he would have probably cringed if someone had told him that he would have lost his first kiss to Toris three months ago. And he feels foolish.
He knows that Toris has already lost his first kiss. He lost it when he was twelve with a blonde girl that lived on his street. He has experience. He can kiss way better than Ivan can and that makes things worse.
When they pull away, Ivan looks down at his lap. Toris chuckles awkwardly. “Holy, that was awful.” Ivan tries to laugh along, but the embarrassment bites and crawls inside and he wishes he could run away right now, but this is his house, not Toris’s.
“I know right? You need more experience,” Ivan replies. Toris blows his bangs out of his eyes and rolls his eyes.
“Sure, it’s me that needs the work.” When Ivan looks up though, Toris is smiling. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been; because he has that same smile on that he had on when he had walked into their high school the first day.
Many people had heard that there was going to be an exchange student coming from Lithuania, and so they crowded around the school doors so that they could be the first ones to see what he was like. When the student body realized that he wasn’t a stud, and when the host started telling his friends about what he really was like (wimpy and nerdy), people stopped caring about him. He was exciting for one day and that was it.
Ivan had seen a friend in him. On the first day, he learned his name, what his friends were like back home in Lithuania, some of his past girlfriends and the classes that he had for the five months that he would be in Russia. Thankfully, Toris had figured that Ivan was a good guy too.
Toris was one of those guys that would do anything for anyone, it didn’t matter the history. People really couldn’t be mad at him; they couldn’t say that they hated him when he had such a nice smile. Unfortunately, that smile became a dare. Who could break the exchange student? Ivan hadn’t been much of a person to stand up to people until Toris did.
They had been sitting against the brick wall near the gym classes where they had lunches. Toris had bought lunch because the host family never made him a lunch, and Ivan picked at Toris’ food since he hadn’t brought his lunch. Toris was about to complain about how much food he had left because of Ivan when the typical group of bullies came up.
“If you guys aren’t going to be nice then you can just leave,” Toris says before a single insult can be dropped. The bullies say the typical insults: faggots, fags, idiots, foreigner, etc. Toris stands up and pulls Ivan up, too. He punches one in the face and walks away. The principal put it on Toris’s record and he was given a strict warning.
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