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06 April 2011 @ 07:29 pm
[ SK fic ]  
Title: Ties. Just Ties.
Summary: Don't forget to have your complete uniform! The new head prefect is strict! Ah, but do you really think I care? Nope, not at all!
Pairing: HATELOVE PAIRING. AKA strawberry and chocolate duo. :3
Warning: REALLY RANDOM LINE OF THINKING. SPUR OF THE MOMENT PLOT. OOC. And some name changes. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! (Oops, I accidentally wrote "Rina/Annabelle" instead of "Riba/Annabelle." Sorry!)


There is chaos brewing.

There is chaos.

Within me.


It starts now.


It all starts with me.


"REEVER, SHUT UP!" Annabelle Lee screeches as she throws a number of books at me. Of course, me being me, I dodge with much efficiency. The amusing lass huffs loudly, pursing her pouty lips, raising her nose up in the air. "Stop being so noisy!"

I sneer at her, kicking her books away from me. She only looks appalled before she finally picks up her books, all the while muttering British profanities under her breath. Or so she thinks because I can perfectly hear her girlish garble.

"What, Lee? You want me to stop being a 'wanker'?"

Annabelle shoots me a dirty look. "Don't make fun of me," she says, crossing her arms.

Forgive me Lord for I have sinned, is it bad to think how humongous her breasts are?

"Wanker? I am no wanker! I do not wank! I only swag, my fair lady!"

I am a hypocrite.

"I am fed up with your nonsensical musings, your atrocious acts, I think you should be expelled, Reever!" Annabelle is now completely red in the face and I can't bring myself to honestly care about what she is about to say next. I roll my eyes, only aggravating her more when I mockingly pick my ear. With all genuine intellect and honesty, you can almost hear Annabelle's teeth as they grind together, utmost humiliation painting onto her face.

Sometimes I think I am being too harsh with her.


Maybe I can be a bit nice?


Thoughts averted.

"Really now, Lee? What ever happened to 'wanker'?"


She walks past me, her nose up in the air, her lips still pursed, her attitude still sour, and I merely watch her take her leave.

"Seriously now? I don't think that was a clever thing to do with a lady," a timid voice pipes up from behind me.

As I wheel around, I am greeted by the sight of my friend and classmate, Ichiro Yamada. He is a weird one, I must admit; he is Japanese but has natural blond hair. Is there a genetic mutation here? My blond friend says otherwise, stating that I probably need not think so deeply. And indeed, I have not. (I'm still hanging onto the notion that he's a love child and that he is NOT purely Japanese, he just doesn't know it.) Anyway, Ichiro here, at this moment, regards me with a fully disappointed look and then I again, I must reiterate, cannot care less.


(If only I can openly kneel to the ground and pray to the Lord.)

Why must my only male compadre be so painstakingly thoughtful of women?

(Then I remember my friend's rather large mistrust of his own mother.)

"Why must you care, Ichiro?"

"She's my friend, I ought to care, you know..." he says, adopting a defeated look. Ichiro understands my impulse to insult the purple-haired buxom babe but he of course, Ichiro being Ichiro, also understands that I ought to be a little nicer to girls. Girls like Annabelle Lee, to be specific.

Girls who have a knack to insult my ass till eternity.

"Dude, I grew a back bone. I think?" I say to him with little certainty and Ichiro mauls me accordingly. I shove him, nearly sending him to the ground, but thankfully he is able to catch himself and he glares at me with all his worth.

"A really rotten back bone, I must say, Reever," Ichiro scoffs. "And why were you causing so much riot awhile ago? Some sick-looking dude had to talk to me and tell me all about it, that's why I saw your little stint with Annabelle."

Ah, here comes the interrogation.

Ichiro assumes that with everything I do, there is always an underlying reason. A purpose to my mission.

The truth is, there is none.

There is only whim, there is no plan.

That's what makes everything so awesome! Anarchy, anarchy!

(I feel like such a Joker, except without the knives and the insanity? Yeah.)

"I was just so bored without you," I drawl. Ichiro stares at me dead in the eye and when he makes a move to run past me do I only stop him with a forceful "all right! I give!"

Now blondie stands with his arms akimbo and even without saying anything I can tell his mind is screaming 'cough it up, tough guy! Fork it over, fork it over!'

"I was trying to impress her," I simply say.

Now, that isn't the whole reason; the main reason is, of course, I was bored and I wanted to show the whole hallway that I am a magnificent bastard, but impressing buxom babe WAS the side dish.

But my attitude got the best of me.

(I got sidetracked, I'm sorry, although maybe I am a masochist because I hadn't minded her throwing books at me. Is that bad?)

"You are so old-school!" Ichiro hisses, a livid look taking over his accusing one. "That is NOT the way you court a girl, you shitty boy!"

I know for a fact that when Ichiro Yamada curses, it has become serious business. (Whatever 'it' may be. But I have to ask, are girls a serious matter?)

"You don't have to be so rude at me, Ichirp," I reply.


"Yes you do. Oh but let me take the liberty to rephrase: you howl."

"Why would I howl?"

"Because you're a wounded soul?" I ask with curiosity. "Honestly, don't you read poems?"

Poems are like a taboo subject with Ichiro, I know that for a fact. Why? Because I know everything about him. Okay, not really everything but I DO know for a fact that he hates being a sappy chap (hey, it rhymes!) and that love stories (excuse me, poems) are for kittens.

(... What?)

Anyway, Ichiro seems rather offended at my words and I make an attempt to apologize but he says that he's fine and that it doesn't matter.


God, I don't understand him! He changes moods like how a girl changes underwear on her period!

(When did this narrative become so weird? Where's the hunk with a priest's name, huh?!)

The next moment becomes so surreal because one moment Ichiro was angry as fuck (hate sex?) and now he has the expression of a kid unwittingly attracting Pedobear. Ichiro's large hazel eyes alights on my unbuttoned shirt and for a moment I think he is going to fix them for me, when he says,

"Where's your necktie?"

That's it. No attempt to button them like an obedient housewife (or a thoughtful classmate, no less), no fishing a sandwich from his messenger bag (again, another stereotypical womanly thing to do), no 'oh, your shirt was unbuttoned so I thought I would button them for you!'

Just "where is your damn necktie?"

Somehow I am losing hope for my young lad Ichiro.

"What's wrong?" he says afterwards.

What's wrong? WHAT'S WRONG? You didn't button my shirt, that's what's wrong!

I respond with the most manly line a man can ever make up.

"Oh, nothing's wrong. I'm fine."

Or is that a cliche, girlish, chick flick line?


"I don't have a necktie? I forgot about them," I simply say, shrugging.

Ichiro smiles. "I suggest you look for one now, Derek, I heard there's a new head prefect," he says. "They say he's very strict."

"New? What ever happened to little ol' Christensen?"

Ichiro frowns. "I think you can answer that question. Anyway," he pats my shoulder, "you should be careful from now on. You don't want to cause trouble for our new prefect, hm?"

"Trouble is an understatement."

"Just be careful," Ichiro sighs before walking towards his next class.

The love I get from my friend, it's phenomenal. I can tell from the way he leaves me hanging that he truly cares for my personal welfare and if I am going to survive the newest Godzilla who is out to ruin my hallway rampages.

As if on cue, somebody's shadow towers over me.

And like a bad anime scene, it's as if everybody has magically disappeared, forever to venture in the vast space which is Cthulhu's stomach.

Ichiro, where are you now? ('Cause I'm thinking of you.)

(Stupid LSS.)

"What are you doing out of class? And where is your necktie?"

Why is the main topic of today neckties? Is this the current fashion statement in Knightard High? I don't seem to understand.

And why am I stressing over the topic of neckties for kraken's sake?

(I blame Ichiro.)

I don't bother turn around. (I don't care.)

"My necktie, sir?"

"Don't call me a 'sir,' you mindless humbug. But I do appreciate the respect."

Sarcasm alert. Sarcasm alert.

In the end, I face this lovely 'sir' and this time around, I am met with this tall, hot mess, of which has a tuft of soft, long (ponytailed), (absurdly) red hair, the brightest of green eyes (uncannily similar to mine, I have to add), pale skin (vampire much? Wait, can vampires be gingers, too?) and the largest, most obscene frown you never thought a person can muster.

Did I just describe all that?

(I must be more level-headed than usual. Where's my crack when you need it?)

"I now understand why you do not appreciate being referred to as 'sir.' Would you be interested in the title of 'boy' or are you more generous and give me the honor of telling me your name?"

I feel like such a Casanova! If only I can be this nice to Annabelle Lee (aka buxom babe)...

Ponytailed Ginger raises both his eyebrows at me, amusement and mirth dancing amidst those intriguing emerald eyes (I feel like I am staring into MY own soul), his once obscene frown twitching up into an obscene smile.

Wait, scratch that.


(I am lying, I refuse to accept that his smile is better than mine.)

(Okay, since I REFUSE to accept, I guess I wasn't lying, I was trying to forget the fact that I said such compliment. I still am.)


"Smooth, real smooth. I just hope you can be this cool with the ladies, eh?" Ponytailed Ginger chuckles, his features softening into a pleasant smile. "My names Johan McDowell," he says and (annoyingly) in a split moment his once pleasant face turns into a scowl (but not as obscene as before).

"By the way, where's your necktie?" he questions harshly.

Talk about a major change in subject.

(Is he like a redheaded version of Ichiro?)

(Naw, I interject to myself, Ichiro is a worse case, I can assure EVERYONE if I have to.)

"And button your shirt, for Pete's sake!"

(Pete? Isn't that Aia's father's name?)

"Johan McDowell, don't you know it's rude to smile then frown in 0.1 milliseconds flat?" I intercept quite intelligently, but I have to admit that I don't exactly know my equations.

(I lied. I am lazy.)

Johan narrows his eyes at me.

"I'll have to fix your attitude... Uh... Boy with identical eyes like mine," he threatens rather convincingly. Did he just say what I think he said? 'Boy with identical eyes like mine?'

We are so psychic!

So meant to be!

"What are you going to do about it?" My voice is set in a deadpan, a constant dull look playing in my eyes (how ironic). Seriously, everybody has been blowing their top off that it won't surprise me if Ponytailed Ginger does, too. Which brings to my attention that Ginger boy is turning rather red in the face (ha-ha, red hair, red face, what more can you ask for?).

Too much chili sauce, mate?


Johan pushes me against the wall and for a second I thank the heavens that he hasn't shoved me against the lockers. Because I swear, that is SO cliche and overused, not to mention noisy.

Walls are perfect.

... But it kinda hurt.

(As if I'll admit that out loud.)

"What do you think you're doing, McDowell?!" I whisper-shout, getting quite flustered. Might as well assume that you're being taken advantaged of than look bored, right?

(I need to sleep.)

"You don't follow rules and you deliberately insult me," he says, his tone dripping with acid. I say nothing in return for fear that if I look directly at him, my face will be sucked into a black hole which is, namely, his mouth.

(There's not an inch of implication there.)

"I was just adding insult to injury," I say.

"My point exactly."

"No, it's not. You said I insulted you, not injured you. Get it right, moron," I reply.

I know Johan must be thinking that I'm messing with his mind (I am) and that I have fun pretending I'm an idiot (I do). Can you blame me, though? When you are granted with commodity like Lee and Ichiro, you are tempted to rouse a reaction from either of them. The only problem is that my approach does not help with my plan to impress Lady Purple. (What plan? There is no plan, remember?)

"It's the same thing," he seethes, raising his hand...

For a moment I think he's going to beat me shitless but then he grabs at his own necktie, undoing it and shoving it against my chest.

The best I can do is stare at him.


"What?" he parrots. "This is a necktie. I am going to make you wear this."

Okay, simple enough.



Johan actually smirks.

"Why are you making me wear YOUR necktie? I can get my own, thanks, gee! I am NOT poor! I can at least salvage ONE necktie!" I start to whine and if he isn't pining me against the wall, I will flail.

"Now be a good boy and let me put this on you," Johan says, pushing his body onto mine, his hands fumbling with my buttons before he fixes his tie on me.

Now this would have been a good scene if and only if a woman is the one doing the whole buttoning and necktie act (Ichiro may have sufficed). But no, hall monitor Gingerzilla is the one doing it for me. What is to become of me?

(A half-witted moron with no peanut butter jelly sandwiches.)

"Get your grimy hands off me!"

"Stay still," he growls.

After a few moments of grumbling and body crushing, Johan finishes with his ministrations with a final huff. He examines his work for a second before gently tugging at the end of the necktie and then reporting, "All right. Done." He gives me a once-over and I have to look away, flushing slightly.

This Gingerzilla has just invaded my fantasy box of a lovely wife and lifetime sandwiches and forever corrupted it.

I will never be the same again.


"The next time you prowl this hallway, you better have the proper uniform. If that happens though," he lets out a dark chuckle, "next time won't be pretty."

I press my hand atop his chest and push him away. "Bring it, Gingerzilla. Let my genius prowess outsmart your sleek brawn. I am sure to succeed," I say with equal tenacity (and much boredom). Johan sends me a large smirk, his eyes glinting menacingly.

"I'd like to see you try, Matilda. Want to knock over the Trunchbull in me?" Johan replies, snorting.

"So you've got some wit in there, Ginger, I'd give you that."

"I can show you more."

"And will you please stop flirting?"

My conversation with Gingerzilla is ultimately interrupted by none other than my ever concerned friend, Ichiro the Blond. He stands there, looking all short and stiff, in the middle of us (Johan and I) buffs. It is amusing, to say the least, but a real mood breaker.

"I told you to teach him a lesson, not exchange playful banter. But that's okay, it was entertaining," Ichiro says before handing some cash towards Johan, who happily accepts it with a trained poker face.

What the hell just happened? A stinter being stinted? By my BLOND FRIEND, no less?

(What has MY world come to?)

"What the hell, Ichiro?" I decide to voice out loudly. Ichiro gives me a 'don't you Ichiro me' look. I raise my eyebrow (yet again) and repeat, "What just happened?"

Ichiro dismisses me with a lazy wave, wheeling around and returning to where he came from (Cthulhu's ass), saying, "Don't forget to go to class, Derek, Ms. Whitman is lonely without you."

Urging myself not to gag, Johan interrupts me and says with a simper, "You heard him. Off to class you go."

I shoot Gingerzilla a final glare before stalking off to my classroom and I can only imagine the tickled pink expression he has when I rolled my eyes at him.

For some reason I feel that my moments with Johan McDowell are not over. Something is abusing my reality button, telling me that I will not be able to avoid him nor will my life be the same way.

"It's nice meeting you!" I hear Gingerzilla call after me. I urge myself not to look back but some invisible force manages to convince me to look at Gingerzilla over my shoulder.

But when I do look back, I find that he has already gone.

There won't be a continuation... I hope. XD Comment~?
Tags: , ,
emotional vault: touchedtouched
vocaloid: Beauty's Running Wild by Scars on 45
ileikeggz2ileikeggz2 on April 7th, 2011 04:22 pm (UTC)
And then they cut class and have really violent sex in the washroom, with all the putrid smells and gross bathroom tiles. So manrii.<3

I press my hand atop his chest and push him away. "Bring it, Gingerzilla. Let my genius prowess outsmart your sleek brawn. I am sure to succeed," I say with equal tenacity (and much boredom). Johan sends me a large smirk, his eyes glinting menacingly.


omg this has got to be one of the most politically incorrect things I've ever read (PONYTAILED GINGER. BUXOM BABE.) and it. was. GLORIOUS.

Love love love the nicknames, darling~ I should ask you for help next time.

AND OMG TOO MUCH STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS (nagwo-Woolf ka na diyan a) MY MIND CANNOT HANDLE (more of my attention span). OTLLLLLLL

Nice. But I don't think guys really do act this tough in real life =)) They just sound like they've got a shitload of UST to take care of off-screen. ;) (yan ba yung pinapalabas mo, a? =)))
Ichiro Yamada: hollandnappo_knight on April 7th, 2011 04:33 pm (UTC)

I LIVE TO BE GLORIOUS!!! /sparta mode =)))))) I had fun making up nicknames and sure, anytime you need my help!

;w; My writing style, I have to admit, is quite stream of consciousness-y... WOOLF IS NOT MY IDOL, I CANNOT. =))) But still yeah, I get your point. POE FOR THE WIN. <333

Yes, this is how men act in the deeper crevices of my mind. =)))) *nods* I get what you're saying... BUT I CAN'T HELP IT. EVERYTHING IS SHONEN AND SHOUJO IN MY MIND =))) It reflects in my writing... =))
ileikeggz2ileikeggz2 on April 9th, 2011 08:57 am (UTC)
Re-read this now...I can imagine a movie out of this, really XD With the narration.

It would look like Limitless. You should've watched it with me :( </3
Ichiro Yamadanappo_knight on April 9th, 2011 12:54 pm (UTC)
Weird. I actually visualized all this when I wrote it. Awesome!

Love, I'm so sorry. :( I really am. I'll make it up to you another time, hopefully.