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Posted: Oct 2 2017, 12:38 AM
He was a madman. Not just that, but a madman with a death wish, his fate already signed away.
But did he care? Of course not. When the heart wanted what it wanted-- when it wanted to beat along to the same rhythm of another, to have a partner to beat against like a drum... Rationale told Landry Gaspard that there was no such path where he came out the winner. He could pursue her, neglecting her every wish and forcing her to tolerate him, all for a chance that she might appreciate him-- or he could leave her alone. He could pretend she didn't exist when he saw her in the corridors, or that he didn't already know what shampoo she used and how much of it-- and he could even pretend that he didn't notice the way she smirked when she was proud of herself for doing more than she expected. Both paths worked, for vastly different reasons, and yet even still the lines to his own heart muddied in their consistency. What was good for her, was bad for him-- and what was good for him, would hurt her beyond repair, at least if she was to be believed.
And he did want to believe her. He wanted to believe that she was the chaos that she claimed to be, that she was the disaster in which the innocent lost their lives because that was what she wanted. She wanted him to be wary, to let her be on her own and to walk this path as the strong woman she was, and if he had been anyone else he probably would've even agreed, but not now. Not when he looked at her and saw perfection, bliss in the way she swirled her hips-- he might've been dumb, but he wasn't that dumb. When his heart skipped beats, falling out of rhythm and pattering too fast, that was enough to tell him he needed to stay. She would destroy him; she would take everything from him that she swore she would and still he would thank her for it. He always would.
Because in the moment? In the emotion? There was nothing better than feeling the rush of taking that risk, whether he lay lifeless afterword or swimming eternally in her eyes. It would hurt; she had said just as much, but he couldn't-- he wouldn't stop trying to prove her every doubt wrong. "Hey," his lips parting suddenly, he pushed the anxieties in his mind to their rightful back burner, closing the distance between himself and the supposed mistress of chaos so that they were mere inches from each other. Next, his hand wrapped around her shoulder, spinning her from her slouch and into his arms. "You're gonna kill me for this-- I know it from just looking at you, darling, but I don't give a damn." Pressing his lips to hers, he secured his hands at the back of her neck, grasping it firmly but gently enough that she wouldn't knee him straight in the berries (caution and whatnot). A second passed, then another, each ticking away slower than the last-- the kiss only ending when the background noise around them registered again in Landry's ears.
Letting her go, pulling his lips from hers, he stepped back and offered her his best smirk. "You know... There's a whole hell of a lot of people in these corridors. I wasn't expecting them all to stop, honest," shrugging his shoulders, he raised a hesitant-but-triumphant hand to those that were still standing in attendance. He could either make this better or worse-- and right now he really didn't know which would prevent his death. "Ladies and gentleman, I'm here to tell you all now, that this girl? This Amita Amirmoez?" He pointed to Amita, then back to his chest, eyes scanning the students all around them so as to make sure he still had their attention. "She's stolen my whole damn heart. I'm not even mad at her, but, well... That's why I kissed her! It's not a show, y'all. It's just me proclaiming my affection for this fine young woman."
"Ain't she a beaut?"
Posted: Oct 2 2017, 07:42 AM
Summer had been fine.
Summer had been more than fine. She hadn’t been able to avoid actually interacting with Landry -a loss, truly-, but it had really just been that day at the lake with him and Dani. But that day had wiped her, wiped any desire she had to be around others for the rest of the summer. Her spoons gone, her last hurrah had been cycling, skating, and hoofing it around Berlin with the Rogers brothers and Daniela. That had been refreshing, even though her mind was tricking her into seeing the similarities between her German-transplant Texan friend and the Georgia boy on her mind.
Gable let her talk, her hands flying at the speed of light. Caden and Daniela were off in their own world, listening to whatever music he’d been working on with his friends.
But that had just been a weekend away from it all, and when September came, part of the Slytherin hoped that the Gaspard boy had taken his time at Hogwarts and decided to go back to Ilvermorny. The better part of her knew that her hope was futile, of course, so she was careful to avoid him where she could, to stay out of his path and hope that he gave up.
The summer helped her realize that she might not know him, but she had fallen for him faster and harder than she had fallen in love with anyone or anything in her life. While she was cocky and self-assured, and she knew her worth, there were still more days than not that she hated herself.
And that was the root of the problem, wasn’t it? She hated herself. She hated herself so much, how could she possibly be so selfish as to think that she could love him and everything would be as fine as he made it out to be? How could she care so deeply and quickly for him while simultaneously wishing that she could destroy herself?
At the sight of the blue eyed boy after her final class, Amita turned, resolving to walk away. She could finish out her seventh year simply going to class, going to meals, then back to the dorms, only varying it when Quidditch started up again and-
A hand caught her shoulder, the girl only registering part of what was said before lips she’d know in death were on hers again. The familiar feeling of his heavy hands cradling her neck to keep her close helped buffer the shock of being kissed, but only just, her brain still short-circuiting as he gave a speech -a speech?!- to the students that had gathered at the sight of Amita not murdering a boy who had the audacity to touch her without her consent. Before she realized what she was doing, her hand moved, striking him across the face with a harsh
A couple of students hazarded a shocked laugh at the action, the rest of them choosing to start spilling off instead of lingering much longer. Her handprint was perfect and red against his pale skin, the slap that rewarded his incredibly forward action hard enough that her fingertips stung. She kind of felt bad, though her heart wouldn’t stop racing so hard that it felt like it was trying to jump right out into his hands, climb into his chest, and live there.
She could’ve left it there, not saying anything. She could’ve walked away, threatening a curse much worse than the slap that she’d reflexively delivered. Instead, as the halls cleared, the dark haired Slytherin reached up, tangling her fingers in his hair and tugging him in for another kiss. A frustrated, infatuated murmur of “You stupid son of a bitch,” left her lips before the met his again, and she was gone. Hopeless and helpless, she kissed him back as if that would soothe the way his face had to have been stinging. When Amita pulled away, she couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes, her coffee colored ones closed tightly as she pressed her forehead against his jaw and, for once, ran to him instead of running away. Her hands slipped under his robes, curling tightly in the cardigan underneath them. “You stupid, arrogant, beautiful boy, I warned you.”
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