Not a whole lot of important stuff here today, just a whole lot of me ranting and rambling
like a loser... well, a warning too, I guess: everyone seems (to me, at least, at this point)
really out of character in this chappy, especially Evan, but hey -- I had to do
*something*... it's kinda a battle-ish scene, I guess... and all after I swore I would never,
*ever* do a battle scene to, uhh, whoever that was that asked awhile back... boo-yah! XD
It made me start thinking about just how I could attempt to weasel in a battle scene and
make it work...
Damn, my fic is so much better when viewed in the 10-point font size I create it in... I love
that ff.net brought back the nifty font size changing feature! :D That nasty 12-point crap
it was defaulting to is lame. :P Switch it to 10-point before going any farther, unless you
have vision problems or something that would make that a bad idea... ::sigh:: If only I
could have my italics and bold lettering and... other stuff. That would rule. Especially
since I'm a freaking paying ff.net customer-type person... you'd think they would be willing
to respond to my emails requesting help, but noooo... ::coughs:: Losers.
Okay, this is going to sound horribly bitchy, but it is a necessary evil. There is one more
thing: I have noticed a thief in our midst. I think. I chose not to review this person's fic,
because I was likely to go against my personal rules that say I will never flame (and just in
case I am dead wrong, which I highly doubt, unless the person is some sort of mind
reading telepath who can amazingly latch onto the brains of random authors and come up
with the same exact things others have...) but this person (who shall remain nameless, for
now) has stolen from the best of us, and surprisingly, from the worst of us.
::cough::me::cough:: While perusing this fic, I saw a number of blatantly plagiarized
sections. Some copied situations, and some purely copy/pasted lines/scenes. I mean, I
wonder if I am the only one to notice, because no one has commented on it as of yet. It's
like some bizarre splicing of a bunch of cool fics, put with the person's general storyline.
But I tend to over-analyze writing I appreciate, and happen to recall these lines/scenes
very clearly. I have a somewhat photographic memory -- I can *see* these words in print
within the text of the original fics, but I went through my personal fave archive just to be
sure. A handful of masterful authors have been violated. And me, but I dare not include
myself with the likes of talent I cannot hope to compare with. I pray that if the person
responsible reads this, which they may, considering I think they may have ripped from me
a bit (God only knows why) um, you must stop, like, right now. Or someone else who's
not as nice and semi-tolerant as me *will* notice, and *will* hunt you down. Fair
warning. -_- Copycats ain't cool. Did you *think* no one would be able to tell? ::rolls
eyes::
Yes. Bitchfest. I know everyone has plagiarized at some point in their lives (like on, uhh,
school projects about the history of England that was due tomorrow and direct copying
was the only way to not fail history that semester... ::cough::) but those situations are life
and death, sort of. Fan fiction is not! Take the goddamn time to think up crap and be
original! Or at least *ask* to use people's stuff -- I know I would of said yes, to a degree,
had I been asked. In fact, I would have been strangely flattered. But I wasn't given the
opportunity, and I doubt these other authors were either, so we'll never know now, will
we? Cripes, I'd better just finish this rant and post already before I annoy myself and
delete it all. O.o
And response to... (don't bother reading unless you've reviewed/read the reviews recently)
*Medusa171: I suppose "fanatic" would be appropriate, but I think "loser with no social
life and waaay too much time on her hands" would actually be more fitting. :D ::Insert
Ace Ventura-style "Loser" here:: Ahem. Le-hoo-se-herr. ::smirks:: You know it. O.o
*R: Oooh -- gettin' a little feisty, there! ^_~ Of course I'm gonna continue, I'm just
trying to force the ridiculous amount of non-reviewers to finally freaking review... lazy
asses. ::pouts:: Aww, nuts! (No pun intended.) I've made this mistake twice now!
D'oh! Sorry if I offended ya somehow, but truly, I haven't much to go on, just brief
snippets of hintings reviewers leave, like the mentioning of respective girl or boy friends...
annnd I repeatedly stick my big foot in my even bigger mouth. Sorry again for the little
mix-up! :D And! Lance is no musical genius, so that is my flimsy excuse for missing a
couple nunna's in the sorry-ass rendition of Fur Elise... O.o (I quit piano, along with
dance, girl scouts annnd just about everything else waaay back in the day, so... yeah.
Everything except choir! Choir geek here! :D I was thinking of majoring in music, but
the competition is just too fierce. I can't believe all the elective credits I got for it,
though... dude.) If your lady does indeed review (which I don't believe she has yet...)
what would you like for your extra credit...?
*DarkFire: A professional reviewer, indeed! :D That's what Psycho B was for, like... a
while... too long, really. Then I actually wrote some stuff, like this you're reading now, so
I'm good! But you also write things, soooo, yes! I make no sense! O.o On to the
handcuffs: they will definitely get there, and soon. Promise! :D
*batE: Ooooh! ::squeals:: You're gonna like this chappy, I hope, cuz there's some...
well, I shouldn't spoil the surprise! That wouldn't be much fun! I hope ya don't get mad
at me for... ahh, Hell, just read the damn thing! :D Kelly's a crack monkey. Aaand
plumber's cracks are scary as Hell. But I had a question: what exactly does boy/boy
boffing mean...? I mean, there's always what I *think* it means, and then there's the
*real* meaning... ::cough:: Shadow Dance, yes! That's where I know the living room's
all wrong from! (IF that made any sense...) ::sings:: I cou-uld do bet-ter! Me me me
meeeee ME! :D
*Tainisha: What, is everybody getting sick now? ::looks around skittishly, fearful of
germs:: Coast is clear on this end, chief... x_X Poor Toddykins hadta save you! And hit
the review button! He could have written some craaazy shit, so keep an eye on the lil'
troublemaker next time, willya? :D Aaanyways, I am a professional spellchecker, too!
That nifty little function is always catching my stupid typos and nonsensical made-up
words... O.o But then again, I usually keep the made-up words anyways, so... yes. I stop
now. ~ Pie-Pie shall never be ours, my dear -- he belongs to Lanciepoo, and thaaat's the
wa-aay it i-is! (God, I hate Celine Dion right now... grr...) Feel better! ::hugs, kisses and
chicken soup:: ^_^
*Princess of Mirrors: Welcome, new reviewer! I'm guessing you're not a new *reader*,
just a new reviewer, but I could be wrong... :D Lance isn't *completely* useless; I'm sure
he knows how to do, uhh, some things. But then again, compared to Pietro, he looks like
a loser, because Pie can pretty much do anything. (Must not turn Pietro into a Mary Sue,
must not...) ::coughs:: And Freddy and Toddles are twits. So there you have it.
Disclaimer: As if! No, really, if you actually believe I own any of this (makes grand
sweeping gesture) then I have some prime swamp land down in Florida you may be
interested in... No, seriously. I don't own anything. (Duh?)
*~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter twenty-four: Violation
Lance shifted uncomfortably in the driver's seat. His bottom was still awfully sore from
playing the role of "Pietro's obedient little bitch" the night before. Why he was pleased at
first to see the size of his beau's member that first fateful day, he couldn't recall. Given the
size, and the fact that Pietro fucked like a rabbit on speed, everything added up to Lance
dealing with a very painful backside. They were currently en route to Sears -- appliance
shopping. Lance sighed. What he wouldn't do for the boy.
After discovering the washer and dryer set no one had ever noticed they'd had in the
basement, and to their amazement, that the machines actually worked, the couple had
done several loads of laundry to celebrate (the local coin-op laundromat lost a big client
that day) and come close to screwing on top of the washer. Pietro had held him off,
promising things for later. Todd and Freddy had come home shortly thereafter, and Lance
had gotten the chance to play his overprotective, nagging mother role to the both of them,
which they did not particularly enjoy. Lance and (mostly) Pietro pulled another flawless
cash delivery scheme, and ordered another ten thousand dollars to fund their eventual
shopping spree. After a relatively silent dinner consisting of Gut Bombs and fries
(requested by Fred) present company departed to their respective quarters for the night.
Pietro had jumped Lance the second the door was covering the gaping hole in the wall,
and proceeded to divest the seismically-inclined mutant of his clothing and
unceremoniously bend him over a desk near the door. Then, deciding that the angle was
all wrong, Pietro dragged Lance to their bed and mounted the poor, unsuspecting senior
like an animal in heat, riding him fast and hard. Lance was certain he still had the red
markings on his skin from Pietro's blunt nails raking down his back in the throes of
passion. When he was done, Pietro decided that he didn't really like being the man, and
that next time, Lance could do whatever, which was music to the rock-tumbler's ears.
And his bum.
Pietro had felt the need to rouse the brunette several times during the night, climbing atop
his thighs and initiating the inevitable, then having the audacity to wake him super-early
that morning. "Sears is having a one day sale," he'd explained between sips of coffee,
toying with the bagel that was sitting, untouched, on a small plate in front of him. Lance
was still half awake. He struggled to keep his eyes on the road as they headed for the
Bayville Galleria. (Blatant "HeX Factor" fact -- the mall's name. Just in time, too! :D)
Yawning through the sales pitch delivered by an in-training employee, Lance had amused
himself by repeatedly picturing Pietro standing there naked, nodding and trying to look
interested in the speech. The trainee must have gotten scared by the strange, leering smile
plastered on the taller boy's face, because he quickly excused himself, reminding the pair
to "grab him if they spotted anything they liked". That also made Lance's sleep-deprived
brain go into giggle mode. Pietro smacked him as soon as the salesman walked away.
"What's the matter with you?" he hissed, grabbing Lance's sleeve and yanking him behind a
row of refrigerators. "Don't go acting all suspicious!"
"I'm not!" Lance insisted hotly, pulling out of the white-haired teen's grip. "I'm just trying
to stay awake here... I'm not used to being a love slave to a hyperactive speed freak," he
added dryly, bringing a smile to Pietro's lips.
"You know you love it," he whispered in Lance's ear, giving his backside a playful swat.
Lance whined in pain. "Quit being such a baby. You did me *twice* and *I'm* not
complaining."
"Yeah -- it was more like `OhGodLanceFuckMeHarderOhBaby!'" Lance said in a hushed
whisper, lest anyone overhear their little conversation. He giggled nervously at his
imitation of the speedster's behavior. Pietro was not amused.
"You are *so* gonna pay for that when we get home," Pietro promised, reaching for a tag
hanging off of the handle of a rather impressive-looking refrigerator. "I like this one," he
said, looking to Lance for agreement.
"That thing's waaay too expensive, Pie... cut that price in half, and maybe we'll talk,"
Lance stood firm, his arms crossed defiantly over his chest. Pietro pouted.
"Buuut I waaant one with a deeeeep freeeezer!" the slender mutant complained, already
annoying Lance beyond his limits. This was gonna be a long day.
"Let's come back to it later," Lance offered, trying to get the brat away from the appliance
without causing a disturbance.
Pietro considered this carefully. "We *will* be back to look at it again," Pietro warned
Lance, patting the merchandise lovingly so he didn't think the smaller teen was giving up.
`Not by a looooong shot.'
"I just said we would... c'mon, the stoves are against the back wall." Lance pulled Pietro
away from the massive fridge by his coatsleeve. Which Pietro conveniently slipped out of,
leaving Lance to carry his jacket. Ever the gentleman.
"Ooooh, double-wide..." Pietro's eyes glazed over as he stared at the eight-burner,
double-oven stove before him. Lance had to smile.
"You'd fit riiiight in on Jerry, sweets," he teased the other boy in response to his
"double-wide" comment, who was too awed to respond with one of his usual witty
comebacks.
Pietro ignored Lance, instead choosing to fiddle with the hem of his olive green sweater --
the one he claimed he hated, which meant they would most likely be making a trip to the
men's department before heading home. `Pietro does deserve some new clothes... and me,
too. What stores do they have here again...?' Lance knew Pietro would never be satisfied
with a Sears store-brand name outfit, especially now that they had cash at their disposal.
Lance racked his brain trying to recall what men's outlets the Bayville Galleria had to
offer. He remembered there was a Gap next to the hair salon, and Structure was right
across the way from Victoria's Secret, the candy store and... Starbucks. "Yessss," Lance
hissed quietly, finally earning a piece of Pietro's undivided attention.
"What?"
"Nothing," Lance claimed as he dreamed about the possible treat. A nice, hot cup of
coffee would feel good right about then... it had started snowing early that morning, and
the chill was embedded in Lance's very bones.
Pietro eyes the price tag, his blue eyes growing as big as saucers. He sighed a small sigh
of defeat; the special stove he coveted was almost as expensive as the sub-zero
refrigerator. Even on sale. So much for getting what he wanted. Lance noticed the
dejected frown on his face.
"What's the matter?" he asked the pale boy, trying to meet his gaze as he stared longingly
at the dual-range stove.
"This one's expensive, too. I guess we could just make do with the stuff we have..."
Pietro's chin quivered suspiciously.
`Oh, no you don't. Don't you dare cry... don't you dare...!'
"Let's just go," Pietro cried, turning sharply and walking towards the exit, not wanting
Lance to witness his childish outburst and subsequent tears. Lance scurried to keep up.
He caught the speed demon by the sleeve, again.
"You know what? Just buy the damn thing. Just buy it. Get what you want now, and get
it over with. Go on," Lance ordered, looking Pietro in the eye with a hint of a challenge.
"Go pick out everything you want. We can afford it today."
Pietro's expression was unreadable for several long moments, before he squealed with
happiness and squeezed Lance tightly, right in public and apparently not caring. Lance
stepped back, slightly dazed, but pleased as his petite friend dragged him back to the home
improvement section with purpose.
***
"Will that be all, sirs?" the sales clerk asked, finishing the paperwork and handing Lance
the receipt. They had purchased Pietro's precious double-capacity rangetop stove, the
huge sub-zero refrigerator/freezer, a dishwasher, a new microwave, and many other
assorted kitchen goodies that Pietro decided he couldn't live without. He'd latched onto
an electric can opener and carried the box around for a half hour before Lance could
convince him that the sales clerk could keep it behind the counter for them until they were
ready to check out. Pietro had looked at Lance suspiciously before handing over the
merchandise, like he was going to try to get him to forget about it. Why Lance would
give a rat's ass about a cheap little can opener when they were dropping several grand for
bigger and better things, no one could be quite sure. But, Pietro is Pietro -- quirks and all.
"I think that's about it... Pietro?" Lance questioned, and Pietro nodded eagerly.
"Everything!" the smaller mutant agreed, looking delighted. He hadn't relinquished his
vise-like grip on Lance's poor hand since the microwave department.
"Thank you both. The merchandise should be delivered within thirty-six hours. Have a
nice day!" the salesman said cheerfully, flipping through the several thousand dollars in
cash he'd just been handed. He almost hated to stuff it into the register, but stuff it in he
must. (That sounded bad...)
Lance was folding the sales receipt neatly to tuck it in his wallet when he heard it, despite
the contented string of chatter coming from his lover, who was still attached to his arm:
Alert! X-Dweebs. Summers, in particular. `Grr...'
The one he saw first, however, wasn't his goody-two-shoes counterpart; it was the
annoying "city kid" Pietro despised -- Daniels. The punk scooted out from behind a row
of television sets, skateboard in tow (`Don't they make you leave for doing shit like that in
the store?' Lance pondered briefly, then thanked his lucky stars Pietro hadn't ventured into
the electronics department while making his wish list) and skidding to a halt at the sight of
the happy couple walking down the aisle, right past the singing trout display. Naturally,
Pietro's hand shot out to poke the small red button and make the scary chunk of rubbery
plastic come to life and sing its demented tune.
Pietro jerked to a halt, his hand, this time, not leaving Lance's for a second. He glared at
the skater banefully. Summers and Grey walked out shortly thereafter.
Out of the instinctual habit to protect one's mate, Lance stepped in front of Pietro,
effectively putting distance between the boy and the potential "danger" source.
"Summers," he snarled as pleasantly as the situation allowed. He was returned an equally
cold stare.
"What are you now, Alvers, following us?" the bespectacled mutant demanded, doing
relatively the same thing as Lance by stepping in front of the redheaded slut.
"What? We've been here for hours," Lance informed him. "If I remember correctly, we
were at IHOP for about an hour yesterday before you showed up, too, so really, you seem
like the ones following us," Lance said, giving Scott a skeptical "James Bond" look, very
pleased with himself. Summers scowled.
"Hardly. We have better things to do than follow you around," Scooter-boy added, but
not making any move to leave the confrontation. Lance noticed Evan creeping towards
Pietro, and Pietro slowly, but surely, backing away. It was like some weird, slow-motion
silent horror movie; Evan rolling to Pietro on his board, and Pietro slowly backing away.
Creepy pantomime. Lance brought a stop to that by making the ground tremble slightly.
The freshman promptly fell off the wooden slab with wheels. This made Lance happy. :D
"Alvers," Scott growled in warning, and duh! That just made Lance wanna shake the
floor more to annoy Shades and his friends. The singing trout display came crashing to
the ground, and all Hell broke loose. Random store patrons were running for the exits and
screaming in fright due to the "earthquake". Evan took the opportunity to abscond with
Pietro, and before Lance could do a thing about it, he was lifted by Jean (telekinetically, of
course) and beamed by Cyclops (for no reason at all, really) who was still sprawled on the
ground where he'd fallen after the first tremors. The three continued to scuffle, while
Spyke proceeded to haul Pietro over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and whisk him away
to have a "friendly" little "chat".
***
Forming a long bone spike from his wrist, Evan slammed Pietro up against the very same
style sub-zero refrigerator he and Lance had just purchased, pinning Pietro in place by
holding the weapon up to his throat (not pointy-end to the throat, but the long, smooth-ish
part). The appliance department was abnormally devoid of human life at the moment (due
to the mysterious "earthquakes") giving the black boy an advantage.
"Why *him*?" Evan gasped, breathless from the carrying effort, his face inches from the
pale boy's. "Why? What does he have that I don't?"
Pietro dared to smirk, despite the fact that he was currently at the other boy's mercy. "A
life," he spat, and Evan pressed harder against Pietro's windpipe with the bone shard.
"Don't try to play me, Maximoff," the mocha-skinned mutant commanded angrily, closing
the already scant distance between them. Pietro swallowed nervously, seeing Evan's eyes
drawn to the movement of his throat clenching and releasing; his adam's apple bobbing
slightly beneath the piece of bone.
"I--I..." Pietro squeaked against the restraint. He tried to pull away, but Evan smashed
him back to the steel door panel. Pietro blinked, trying to resist the urge to vomit -- from
fear or disgust, he wasn't quite sure. Probably both.
"Look, bitch," Evan started again, his thumb nail digging into the smooth, white flesh of
Pietro's neck as he held the object up to it, "I deserve you -- I claimed you first, not that
trashy scumbag. You've been mine all along, you just didn't know it... yet. I can forgive
you that, but... this time, I'm not taking no for an answer..." he didn't finish the thought.
Instead, he moved face-to-face with his rival, and pressed his lips to Pietro's. Pietro
gagged under the hot, wet pressure when the other boy tried to force his tongue into his
mouth. Nearly suffocated, the stunned speedster was grabbed roughly by Evan and
shoved inside the larger side compartment of the refrigerator, locking him in place with the
long spear he'd had crushed over Pietro's neck.
Evan was contemplating his next move when he was promptly flung across the aisle into a
felled display rack boasting George Foreman grills. Lance quickly removed the bone
shard from the door handles, releasing the dazed boy into his waiting arms. Pietro sank to
the floor, clutching his throat and coughing, as Lance advanced on the younger boy. Evan
tried to scramble away as Lance came at him, armed with the very spike Evan had used on
his victim. Taking no counsel from the conscience screaming in his brain, Lance brought
the pole with blunt force, baseball batting-style, to Evan's left temple, thus knocking him
out, most likely with some form of concussion. Lance glared at the unconscious brute,
sprawled on the floor, and towards the two simpering fools he'd wounded to various
degrees of injury. Jean Grey, out cold for trying to detain him while that wanker Daniels
violated his Pietro, and Scott Summers, bleeding from the head that was currently residing
inside a wide-screen television -- smashed in for blasting him while he tried to get to the
other boy. One might even be inclined to think the trio had been in on this together,
somehow... although why, he couldn't fathom.
Lance gave the dark body at his feet one final kick in the ribs before rushing back to
Pietro, who was still on the floor, rubbing his neck absently and asking Lance in a
wheezing voice what the Hell had just happened. Damned if he knew.
Mall security and other assorted authority figures arrived, as if on cue, to order everyone
left remaining in the building to evacuate immediately, due to the "earthquakes" and
tending to the three wounded teens. Thankfully, no one had witnessed Lance's violent
acts, and the injured parties looked more or less wounded as a result of the "earthquake".
Lance aided Pietro in walking outside; he was still wobbly and weak from the brawl.
Lance whispered words of comfort as he led the white-haired teen through the parking lot
and toward the Wrangler, gazing back over his shoulder in disbelief at the building
through the lightly falling snow.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Duuuuude -- what was that?! That turned out to be nothing like I planned, like, in the "at
all" sense, and yes. And it was irritating me, because I originally planned for Spykey-boy
to confront our Pie at school, in a relatively similar scene, but pushed up against lockers
instead of a refrigerator... O.o Wacky! Evan waaay OOC! I don't really believe he's
capable of what I just made him do, so it's all good. :D (Except for the fact that I just
passed by my pot-head little brother's room, and the TV was blaring some *NSYNC song,
cuz apparently, they have a concert on tonight (when I'm typing this, not necessarily when
I post)... and now I think he's a homo. That would actually explain a lot. Anyway.)
Interactive blah blah thaaang: just random animation screw-ups ranting on Evo, so really,
uhh... nuttin', honey! :D
New interactive blah thingie: when I think of something, it shall go here... (aka not today,
folks!)
REVIEW! SEND, BITCHES! Just kidding -- you're not bitches, I luv every single one of
you! :D Except the one person sitting there reading this and thinking "Damn, this chick is
dumb and her fic sucks my ass... I think I'm gonna flame her!" (No "flamer" jokes,
please.) In that case, I don't love you -- do not review. (Now, that person probably
*will* review... sigh.) >.O