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toournextadventure · 1 month ago

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everyone but her pt.45

Summary: Wednesday has no idea where you ran off to after your little argument. What she finds is nothing short of horrific.

Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: swearing, delusions, fairly graphic violence, murder, consequences of dismemberment Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist)

It had been an entire night since you had left the apartment, and Wednesday still hadn’t heard from you.

Not that she was entirely surprised considering you had forgotten your phone on the kitchen counter. But you had always come back. There were nights you had vanished for hours, but you always came back. She couldn’t recall a night you had left the apartment and not come back, or at least warned her of your prolonged disappearance.

The nature of your disappearance was also a concerning factor. Wednesday was never really one to put the blame onto someone else, nor to deny her own fault when necessary. In all fairness, your reaction to discovering her visions wasn’t entirely uncalled for, aside from one simple fact.

She had genuinely believed you were aware of her ability.

You were correct; after so long, how had you not known? Yet everyone else had known of her visions. They hadn’t necessarily confronted her about it, but they had known. Was it truly so wrong for her to have assumed you had known as well? Would it have been so far-fetched for her to believe you had known of her visions and simply hadn’t felt the need to bring it up?

No, she didn’t fault you for your reaction, but she couldn’t ignore the hurt you had caused. It was no comparison to your own, considering you were under the impression everyone had lied to you. But she didn’t find it enjoyable to be accused of such a thing when it had never been her intention. She had never wanted to lie to you, not even from the beginning. There was no chance she ever would have told you, of course, but it didn’t change the fact.

And now you were, for all intents and purposes, missing.

Wednesday tried to be patient once morning came around. An entire night of silence was unusual, but she supposed you had had an argument. While she certainly hadn’t used the time to reflect and grow angry (instead moping around and feeling sorry for herself, which was a foreign feeling), you most likely had. It was forgiven, of course, and all you needed to do was come back home so you could both move on.

When midday rolled around, her patience was waning. What could you be doing that would have you gone for so long? Surely there was nothing more important than coming back home, correct? So why were you still absent? She knew she had upset you, she was well aware, but that didn’t mean you needed to run away like a petulant child.

As the sun started to set, and the main room of the apartment dimmed with the light, Wednesday fell victim to the worry she had shoved down after your vanishing act. You were nearing 24 hours of being gone; something entirely unheard of. Preposterous even. And you had proven time and time again that you were capable of keeping yourself alive (by questionable means on occasion), but she wouldn’t deny the reality of the world.

Something was out to get you.

It had been very much in character for Wednesday to hide things from the friend group in the past. Since you had come around, any and all secrets had been laid bare and, as disgusting as the truth was, she had been open with everyone. But it never occurred to her to inform someone that you were still gone, or that you had even left at all. Eugene was still in hospital, Enid was mostly recovered but still terrified, and Ash was most likely being fussed over by Bianca for having shot something. How could she burden them with something that in all actuality was an overactive imagination.

Oh no. She was openly considerate. How very well dare you.

Consideration for her friends aside (she could hear your teasing now; “Friends? I knew you liked them”), she wasn’t sure what to do. Should she wait for you? After the current amount of waiting, the thought of continuing that course left her feeling empty and hopeless. Her brain ran through countless options, none of which helped her current predicament.

Not that any plans would have mattered too much considering she was still missing a vital piece of information.

She mentally rattled off the list of locations you could have frequented. The floor was worn in the place you normally paced, and Wednesday was doing her best to leave her own wear and tear. Pacing always seemed to help you think, so perhaps it actually worked. Her boots were loud against the wooden floor; so very different from the haunting silence of your own steps.

The longer she paced, the more frustrated she became. Nothing was coming to light and she didn’t know what else to do. The pacing was useless. Sitting and waiting was worse than a waste of time. A roil of emotion bubbled up in her stomach as she stormed off and grabbed your phone-

-the forest was gone, instead replaced by a house that she could recognise even from her single visit. Wednesday had never been downstairs in your parents house, instead only exploring a few rooms upstairs when she came with you, but she recognised the tile.

The image flew from her mind as quickly as it appeared, but it was all she needed. Without warning or hesitation, Wednesday all but ran out of the apartment (just as she had the night before). It had never occurred to her to tell anyone; to let anyone know that she was leaving. Or that you had disappeared after the woods fiasco the previous night. Or even that she had been so inadequate that she had forgotten to tell you such an important aspect of her life.

It was a decently lengthy trip to get down to DC. Thanks to you, however, Wednesday was incredibly well versed in using the bus to get to her destination. A talent that she was surprisingly proud of. If anyone had told young Wednesday Addams that she would be proficient in using public transportation, she never would have believed them.

It was as if she had simply blinked and ended up in front of the door to your parents’ house. The startlingly white wood was a sharp contrast to the overly large and intricate brass knockers hung high in the middle. In another time, she would have possibly taken the time to admire the decoration. After all, the craftsmanship of the piece was worthy of the Addams family name (almost).

The metal was cool against her palm as she swung the heavy knocker against the solid doors. The sounds they created resonated both inside the house and outside, leaving an increasingly satisfying hum through the air. Behind the door, underneath the deep bass of the knockers, footsteps slowly stomped their way closer. The door opened, and the blinding light grew from the now-open doorway.

Wednesday felt her heart stutter.

“Hey, Willa,” you said in a raspy voice.

A stunning array of blood trailed across your face. Strands of hair were loose, hanging limp and heavy with the dried sticky mess. The Addams ring faded into the thick coating on your hands, ending around the middle of your forearms. She couldn’t remember the exact clothes you had been wearing when you had left, but this? It was nothing more than a mangled, somehow both stiff and wet mess of cloth.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” you said. Your smile was a stark contrast to the blood splattered across your skin. A few splashes dotted your teeth.

“I-” the words caught in her throat. There were so many things she wanted to say. She settled on, “You vanished.” The words clawed their way past the lump in her throat.

“I’m sorry, mi amore,” you answered, leaning heavily against the doorframe. Blood smeared across the startling white wood. “I forgot my phone.”

She nodded. Your body was lax; exponentially more than… well, than almost the entire time she had known of your very existence. Wet and sticky hands were tucked carelessly into pockets. If your eyes had been any more hooded, she would have assumed you were asleep where you stood. Each and every laugh line on your face was gone.

Your eyes didn’t glow.

“I came to bring you home,” Wednesday said softly. Always soft; only for you.

The corner of your mouth ticked upward. “Stay for dinner,” you said as you reached out for her hand. Your fingers were slick. “We can go home after.”

Inside the house was silent; Wednesday didn’t need to step foot past the entryway to notice. Your parents were rather selective in their words and actions, but it was nonsensical that they would be so incredibly quiet. The abnormal fact of your presence should have exacerbated the reaction, not enforced it. You remained in the doorway.

“Please?” You asked in a voice so soft, Wednesday wasn’t sure the word had come from your mouth. And how could she possibly say no?

She took your hand; it was cold, and she felt dirty. You squeezed once, and the ring you placed on her finger lightly pressed into her skin. Behind her, your leg stretched backwards, pushing the door closed with an eerie click of the lock. The only thing she could hear was the rumble of the aircon hidden in the elevated ceilings.

Wednesday felt a light tug on her hand, and she veered sideways until she was all but leaning into you. Seemingly on instinct, your wing moved to cover her. Motes of dust sifted down and fell on her nose. She did her best not to sneeze.

“I need a little help with dinner,” you said, “but then we can eat.”

You pulled her past what she assumed was the dining room. Her eyes were drawn to a small patch of discoloured wood outlining the doorway. A barely noticeable spot, but when caught in just the right light, it was obvious. As if someone had grabbed a paint brush, dipped it in the colour closest to the doorway but not quite exactly, wrung most of the paint out, and dragged the brush across the fine grain of the wood.

You didn’t let her dwell on it.

She didn’t believe she had ever been to the kitchen in your parents’ house, which wasn’t saying much considering she had hardly been to your parents’ house. It looked vintage (not the real vintage, simply a cheap imitation), but was, unsurprisingly, as blindingly white as the rest of the house. Each and every appliance, from the things brought out of the drawers to the range hood over the stove, was an obnoxiously shiny silver. It was as if it had never been used, aside from the dishes currently cooking.

“Give me just a minute,” you said, leaning down and placing a sticky kiss on her cheek before walking over to the pan on the stove.

She wondered if her skin now sported a dark red lip stain.

“They’re behaving tonight,” you said. You didn’t turn around, and Wednesday slowly moved from where you had left her.

She walked toward the island in the middle of the room; a stunning marble that was surprisingly the only good thing in the entirety of the house. It was a mess; littered with cutting boards and various remnants of whatever ingredients you had been using. On the corner closest to her, she noticed a few drops of red that appeared to have been hastily cleaned.

“Obviously dad and I aren’t good,” you continued to talk, “but he didn’t call the cops on me, so.” A shrug. “That’s a win.”

You continued to stir, and Wednesday continued to move so slowly you would never notice. Or you shouldn’t have. On her third step closer to the fridge, you turned your head. Your gaze alone was enough to nail her to the spot, cementing her bones together until she was stiff; far too reminiscent of death itself.

“Can you grab the salad?” You asked with a polite smile. “I’m almost done.”

Say something, Wednesday thought. Even a single word is better than this silence. But she couldn’t. No word, no noise, not even a breath left her mouth. You didn’t seem to notice. You turned back to the stove and kept stirring, and talking, and Wednesday didn’t hear a word of it. She simply continued to the fridge.

Her own hand covered the bloody print on the handle as she pulled it open. It was cold and dry, she had no fear of it sticking to the palms of her hands. Not like what had remained on your own skin. Inside the fridge was entirely unremarkable. The salad - which looked rather delicious, she would admit - was front and center on the middle shelf. The glass bowl was cold as she grabbed it, and the door shut with a satisfying hiss before she placed the bowl on the island.

“It’s just nice to be together again, you know?” You said, and Wednesday remembered she hadn’t heard a single word you had said. “Like a family.”

Wednesday’s finger tapped on the glass. “What of Momma and Pop?” She asked. Your stirring slowed. “What of the ones who raised you?”

The stirring came to a horrifying stop. Her eyes were glued to the back of your head, then your cheek, then your eyes. Those eyes which she would know so deeply within her soul, she could pick them out in all of heaven or hell. Eyes that had been dull and unassuming to the occasional passerby, but that had sent a chill down her spine. Eyes that were glowing once again like they should have been.

“Of course they’re family,” you said in a tone much more like yourself. A tone Wednesday had fallen for. “They’ve always been my family.” Your eerily cheery faux disposition had all but vanished as you looked at her. She saw you.

And just like that, you blinked and the glow faded back into a dull imitation of yourself. You didn’t smile, not exactly, but the worry that had momentarily etched itself into your forehead had been erased. You looked calm. Far too calm for the amount of blood covering your skin.

“We should go see them later,” you said. Your shoulders lifted dramatically before falling with a silent exhale. “I think this is done.” You glanced at her over your shoulder briefly. “Give me one sec and we’ll go to the dining room.”

The dining table was huge, accentuated by the measly five plates that sat around the perimeter of the stunning wood. Only five. Two seats were empty, and two more were filled with sights that Wednesday didn’t think she could have imagined even in her most demented nightmares. In the fifth seat, Wednesday saw the near-perfect reflection of herself.

Dread crept through her veins. She had told you the night before that her visions weren’t fact; that was true. There had been numerous times she had been outright wrong in her visions. After all, one of those visions had seen you remaining little more than an acquaintance. It had been horrifically, wonderfully wrong.

But some of them were accurate.

“Alright, let’s go,” you said. You were already holding the sides in separate dishes, one in each hand. “And don’t forget the salad.”

You walked before her without looking back to ensure she was following. That was wrong. Nonetheless, Wednesday grabbed the faintly condensation-covered bowl and followed your eerily silent footsteps. Her eyes remained glued to your feet; they were bare.

“Our first family dinner,” you said softly as you disappeared into the dining room. “This is gonna be great.”

Wednesday turned the corner.

Instinct should have relaxed her grip on the glass, allowing it to slip through her fingers to crash to the floor. Her pulse skyrocketed. A single bead of sweat tickled her neck as it rolled down her skin. The glass warmed under her touch, but it didn’t drop.

“You can set the salad by mom,” you said with a soft smile.

That was the last place she wanted to set the bowl. The sight itself was worse than her vision could have ever created. You stepped in a puddle on the way to the other side of the table, leaving sticky footprints in your wake. Horror crept up her throat when you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the gaunt, hollowed-out cheek of your mother. It hadn’t been long since Wednesday had seen your mother last; warm, professionally animated, cautiously talkative.

Alive.

Wednesday was a cold person. It was how she had been born and how she lived. If she had to put it into words, she would say it was an Addams family gift. The ability to face the weather head-on without the slightest fear of having to wear something other than the usual Addams gothic fashion. She was very well aware of the fact that the rest of the population was nowhere near as blessed as they were.

Your mother looked as cold as an Addams.

“I remember your last words to her were,” Wednesday exhaled shakily as she struggled to turn away, “unkind.”

“Well yeah,” you said with a nervous laugh, “they were.” You readjusted your jaw. “But we actually talked it over, so.” A simple shrug and smile. “We’re good now.”

The smell reached her senses when she was close enough to set the glass on the table with a subtle *clink*. Not quite nauseating, but well on its way. Cold, dark, empty eyes stared at her. That horror clawed its way higher again. Her stomach twisted into knots as realisation dawned on what they looked like. Or who they looked like.

“You can sit by mom,” you said with a far-too-cheery disposition. “You haven’t really met dad yet so I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

Your father was… arguably in worse shape than your mother. Or, she supposed she should say: she’d rather face your mother if given the chance. His new fleshy wings were a grotesque imitation of yours. As if they could hear her, your wings twitched before you situated yourself in the seat directly opposite her.

Wednesday lowered herself into the chair. It was sticky.

“Where’s Mabel?” Wednesday asked. The kind-faced maid had been on her mind from the moment she had entered the dining room. Accompanied by inhumane levels of dread.

“I sent her home,” you said with a shrug. “She should get to see her son too.” Your eyes glowed for a second; one blink and it was gone. She almost missed it.

Something creaked. You didn’t move, but Wednesday’s eyes flew to the side. She could still see your mother (and attempted to keep the nausea at bay at the sight), but she was drawn to the picture frame at the end of the table. A picture of Nicky, young and happy with a smile that was an exact copy of yours. His picture frame, at the very head of the table, was all she needed to see to know your mental state.

You sighed, and slowly she turned to look at you once again. There was a serenity on your face as you looked around the table, stopping on every person before settling on her. There, surrounded by the unsettling corpses of your birth family, you looked at peace. The faintest glow was behind your dull eyes and almost, just almost, you were what Wednesday would consider happy.

The realisation crashed upon her like a burning house.

“Would you like some wine?” You asked, pulling Wednesday back from the cliff of her thoughts. “Dad got some of the good bottles from the cellar.”

The blood on your hands had long since dried. Each movement as you reached across the table to grab an unopened bottle (a good vintage indeed) resulted in the dried mess flaking off piece by piece. The smallest piece lodged itself into the ring on your finger.

Wednesday shook her head in the negative.

“Expensive wine is kind of gross,” you said as you finished pouring the liquid into your father’s glass and set it back on the table. “I guess I never developed the taste for it.”

You kept talking. To your father, your mother, Nicky’s picture. Pausing for appropriate amounts of time before continuing the conversation. That little worry line between your brows that was so prominent on weekends or evenings after not talking with your family was erased as if it had never been there in the first place. Looking at you alone, she could see the vision.

“Wednesday?”

She blinked once. You were looking at her with the slightest tilt of your head and the dullest eyes she had ever seen. They stared into her soul, searching for something she couldn’t comprehend. The usual abrupt flow of warmth she got from looking at you was terrifyingly absent.

The nausea grew with the smell wafting in her direction.

“Nicky asked you a question,” you said.

She had heard no question. Of course she hadn’t, it was simply a picture in a frame. His hospital gown was almost entirely out of frame, but if you knew what to look for it was obvious. His eyes were closed; they hadn’t been open in a decade. You were looking at the frame as if he was sitting in that very chair, enjoying the meal that you had painstakingly made and yet hadn’t even bothered to touch.

“What was the question?” She asked. It wasn’t the first time she had talked with a corpse. Or perhaps it was a ghost? A spirit, maybe?

You smiled the way you normally did. “He asked if you’re enjoying your first family dinner.”

Oh. Of course he had asked that, how preposterous for her to have believed any differently. She should have known what your dead, ghostly brother had asked her. Your eyes stayed on her, and your body gave nothing away. Not even the smallest indication that anything was amiss.

She wished she had gotten to talk with your mother before… her demise.

“It’s-” Wednesday looked at your parents’ mutilated corpses and the delicately plated meals in front of them “-acceptable.”

You nodded and took a sip of wine - from the glass in front of your father - before looking back at the picture. Wednesday could only imagine what was going on in your head at that moment. Perhaps all the trauma had finally broken you. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. After all, you had been saying you had heard things, seen things, that you yourself felt like you were going insane.

“Told you,” you mumbled.

Your fork pushed things around on the plate in front of you, but not once did you eat it. The black polish on your nails, which Wednesday had graciously (eagerly) painted, was chipped around the tips. From the elbow down, your arms looked like they would be better suited to some sort of demon.

Or perhaps an Addams.

As you continued to talk to no one but yourself, Wednesday tapped her foot. Every time she picked it up, she could hear the sticky sound it created before she placed it back down gently. You didn’t turn to inquire about her actions. Why didn’t you inquire?

“Oh shit,” you said, pulling Wednesday once again out of her thoughts. “Nicky’s right.” Your eyes rolled. “I forgot Casey and Devan.”

“I’ll get them,” Wednesday said immediately. So quickly, in fact, that she didn’t initially recognise the outburst as her own.

You looked at her with nearly-glowing eyes. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt your dinner,” you said.

“I insist,” she continued, standing up from her chair.

If she inhaled the rising stench one more time, she truly felt she would lose her nerve. Who would have thought? She didn’t easily forget the autopsy date you had set up for her back in Nevermore; one of the most romantic things you could have ever done. This, however… something about this wasn’t right.

You stood up far slower than she had. Patient, deliberate movements. You expertly maneuvered away from the fleshy monstrosity beside you. Nothing else dripped onto your clothes, and if it hadn’t already been stained, she would have been amazed by the impeccably white shirt that she hadn’t remembered you wearing. Each step was precise until you were standing in front of her.

Your eyes were glowing.

“I can get them,” you said softly. “I want you to have a nice night.”

She should have flinched when your dried, itchy, blood covered hand rested on her face. More flakes came off as your thumb rubbed lightly against her cheek. It wasn’t preposterous to assume you had been either witness or perpetrator to the scene she was standing in the middle of. Fear would (and should) have been the most prominent emotion pounding inside her chest.

It wasn’t. All she felt was the warmth of your palm. The spreading warmth in her chest as your eyes roamed her face the way they had back in Nevermore. You were both back in the Addams mausoleum, dancing around your feelings until, for the first (and certainly not the last) time, she felt your lips upon hers. Your wings, ever dusty and protective, wrapped around you until you were both alone in the little cocoon she had come to love.

“You look beautiful tonight,” you said.

Wednesday exhaled harshly through her nose when you leaned down and she finally felt your kiss. Your lips were chapped as usual, and you tasted metallic. She should have been hesitant. But with your wings around her, blocking out the rest of the world, she put it to the back of her mind. Your nails lightly scratched against her cheek, grounding her in the most Addams form of love. She-

-a sharp prick in her abdomen was quickly followed by an inferno.

Her breath caught in her throat. Hands instinctively went to the source of the pain. They were met with a small handle. Your hand never left her cheek. Your wings didn’t part. She looked up and saw the dullness in your eyes once again.

“Stay here,” you said, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “I’ll get Casey and Devan and be right back.”

You leaned in for another kiss that she couldn’t focus on.

“I love you,” you said before finally pulling back away. Your wings parted, and the blinding lights did nothing to distract her from the pain.

Wednesday staggered backwards. She reached out for a chair and felt the back, but when she attempted to sit, it moved. The floor rushed up to meet her, and she let herself fall to her back in the sticky puddle of blood that she was now contributing to.

Her hands gripped the knife handle tighter as the front door clicked shut behind you.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday imagine #jenna ortega x reader

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shortie-stack · 4 months ago

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I've seen a lot of posts comparing Bill and Ford (and for good reason, they are very much parallels and foils to each other) but I haven't seen as much exploring how Bill and Stan mirror each other. Where Bill saw Ford as a tool and maybe even sympathized with him because of their shared experiences (outcast by their peers for traits beyond their control, hungry for knowledge and prestige, isolated from friends and family), Bill sees Stan as the embodiment of everything Bill hates about himself. on the website, entering "Stanley" and clicking enter a bunch of times opens up pages from Bill's perspective about how stan defeated him. Bill maintains that Stan didn't actually beat him, that it was Ford's plan, that Stan just got lucky, but we know from the show that that simply isn't true-- it was Stan's plan and it was Stan that defeated him. It's interesting to note that bill is okay with giving Ford the credit for his demise, but Stan? unacceptable. we'll come back to that though.

To Bill, Stan is simultaneously everything he hates about himself and everything he wants to be. When listing all of Stan's faults, Bill calls him a "side character, a resume-inflating, cheap trick loving, past denying overgrown child protected by failure only by a forcefield of denial and shamelessness". who else do we know who ticks all of those boxes? Bill himself is a side character for much of gravity falls in the real world, but in the context of the show this statement shows his fear of not actually being anything special. sure he was powerful in his home dimension, but we see time and time again that there are other beings in other dimensions that are just as, if not more powerful (the axolotl, for instance). Bill takes credit for liberating his dimension when he really didn't, he "honors" his deals through loopholes and turns if phrase, and he shouldn't be throwing stones in a glass house, seeing as he's the one having a temper tantrum. Bill is also deeply disconnected from his past, if him telling us the story of the demise of his home dimension is anything to go by, and only digs himself in a deeper hole through putting on this cheerful, confident, powerful persona. Stan does the same thing, especially as Mr. Mystery. but the thing about Stan is that he grows and changes as the show goes on, while Bill's mindset is perpetual. They both were cut off from their family because of something they did (Stan messing with Ford's project, Bill by destroying his entire dimension), but Stan allows a new family to get close to him and chooses to make sacrifices to make his niece and nephew (and even his employees to some extent) happy. Bill on the other hand, surrounds himself with henchmaniacs, yes-men who just want to party and will follow him as long as he shows them a good time. Every depiction of Bill is a window for him to look through, and with so many in the mystery shack, it's certain that he sees Stanley, the embodiment of everything Bill hates about himself, getting what Bill thinks he could never have. and Bill hates it because it means that if Stan can grow and change and make peace with his past mistakes, it also means that Bill can too. But that would require Bill to actually be vulnerable and endure the pain that confronting your past (many, many) mistakes brings. He would have to acknowledge and accept that his home is gone because of him, that countless lives have been ruined because of him, and that the reason he has never been able to maintain close relationships is solely his fault. But he won't. And as a result, he will always end up alone, a king of ashes.

I think Bill thought of Ford as a way to fill his emptiness because of their similarities, and possibly also because he saw Ford as a form of redemption. Ford was brilliant and good and just like Bill and Bill saw that and may have thought, if he likes me there's no way I'm a monster. in a way, Bill saw Ford as the only one worthy of killing him because if it was Ford it was just a forgone conclusion: Ford hasn't made Bill's mistakes so he is automatically "better" than Bill and Stan, so obviously he could kill Bill. but to have it be Stan means that someone who has messed up in a manner similar to Bill has the capacity to be better. and that shakes Bill to the core.

#gravity falls #the book of bill #bill cipher #grunkle stan #stanley pines #stanford pines #gravity falls meta #gravity falls stanley #gravity falls bill #gravity falls stanford

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brainrot-goes-brrrrrr · 6 months ago

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Savannah Squad Presentation Night Headcanons/Drabble [3/3]

I totally didn't forget about this, I don't know what you are talking about (I'm sorry, I suck at finishing things & I don't know how to write for these two ;_;)

Part 1: Taylor & Logan Part 2: Ben & Tyler Part 3: Aiden & Ashlyn

Start of the drabble:

Thankfully, with Aiden's good laptop, there were no more technical difficulties for the rest of the night. But that in no way means the rest of the night is calm, and that is simply because Aiden has gotten up to the front of the room drip drying while setting up his presentation. Logan is then left mopping up the previous puddle he left from when Tyler dumped the entire contents of the spray bottle on him. For the betterment of the final two presentations, and Logan's floor, the spray bottle was retired for the night.

When Aiden is finished setting up, the TV practically demands for the attention of the rest of the group for none of the right reasons. It is horrendous. Astronomically so; the title of the presentation is somehow even worse.

Aiden Clark

(off topic, looking at my old art makes me want to vomit)

You see the title. That's not the bad part. The bad part is the fact that the slideshow is like thirty slides with multiple images per slide. The worst part is the fact that it's volume one. Check this man's storage, I promise you there is absolutely nothing left.

I want you to imagine you are just in a dark room with friends only lit by the TV and a small laptop screen. Imagine that, and then imagine this flashbang of a presentation popped on screen and each slide only gets progressively worse. Aiden is capable of making good presentations, he strikes me as a more artistic type, this is poorly made on purpose. Because why not.

This presentation is pretty much just going through his camera roll, but its categorized by person and gets progressively more deranged as they're section goes on. Which means the person with the longest section gets the worst of it. Which means Tyler gets the worst of it.

Like Ash got off pretty easy, Logan too. Taylor, gets the next longest section because I can see her and Aiden enabling each other to do dumb shit (one of the videos is her stuck in a traffic cone trying to get Tyler to help her out (spoiler: he didn't)), he lives with Ben so he absolutely has material on him, mainly his shit cooking. Then there's Tyler... half of the photo's aren't even of him!!! He just made dumb ass bottom text memes. They're not even funny ;_;

Aiden put his photoshop skills to work cause he is pulling up pictures like this:

He also screenshots texts too. I want to give you examples, but everything I can think of can't be put here cause I don't want to be considered weird. It's nothing bad, it's just like teenage humor. like ironic stuff.

Just think teenage boy humor, but if it was made by a decent person and wasn't problematic. Like how people would jokingly flirt with their friends and the other person is like "bro, wtf 💀"

so the presentation is just Aiden avoiding things being thrown at him while he exposes the group

(I had to tone this down because teenage humor does not translate to written word without sounding like a creep! I'm banking on the fact that you've just seen teenagers interact with each other cause then you'd get it)

Group's Reaction

the only reaction that matter's is Tyler's and you know why. You know why.

Everyone is having a good, grand ol' time laughing at each other being dumb, then there is just Tyler being raked through the mud.

The majority of the group think "yeah, my pictures are bad, but at least I'm not Tyler".

tbf, I also headcanon that Aiden shares a PE class with Tyler so he has more material. Cause exercising is somehow more embarrassing in PE. It doesn't matter how athletic you are, no one looks good when you are struggling not to face plant when doing a wheel barrel because your partner is just hauling ass across the field.

Ashlyn Banner

I need Ashlyn to drag everyone. desperately. In good fun obviously, but it just goes to show how odd everyone really is.

These are teenagers. Even though they are in awful circumstances, they still do stupid teenage shit. This is mainly revealed in the arguments that take place during hang outs and study sessions.

Her presentation is split up by how dumb she considers each conversation. Most of the conversations involve Aiden and Taylor, not because they are dumbasses, though is does play a part, but because they enable each other's dumbassery.

Ben only makes up about a slide... for obvious reasons. Part of him is relieved, but the other part wishes that he could say more to be included.

One of her favorite moments that she put in the presentation is when she overheard Logan having to explain to Aiden that 1.) the North Pole does, in fact, exist and 2.) that it is not the same thing as Antarctica when they were doing pair work in science. It took... painfully long, for the point to reach Aiden. She's not convinced it has. (I had this argument with my friend during senior year...)

^^ The argument gets brought back up because Tyler started shitting on Aiden cause of it.

Another big chunk of the presentation is just when she caught the group baby-talking Logan's cat (he has a cat cause I said so). You'd think it be Taylor, considering her general demeanor, but Tyler's the one who talks to the cat most of the time. And the cat absolutely loves him. The cat is sitting on his lap as we speak.

Logan is a person to play first person shooter games. With mic. Need I say more. (He doesn't say anything bad, but he can shit talk. It's easier since they don't know who he is lmao).

Taylor gets off easy because everything dumb that she says is on purpose. She is absolutely the person to just go with the bit, so everything she says just goes with the flow of the group. What's that? It's because Ashlyn has more of a soft spot for Taylor! What, no! I don't know what you are talking about, Aiden. Such accusations. (he is 100% correct)

Group Reaction:

Since the presentation was pretty balanced with who got made fun of, excluding Ben (ToT), everyone's having a pretty good time.

Since Ben barely had anything in the presentation, Logan had the bright idea to scroll through this guys social media posts. Mainly twitter. He struck gold at the expense of Ben.

Regarding cat point in the presentation, Ashlyn had some videos as proof. Is Tyler embarrassed? Yes. Can he do anything about it? No, he has the cat on his lap.

#school bus graveyard #sbg #school bus graveyard webtoon #sbg (webtoon)#ashlyn banner #tyler hernandez #taylor hernandez #logan fields #aiden clark #ben clark #i might edit this later #idk why but I REALLY did not want to finish this #IDK HOW TO WRITE FOR THESE TWO

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cerastes · 1 year ago

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What's your take on MumuDoc in Lonetrail?

Muelsyse in Lone Trail felt, in many ways, like seeing someone diving in a pool, and at first, you're not alarmed. They know how to swim. You don't really think much of it. But then a minute passes, and they are still underwater. Concern sinks in, and you make your way to the pool, and as you're about to jump in, their head surfaces, they are back up. They cough, they tough it out, and are a bit nervous about diving again, but you're going in the pool with them now, and they feel more at ease.

Take this, intensify it a hundredfold, stretch it a hundredfold, and scrutinize it a hundredfold, and you end up with Muelsyse, in her barest form, like a diamond born from a chunk of charcoal that had too much pressure put on it.

I can see Muelsyse's dynamic with Doctor being romantic. I can see Muelsyse's dynamic with Doctor not being romantic. Both are fine interpretations, if you ask me, I mean, her theme song is very much a love song, and at the same time, she feels desperate to find anyone who can just... Empathize in even the slightest of ways to her. Either read is fine, outright discounting either feels a tad disingenuous.

Alienation. Complete and utter alienation, an edge sharper and more injurious than isolation. This is, if you ask me, the main theme surrounding the Rhine Lab arc and cast.

Saria is alienated. She cannot find common ground with anyone else around her for the longest time. She used to have a shared dream with Kristen, but that bridge has burned and frozen and turned to ash all over. Kristen is alienated. She simply cannot see a point to anything except that obsessive doggedly persistent dream of hers, and it has been weighted more important than her humanity. Joyce is alienated. Forever a partial prisoner in her own head, there are few and far between that will ever put up with the unique intricacies of having to deal with someone that talks like her, has sudden Oripathy attacks like her, and falls asleep on the spot seemingly at random like her, fully cognizant of how high maintenance she can be on others. Ho'olheyak is alienated. On borrowed time, without kin or friend to call her own, living for a transcending mission far bigger than her and so, so small in the overarching beats of a world that can't be bothered to stop for her. Silence. Ifrit. Dorothy. Tin Man. I could go on. Alienated, all of them. Not isolated, because isolation would imply the lack of physical company. This is far colder, far darker. It's alienation. It's seeing the other side of the cliff, and no possibility of a bridge to connect it to your end of the cliff. Isolation stings, it's a pain you know is there. Alienation drowns, because you can see the surface, but you are convinced you'll never make it there, and it's a hundredfold worse.

Muelsyse is no different. Muelsyse is alienated, and goodness she has tried and tried and tried, she swims so, so hard to reach the surface, but she can't reach it. Being in Rhine Labs necessarily means you need to resort to some cutthroat cloak and dagger, it becomes routine, all for an ultimate goal, but is that ultimate goal even possible? With every step taken by Muelsyse, it seems two new steps materialized at the end of the staircase. Everyone she's met, for years now, has either been someone looking to use her, or someone she can use for her own advantage. Usually simultaneously. And it's in this context, when the 9 to 5 becomes tricking, blackmailing, snuffing and silencing that by chance, she comes across someone, possibly the sole person, that can actually understand the sheer weight on her shoulders: Doctor, someone who doesn't own their own past, but is shackled by it, someone who has no one to relate to, someone surrounded by sufficiently similar but ultimately infinitely different people to themselves, someone who by all means should be drowning in the same pool as her, but somehow, this person reached the surface. It's very easy to see why she'd become so utterly fascinated by this person, who shares many similarities with her, and yet, who seemingly has it so good, has it so sweet. It could have easily been jealousy, but end of the day, Muelsyse IS a sweet person. Yeah, she plays it up, always so cheerful and whimsical, but end of the day, Muelsyse is playing up something that is already there in the first place. Instead of jealousy, it brought her happiness, because maybe, just maybe, she could enjoy a bit of that je ne sais quoi that Doctor seems to have in spades and she is completely bankrupt of.

The first interactions between Muelsyse and Doctor are telling of this overwhelming rush of emotion: Muelsyse less talks with Doctor and more talks at them. She vomits words, emotion, whimsy, as if trying to put these emotions into words and actions after so long, emotions that was ready to never need to put into words in the first place. It eventually becomes a dialogue between two parties, but Muelsyse's interactions with Doctor are initially extremely one-sided, and they remain one-sided to some degree even moving forward. It was heartwrenching to me, honestly, to see the sheer joy Muelsyse radiated while around Doctor, because that is an almost manic amount of joy simply from possibly finding someone that gets it. Muelsyse has not had a bridge in so, so long, and suddenly, the finds someone that not only resembles her a lot, but also seems to have bridges in spades. Muelsyse and Doctor's dynamic should never be considered in a vacuum just between the two of them: One of the first things Muelsyse saw with her own eyes was that Doctor had a pretty friendly relationship, mutual respect included, with Saria. That, is immediately very telling of Doctor, given that Muelsyse understands exactly how difficult that is. We also know Muelsyse sneaks around Rhodes Island and chats with Ifrit now and then, and Ifrit also expressly has a very high opinion of Doctor. It simply makes sense that Muelsyse would feel as enthusiastic about her Dorothy's Vision brush with Doc, and all that Lone Trail entailed: It's terribly sad, because they don't even know each other, and even then, it's the shiniest ray of hope for herself that Muelsyse has had the chance to bask in: Doctor's essence, Doctor's existence, in and of itself, is a massive beacon of hope for Muelsyse.

And it's so damn sad, that this perfect stranger is the most familiar comrade she'll ever find.

Is this romantic love? Hell, the molotov cocktail of emotions involved might as well be, either now or in potentially in the future. Is it something unhealthily dependent? Yeah... Yeah. It might just be the euphoria of knowing that she can reach the surface, after all, that bridges, too, are possible for her to have, with not underlying motive, with no ulterior motive, without needing to offer something or to extract something. To put in the most basic of terms, Doctor, to Muelsyse, might as well represent the very first person in who knows how long that she can relate to at all. It is an immensely sad emotional starvation, and she finally found something to sink her teeth onto.

This is personal, but the way Muelsyse struck me, it felt to me that when she had even the barest of handles on Doctor, she related to someone for the first time in forever, and it shook her to her very core. It may have been the first time she saw, in someone else, a potentially happy Muelsyse.

It's extremely bittersweet. If you've ever dealt with alienation, think back on the first time you found someone who truly "got you". Add to that the fact that her routine of interacting with people had become to see others as tools, and to always be on the lookout for those wishing to use and expend you as a tool. Then, add to that that there are definitely more Elves, but Muelsyse is so fundamentally different to them that the sheer differences in temperament and culture make it so it's impossible for her to relate to them anyway. What could be lonelier than that? It's called Lone Trail for a reason, because alienation is a main theme for all of these people.

In finding the sole person that could possibly relate to her in circumstance and temperament, it's easy to see where Muelsyse's interest in Doctor comes from. Whether you interpret it as romantic or otherwise, it can't be denied that this immensely strong interest exists. It comes from finally seeing a way to reach the surface after the world told her for decades that she simply could only drown. Because Doctor is the only other person that could understand her in being the last of their race and in having no past and maybe even no future, and yet, Doctor having so many bridges, while she has none. I think Muelsyse craves companionship, not necessarily romantic, from Doctor, and, this is important, also wants to have what they have, and be part of it, of so many bridges built without ulterior motives.

#arknights #muelsyse #doctor #lone trail #justintaco

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princessmaybank · 8 months ago

Text

JJ MAYBANK PLAYLIST

(This is a playlist made up of songs from all of my playlists that I think JJ would listen to or are simply just JJ coded imo. Songs will be added over time.)

Judas by Lady Gaga

Animals by Nickelback

Harder To Breathe by Letdown

Middle Finger by Bohnes

Energy by Mike's Dead

Throne by Bring Me The Horizon

Goodbye Agony by Black Veil Brides

In The End by Linkin Park

The Kill by Thirty Seconds To Mars

Dance With The Devil by Breaking Benjamin

True Friends by Bring Me The Horizon

A Love Like War by All Time Low

Empire To Ashes by Sleeping With Sirens

Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus

You Put A Spell On Me by Austin Giorgio

Stacy's Mom by Fountains of Wayne

I Miss Having Sex But At Least I Don't Wanna Die Anymore by Waterparks

Good Girls by 5 Seconds of Summer

Get Well by Icon For Hire

Agree To Disagree by Sleeping With Sirens

Check Yes, Juliet by We The Kings

Prom Queen by Molly Kate Kestner

Dear Maria, Count Me In by All Time Low

At The Wheel by Colorblind

The Devil Wears Lace by Steven Rodriguez

Another Life by Motionless In White

If I Killed Someone For You by Alec Benjamin

Addict by Don Louis

Save Your Heart by Mayday Parade

Feel Me Now by If Not For Me

Pretty by The Weeknd

Nasty (Extended Version) by Russ

Broadway Girls by Lil Durk ft. Morgan Wallen

Back To Black by Amy Winehouse

Fvck Somebody by The Wrecks

Rest In Peace by Dorothy

Like You Mean It by Steven Rodriguez

Lost In The Waves from Out Of Our Heads

the other girl by Kelsea Ballerini ft. Halsey

Villains Aren't Born (They're Made) by PEGGY

Heather by Conan Gray

She Knows It Steven Rodriguez

Jeepers Creepers by Slayloverboy

Way Down We Go by KALEO

LET THE WORLD BURN by Chris Grey

One Man Army by Sleeping With Sirens

Bulletproof by Godsmack

Outrunning Karma by Alec Benjamin

Two Shots by Goody Grace ft. gnash

I Was Made For Lovin' You by YUNGBLUD

Virus by Elijah

more songs loading.....

#outer banks #jj maybank #rudy pankow smut #rudy pankow x reader #obx fic #obx x reader #outer banks smut #jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagine #smut prompts #jj maybank playlist

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lizard-on-a-window-pane · 2 years ago

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So i was hoping to request for trope tuesday. I was thinking grumpy reader x sunshine sirius and like kinda 10 things I hate about you type storyline but obviously in your own way of course. :)

happy trope tuesday! omg i kind of adored this request, so i got a bit carried away; i hope it's not too long... it ended up being very 10 things i hate about you inspired but i just love that movie and it just kind of flowed that way... hope you enjoy!!

for my 250 Followers Writing Event!

Tropey Tuesday 🎭 trope: grumpy x sunshine, enemies to lovers-ish

pairing: Sirius Black x reader

word count: 5.9k

“C’mon, Pads, pleaaase,” James pleads for the millionth time that morning. “No. Can’t you just drop it yet? You’re starting to seriously get on my nerves,” Sirius replies, flicking ashes off his cigarette and taking another drag.

“Fucking hell. What are friends for then, huh? If not to have your back in the darkest of times?” he accuses.

“I’d hardly call taking Evans out the ‘darkest of times,’ you drama queen. I mean, you are a pretty dull date, Prongs, but don’t be so hard on yourself.” “Hilarious,” he deadpans. “But the point is there isn’t going to be a date unless her sister goes too. Their dad is mental. Thinks Lily shouldn’t be going out alone her first year at uni or something. And he’ll know if she goes; I think he can track her and Y/N’s phones or some psychotic shit like that.” “Yes, yes, you’ve mentioned it.” “Have I? Because you don’t seem to be getting it, dickhead. C’mon, I’d do it for you.” “Oh, would you? You’d go out with the most grim girl you’ve ever laid eyes on, having to worry all night she might stab you if you don’t open the door for her — or if you do actually, knowing her,” Sirius muses. “I would,” he replies certainly. “In fact, I’d do it even if I knew she would stab me. I’d take a knife for you, Black.” “Alright, easy, Prongs. I love you too, but no need to get so dramatic.”

“If you really loved me, you’d do this for me.” “You aren’t gonna let up are you?” “Not a chance.” “Fucking hell.” Sirius flicks away the butt of his cig and walks away, thinking he still had until he found you to change his mind.

You’re sitting in a courtyard outside reading, and it crosses Sirius’s mind that in the odd moments in which you didn’t look so angry, you were actually kind of… beautiful?

You’re engrossed in your book when you hear, “Hello, gorgeous.” Sirius smiles at you, taking a seat beside you, leaning close.

“Can I help you?” you shoot. “Funny you should offer,” he jests. “Yes, yes you can in fact.” You look annoyed, not amused; he’s not used to this reaction but treads on, “It would be a marvelous help actually if you’d join me on Saturday. As I’m sure you know, there’s a party. Half the uni is going, but I reckon it will be rather dull unless you’re there.” He puts on his most seductive smirk. “No, thanks.” You close your book, get up, and leave. He’s sitting there, a bit awe-struck, when he sees you simply sit back down somewhere else, in plain view of his, and continue reading.

“She’s mental,” he whispers to himself.

“I tried, Prongs. Leave it, won’t you?” he sighs exasperatedly later that afternoon.

“No, I won’t. Since when are you one to give up so easily? So she didn’t say yes right away, big deal.” “She didn’t not say yes; she said ‘no.’ Very emphatically I might add.”

“So be more charming! That usually works for you, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of that earlier. Thanks, James. Thanks so much,” he says sardonically. “I tried. It’s not as if I went up to her and didn’t try to be charming.”

“If you manage to get her to the party, I will buy you that new guitar you want so much.”

Sirius freezes. Interesting.

“You can’t afford it,” he shoots. “I can.” “You’ll back out for some idiotic loophole reason.” “I won’t.” Sirius groans and goes off again.

“I think you and I got off on the wrong foot.” You’re lying in the grass, headphones on, eyes closed. You look serene. You don’t respond. He shifts and steps closer, accidentally shielding your face from the sun. This gets your attention.

“What?” you ask, freeing one ear from your headphone, sitting up. He clears his throat and squats down in front of you.

“I said, I think you and I got off on the wrong foot.” “Oh. Didn’t hear you,” you say simply, pointing at the headphones. “Yes, I gathered.”

There is an awkward pause. It lingers.

“So…,” you say softly. “Is there something else, or…”

Bloody hell; was it just him, or did you hate everyone this much?

“What are you listening to?” he tries. “Why do you care?” you reply. You don’t sound angry, though. It comes out like a normal question; he’s just confused as to how you think it is one.

“I love music,” he says, taking a seat.

“Okay…” You look genuinely confused. “I love music too, but it doesn’t mean I give a shit what that bloke over there is listening to.” You gesture toward some guy with his headphones in too.

“Right. Well. I’m interested in music, but I’m also interested in you.” “Why?” “Are you serious?” “Do I sound like I’m joking?” “No, you sound like you’ve never had a conversation with anyone in your life.” He sounds a bit exasperated. He realizes this after the fact and internally cringes for his lack of patience, thinking it will set him back (if he’s made any progress at all) but is surprised at your lack of reaction.

“I just don’t see why you would be,” you say calmly.

He’s heard girls say similar to him many times, some out of actual insecurity, some just fishing for his compliments. Your tone is unlike any of theirs, and he’s not sure what to make of it. “You don’t see what? Why I would be interested in you?”

“Yeah. I mean, we’ve been vaguely aware of each other for a long time; had a class together and such. You never seemed interested then.” Feeling a bit more himself again, he replies smoothly, “Did you want me to be, love?”

You groan a little.

“Oh, I was dying for it,” you say, deadpan. “You were all I thought about,” you add dramatically. “I couldn’t focus on anything all day, and at night,” you lean toward him, like you’re about to tell him the deepest secret, “I’d touch myself to the thought of you.” You make a fake-scandalized expression, gasping sarcastically, then turn away as if nothing strange had just happened, turning the volume up on your music and adjusting your headphones again. You laid back down and closed your eyes, ignoring his presence beside you.

His mind had no idea which thread to chase. It was torn between dissecting how what he thought would offend you didn’t and what he thought would charm you offended you, marveling at how easily you had just joked about your wanking, or coming up with A) a way to convince James this was not happening or… (he seemed excited at the thought) B) a way to convince you to pay attention to him. While this all churned on the surface, in the back of his mind he registered the song you were listening to, which he heard in the fraction of time between your turning it up and putting your headphones back on. He loved that song.

“How’d it go with Fender?” James asks, entering their flat and plopping down onto the sofa next to Sirius.

“With what?” Sirius looks at him as though he’s gone mad. “Fender,” he repeats, as if that clarified anything. “Okay. See, the way I see it,” he pauses for dramatic effect, “is that you can think of her as your guitar. That way you’ll want her as badly as that bloody fender and you’ll get off your arse and figure it out.” “Don’t you see how that’s a little, I don’t know, objectifying?”

“Perfect, she’s rubbing off on you already; I know how much of a feminist she is. This is great; one step closer to love.” “Love?” Sirius’s disbelief is palpable. “When did this go from a meaningless date to help you out to love?” He grimaces a bit… then he grimaces a lot — but this at his realization that it wasn’t the idea of love, or even being in love with you, that made him grimace, but the idea that that didn’t even seem like a possibility.

“She’s mental, Prongs,” he says quickly, trying to distract himself. “I have no idea what to say to her, and everything I say falls flat, or worse.” “So now you know what it’s like to not look like a demigod and just have to flash a smile to get a girl’s attention. Have you ever thought about talking to her about something she likes? or something you like even. Just not vapid lines that would work regardless of who’s on the receiving end?”

Sirius squints at him and says, “I tried that, you twat. Asked her about music.” “And she didn’t like that?”

Sirius pauses, thinking back. “I don’t know,” he responds honestly.

“Well, did she seem annoyed?” “No. Not yet.” “When did she get annoyed?” Sirius winces. “When I asked her if she’d had a crush on me when we had a class together.”

James slaps the back of his head.

A few days go by, the weekend and fated party soon approaching. Sirius is out at a retro record shop in the late afternoon, and a t-shirt with the band name and logo of the group you were listening to the other day, Greta Van Fleet, catches his attention. It’s a cool shirt. And he likes them too. He’s not just thinking of getting it as a potential conversation starter for you. Truly…

He walks out of the shop, up two records and a t-shirt.

He runs a couple errands, kills a bit of time, and heads over to the campus pub to meet James and Remus. When he walks in, he’s struck by the sight of you, sitting alone in a corner booth, a pint and a book in front of you.

James comes to greet him, and he reciprocates, trying to act natural, but as soon as he gets the chance, hoping you haven’t spotted him (he’s pretty sure; he’s barely taken his eyes off of you, so he probably would’ve noticed), he dodges to the toilets, bag in hand.

When he comes back out, James asks, “Did you just change, mate?”

“Uh, yeah. Spilled something on my shirt earlier and had a spare.” James accepts this explanation as reasonable and doesn’t spend more time on it.

They get some drinks and are met by Remus, but as James heads to an empty booth, Sirius grabs his arm and drags him in the other direction. “Let’s sit over there actually.” “Why?” “Just looks more spacious.” And grants a better view of you, he doesn’t add. James looks skeptical but follows, and the three of them settle in.

Sirius is distracted, occasionally gracing the conversation with a nod of his head or a simple “oh, yeah?”

James is so caught up in a story, he doesn’t seem to notice, but Remus, ever observant, teases, “You know, if you’d rather go sit with Evans, Sirius, we won’t be offended.” James looks over, catching sight of you for the first time, a little disappointed at which Evans it was.

“What?” Sirius replies lamely.

“Oh, come on, Padfoot. You haven’t stopped staring at her since we got here.”

“Brilliant! Another chance,” exudes James.

“Another chance at what?” asks Remus. “Sirius is taking her to the party on Saturday.” “I’m not,” Sirius interjects harshly. After a beat he adds exasperatedly, looking toward Remus, “James wants me to be taking her to the party on Saturday. That way her sister will come along too and grace him with her presence.”

“You know,” James muses, “Fender doesn’t look as scary from this far away. I reckon you should go talk to her, Pads.” “Fender?” asks Remus.

“Don’t ask,” deadpans Sirius. “Well? Go on, then,” James urges. “Relax, mate. I’ll go later; just give me a minute.”

“Are you… nervous?” “Oh, and you wouldn’t be? After she’s rejected you twice in one week?” “Oh, I definitely would be, but you? It’s shocking. This might have a few upsides beyond my date with Lily. I like seeing you flustered.” “I’m not flustered,” Sirius shoots defensively. “I’m just trying to have a drink with my mates without all the nagging, alright? Is that too much to ask?”

“Yes,” James jokes but has mercy on him and continues his conversation with Remus after a threatening, “We’ll come back to this” and a grin.

Sirius is watching you when the song in the pub changes. You smile a little bit, and he hates how it makes his heart flutter. When the lyrics start, your mouth moves along with them, singing under your breath, and you move a bit with the music. You look beautiful lost in your own world like that. Just then, you look up, and your eyes meet his. They widen, and you freeze, looking a bit embarrassed. He wants to look away but braves on, holding your gaze and attempting to smile in greeting. You give a strained smile in response and look down shyly. It’s a strange look on you, timid. Sirius is not surprised to find it suits you, but he is surprised to find that he misses snarky and strong on you.

You look back again as if you couldn’t help it, and he catches your glance go down toward his shirt. Yes, he thinks. God, is this how most people normally feel? He feels pathetic, trying so hard to look interesting in front of you, wondering whether you could like him. Your attention is pulled away by the arrival of your sister, and when you stand up and hug her, he sees you smile brightly for the first time. It’s blinding.

“Heads up, Prongs,” he says, not looking away from you. James follows his gaze, and his hand instinctively goes to his hair. Remus scoffs amusedly.

You both look over, and James awkwardly pulls his hand from his hair and waves at Lily. She gives a giddy laugh and waves back. She turns to you and whispers something, and you shake your head vehemently in response. You start to argue in loud whispers that are still too far away to make out, but eventually Lily just rolls her eyes, looks back over, and gestures for the boys to join you. You look furious.

James doesn’t skip a beat, grabbing his drink and heading over with a confident, “Come on then.”

He pushes Sirius into the booth on your side and slides in next to Lily, Remus sliding in after him, ending up on his other side. Lily, James, and Remus start up an easy chat, but you and Sirius stay quiet. He feels tense, his palms probably sweaty, and the feeling is quite foreign to him. He fiddles with his glass in front of him, not looking sideways at you. “Nice shirt,” you say softly.

He looks down, as if he doesn’t know exactly what shirt he’s wearing, then looks up at you, responding “thanks” in his best attempt at a casual tone. “You like them?” he adds, knowing the answer.

You nod. “A lot actually.” “Me too.” “Clearly,” you laugh a little, nodding toward his shirt, and he loves the sound of it. “Why else would you wear this shirt?’ Why else indeed.

“Yeah,” he laughs, a bit strained still but starting to loosen up.

“You seem different,” you say. Again with the directness. He needs to learn how to handle it better for future conversations. He catches himself in this thought and can’t help but register his high hopes for the existence of said future conversations.

“Do I?” “Yeah. I don’t know. You seem…” You seem a bit lost for words then finish, “like the acoustic version to your regular electric.”

His eyebrows go up, surprised at such phrasing, followed closely by the corners of his lips, intoxicated by it. He doesn’t know what to say, and for the first time, that seems like the beginning of potentially beautiful possibility instead of just an obstacle to overcome as soon as possible. He’s never been so at peace with not saying anything. He just smiles.

You smile too, and into the quiet space he’s created, whisper, “I like it.” He can’t help his smug smirk at this; he’s still himself after all, but it’s more teasing than before, and this time when you roll your eyes, you lips don’t lose their smile.

You shift a bit, listening to whatever your sister is saying then tense up suddenly. Sirius has been so distracted just watching you, he has no idea what was said that stressed you out so much. He finally pays attention to try to piece it together. “Right, Y/N?” Lily asks. “Umm,” you don’t answer. “That’s brilliant, right, Sirius?” James says now. “Sorry, what’s brilliant?” “Y/N. Going to the party Saturday,” he responds. Sirius looks inquisitively at you.

“I never said I was going,” you say, your demeanour back to its regular grumpy one. “In fact, I wasn’t planning to,” you finish with some finality. Lily leans into your shoulder, making puppy dog eyes at you. “But you’ve reconsidered just for me, right? Pleeeaasee, Y/N, pleeaasee.”

You roll your eyes and bump her off of you but don’t say anything. You opt to take a swig of your drink instead despite the four pairs of eyes still intently watching you. Sirius has the odd sensation that that somehow actually doesn’t affect you, being seen, and it fascinates him. You don’t even look like you’re considering anymore when Lily bumps your shoulder with hers and fake-whispers, “pleeeaaaseee.”

You roll your eyes again, but give in with a simple, “fine.”

“Ah!! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Lily chants, wrapping her arms around you and kissing your cheek between her praises. You’re grimacing; James is beaming.

Saturday rolls around, and James and Sirius are finishing getting ready to go. Sirius is searching the messy living room for his leather jacket as he says, “No, mate, I’ll just meet you there.” “What are you talking about? Of course you should walk her there.” “She never said she was going with me. She just said she’d go. I don’t know why she’d expect — or want — me to show up at her flat.” “Just ask her.” “Don’t have her number.”

James takes his out of his pocket, types something, waits a moment. A ding sounds; he sends another message, and now Sirius’s phone sounds. He opens it to a text from James with your phone number. “Just asked Lily,” James says smugly. Sirius rolls his eyes and plops onto the sofa, debating, spinning his phone in his hand.

“What do I say?” “Figure it out, playboy,” James says as he goes back into his room, probably to check his hair again.

Sirius starts typing a message.

hey, Y/N, it’s sirius… how are you? What am I, fifty? he thinks to himself, shaking his head. He erases the how are you?, replacing it with lily gave james your number then james gave it to me. Fucking hell. He erases that too.

He writes, hey Y/N, it’s sirius… do you want me to come with james to get you and lily? and hits send before he can overthink it.

He tosses his phone to the side, but he can’t stop looking over at it, and his leg is bouncing up and down rapidly. He’s wringing his hands together, fiddling with his rings when his phone vibrates. He snatches it up immediately, opening it to find one word from you: sure. Good enough, he thinks, and there’s an energy to his step he didn’t have before as he grabs his jacket, saunters to James’s room, and drags him out of the flat.

As you follow Lily out the door, Sirius swallows hard. You look stunning. Lily is all made up, her face looking much more perfect than most days, her heels looking like they’ll hurt after one block. Your look is more low-key. Your eyeliner makes your eyes even more striking than usual, but you still look like yourself. You’re wearing a classic pair of converse that look cool with your long leather coat.

“Hey,” he greets when you’re standing in front of him.

“Hey,” you say back. You sway from the heels of your feet to your toes a bit then you both turn to walk behind James and Lily, who have their arms wrapped around each other and are already talking animatedly.

The first few minutes of the walk are completely silent between the two of you. Though it’s strangely not awkward, Sirius wants to talk to you, just doesn’t know where to start. He decides to just dive into the deep end. “What’s it like not caring what people think about you? Just saying what you want to say, or,” he chuckles at the current situation, “not saying anything?” You look at him seriously for a moment, considering him.

“I care what some people think about me. Just not everyone. And especially not random guys just because they’re attractive, and I’m supposed to put in some big effort to make myself attractive to them. I have better things to use, even better things to waste, my time and energy on.” You shrug.

“What’s your favourite waste of time?” he asks, grinning, his eyebrow raised in curiosity. You’re looking down in front of you, but he can see you smile.

“Um, funky question. Because I guess it’d be music. Getting high and just lying there listening to it, feeling it,” you laugh. “But that hardly seems like a waste.” You’re cheerful, and it’s addicting. Sirius laughs and says, “Hardly sounds like a waste at all. Sounds brilliant.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, still smiling. “How about yours?”

“Hm. I don’t know. Can’t just copy your answer, can I?” “Nope,” you pop.

“Damn. Well, in that case, I’ll go with just hanging out with James and Remus, not really doing much in particular.”

You nod. “Hardly sounds like a waste at all.” You smile at each other and chuckle.

When you get to the party, music is blasting, and it’s already full of people, many of whom seem to be drunk already. Sirius catches you looking around with a huge grimace on your face, and he finds it adorable. “Your favourite way to spend a Saturday night?” he asks cheekily, having to lean close due to the noise. You look at him and roll your eyes, but there’s a trace of a smile on your lips.

Several people greet Sirius, and he laughs and jokes with them. He’s clearly great at being the life of the party. You’ve already lost track of James and Lily. Hoping she’s having fun, you just hang back near Sirius, not engaging with his friends. No matter how glad he seems to see someone, though, he always comes back to you.

“You don’t have to linger, you know. I’ll be fine by myself.” “It’s everyone else I’m worried about. Given the murderous look on your face,” he laughs, though he can’t ignore the sting of the word “linger.”

You scoff but seem amused. “Besides,” he adds more quietly, “I want to be with you.”

“Okay,” you smile. “Okay,” he confirms happily.

As the night goes on, you actually chat more and more easily. Commentary on the DJ’s (usually subpar) performance helps. You’re laughing together, and his hopes are high that you’re having a good time. “I actually like this one,” you say, wincing in amused embarrassment when a dancey pop song comes on.

“Wanna dance?” he asks excitedly.

“Um, I’m not much of a dancer,” you admit. “That’s alright. Me neither. Fancy it anyway?”

You bite your lower lip, considering, before nodding.

He takes your hand and guides you between crowds of people to the area functioning as a dance floor. You stand close to each other, face to face, and it takes some time to get into the rhythm. Sirius finds you adorable as you cover your face with your hand, laughing at yourself. He grabs your hand, uncovering your face, and spins you. You laugh and put your other hand on his shoulder when you’re facing him again. He puts his hand on your hip, and you two move with the music, letting go. You dance a few more songs before you lean into his ear to say something. The contact shoots a thrill down his spine. “Wanna get some air? I’m getting really warm in here,” you semi-yell. He nods and grabs your hand again, walking with you out onto the quieter, emptier patio. You take a deep breath and sigh in contentment at the fresh air, leaning on your forearms on the porch ledge. You look lovely all flushed.

“What?” you ask, laughing lightly. “What?” he repeats, smiling but uncertain. “You’re looking at me funny.” He’s debating telling you the truth, telling you it’s because he thinks you’re beautiful, when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He just shakes his head casually as he goes to check it. He sees an unimportant message and just puts his phone down on the ledge in front of you both. You just stand there quietly with each other, shoulder to shoulder, and he fucking loves it. He feels at peace and excited simultaneously.

“Mind if I smoke?” he asks you, reaching into his pocket.

“Not as much as your lungs,” you retort. He gives you a “very funny” look. “I don’t mind,” you say more softly. He pulls out his cigs but keeps digging in his pockets. “Shit, forgot my lighter. Gonna go steal one from anyone I know real quick. Be right back,” he says, bumping your shoulder with his. You nod happily.

You’re standing there alone when his phone lights up in front of you.

A text from James reads, saw you sneak off with fender 👀 looks like you oughtta be grateful instead of annoyed in the end

Followed quickly by one from Remus, okay can one of you please explain the nickname now? it’s weird

James again, i promised sirius i’d buy him that fender he keeps going on about if he suffered a date with Y/N for me

Your stomach drops, and you feel like you’re going to be sick, your ears ringing with more than the after-effects of the loud music.

Sirius comes back, putting his hand on your lower back with a sweet “hey.”

You grab his phone, shove it in his chest, and seethingly say, “Fuck you, Black. Hope you didn’t have to suffer too much.” Your shoulder shoves him aggressively as you storm off.

He looks at his phone, and pure horror courses through him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he keeps repeating as he speeds after you through the crowds. He doesn’t catch up until you’re a good way down the street away from the party.

“Y/N! Wait! Please wait a second,” he calls, out of breath, as he reaches you, grabbing your forearm to try to turn you toward him. His heart shatters at the sight that meets him. You’re crying.

You yank your arm away from him and spit out, “Leave me alone.”

“Please. Please just let me explain. I wanted to be with you tonight. Please,” he pleads, walking fast to keep up with you.

“Oh, fuck off. You don’t have to keep it up anymore; your friend got what he wanted.” “It’s not like that, okay? You can ask him if you want! He’ll tell you I wanted you to come with me; he’ll tell you I like you.” “I’m sure he’ll tell me whatever you want him to, Black, but I’m really not interested. Please just leave me the fuck alone.” You start walking faster, and he stops dead in his tracks. He doesn’t know what he could possibly say, and he just stands there in the middle of the road, the worst feeling he’s ever felt weighing him down to the spot.

You’re back in your flat, still crying, when your phone buzzes.

Y/N

please

can we please talk?

it’s not what you think

i really want to talk to you

please

You put it on silent and toss it away.

You wake up with puffy eyes and four missed calls from Sirius from last night and another three from this morning. You delete the notifications and go take a shower, blasting your music.

You get dressed carelessly, grab your bag, and shove your headphones on. You meet Lily in the living room on the way out, and she looks concerned. She tries to stop you, but you just say “I’m fine” and hurry out the door.

You walk to a nearby park, a favourite spot of yours, and roam around for a while, hoping unsuccessfully to drown out your feelings in the music and movement. You sit down at a bench and take out your book. After reading the same sentence about ten times, you slam it shut and shove it back in your bag. You just sit there, and you’re struggling to keep the tears away as you let yourself replay your emotions from last night. You lie down on the grass, listening to your music again and shutting your eyes tight. After a while, it suddenly gets darker behind your eyelids, and you open your eyes to see what’s blocking the sun. Fuck. You’ve got to tell Lily to stop giving your phone number and probable locations to arseholes.

Sirius is standing above you, a desperate look on his face. He squats down and grabs your hands as you move to grab your things, clearly planning to leave.

“Wait, Y/N. Please wait. I’m begging you.”

“What do you want?” you ask harshly, taking your headphones off.

“Just to talk to you. Please. Please let me apologize.” “You’ve apologized. Now leave me alone.” You turn away from him again and get up.

“No, that’s not it. I want to make things right. You have to understand.” “Understand what exactly?” “I like you. I really like you. I think about you all the time; I want to spend more time with you.” “Another instrument in it for you?” you say scathingly. “No, no, of course not. That guitar thing was stupid. Really. It was really fucking stupid, and it was before we’d ever even talked! Well, you’d said a total of six words to me, but still, I had no idea how much I’d want to keep trying to get you to give me a chance without any other incentive.” You don’t say anything, but you also don’t go to leave, and Sirius sees this as serious progress. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I was a complete and total idiot to ever even entertain the idea, but it was just a silly thing before anything else happened.” “And what exactly is it that you think happened?” Your arms are crossed, and you still look like you want to murder him.

“I saw how fucking incredible you are. And I got it in my head that the thing I want most in the world is a chance to keep seeing how incredible you are. Let’s see. What else happened? I bought a t-shirt just to get your attention; I made a fool of myself in front of my friends from how nervous I was to talk to you; I lost sleep thinking about everything you’d ever said to me, and how you’re like no one I’ve ever met; I wrote and rewrote the simplest message last night like a lovestruck idiot because I was dying for you to say you wanted to see me. Then what else? Oh, right, and correct me if I’m wrong here because this is where you come in: then I had a fucking brilliant time with you last night. I dreamt of wasting time with you, of getting to dance with you again, of making you laugh even though you’re gorgeous even when you look cross — like right now by the way — I even dreamt of sitting in silence with you for fuck’s sake.” He was out of breath by the time he finished his speech.

“How’d you know I liked Greta Van Fleet?” “What?” “I assume that’s the shirt you bought to get my attention. How’d you know I liked them?” “That’s what you’re asking me right now?” “Yes.” “Fucking hell, Y/N.” A beat. “I could hear it from your headphones that second day you blew me off.” You just nod, still looking solemn.

“You’re not,” you say after a moment.

“Not what?”

“Wrong. About last night. You know, its being brilliant. Before… well, before —”

“Before I cocked it all up with silly games I never should’ve played in the first place,” he interrupts. “Before my stomach fucking flipped at reading those messages and my heart broke at seeing you…,” he swallows the knot in his throat, “at making you cry.” He ventures a step toward you, and you don’t move away, just tighten your grip on yourself and look down. “I’m so so sorry I did, Y/N. And I’ll make it up to you if you’ll let me.” He puts a hand on your cheek, caressing you softly. His other hand comes to your arms, uncrossing them and intertwining your fingers with his. He steps a bit closer and speaks more softly as he asks, “What do you say, love?”

You stay silent for a few seconds then say, “Okay.” He scoffs in relief and disbelief, chuckling.

“I just poured my heart out to you, and all you say is ‘okay’?”

“Yes,” you say, but after a second, a subtle smile lightens your features. He barks a laugh.

“I’ll take it,” he says, kissing your forehead. He lingers there a moment, still caressing your cheek, his lips hovering at your hairline, and when he leans back, he stays very close to your face, looking down at your lips. You push your chin up, bringing your faces even closer together. He smiles at this and closes the shrinking gap.

Your kiss tastes like possibility, and as Sirius shifts, deepening it, he’s not surprised to find your tongues fall into rhythm with each other as easily as your bodies did on the dance floor last night.

You clutch his jacket, pulling him closer as he envelops your mouth with his, the warmth of it coursing from where you’re connected down through your entire body.

He leans his forehead against yours when you break apart. He gives your nose a peck then, your fingers still intertwined, says, “So. What do you want to do now?” “I don’t know.” Not letting go of his hand, you grab your stuff and start walking with him. “Maybe we can waste time. Or sit in silence.” He squints at you.

“Are you taking the piss?”

“Yeah, a little bit, yeah,” you grin guilty.

He’s laughing, shaking his head, as he sarcastically says, “We’ll see when I make the effort of giving you another romantic speech.”

“I can’t wait to hear it,” you say, squeezing his hand and kissing his cheek.

#marauders #10 things i hate about you #marauder x reader #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius black one shot #james potter #lily evans #remus lupin #james x lily #angst #fluff #enemies to lovers #grumpy x sunshine #fanfiction #reader insert #ria250

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chiss-ticism · 5 days ago

Text

OC Deep Dive: Judith "Moody Judy" Margolis

🩸Brujah Antitribu. Pack Ductus. Convention of Thorns historian. Anarch infiltrator. Remover for the Black Hand. 🩸

I was tagged [three days ago now, lmao] by @kentuckycaverats. Tysm! 'twas very kind for you to include me :D

🎨Art masterfully drawn by @/crownedinmarigolds!! 🎨

💣 Judy's Main Post. 💥

what common/uncommon fear do they have?

Ghosts! - Camarilla elders? Manageable. - Lupines? Maybe not an easy fight, but manageable with sufficient enough preparation and cold bodies to put between you and them. - Antediluvians? When we get there. But ghosts? I find that the mental image of a battle-hardened, 'Know No Fear' 2x Death Cultist with a fear of ghosts brings me no small amount of joy 😌 "The fuck am I supposed to do against a Wraiths?" She sulks in the far flung recesses of my mind, malding about an explicable inability to punch or politic her way out of the problem.

do they have any pet peeves?

Brujah. The whole clan. Main clan, Antitribu. It hardly matters. Why? She despises the hot-headed, always-needs-to-be-in-charge, 'only I know the way forward'-ness of her broodmates. The Anarchs - helmed in no small part by arrogant ""philosopher kings"" who can't even agree on what it even means to be an Anarch beyond criticisms of the system as-is - are trying to play at the Jyhad two steps behind everyone else. The Antitribu are, by and large... how did Gehenna: Time And Judgement put it? "better suited to stabbing itself in the eye and setting itself on fire than... well, anything of actual value." Those seeking refuge within the gilded cage of the Camarilla aren't even worthy of a passing thought. You see, my friend, you simply have to follow the hot-headed death cultist who, none too dissimilar to an Evil Advisor™, humbly whispers in the ears of Barons and Anarch Councilmembers to get anything of value done! 😌

what are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

1.) A necklace infused with her sire's ashes. 2.) A three-ring binder full of rough drafts [speeches, dissertations on Cainite history, her attempts at learning other languages, etc.]. It only seems organized to her eye. 3.) A cardboard box overflowing with CDs from the late 90s to the early 2000s.

what do they notice first in a person?

How willing they are to underestimate their allies and opponents! She, in spite of genuinely enjoying the hallmarks of her aesthetic, also uses it as a litmus test for those who're unfamiliar with her positioning as a member of the highly vaunted [and/or feared, depending on who you are] Black Hand or even, simply, as a member of the Boogeyman that is the Sabbat. Dressing [and sometimes behaving] like Jesse Pinkman is not - in most situations - likely to command immediate respect. Do they presume her to be a rowdy neonate who is simply pushing her luck? Noted. Do they treat her with cautious apprehension? Curious...

on a scale of 1-10 how high is their pain tolerance?

I'd wager a solid 7-8, given: - She's dead. While only Ida - her Tzimisce Pack Priest - has completely deadened her nerves, being clinically dead has to count for something. - Black Hand training. - Black Hand training at the hand of Teresita "Godmother of the Damned", a Nosferatu Antitribu who claims residence in Mexico City. A relevant quote for you: "You call neonates and your Black Hand soliders "darling child" (niño querido) and similar endearments as you pinch cheeks, tidy their clothes, and crush the bones of anyone who fails you." [Mexico City by Night, p. 81] (Revised Edition sourcebook.)

do they go into fight or flight mode (or freeze or fawn) when under pressure?

Fight! I wish that I could attribute it to her being a Brujah but, no, she's always been like this. She's always been fond of biting people, too.

what animal represents them best?

A Pit Bull, I'd wager. Not Mr. Worldwide.👨‍🦲

how would a stranger likely describe them?

Knowledgeable. Arrogant. Malicious. Context - Obvious Predator [2 pt. Flaw, V20]: "Your innate Brujah rage always percolates below the surface no matter how hard you try to project an image of calm. Mortals find you intrinsically menacing, and instinctively fear you for the violence you promise to unleash."

do they have any hobbies?

Most of her time is spent tending to co-opting Anarchs or guiding her Pack, but when she has a moment to herself she prefers to spend it: - When the Sabbat has a High Holiday that involves re-enacting historical events or scenes from the Book of Nod, she loves to act as an advisor! - Learning languages. [albeit still in service to the Black Hand.] - Stockpiling of homemade explosives. - Refreshing herself on Cainite history. - Performing Pack Ritae with, well, her Pack. Those Lupines aren't going to dog-tag themselves! - She spends an inordinate amount of time at ""gentlemen's clubs."" 💃

#My OCs #Moody Judy Tag #If you would like to participate - PLEASE DO!!#And @ me when you do! I would like to read them.

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fiction-box · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! I would like to request F!Reader x Felix

It is the Winter Ball. One of them is weary of the dancing, the crowds and the merriment and decides to take refuge in the Training Grounds - only to find that the other had the exact same idea. They decide to do something that's more fun than dancing - a sparring match. Bonus points if reader is wearing a fancy gown the whole time.

Whenever your time allows - thank you in advance!

You are very welcome, and I would like to thank you for being respectful of my time.

I seem to be on a roll with these longer stories. I don't know why - more ideas just keep pouring into my head, and of course I want to do every conflict justice.

Thank you for giving me freedom with perspective! I wanted to write something from the view of Felix since I had yet to truly write for him.

Requests are open. The story will continue under the cut.

You stood by yourself on the sidelines of the great hall, your purple dress sparkling against the downward lighting of the chandeliers. There was nothing particularly interesting about you right now; you simply surveyed the dancers on the checkered floor. Dimitri led Mercedes through an elegant twirl, Ingrid talked Ashe through the steps of the waltz, Annette and Sylvain engaged in a heated discussion over something that probably wouldn’t matter in about fifteen minutes…

…and Felix was staring at you.

The swordsman had refused to do any more than the bare minimum for the ball. That meant that despite his suit - one required by the Archbishop’s insipid dress code - his hair remained up off his neck, and his back pressed against the wall.

Dorothea had been making eyes at him from across the room for the past three minutes now. Felix told himself that was the reason he kept staring at you. If he and the songstress never made eye contact, she wouldn’t do anything stupid. Besides, she didn’t seem interested in asking anyone to dance; the brunette would only be accepting such invitations tonight.

Why the hell did he even care?

He didn’t, but he followed your line of sight to Dimitri. The boar switched partners to lead Hilda around the floor, an exchange initiated by the up-tempo of the cello and Mercedes’ apparent request for a break.

Why the hell did you even care?

…did you-?

“Jeez Felix, you’re so obvious.”

Sylvain.

“Trying to find the courage to ask her to dance?” the redhead teased. “I could help you out, you know. I’ve heard I’m an excellent wingman.”

“Do I look like I’m interested in moving right now? And since when have you ever helped anyone but yourself?”

“Ouch. I mean, you’re certainly not helping yourself- your suit coat will get wrinkled if you keep leaning against the wall like that.”

“As if I care!” Felix pushed off the wall to contest Sylvain at his full height. He did care. “There’s no point in this - we shouldn’t even be having a ball right now.”

“No- No- No- Hey look, no sweat, okay?” Sylvain verbally backpedaled, putting an arm around his friend’s shoulder to guide him toward the refreshments. Subtly, he ran his hand along the wrinkles of his coat to smooth them out as they walked, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but soirées like these don’t happen very often.”

“So?”

“So, you have just as good a reason to be here as everyone else in this room. You can wait however long you want before asking anyone you want to dance, but it’s pretty frowned upon to return to a party once you leave, you know?”

The heir of Gautier knew him too well. Nonetheless, he did make a good point. There was no need to rush to be flustered - he probably had an hour before the final dance of the night.

A drink found his hand, and the two nobles took up a space several paces away from the table. Felix couldn’t stop his eyes from searching for your shimmering gown.

You were still standing alone, still watching the dancers.

At least your eyes weren’t fixed on the boar this time. The son of Count Gloucester glided a blue-haired lady across the floor, her dress trumpeting as he gracefully led her back and forth. Your attention followed their sweeping motions.

Maybe you really did just want to dance.

His classmate’s hand came to rest on his shoulder again, “I’m just saying, you hate to see it, Felix. A beautiful girl like that, standing all by herself. You better make a move before someone else does - or before I take too much pity on her and ask her myself.”

He had called you a girl, “Stay away from her.”

“I’ll put in a good word for you, kay?”

But he headed the opposite direction. The bluenette watched him connect with a pouting Dorothea, immediately starting some banter he was sure he couldn’t care less about.

Felix found himself growing impatient, despite everything his friend said moments ago. If he was going to do this, he might as well get it over with now. That way the two of you would either get as much time as possible to spend together, or he could end his attendance at this event because the one reason for which he cared to stay wanted nothing to do with him.

Only, there was no place to put his drink.

Since you were standing by the southern entrance, and he loitered near the drinks at the western wall, you could see him out of your peripheral. That meant you could catch him too easily if he were to look at you again. Not that it wasn’t already considered rude to stare.

Taking a sip of the cool, vanilla drink, his mind began to think it through a bit. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to make eye contact. It would give him an excuse to approach you.

And another thing - although you hadn’t been alone the whole ball, you hadn’t been approached by any men, either. Even working to put his bias out of the way, you were objectively attractive. It didn’t-

Goddess, and you belonged to a house in the kingdom, too. A young, available, attractive noblewoman standing by herself at - judging the crowd - the largest social event of the season.

A mumbled ‘What the hell…?’ parted his lips as he surveyed the room again. He might actually understand Sylvain, for once. Logically, this whole scenario didn’t connect.

Finally finishing his drink and handing off the glass, he found it in himself to turn to face you.

You were not there.

His heart skipped a beat before his gaze scanned the dance floor for your dress, your hair, anything. Upon coming up empty, his mind shoved one thought to the front of his mind.

You left the ball.

Again, why? There were too many important people here for you to just up and leave. You hadn’t tried to mingle this whole time, content with simply watching everyone else twirl about the floor. Then, the moment he became too preoccupied with his drink and with Sylvain to pay attention, you vanished.

In light of recent events, it looked like Felix was about to copy you.

With no further reason to stay, he tried not to make a show of striding to the southern entrance. The last thing he wanted was for someone to chase him out or call him back in, especially if that person had red hair or…or connections to the Mittelfrank Opera Company.

His feet instinctively wound the path to the training grounds. He needed to blow off some steam and get out of his head so he could get some proper rest tonight. Even so, if his mind wouldn’t relent, he would work his body so hard that he’d sleep as soon as he finished bathing himself.

Music trailed him, but it couldn’t compete with the creak of the doors to the training grounds. Once the door shut behind him, Felix was well and truly alone. The notes of the orchestral violins couldn’t penetrate the thick wood and metal, and no one else had any reason to come here tonight.

Still, his actions quickly caught up with him. What was he doing here? Why did it feel like he was running away?

Get a grip.

He wasn’t running away, he just wasn’t wasting time, either. Heading to the rack, Felix grabbed a steel sword. It didn’t matter which one, so long as it was heavy.

The sand of the center pit caved beneath his feet. There was no need for a training dummy to warm up. Routinely, Felix swung the sword over his head. His arms needed to be steady even while his attacks retained momentum and strength.

…10…11…12…

Any time a thought of the ball wormed its way into his head, Felix would shove it out. No point in dwelling on his failure to act - the two of you were far too young for anything serious to happen. No need to worry about Sylvain finding you - after what he said earlier, there was no way he would leave all the other ladies in that room for the one he knew Felix was interested in. He knew Sylvain that well, at least.

…57…58…59…

Why the hell wasn’t this working? Usually he could focus on this. This one thing that belonged to him, that he had done endlessly before that insufferable ball, and that he would continue to endlessly pursue after it. His training should belong to him! This was supposed to be how he grounded himself.

Felix was having a very difficult nig-

The doors to the entrance groaned, a delicate piano solo floating in through the opening as the moonlight guided a figure into the facility.

Upon recognition of the shimmer of your gown, the swordsman lowered the weapon from above his head.

…82…?

Thoughtful of the ongoing formal, you pivoted around the door, slowly and mindfully closing it in an apparent attempt to make as little noise as possible. Finally, you exhaled and turned to the center of the grounds.

“Oh- I- Sorry! Sorry, I’ll go.”

But your eyes hadn’t adjusted to the light of the torches from the darkness outside, so your eyelashes fluttered as you reached past the door.

“No need,” Felix frowned. “You chose to come here, I don’t own the place.”

“Wait, Felix?” you marveled, turning back around only to blink against the light again. “I didn’t recognize you. I thought you were someone on maintenance.”

What. “What kind of maintenance staff wears a suit?”

“I didn’t get a good look, okay?” you defended, your eyes finally staying open and guiding you to where he currently stood.

Being this close to you now…it felt strange. Your makeup had been expertly applied, supposedly with help from Mercedes and Annette, the tailoring of your dress was much more obvious…

“But why are you here? You’re dressed for the ball, and I remember seeing you when I walked in.”

“You first,” he countered. “What did you think you were going to accomplish here in an evening gown?”

That caught you off guard. Your eyes found a spot on the ground beside you before trailing to the wall.

“I don’t know. I didn’t really have a plan. I’m not even sure why I’m here - I just feel like I’m supposed to be.”

His eyes narrowed, “What, are you trying to trick me into thinking this was fated or something?”

Your gaze drew back to him, confusion etched across your face.

“What?”

“Sylvain must have said something to you then, is that it?”

But you only looked more lost than you did before, “I’m sorry, I don’t follow. Sylvain and I haven’t spoken since…” your line of sight shifted above his head and slightly to the side, “…two days ago…? Professor Byleth puts us on stable duty every few days.”

The bluenette’s knuckles turned white as he clenched the hilt of his sword. Sylvain never said anything about this. Felix had no clue you were spending so much time together.

“Forget it,” he insisted, “you’re here, so we might as well do something productive. Spar with me.”

“In an evening gown? You practically said it yourself, I can’t do anything wearing this.”

Goddess save him, he did not know how to handle this situation. In terms of guiding the conversation, he did not think this through. There didn't seem to be a way for him to keep changing the subject or coming up with an idea for you to stay here, either.

All his defense mechanisms were failing, and he was becoming frustrated.

“Okay, your turn,” you crossed your arms, saving him for a moment. “Why did you leave the ball to come here?”

“There wasn’t a reason for me to stay, anymore.”

Some of the light in your eyes dimmed, just enough for him to catch it happening. Just enough to make him wonder why.

“Hang on,” he recovered, “you know I left to come here.”

“That’s not a question,” you affirmed.

“But you didn’t leave to come here. So why weren’t you at the ball?”

Your brows furrowed slightly, “I was at the ball-“

“No, you left before I did,” he asserted. “What were you doing in the time before you arrived here?”

Perhaps he was revealing too much. It shouldn’t matter anyway, and a normal person wouldn’t care this much. Even so, if you wanted to say you were just “called to be here”, he could reasonably contest that any information was up for grabs.

The way you stared at him had a way of making his neck warm. It was like you thought the answers were hidden in his eyes, your gaze focused as you supposedly retraced your night.

“Well, I did leave the ball for a little bit…” you recalled slowly.

After allowing you a moment, he pressed a bit, “Why?”

“Oh- Well, um…I needed to use the ladies’ room? At least, that’s the only other time I can remember leaving.”

The ladies’ room…?

Goddess, he was such a fool.

It was his turn to turn his head to the side, “I see.”

If his eyes could have burned the sand, the whole pit would be glass right now.

His thoughts were quickly interrupted. Out of the corner of his eye, Felix noticed you slipping off your shoes.

“What are you doing?”

“Well,” you started, kicking the raised flats to the side before picking up a training lance from where someone had discarded it, “this dress doesn’t have sleeves, and I figured that if I took my shoes off, it would be easier to move. The slit up my leg should keep me mobile enough, so long as I don’t have to run.”

Damn, you were actually going to do this.

You lowered into a fighting stance upon returning to the pit opposite him. A smile lighting up your face.

“The sand feels so weird. It makes me wonder if this is what the beach feels like.”

But the two of you lived in Faerghus your whole lives, so he couldn’t tell you.

“Don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you’re dressed differently.”

“Right, then let’s get started.”

You looked prepared to assume the defensive position; a smart move, considering that too much movement might mean you would slip on the long fabric of your clothing.

Felix far from opposed. He was used to being the offense, anyway.

Placing one foot in front of the other, he crossed the grounds and held his sword up to strike. Quick and easy - the point would go to him before you could even-

Your eyes widened, “Felix, wait! Don’t-!”

He hadn’t registered your words fast enough to stop himself. Intuitively, you held your lance up to defend yourself, and that’s when Felix realized what you were so worried about.

The weapon he was using wasn’t meant for sparring.

Breaking above your head, the wooden pole of your lance gave in. Felix stumbled forward, fighting for his balance as you rolled to the side in an attempt to protect your head.

He hissed, cursing himself for making such an amateur (and deadly) mistake, “Damn, my bad.”

“Goddess,” he heard you breathe, your eyes wide from your position on the ground, “I thought I was about to die.”

That was a thought. His eagerness to train and avoid an awkward encounter with you nearly...well, it wouldn’t have been pretty.

Leaving you to get yourself up, he moved to trade the steel sword for a wooden one. The noble also elected to take off his blazer and leave it behind, giving his arms better range of motion.

Turning back around, he noticed you were still struggling to rise to your feet.

“Seriously? It can’t be that hard.”

But just watching you made him want to take it back. The sand had become uneven from when you dodged toward the ground, and your dress kept finding its way under your feet whenever you tried to stand. Whenever you pooled the fabric out of the way in one area, it only gathered in another to slide under you. Not to mention that after so much struggle, the yellow grains were all over your skin and gown. It looked uncomfortable, at best.

Frowning, Felix approached, “Hang on.”

With your consent, he placed his hands at your waist and lifted you to the point you could stand again. You thanked him, a light flush on your cheeks that he tried not to think too hard about.

“I’d say that was embarrassing,” you started, “but considering I very nearly earned a trip to Manuela a moment ago, I don’t think I should care.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Nothing bad came of it, so I don’t mind. Still, you should work on your etiquette.”

The swordsman raised a brow, “Excuse me?”

“You left me to fend for myself in the sand for two minutes while you went to exchange your sword and take off your coat. It’s like I’m not even here,” you teased, approaching the training racks. “And then not only did you prioritize your sword over helping me, but you couldn’t even grab me a new lance.”

“I’m here to fight, nothing else. If you have a problem with that, no one’s forcing you to stay.”

In all fairness, you were right. He was too wrapped up in being with you to register that he was about to hurt you, and then he was too worried about how he almost hurt you to remember to help you back up again.

Why was he so bad at this?

Thankfully, you seemed to ignore the more bitter parts of his previous statement and took it for what it was - a proposition to rematch.

You found your places opposite one another, preparing for a genuine spar. Felix watched you sink into your defensive position again, nodding to confirm you were ready.

This time when he charged, his sword remained in a lower position. He wanted to slice upwards, reading your potential roll to the side while still being ready to follow up swiftly.

The moment he brought the sword up into you, you pivoted and thrust the lance forward. It would have technically impaled him, but you were courteous enough (and skilled enough) to angle the weapon so it slid against his side instead.

Felix halted the momentum of his arms, bringing them down slowly and preventing the hit he would have landed on you.

“That one goes to you.”

Switching sides with you, the second son ran his hand along his side. A warmup, nothing more. You wouldn’t go down easy, and neither would he.

You were once again prepared, and Felix signaled that the second round had begun, but he did not rush forward. If you wanted to hit him, you would need to put yourself at risk.

It didn’t take long for you to catch on, though you make a point to approach at a casual walk.

“Are you serious?”

“Are you? You think I’m foolish enough to run at you after I couldn’t stand on my own? If you wanted to go fast, you should have taken up offense again.”

Once you were close enough, you suddenly lunged twice and brought your lance down and across his body. Felix lept back before charging forward, but you came in with a block.

You held strong against his resistance, but your feet couldn’t find a proper stance thanks to your limited range of motion. He probably had your fear of slipping on the fabric again to thank, as well.

Deliberately, Felix stepped on your dress.

A gasp parted your lips as the heels of your feet slid forward. You fell backward only for Felix to step forward and catch you, one arm around your back, one hand holding his sword to your throat.

“Th-that’s not fair, and you know it,” you protested, breaths quickened from the adrenaline of almost falling.

“You chose to come fight in this. You think your opponent is going to care how you’re dressed?”

After a moment, you relented, “Fine, you win this one.”

Usually, Felix would be okay with the “whatever means necessary” ideology. When it came to you, however, it only worried him. Did he really need you to have a disadvantage for him to win?

He lowered you to the ground before picking you up again, presuming you would take longer to regain your footing if he left you on the sand. You were set upright on your feet at the solid edge of the pit.

As he reached the other side of the sands, he noted that you still looked bitter - probably about the last point. Perhaps that could work in his favor.

However, even after several seconds, the emotion in your eyes didn’t go away. You appeared almost…insulted?

In the back of his mind, he retraced his steps. You yielded the point how you normally would, and you weren’t a sore loser. You appeared more baffled than anything when he had tripped you…

Shit.

Felix had completely manhandled you out of the training area.

And that would explain why you were simultaneously glaring daggers into him and scanning him up and down.

“Don’t worry, I’ll attack this time,” the bluenette managed. In fear of being wrong and coming off egotistical, that was probably the best apology he could give right now.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

No, you were decidedly not happy.

He approached, trying to build as much momentum as possible before choosing to open with a block. If you were looking to parry an attack, he would be left with an opening. If you were looking to block him too, he would likely knock you to the ground and gain the point.

Maybe then he could offer to help you up properly.

No, he needed to stay focused. He was training right now, not apologizing.

Effectively distracted, neither of his plans came to fruition as you reached out and grabbed his cravat, pulling it down and causing him to run past you.

“Wh-!”

A dull stab at his back shoved him out of bounds, taking away any chance he had at regaining his balance. He tumbled to the ground.

“You’ve been impaled, that’s mine.”

He wanted to be mad, but he was more shocked than anything. After all, he could hardly complain after doing a similar thing to you last round.

A hand in his peripheral offered to help him to his feet. Accepting it, he rose, picking his sword up off the ground.

At least that seemed to get everything out of your system, “Maybe you were right, we can’t really accomplish anything serious while we’re dressed like this.”

“It’s not like we…”

A song loud enough to be heard from within the training ground bounced against the walls. It caught him off guard, especially since he hadn’t been able to hear any music since you closed the doors earlier. Whatever they were playing now, the whole orchestra was involved.

“The last dance already?” your head turned to the entrance, as well. “There’s no way…”

“Did you promise someone a dance?” he guessed.

“Something like that,” you worried. “I told Annette and Mercedes that I would be sure to dance with at least someone tonight after all they did for me. I…kind of got carried away watching earlier, and then I got scared I would forget the moves, and then I left to come here.”

He didn’t know what to say, but there was no way you could go back now. Sand covered your slightly tousled hair, your gown, and he was sure it found its way into your shoes. Your cheeks were still somewhat red from earlier, and…

It was all his fault. He even stepped on your gown without thinking.

Goddess, he really needed to start using his head.

Tossing his sword into the sand, Felix took the lance from your hands and threw it aside too. Swiftly, he retrieved your shoes and placed them in front of you.

“Felix, there’s no way…” but you slid them on anyway, “…and the song already began. It will be over by the time I get there.”

Face unreadable, your classmate extended a hand to you. “Do you think it would count if we started now?”

“Wait, what? You…want to dance with me?”

“If you don’t want me to be your partner after everything that’s happened tonight, I’ll understand-“

You took his hand, placing your own on his shoulder and facing him completely, “You lead. I’m still not certain how this one goes.”

It was a lie. It must have been. The moment the pair of you felt the music together, you were off. The strings followed a simple waltz - an accessible dance that even most commoners could perform. An obvious choice for the last dance of the night.

He knew his frame to be stiff, but it didn’t matter. Especially not when you were so blatantly stealing the hypothetical show, swaying and leaning back as the two of you spun gracefully around an invisible point on the ground. Your arms barely ghosted his own.

In a rare moment, he wished his dance partner were less aware, less experienced. He wanted you to lean on him so he could lead you through the dance, but he knew that was not in your nature.

You were charming, assured, and independent. The dance belonged to you, so much so that he felt like a mere prop. He supposed that was how it went in the theatres Sylvain had always dragged him to in the past. The women stole the spotlight while the men were evaluated on how good they could make their partners look.

There was no doubt. You deserved a better partner.

“Hey,” his voice was unsure. It had been several measures since he last used it. “I…you shouldn’t be dancing with me.”

“What are you talking about?” you smiled, coming back to his chest and resuming your normal posture.

“I mean you should be in the great hall, dancing with someone that would actually do you justice,” he suddenly didn’t want to face you. “I feel like I took that away from you. I spend all my time here working with a sword - my last dancing lesson ended when I was twelve.”

He stopped himself, spinning you away before he could say too much. This was about you. You had missed what could have been one of the biggest days of your life. He pulled you back in and met your eyes. Felix missed an event he already planned on skipping.

“...it’s nice. I prefer it. This way it’s just us.”

“Just us?” he hoped you couldn’t hear his heartbeat.

“Oh- I only mean- I don’t have to worry about anyone staring at me because I don’t know the steps or anything.”

It was beginning to make him angry, if only because it made no sense, “Why do you keep saying that?”

You were caught off guard, slipping up for the first time tonight. Felix finally felt useful, steadying you enough to fall back into the orchestra’s rhythm.

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” you lowered your voice like you were telling him a secret. “That’s what my sister told me. She and everyone that visited the manor.”

Blinking a bit, you turned to the side, “I’m doing it wrong. My steps are too wide. My arms are too heavy. I must be repulsed by my partner if I’m leaning back that much. Those kinds of things.”

Your partner merely scoffed, “Jealous.”

He hadn’t meant for it to slip out, but he knew.

“They can’t do what you can. There are nobles all over Fodlan like that; people who don’t like being shown up. They’ll say anything to make you give up or feel bad about yourself, but they lack the ambition to do any better themselves.”

“You really think so?”

“Have you met anyone better at dancing than yourself?”

“Well, I…I’ve never seen myself dance before.”

“Then take my word for it. Show Professor Byleth if you doubt it, but just be prepared for her to demand a rematch for the Heron Cup.”

Honestly, Felix didn’t know why he was being so forward about this. It was just another unjust part of the world they were all tripping over themselves to fix, he supposed. Still, if dancers could be trained for the battlefield, he saw no reason for his house to settle on an amateur.

The piano slowed to play a few high notes and end the song on a major chord. Accordingly, the two of you came to a stop.

“Thank you,” you stepped away timidly, “for the dance…and…”

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel better. Manuela could teach you - you could do this on the battlefield much better than whoever actually won the competition.”

You hummed, probably pondering the thought.

Presuming it was time to head back before you both could be found and accused of something mindless, Felix picked up your weapons from where he had discarded them. He caught you brushing the sand off your skin and down your dress before he left to put the items away. The blazer he set aside earlier found its way to his back again, his cravat tucked in appropriately.

You waited across the hall to hold the door for him. Once you both walked through, it shut with a final thud, sealing away everything that happened in the training grounds that night.

He saw you talking to Professor Byleth after class the next day. Although he couldn’t hear what you were saying, some part of him hoped you chose to take his words to heart.

Perhaps it had been a good time to host a ball.

#fire emblem #fiction #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fe x reader #fire emblem x reader #fe16 #fe3h felix #felix hugo fraldarius #felix x reader #fire emblem felix #fe felix x reader #fe3h felix x reader #f!reader #fem!reader

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bri-cheeses · 5 months ago

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| Sprace microfic | Word count: 960 | Shoutout to Hotshot (my queen) |

Spot Conlon was sitting on a fire escape, and he had a secret.

Technically speaking, he had many secrets, a good deal of which were much more sinister than this one. But this, he thought, was one that couldn’t get out. Ever.

“Hey, boss,” Hotshot said from behind him, lowering herself onto the step next to Spot. The sudden break in the serene atmosphere caused Spot’s pulse to jump, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he simply flicked the ash from the cigar he was holding and shifted over to make room for his friend. He wasn’t sure why his second in command felt the need to interrupt his alone time, but he wouldn’t mind so long as she didn’t say anything.

“So,” Hotshot started, and Spot mentally cursed at his luck, “I thought I’d let you know that the guys have been talking.”

The guys.

Have been talking.

A glower overtook his face. He had a feeling he already knew what this was about, but he had to be sure before saying anything.

“Talking about what?” he asked.

A beat of silence, then a hesitant: “They say you’ve been spending a lot of time at Sheepshead lately.”

“And what’s it to them?” Spot knew his tone was becoming more and more threatening, an undercurrent of danger lurking beneath his words, but he couldn’t bring himself to care very much. This was something good that he had. Something actually, truly good. He wouldn’t give it up without a fight.

“They say,” Hotshot said, continuing on even though Spot refused to look at her, “that you’ve been spending more and more time there since a couple a’ months ago.”

He let out a frustrated huff of breath. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His tone was biting, and his grip on the cigar in his hand tightened. Hotshot said nothing.

When Spot finally dared a glance at her, he found that she was already looking at him, her expression assessing. He felt his mask harden in response to the scrutiny. If Hotshot wanted to play this game, he could show her that he knew how to play, too—and knew how to play it well.

“Spot,” Hotshot finally said, and her voice was slow and measured as she asked, “Where’d you get that cigar?”

Apparently, she could play it well, too.

“It ain’t your business.” His tone was hard, no room for discussion or argument. Because Hotshot wasn’t supposed to know. No one was, except for himself and, well, the reason he’d been spending so much time at the tracks recently. But Hotshot had guessed anyways.

He looked down at the cigar. He should’ve been more careful—this wasn’t something that he wanted to get out. Not because he was ashamed of it, but because this was his thing. It was something he had that was special, and so what if he wanted to keep it to himself for just a bit longer? He did everything for the Brooklyn newsies. Everything. He deserved to have this one thing, right?

Hotshot sighed. “You know I won’t judge you, even if— even if he is Manhattan.”

“Who said anything about anyone?” Spot said flatly. His hands itched to push himself up off the stair, to stand and leave and avoid this conversation.

“I ain’t blind, Spot. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you tense whenever someone says his name, or the guarded expression you have when you say you’re going to the tracks, or the brand of the cigar in your hand. There’s only one newsie you interact with who would blow his money on a box of Coronas. So like I said, I ain’t blind, and I sure ain’t stupid, either.”

Spot had to huff a mirthful laugh at that, because maybe she wasn’t, but he certainly felt like he was. At least, he felt stupid in some capacity, to have thought that no one would put the pieces together, that no one would pay attention and figure it out and approach him to ask about it.

And so Spot didn’t utter a word. He could flat out lie to Hotshot, but he doubted she would believe him. He could leave, but she’d just ask him again and again until he had no choice but to tell her. And he could tell her to forget all about it, but Hotshot was his friend and he couldn’t bring himself to do that to her.

A muscle clenched in his jaw. He didn’t look at her.

“Fine. You want me to say it? I like him. I like Race. That’s the reason I’ve been spending time at the tracks, that’s while I have a cigar in my hand, that’s why I’m wary when people say his name or mention Manhattan.” He took a deep breath. “And now you’ve gotten what you wanted, so I’d appreciate it if you just left me alone now. And don’t even think of mentioning this to anyone else. You’ll regret it if you do.”

Usually when Spot threatened people, they didn’t laugh. But that’s what Hotshot did, loudly and heartily before saying, “And that’s the classic Spot I know, always making things more difficult than they have to be. Seriously, was that so hard?”

He didn’t respond.

“But really,” she said quietly, the metal of the fire escape creaking as she stood, “I’m happy for you.”

Then the moment was broken as she laughed again, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, “Now I’m going inside before you throw me off the fire escape.”

When he didn’t answer, she turned and made her way up the rickety stairs. The sound of a window shutting alerted him to her departure, and he closed his eyes.

What had he gotten himself into?

#first Sprace microfic!#this makes me so happy :)#sprace #sprace microfic #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #race higgins #newsies #92sies #livesies #my microfics

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vendetta-if · 2 years ago

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Hellooo, I discovered your WIP recently and AAAAAAAAAAH I’ve been obsessing over it for the past week now, it’s so good! You put so much effort into the flavour text and making the player’s choice come back into play, the MC feels so alive and I love it!

Anyways I’m sorry if this has been asked already, but what are Uncle’s and Дедушка’s opinions on the different ROs(including the poly)? Are they supportive whichever choice MC makes? Or do they have reservations over some of them?

I’ve been trying to catch up with all the asks you already answered but there’s so much content! So again I apologise if you answered this already.

Have a beautiful day<3

Thank you so much for your kind words! 💖 And no need to apologize! ☺️

For the poly for Grandpa and Luka, you can check here. 🤭 I’ll also include Viktor’s, Cara’s, and Grandma’s thoughts about the ROs because I’ve seen a few other asks asking for that as well.

Answers below the cut because they are long.

Ash

Luka: Automatic approval. He has figured out Ash’s crush on MC for a long time and if MC also has feelings for Ash, he’s this close to just tell them to kiss 😂 He knows that Ash prioritizes MC over themself in almost everything and Ash is one of the few people he trusts the most. No shovel talk is needed.

Pavel: Automatic approval. Ash is a really loyal member of the family just like their parents before them, and with their utmost dedication to MC, Grandpa knows that he’ll do whatever is necessary to keep MC safe.

Viktor: Yes! Yes! Yes! After spending a lot of time seeing the two hang out and babysitting them, he can’t help but notice Ash’s crush on MC. And he has witnessed firsthand how many times Ash has defended MC against anyone. He knows his baby will be safe in Ash’s hands and they’ll never experience heartbreak. Honestly, Viktor might be the captain of the ship 💀

Cara: She would be squealing in delight. She has noticed how hard it is for Ash to make friend and she is already happy enough that both Ash and MC can forge such a strong friendship. But them getting together… She’ll be relieved and overjoyed that her baby will finally be able to spend the rest of their life with someone who understand and love them. Ash and MC would be perfect for each other.

Alina: Not many people can impress her, but Ash’s loyalty and dedication to MC does make Ash one of the few people in that short list, and also, in an even shorter list of people she thinks would be deserving of her precious grandchild. It never fails to warm her cold heart inside every time she sees little Ash and MC play together. It is an instant approval from her.

Rin

Luka: Approval. Well, a wedding with Rin is just beneficial for both family all around and as long as MC doesn’t do it out of duty, but out of love, he’ll be more than happy. Plus, it will also make his best friend overjoyed. The only downside he can think of is that he’ll be brother-in-law with Takashi now 😂 Not that he actually minds, of course. He’ll often playfully complains about it, but he’s actually happy (don’t expect him to say it out loud though).

Pavel: Automatic approval. It’s just a very strategic wedding, tying the two families even closer through blood other than simply friendship. Pavel would be very satisfied of the union, although, he also doesn’t want MC to feel pressured to do it. He really cares about his grandchild and doesn’t want to push them too hard like he did Viktor.

Viktor: He would approve but not as readily as Grandpa or Luka. Takashi is a good guy—at least in Viktor’s standard—and he’s sure Rin is a good kid too. However, MC getting together with Rin would mean that it’s very likely they’ll get dragged into the family business. But as long as MC is happy and ready, he’ll support them.

Cara: Even she can’t deny that a marriage between a Morozov and an Aikawa is really beneficial. Personally, she’d like it more if MC can get with Ash because she knows about Ash’s feelings for MC. But as long as MC and Rin actually loves each other, she won’t have problems with it. Although, she’ll be a bit sad too in behalf for Ash.

Alina: Sure, the benefits of MC marrying Rin are good, but she cares more about what MC feels about it. After all, her own marriage to Pavel started out as an arranged one that thankfully ends far better than she expected, even if the road to there has not always been a smooth one. She wants to make sure MC actually loves Rin, and that Rin genuinely loves MC too. If so, then she’ll be more than happy for them.

Santana

Luka: Who? Oh, he thinks they at least know Santana’s father, although he has never interacted with him. Are you sure, MC? Santana is basically a nobody, not to mention, an underpaid detective and black sheep of the whole ECPD department. But seeing how in love MC and Santana are, he’d approve but not before giving a shovel-talk to the poor detective.

Pavel and Alina: Both agree that their precious grandchild deserves someone with far better prospects than a nobody detective. After making sure that Santana is not merely a high-maintenance gold-digger seeking to use MC to climb the ladder, they’ll be more receptive of them—especially since Santana is a polite and well-mannered person. But that won’t save them from a serious shovel-talk.

Viktor: He’ll be more open-minded and receptive of Santana compared to the rest of his family. He honestly doesn’t really mind Santana working a mundane job and he would be pretty impressed by their morals and how they try to stay as a clean cop, even to their own detriment. To him, Santana seems like a good, hardworking, honest, and well-mannered kid.

Cara: Just like Viktor, she doesn’t really mind Santana’s more humble background. And if MC loves them and they love MC back, and won’t try to fuck over the Morozov Family, she won’t have much problem with Santana. But to be safe, she’ll still give Santana a shovel-talk.

Skylar

Luka: Oh, hell no. MC, what the hell are you thinking? Have you not learnt from your dad’s and mom’s disastrous relationship? Luka is pretty sure that Skylar would prioritize their career over MC like Yvette, especially after learning that Yvette is Skylar’s mentor. He’ll relent if MC really insists, but he’ll keep an eye on Skylar and give them a stern shovel-talk.

Pavel: Being the child of Mayor Moore is certainly good. Moreover, their family is one of the richest in the city. But still, it’s barely enough to make Grandpa ignore the fact that Skylar is a superhero, and Yvette’s protégé too. He will certainly use his power to interrogate Skylar until they have nothing left to hide, and by then, if he judged that Skylar won’t hurt, betray, or break MC’s heart, and will always prioritize MC over their career, then he’ll reluctantly approve.

Viktor: Oh, this is complicated. What are the chances that his ex’s protégé getting together with his child? He’ll certainly be wary, even if he’s all charm and smile on the outside, constantly asking Skylar prodding questions in a disarming way. Might get charmed a bit back by Skylar, especially once they talk about both of their interest in photography. But once he saw that Skylar is actually different from Yvette, he’ll approve and be genuinely friendlier to Skylar, but that doesn’t mean they won’t get a shovel-talk from him.

Cara: MC, get behind her! Is this some kind of trick from Yvette? Was Yvette the one who introduced Skylar and MC to each other and tried to get them together? That cruel witch! Is she trying to make MC experience the same heartbreak she dealt to Viktor? Even after it has been proven that Skylar is different from Yvette, she’ll still be a bit suspicious, holding her breath for something that might not happen.

Alina: No, no! Skylar could be the child of the President for all she cares, but she won’t risk her beloved grandchild experiencing the same heartbreak that her son felt at the hands of Yvette, who also happens to be Skylar’s mentor?! After MC talks to her about how much they love Skylar and how Skylar also love them back, she’ll reluctantly approve because she wants MC to be happy. But she’ll always be on a lookout. Skylar won’t be able to charm her.

Ash/Rin Poly

Luka’s and Grandpa’s reactions are linked above 😁

Viktor: It is a pretty unconventional arrangement, that’s for sure. But if MC, Ash, and Rin are all okay and happy with it, then he’ll be happy as well. After all, his precious kid deserves to have two people who would love them fully and look out for them for the rest of their life.

Cara: Well, holy shit. This is such a perfect arrangement. Everyone’s happy, including her. Her child can still be with the person they love the most and who understand them, and that’s enough for her. Although, it still feels surreal that she’ll technically be sister-in-law with Takashi now. Well, she’ll prove she’ll be the cooler and more fun grandma to MC’s kids later on 😎

Alina: After making sure MC is happy with the arrangement, she will feel relieved. Everyone’s happy and get what they want at the end, and most importantly, she knows her beloved grandchild will be in good hands. Now, she hopes she can live long enough to meet her great grandchildren. A big, happy family is all she ever wanted.

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invidiia · 2 years ago

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you said i could do it so here i am 😇

i was thinking about this the other day—what if verlaines darling started learning french in secret while they were held captive? like they wanted to understand him better so they just found their old phone that they thought that verlaine discarded and they just downloaded an app to learn french😭

anyways that’s all LMAODH

français en secret - yan!paul verlaine x reader

❐ - yandere!verlaine (bsd) x reader

note ; HII I LOVE THIS REQUEST?! ALSO THANK YOU GUYS FOR 150+ FOLLOWERS ILY ALL!! i do not know french, so if anyone would correct me anything i put in this, i would absolutely appreciate it!! EDIT: CREDIT TO @eroqista FOR HE,PING ME WITH THE FRENCH PART BEAUSE WBFKEF

prompt ; after being stuck with the man for who knows how long, verlaine's darling began to learn french in secret.

warnings ; kidnapping, yandere/obsessive themes, gender neutral!reader,

it took a good while to find your old phone. you thought verlaine threw almost everything of yours out!

the screen was slightly damaged, a few cracks adorning the glass, but it was still slightly usable. verlaine had left the house again, after throwing you into the basement for whatever reason. perhaps he forgot about the boxes with your old belongings in them, boxes that he had been meaning to burn.

but the boxes weren't burned to ashes, and instead, they sat in the basement while dust collected. in another box was an old pen that had surprisingly not dried out, and a notebook.

you rarely saw verlaine visibly angry - but you could always tell when he was, after months of living with him, you learned to know his emotions. he semi-trusted you, but not enough to tell you exactly how he feels, other than that he loved you.

one thing you noticed more than often when verlaine was upset was that he would speak french - his native language. he would either be upset, talking to a colleague or friend, or just to himself, but you understood none of it.

maybe a good way to understand him more would be to understand what he was saying. that, or you could also try to escape with your new understanding of his words. maybe he would say over the phone how long he would be gone, and how far he was going, so you could create a window of time for your escape.

or you could simply learn the language and surprise him after getting good enough, and tell him the sweetest things exactly how he doesn't expect it.

It wasn't perfect.

Only three-four months of nonstop learning whenever you had time alone couldn't get you close to perfect. Even the basics weren't easy; it was very difficult. And it wasn't like you were hiding your learning well, either. Verlaine knew you spent an awful lot of time in the basement, so he often came down to check on you, but he'd just see you curled up in the corner with a notebook in hand, and when he looked at the paper, it was just cutesy drawings of flowers and bees and everything cute you could think of.

You had time to put the phone away and hide it since you could hear the door open, since you still weren't technically allowed to have that phone, even if you were just using it to learn another language.

(now, imagine the reader purposely trying to get put in the basement because they don't want to break their daily streak and get hunted by the duolingo bird. do your french lessons, Y/N.)

It took time, but eventually you were able to understand and make basic conversation.. which also meant you could listen in on phone calls he made while speaking in French only.

This could go two ways depending on your actions.

"You started learning French?" Verlaine looked almost impatient, looking at you while he waiting for an answer. You hadn't thought this through. How were you planning to explain to him exactly how? "I picked up on some of yours." You replied innocently, looking back down at your feet to alleviate the stress of the highly likely possibility that he doesn't believe your lie. "You just magically understood French from listening? What, did I leave a dictionary down there?" Verlaine stood up from his chair, sauntering behind you with a small smile on his face while you nodded. He wasn't smiling softly. "Good job." He placed a hand on your shoulder and turned to leave the room. It was that easy? He believed you like that?

But you should have known he didn't actually believe you. Verlaine was no idiot, it shouldn't be a surprise when you were waken up in the morning in the basement, with all of the boxes containing your old belongings gone.

The basement door was locked tightly, and the basement was now entirely empty. There was a note on the door, and attached with a paper clip, was one photo. There the boxes were - set ablaze and sat in front of a camera. The note read,

"J'ai trouvé ton téléphone, chéri. Tu vois les photos ? J'ai mis le feu aux boîtes. Ton vieux téléphone est dans l'une d'elles. Vraiment, bon travail, d'apprendre le français et de me le cacher. Tu aurais pu demander, j'aime passer du temps avec toi. Je te dirais bien "bonne chance pour la prochaine fois", mais je ne pense pas qu'il y aura une prochaine fois. Je t'aime."

#bsd verlaine #verlaine x reader bsd #yandere verlaine x reader bsd #yandere bsd x reader #bsd x reader #klya..requests #yandere bungou stray dogs #klya..best friends!! <3 #yandere bsd #yandere bungo stray dogs x reader #tw yandere

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zwolfgames · 1 year ago

Text

Slight Yandere! Sauron x Childhood friend!reader

Requested:/

(Cuz... Armoured men. Can be seen as romantic or platonic.)

(Warnings: Gore, genocide, sickness, death.)

(3rd person POV)

"Sire. The one ring, it has been located, deep within the elven kigdom."

An orc servant spoke to Sauron, who was sitting on his throne in contempt.

"Retrieve it." Sauron ordered simply, waving a hand clad in sharp armour. The metal clinking together with each twitch of his fingers.

"The orc forces are unable to break the front lines, sire." The trembeling servant explains. The mosnter is obviously sweating with the heat of the blazing lava-waterfalls.

"... Is that so?" Sauron stands up, his metal armour scraping against itself as he descends from the platform of his throne.

He violently throws the orc into the lava pool beneath before storming out in rage.

The elves.... They had the ring, the one ring.

He needs it. It's his. Just like how middle earth would be his aswell.

And.... His long lost friend. If he had the ring, it would be easy to track them down.

So, he stormed out of the castle or Mordor, if it could even be called that. Barking orders at the remaining forces around him to ride with him towards the elven kigdom by dawn.

As quick as he tought of the plan, it got done.

His remaining orc forces joined the ones at the front line with burning torches and weapons utelizing fire.

This forest, the home of the elves, would burn.

The flames engulfed the old trees, the grass, the animals... and the elves.

They didn't know what was coming for them. Some may hide in the large rivers and lakes, but an escape from the suffocating smoke wouldn't come.

Sauron marched into the flames, his armour protecting his large form. His footsteps leaving prints in the ashes of a once powerfull and prosperous kigdom.

He was just in time to hear the screams of agony. To smell the burning of nature.... To see the scorched bodies.

He breathes in the scent of death and ashes. Stepping over the burning corpses of a species he couldn't care less about.

The orc army followed behind, making sure not to let anyone out alive.

Yet Sauron couldn'y care about survivors. He just wanted the one ring.

Simple as that.

So when he found an elf, still partially concious, he picked it up by its collar and glared trough the eyeholes in his intimidating helmet.

"The one ring, where is it?" He sneered at the poor elf.

"I-I won't tell you..." The elf coughed weakly. Staring at the destrucion of its home.

Sauron jammed his sharp fingers onto the elfs chest, twisting its skin around painfully.

The elf screams out in agony, its screams echoeing trough the burning forest, the deafening fire crackles keeping the sound from reaching far.

"I-It's... in the secret vault.." The elf whispers weakly, even such a high ranking creature wasn't able to stand such torture.

"And where is this 'secret' vault?" Sauron asks, his tone that of an impatient man. The elf had given up on live before it could answer. Sauron throws the being aside without any trace of care.

Sauron sighs heavily as this means he has to go find it himself. But for the one ring... he would.

------

It wasn't that hard. With the forest burned down, it was easier to spot the usually overgrown cave, littered with crystals. He felt the presence of his precious ring in there.

Entering the cave alone, he makes quick work of the stone door, ignoring the carvings on it meant to aid in finding a way to open it as he just smashes the irritating obstacle.

And he's in.

What foolish elves to think a stone door would keep anything thats desparate enough out.

Sauron explores this 'secret vault' and stumbles upon multiple treassures he couldn't possibly give two flying shits about.

And then, at long last, the one ring. Beautifully layed out for him on a pedestal. It's like the elves wanted him to come get it himself.

He slowly reaches for the golden object, sliding it over his steel clad fingers cooly. He didn't have to put on a show like this... there was no-one else here... Yet, after decenia, he deserved it.

The moment he connected with the one ring, his superiour powers flowed back into him. He was unstopable now.

And... that meant middle earth would soon fall to him. Bow their pathetic heads. And you, you would be by his side.

As if a switch had been flipped, his next goal just popped into his dark head. Get Y/N.

That was one of the things he had vowed to do after losing his dear childhood friend such a long time ago.

Y/N had beeb seperated from him by his master, to cast more darkness in his heart, make him a better pupil. But now that his master was no longer, he coul take Y/N back. Wherever they were...

Who-ever took them... would pay.

He vowed to that.

Yet, why did he feel.. so close to that goal?

Like he's already done it?

It's so strange. It's like you're right next to him.

Wait a minute... Is he... going crazy?!

No, probaly not, he's always been crazy.

But he swore that he could feel your prensence in this very room.

Sauron looked around the vault, his hidden eyes scanning over the various elven treassures and artefacts. The vines casting a slightly green glow on the chamber.

He couldn't spot... anything that looked like you. I mean, these were all just objects....

Sauron walked closer, trying to tell where your presence was coming from.

He picked up some trinkets, looking each over before throwing it behind him carelessly. That is, untill he picked up what appears to be a crystall ball.

This had to be it. It just had to as it made him feel like he was holding you again.

Sauron peered into the crystal sphere. Eyeing the inside, tough not much but some blinding light was revealed.

"No, no. This is it. They sealed you, didn't they, dear?" He whispers to the magic object. Slowly holding it closer to his chest.

Sauron muses to himself as he walks out with the crystal ball in his hands. Who would have tought the elves would have both of his desired things in one room. What fools. Dead fools.

It doesn't take him long to find his troups, playing with dead bodies... Great.

They march back to Mordor, leaving the destroyed elven kingdom behind without a speck of remorse.

It would take them five days to get back, at this leisury pace... Sauron didn't mind, he had time now. He had the one ring.

-----

Sauron sat awake in his large tent. Holding the crystal ball.. It brought him immense comfort. Holding you... Sort of.

He wants this damm thing open. But not to be hasty... he doesn't want to end up killing you... That would be awfull.

So, Sauron sits awake at night, looking over the crystal prison, trying the way to properly open it, let you out.

He taps it with his metal clad fingers, blows on it. Chants spells. But nothing happens.

He gets an orc to licks it. Also doesn't work. Why would it.. thats silly.

Sauron notices a small crack in the crystal sphere..... Should he break it? Most of the time... thats how objects like this work. But what if this one was special? Who knows...?

But he's so desparate to see you. He hand't seen your smile in so long...

So he does it. He jabs his armoured thumb into the small crack to enlarge it. It began cracking more, a rip going trough the crystal ball. Eventually splitting it in two.

He pulled the two halves appart like people do with coconuts, a blinding light coming out of it.

The moment that he regained his vision, Sauron saw what he had waited eons for. You... So sweetly on the ground in front of him. You appeared to be sleeping.

Oh... and the elves seemed to have dressed you in some nice white clothes before they sealed you... Tradition, maybe?

He actually felt breathless for a moment. Gently picking you up in his steel arms. Being very carefull as to not harm even a hair on your body. Your so fragile looking body. he couldn't blame you, you had been sealed for a long, long time.

"Y/N.... my dear...." Sauron whipsers and brushes some hair out of your sleeping face. He brings his head towards yours for a forehead kiss before he remebers he has a permanent helmet on. Sauron sighs and holds you just a bit closer.

It was so fun when things went his way.

He held you there for hours, waiting for any signs of you awakening from your eon long slumber.

And finally, there it was, a flutter of your lashes, that beautifull (e/c) hue looking up at him.

Oh... and a weak scream. He was a bit concerened untill he realised you must not recognize him in the slightest. The armour was quite scary afterall.

"Shh, Y/N, it's me. Sauron. Remember?" He held your face in his cold metal hands. Trying to calm you down.

And ofcourse, just like he remembered, you put on that cute thinking face.

"Prove it." You spoke hoarsly. Throath dry like the Sahara desert after eons of being sealed away.

Sauron grabbed your hand and did the silly handshake you had made up back in your childhood.

He smiles behind the scary helmet as he sees your eyes soften at him. The warmth of you finally hugging him again after all these years was all he had wished for. He embraces you, wanting to bury his nose in your hair, yet he couldn't.

"You... came to get me..." You whispered as you held the man you've lost eons ago. You didn't recognize him.... But he had proven it. He was Sauron.

"Ofcourse I did, dear." Sauron whispered just as softly. If anyone saw this... they'd think he was a fraud. Being this soft with someone, having feelings. But it was you. You had been with him before he became cold and unfeeling, a monster.

The two of you stayed in a comfrotable hug untill the dawn broke trough the darkness of the sky. Signalling that they'd be venturing further to get back to Mordor.

"Y/N, darling.... I may have unsealed you a bit too early.... You're okay with riding on my horse with me, right?" Sauron asked softly, brushing a strand of your hair out of your eyes.

You nod, a bit surprised at what was even happening as you had been sealed for eons.

Sauron smiled at you, even if you couldn't see. Taking your fragile little hand in his metal claws to lead you out with him.

He leads you to his way too big horse. Hoisting up at you and glaring down any orc who looks at you funny. They think you're fresh meat....

Sauron wraps one of his metal arms around you to make sure you don't fall off of the horse, the other on the bridle.

You ride off. Sauron securely holding you against him as his giant horse runs ahead of the goblin army. He wants to get you home, as soon as possible.

Preferably... before you realised what he's become and all the things he's done.

----------

You eventually arrive at Mordor, sweating a bit from the vulcanic heat and the poor air condition. Sauron is worried, he hand't tought of that since he hand't been a normal mortal for eons.

But no matter, he has the ring, he'll find something to solve your issue.

"We're here, dear." Sauron helps you off of the horse, holding your hand like some disney prince.

He notices how wobbly you are on your legs so he supports your weight with his arm. He walks inside with you, into the wide doors of his 'castle'.

"Y/N, I welcome you back to my side." Sauron appears to be smiling behind the intimidating helmet. Leading you to a bedroom... Or well... a giant room with a bed.

It's darkly decorated. The same evil colours the rest of his castle has. But this room... was actually nicely decorated. Cozy and with everything you may need.

Due to you observing the decor, you didn't truly register the click of the heavy door you came in from...

"Y/N, sweetheart. You need to promise me... You'll stay right here. Okay?" Sauron speaks, now basically pressed against your back. His metal arms wrapping around your waist once more.

"... Okay?" You nod in uncertainity. Surely your friend had his reasons, like always.

Sauron pats your head, briefly showing you around the room before he instructed you to rest. The new dark ruler being out of the room in moments. He still had a lot to do. and for now, you were secure.

-----

His happily ever after didn't last long, however. He had middle earth almost taken over.. yes.

But you... were declining.

It wasn't noticable at first... You hid it from him.

He came by your room everyday, just to chat. He told you of what happned during your long period of being sealed... and he got to bask in your presence again. It was perfect.

That is, untill he caight sight of your new condition.

He was just telling you about the start of his dark reign when you started coughing. Violently so.

The dark ruler notices how you cough into your hands, a faint spatter of blood seeping trough the crevaces of you fingers. His face twists into a worried frown, taking your hands into his to look at the bloodied mess...

Along with some... Crystals?

Little, sharp shards of clear crystals, coloured with your blood lay there on your soft palms.

His face twits in shock. That.. isn't whats supposed to happen. Why is this happening.

"Y/N... Are you hurt?" Sauron asks as he cups your cheek with his free hand. Making sure he can look into your eyes for any signs of lies.

"N-No... I'm fine, really." You speak softly, a bit of blood still on your lips... between your teeth. Naturally, he doesn't believe that. You coughed up blood, for gods sake.

"Y/N... sweatheart. Don't lie. It won't help you. I'll get to the bottom of this, alright?" Sauron speaks lightly, not wishing to raise his voice when you look this fragile.

He looks at the crystal shards in his hands again, looking the sharp little pieces over. They remind him of your crystal ball of a prison.

The elves must have had something to do with this...

But... those were all dead. He was going to have to solve this on his own.

And fast. You were declining... On his watch. In his arms.

He couldn't lose you, not again. He couldn't lose one of the only things he still cared about.

"Lie down, you nedd rest." Sauron advised and gently nudged you towards your bed. Before you could lie to him about being fine again. He's seen you do that before. When you were kids...

Playing by the river.. you scraped your knee and didn't tell him untill it bled trough your pants. He should have seen the tear you blinked back. Seen trough that smile.

And just like back then, he had noticed you pain too late once again.

Sauron tucks you in, against your embarrasment and protests.

The dark ruler leaves your room and you could finally drop the smile.

You didn't want him to worry. He's already saved you... you didn't want to cause more trouble.

But you felt it. Inside you... the suffacting feeling. Something heavy was growing inside of you.

Occasionally, a shard broke off and you coighed it up. painfully tearing open your throath. It wasn't pleasant, but you could bite trough.

If only he hadn't seen.

-------

Not a month later, you were bedridden. Stuck under the soft covers as only Saurons most trusted servants tended to you.

Beautifull crystal shards grew on your (s/c) skin. Glittering in the light. Catching Saurons depressed gaze.

He was watching his childhood friend slowly die...

Slowly crystalize and dim out.

He wanted to murder those elves all over again.

They did this to you. sealed you away and cursed you. With such beautifull crystals. It's ironic how beautifull you looked while approaching the end of your mortal life.

And he couldn't do anything but be beside you for it all.

Holding your hand. Talking to you. Hearing your voice weaken each day. Yet you'd never drop that smile.

That dammned smile...

He couldn't stand how you were trying to cheer him up.

Trying to ease his grief even before your death.

He tried everything, potions, spells, medicines, rituals. None worked. Only an elf would have the cure. And he killed them all.

It's all his fault....

He repeats it over and over in his head as he holds your hand. Still breathing.. barely.

A week ago, you had fallen asleep, only to remain so, a coma.

One his doctors decided you'd never wake up from.

So he sat by your bed, day to night. He knew this was it, you were dying. Slowly... painfully... beautifully.

The crystal shards had grown over one of your eyes, like a twisted eyepatch. Making you look eternal.

Why couldn't they just go back to their childhood.

He should have never left you for the dark arts...

Look at you now.

Taking your last breath...

The last.

While he holds your hand.

Tears welling up in his eyes.

He shouldn't cry.

It's beneath him.

But... You're gone.

Forever.

_____☆_____

LOL, what did i just do?

I suppose i was feeling silly. RIP bestie of Sauron.

I got inspired by my character AI convo by the bot i made.

Tough that one didnt let me die, but ya know, emotion. link to that bot here: https://c.ai/c/lJhHpTBSSW7ipW6qUuV6DZqAaTwJXK5QrvghVSjw3uI

Have a nice day and do request stuff if ya want!

Words: 2890

_____☆_____

#platonic yandere #yandere #sauron #lord of the rings #yandere x reader #sauron x reader #off plot #yandere sauron #plaronic yandere sauron

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