#xhyenabite

[xhyenabite]

Self

A wholesome Trolls fic starring Floyd and Veneer

⚠️ PROSHIPPERS DNI ⚠️

╔══════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*══════╗

The sound of all-too-familiar arguing drew Floyd from his trance-like state of zoning out—something that he'd done since childhood, but now he was doing it almost constantly now that he was imprisoned and had nothing better to do—and soon watched as Veneer appeared, clearly stressed and upset. Floyd knew exactly what—or rather, who—had caused it: Velvet.

Despite Veneer directly contributing to his capture and torture, Floyd couldn't help but feeling sympathetic towards the boy. They'd had a few heart-to-heart moments in the few weeks he'd been with them, and Floyd had been able to see how troubled and vulnerable Veneer was on the inside. It led to a sort of fatherly feeling—he thought it was a fatherly feeling, but, then again, he'd never had any kids—and the two often vented to each other about their shared stressor.

Veneer hardly spared him a glance as he headed straight for one of the chairs and plopped down heavily. Floyd had a feeling that the lack of eye contact was due to guilt; he truly believed Veneer was not a horrible person.

"You need to learn to stand up for yourself," Floyd said after a few minutes of tense silence. "And learn how to be comfortable as the real you."

"I know," Veneer snapped, not even turning to look at him. "It's not that easy. I've tried. I don't think it's even just Velvet anymore. I've tried with everyone."

"Of course it's not going to be easy," Floyd sighed, resting his head back against the diamond glass of his prison. How the hell do you even talk to teenagers without sounding old? "But the best place to start is to be yourself when you're alone. Or around me."

Veneer was silent for a moment before he heaved a sigh. "I don't even know who the real me is," he muttered. "I've always looked up to Velvet. As far back as I can remember, I just wanted to make her proud of me. I didn't even care that much about my parents' opinions, and, well, when you have a twin sister, it's hard to find time to be by yourself."

Floyd couldn't help but laugh a little at that. A quiet laugh, but it was definitely audible. "How do you think it would feel to grow up with three older brothers?" he asked. "Even after my little brother was born, I still found time for myself. It's important. More important than you may think, Veneer. Look at me."

Veneer didn't move at first, then he slowly turned his head towards the diamond bottle. "I know it's important," he mumbled.

"Do you?" Floyd continued. "If you depend so heavily on the opinions of others, you'll never be worth anything. Your confidence and idea of self will constantly change. You'll never be the person you want to be. But if you spend time with yourself and get to know yourself, you might like him more than the Veneer that you show the world."

Veneer looked thoughtful for a moment, though still hesitant. "I don't know," he whispered, then stood up. "I don't even know if I'll be able to find time to myself. Velvet's probably already mad at me for being gone for so long."

"When is she ever not mad at you?" Floyd asked sincerely. "She's a bully, Veneer."

"I kn—"

Floyd cut him off before he could continue. "I'm not just saying that because I don't like her. It takes a lot for me to dislike someone, but trust me, abusing the people who care about you is a very quick way to the top of the list. Why do you think she behaves so different towards you when there are other people around? She knows what she's doing is wrong, and she knows people would despise her if they saw the way she treated you."

Veneer's stare drifted warily towards the doors. "I don't think they would. They love her," he muttered. Floyd felt his heart break a little as he recognized the usual sign of Veneer blocking his own thoughts and feelings again for the sake of his sister. "And I love her. Being famous is stressful, and so what if she has to take it out on me? I'd rather have her do that than keep it bottled up."

"You're not a punching bag, Veneer. And you're not her therapist. You're just a kid. A kid who needs to live for himself because he's so damn young and doesn't deserve to spend half of his life worrying about what everyone else thinks of him," Floyd rambled, idly picking at the tattered threads of his shorts. The conversation had turned oddly uncomfortable for him, and he knew it was because he'd been speaking from personal experience. "Trust me . . . it's really, really not worth it."

Veneer hadn't moved from where he was standing, but when Floyd finished, he turned away with a huff; but when he didn't say anything in return, Floyd found himself hoping that the boy would consider what he'd said.

"Yeah, well, I've tried that too," Veneer muttered after a long pause, and stormed out of the room, once again leaving Floyd alone in his prison.

╚══════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*══════╝

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[xhyenabite]

To Those Long Gone

A zombie apocalypse Trolls AU

⚠️ CW ⚠️

Violence, death, smoking, swearing, dark themes

╔══════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*══════╗

When Floyd was younger, he wanted to be a veterinarian. He wanted to do whatever he could to help animals, to soothe their pain and comfort them in their worst moments.

Now that he was an adult, he just wanted to survive.

The End had been ongoing for only a week now, and already Floyd had seen so much death. First it was his friend Westley, then Giana, Yasmine, Danny, Lenny, and now, laying in his lap and quickly deteriorating, James. The only healthy person—other than Floyd, of course—was a kid that Floyd had taken in when the group’s numbers were larger. His name was Veneer; an odd name, Floyd had thought when he first learned it, but much stranger things were happening now.

Veneer was in the kitchen of the small trailer house they’d been sheltering in for the past two days. Floyd had sent him there; he didn’t want the kid to see James suffer.

“What’s gonna happen to me?” James had asked when he was first bitten. But he knew the answer. Almost everyone knew the answer after the first few days.

Floyd hadn’t left his side since. He never really knew James very well, but he refused to let the young man spend his last moments alone, even if it meant putting himself in danger by directly coming into contact with one of the Infected. James, luckily enough, never seemed to develop the aggression commonly seen as the stages of Infection progress. Now, he was staring blankly at the ceiling, his eyes glazed over as his soft wheezing told Floyd he was still alive.

“I’m sorry this had to happen to you, James,” Floyd said softly, gently sliding some sweat-soaked hair off of James’s burning forehead. He didn’t expect a response, and no response was given. “If I had more strength, I wouldn’t have let you suffer for so long. Can you blame me for holding onto the hope that someone could spontaneously heal?”

James blinked slowly, his gaze still directed upward. His wheezing grew more ragged and distressed.

It was time.

Floyd kept James’s body steady with one arm while the other reached for the hunting knife on the table beside him. James stirred ever so slightly, but Floyd paid no mind as he rested the tip of the blade underneath James’s ear. “Safe travels, friend. May you find peace and comfort wherever you land,” he murmured the words that were becoming his own little ritual by now, then slid the knife into James’s skull.

James’s breathing fell silent, and Floyd sat quietly as he processed this new loss.

╚══════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*══════╝

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