Modern Au Is Rotting My Brain :(

Modern au is rotting my brain :(

Ada Nevermore Cosplay <3

it was like 70 degrees at the convention so i didn’t wear the wig haha!!! but worked on this since july, i hope it looks good haha!

Give Monty nerd glasses

i've collected them all (montresor doesn't deserve cute glasses)

What does he do with no roommate? Alone?

Will practices. If he falls out of favor yet again, he will be pushed aside. He would not be taken care of the way Duke was thought- they wouldn’t waste the time and resources on him. It would be a simple shove out the window or snapping of the neck. Quick and out of the way.

He selfishly turns into Ada when he feels his face turn red with rage. Just thinking of her clinging to Montresor and nagging with that shrill voice of hers- it makes his chest hurt.

And he watches her with envy so much, his rendition of her is pretty good. Her hair is near perfect, the curl of her ponytail a bit larger than it should be. Her eyes are a bit sharper, lashes longer. He completely forgets her collar, and her dress length shifts from knee length to a bit shorter. Little details he doesn’t bother to remember, his gaze usually too focused on her terrible face and the expressions she forces to seem more good looking.

And then he would relish in her frown. He would let himself get mad, tears in the corners of his eyes. Seeing Ada’s expression contort with his emotion brought him relief.

“No, Monty! You can’t leave me, darling! S-surely this is a mistake!” he would cry in her sweet, emotional voice. He would ignore the fact that most of the things he says as her apply to himself as well.

The night he practices Montresor could be any night. He does it often when he’s able to manifest. Sometimes he does it just to stare at him, his hand gently tracing along the stubble on his chin. He glances down at his uniform, every single thing in place. Even the belt buckle was the correct shade.

And then he would take a deep breath and speak. Speak to the mirror, his thumbs looping the belt holes of his uniform pants, slouching.

“Yer important to me, Will.”

“We don’t need her around right now. We got important things to chat about, just us.”

“That spectre ‘a yers is pretty damn useful..”

He loves hearing it. He loves hearing the impossible in that southern drawl. He reaches to adjust the toothpick in his mouth, only to realize that he does not have one. He forgot that he was Will.

Another night, he stands in the mirror as Prospero. The details aren’t as accurate as Montresor. His eyes shift between shades of orange, as Will was too intimidated to look the man in the eye for too long. His gloves are the most accurate. Will stared at them a lot whenever Prospero guided him by the shoulder or touched him in general.

He stood rigidly straight, folding his hands behind his back. He would narrow his eyes at the mirror, clearing his throat as he tries to speak in a more refined manner.

“William,” he would start, trying to get a feel for Prospero’s accent and stern tone. “I am impressed. You have grown considerably.”

And then Will would falter, covering his mouth with a gloved hand. He did not realize how much hearing such words in the man’s voice would affect him. It made him feel important. Seen.

“Your efforts have not gone unnoticed,” he continues, adjusting his cravat with shaky, amateur hands. What the hell even is this thing?

A hand would touch his throat, remembering how the fabric of the gloves felt against his neck when he was checking his injuries. The touch was feather light, nothing like what he expected. Prospero’s expression at the time was mild irritation and concentration, but his touch felt caring. Well, all touch does. Even the harsh pulls and shoves from Montresor. He cares enough to extend his hands to touch him.

Lastly, he stands in front of the mirror a tad bit shorter than he is used to being. The long, thick curls trailing down his back feel foreign and heavy against his scalp. Bright blonde lashes stare back at him, his finger instinctively reaching up to twirl one of the blonde strands around his finger.

He would smile. It is nothing like Annabel Lee’s smile. It’s kind and nervous, nothing she would show to the public.

“William, love…we require your assistance.”

His accent is terrible. He is trying to figure it out, but it’s a work in progress for now. That’s why he makes excuses every time Montresor asks him to try turning into Annabel for their secret planning.

“What do you wish to bring up, William? We value your input,” he continues on, a giddy smile on ‘his’ face as he imagines the group all waiting for his opinion on the fictional conversation he just made up. The thought of their eyes on him makes his stomach twist with nervousness, but a thrill that he craves all the same.

He smooths out her skirt and does a little twirl.

“Yes, I think you are the most important member of the group, love! What do you propose we do next?”

He knows he’s out of character. It was for his sake- rather than practicing what she really would say. He knows her vocabulary well enough. Being ignored most days leaves many hours for watching others.

And then he turns back. The moment he’s back to looking at dull grey eyes and a sunken, hollow look…he tears his gaze from the reflection, promptly covering the mirror with his robe again.

The curtain has closed for the night.

I got you

Y'all know who fits this.

Artists, do yo thang‼️❕❗❕

Nevermore

My version of the official art Dovetail Mate