Fictional Indulgence; Fanfictions - Tumblr Posts
GUIDING STAR— a UT Yellow fanfiction.⋆₊˚⊹♡
Delirious Hopes, Exalted Hero; Part One of Indeterminate . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ In the desolate expanse of the Underground, a frail traveler endures relentless hardships of the journey forward, eventually stumbling upon the vibrant yet overwhelming Wild East. There, an unprecedented encounter with a flamboyant sheriff offers a glimmer of hope and the promise of care amidst the perpetual twilight. What shall ensue?
The Underground, an obscure realm beneath the surface they hitherto dwelled, unraveled endlessly afore the weary, languid traveler as they endured their desperate journey. Each detestable corner of the bleak landscape held a tedious, if not strikingly plain irritating revelation— ricocheting from an anecdote of undistinguished information to a subordinate NPC mucking about in frivolous provocation of a brawl they were to certainly be subject to defeat upon entering— either way, the traveler evaded both nuisances with…somewhat ease and pacifism.
The human child, frail and delicate as a cusp of breath held, moved through the world with the limp of a piteous wraith. Each step ventured was a cumbersome force, each breath a shallow heave of gasping, shivering hope, and each waking moment spent upright and in motion was arduous torture.
They truly were not the right person to be in this RPG adventure.
Their journey, wrought with deprivation and tumult, only further aggravated the traveler’s inherent fragility. Hunger obnoxiously pronounced itself as their inside churned, and a rising fever danced on their brow as beads of sweat never ceased its stream down their forehead. The air was thick with an oppressive melancholy that seeped into their weary bones, slowing their steps and clouding their vision.
But the human endured, driven by perhaps plain foolishness, or perhaps, an unwavering sense of optimism— feasibly both. They treaded the desolate corridors of the Ruin and advanced to the summit of Snowdin, feeling the chill of the underground's breath prickle their flushed skin. The hours of their journey blended into a monotonous haze, each step harder than the last, until finally, their hope was satiated to ease.
The oppressive gloom gave way to a singular ray of light, a whisper of something different on the horizon. The Wild East…! They had heard of this place— a distinct mining town caught in the throes of a perpetual western dream, a terrain of vibrancy in an otherwise complete landscape of despair. The path forward morphed abruptly, sudden and stark. The air grew warmer, and the faint sound of life reached their ears: the clatter of boots on wooden planks, the twang of a distant guitar, the incessant murmur of voices.
The child stumbled into the town, their vision swarming with the colors and sounds of the unfamiliar place that appeared almost fantastical compared to the grim reality they had endured to their overwrought senses. Wooden establishment stood tall and proud, their façades painted in hues of auburn and gold, weathered by time but standing resolute. The streets bustled with monsters of all shapes and sizes, each one engaged in the daily dance of life.
With every step, the child's legs grew heavier, their breath more labored. The sights and sounds swirled around them in a dizzying spiral, a contrast to the silence they had been subject ceaselessly. They could feel the last of their strength waning, a faint pulse of life struggling to keep them upright.
And then, as if summoned by the very last of their will remaining, a figure emerged from the crowd. A distinct, flamboyant silhouette made its entrance with all the flair and dramatics of a stage actor stepping into the spotlight. He was a (albeit, hazy) vision of Western splendor, all wide-brimmed hat and jangling spurs, his eyes twinkling with exhilaration that bordered on wild.
The child's vision narrowed to a tunnel, with the exalted figure at its end, a beacon of hope and safety. Admittedly, this incessant and immediate glorification of the distant stranger was likelyyy prompted by the child’s poor state, or driven by delirious hope. Their legs gave way beneath them, and they collapsed forward— a measly ragdoll in the clutches of gravity. The stranger’s eyes widened in surprise, but his arms were swift and sure, catching the child before they could hit the ground.
"Well, now," he drawled, his voice a warm , bemused rumble— an almost tender caress against the child’s frenzied auditory cortex, "look what we have here."
The limp rag of a child, rendered too weak to respond, could only cling to the warmth of the stranger’s enveloping limbs. Oh, a hug. The sheriff’s hold was firm yet gentle, his imposing presence a fixity in the child’s overwrought senses. He held the child close, feeling the feverish heat radiating from their skin, the shallow breaths against his chest.
Warm, he was. Excruciatingly so. Their tenderness offered felt more debilitating than the traveler’s tumult fought.
God, when was the last time they were held?
"You just hang on, partner," he said softly, a hint of genuine concern breaking through his theatrical bravado. "We'll get you fixed up right quick."
And so, in the heart of the Wild East, beneath the darkening, hidden sky in the hues of twilight, a bond was forged. A weary traveler found refuge frantically buried in the arms of an eccentric sheriff, and there’s a sense of newness present in the still air. A beginning, a new chapter flipped.
coquette starlo ྀི be upon ye … sell a gun to this child … ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹
also p.s/mod’s note: i DO not know what this is do NOT ask me… erm. honestly i’ve just been feeling awful about some health problems and erm yeah eccentric cowboy sheriff saves the day !! i have no idea why he’s so comforting he literally tried to kill us in every route ALSO this is saur corny omg …talking ‘bout a “new sense of newness present in the still air” !! new chapter flipped !! more like new chapter FLOPPED !! alsaur this might be a series but i honestly cannot tell what this is or where this is going and school is starting for me soon so don’t count on it 👍
u asked 4 a tag… gonna die @schnozzlebozzle
GUIDING STAR— a UT Yellow fanfiction.⋆₊˚⊹♡
Fractured Dawn, Heaven-Bound; Part Two of Indeterminate . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ In the dim light of a dilapidated, poorly-maintained clinic, the frail traveler wakes from fevered dreams to find themselves under the care of the eccentric sheriff, North Star. Amidst the pain and weakness, a fragile bond forms, offering a glimmer of hope and the promise of healing in the heart of the Wild East.
Trigger Warnings: Moments suggesting disability and/or chronic illness(es) although never explicitly stated, and body dysmorphia due to aforementioned hints. Please heed said warnings and stay safe.
The world was a haze of ache and fevered dreams. The child stirred from the depths of their unconsciousness, their body heavy and unresponsive, as though anchored to the bed by an impossible, insurmountable weight. The clinic, identified as such by a swift observation, around them was a far cry from any sanctuary of healing— its walls were cracked and peeling, the air thick with the scent of apparent neglect. The thin cot they lay upon wes draped in unwashed sheets, stiff and stained, adding to the pervasive sense of discomfort that clung to their every breath.
Their mind, still clouded by the fever's grip, struggled to piece together the unraveled fragments of their journey. They remembered the bleak corridors of the Underground, the harsh landscape that seemed determined to break their spirit, and finally, the vibrant chaos of the Wild East. And then, the sheriff— the eccentric, almost comical, caricature of a Western dream— catching them as they fell and subsequently faintined, his presence a strange amalgamation of absurdity and comfort.
Now, in the dim light of the clinic, the child felt the full weight of the ordeal settle into their weary bones, oppressed with fatigue and weakness. The adrenaline that had driven them forward was gone, replaced by a creeping pain that gnawed at their edges. Every movement was an exertion, every breath a struggle. They felt as fragile as glass, teetering on the brink of shattering.
A deep sense of abhorrence welled up within them, a loathing for the weakness that held them captive. They had always prided themselves on their resilience, their ability to push through adversity. Yet now, their body betrayed them, refusing to obey their will. They tried to sit up, to fight against the tide of their own frailty, but the effort was too much. The world tilted, their surroundings doubled in their vision hazed in weakness, and they sank back into the bed, defeated.
Fuck.
It was then that the door creaked open, and the familiar figure of the sheriff stepped into the room. Although less glorious removed from the traveler’s delirious stupor, his presence encompassed the entirety of the space, larger than life, his usual theatrical bravado tempered by a genuine concern that flickered in his eyes.
"Well, howdy there, partner," he greeted, his jubilant intonation yielding a warm, rumbling affection. "Glad to see you're awake."
Despite their near mental unravel the mere moment prior, the child managed a faint, weary smile, though it felt more like a grimace. The figure approached the bed, his movements surprisingly gentle for someone so flamboyant. He pulled up a rickety stool and sat down, and the traveler, nevertheless how delirious and exhausted, mentally remarked on how his eyes never once left their face.
Admittedly, it made him look kind of a dork— his back hunched, his limbs drawing the chair to his backside, and subsequently jolting forward nearer, and his attention undivided in almost discreet, meticulous observation of the traveler’s expression. How endearing.
"You gave us quite a scare back there," he said, his tone a mix of humor and earnestness. "Just collapsed right into me. Talk about a first meeting, huh?"
Succeeding an embarrassed flush, the child’s lips part agape a weak chuckle, which quickly escalated into a vehement cough. The cowboy’s expression softened further, a rare glimpse of the man beneath the sheriff's persona.
"Hey, listen, kiddo," he continued, "you're in pretty rough shape, yeah? We got a clinic here, but as you can see, it ain't exactly top-notch. We're doin' the best we can with what we got. But you need to rest, let yourself heal."
Huh, “kiddo”…
That was nice.
The child nodded meekly, the effort of even that minuscule, nearly indiscernible movement rendering them breathless. North Star extended a hand in reach for them, his hand resting lightly on their shoulder— swiftly obscuring a grimace upon the sharpness of bones prominent against the child’s flesh upon touch.
"I'm North Star," he introduced himself, a strained, although reassuring smile playing on his lips— and a sudden, boastful air of pride. "Sheriff of these parts, for better or worse. And you, my friend, are under my care now. So you just focus on gettin' better, and we'll take it one step at a time."
Inexplicably coaxed by the tenderness thus offered, the child's eyes fluttered closed, a sense of weary relief washing over them. It was almost against their will, instinctive— to fall so vulnerable, to the extent of unconsciousness.
For the first time since their fall into the Underground, the hope they so desperately clung to was eased and satiated. In this dilapidated clinic, under the watchful eye of a most unconventional sheriff, they had unwittingly secured themself a sanctuary, however eccentric.
And as North Star sat beside them, humming a soft tune that echoed with the warmth of a bygone era, the child drifted back into a fitful sleep. The pain and fever still clung to them, but there was a promise now, a fragile bond that whispered of healing and the strength to endure.
“When you get better, I’ll take you out for Ice Cream, yeah?”
p.s/mod’s note: rip starlo u would have 💘ed Backburner … guess i won’t ever minddd crisping up on ur backkkk burnerrrrr (distant echoes of “back burnerrr” over and over again)
also hi an update ?? to this fic ?? um …i kinda projected for a moment erm oops !! just needed a little bit of comfort ermmm damn !! IDK bro but part one here !!:
reader will get a little better maybe in the next chapter ?? and possibly meet the posse !! and Ceroba !! also here’s ur tag lemme know if u want me to stop with it LMAO @schnozzlebozzle
falling in love, ramshackle stone x reader
♡ ྀི ₊ i feel i am falling in love, with all my heart ⊹ ࣪ ˖
pairing ramshackle stone x reader genre romance, x reader, general head-canons, canon-compliant, gender neutral tw implied underage drinking, insinuated substance abuse
dedicated to the sweetest stone simp i know, anomaly @dmr-au ♡ ♡ ⸝⸝ kindaaa based the reader off of u tbh haha but kept it vague enough so that anybody can enjoy the fic 💕 i still plan on writing that oneshot about stone and sora, but this is just a little bit more do-able for me rn, so this is what i am gonna do for now !! hope u like it <3
ྀི ₊ …all i heard you say is, “all i want is to be yours.” ⊹ ࣪ ˖
♡ ♡ ⸝⸝ in direct reference to zeddyzi’s tumblr posts prior to the thesis film, she alludes to stone’s ineptitude in matters of romance. in quotation to one post in particular, she mentions that stone would be, “drinking A LOT more than usual” on the occasion of being hopelessly smitten with somebody— and insinuating the general implication of his…romantically challenged disposition of character.
this inclines me to deduce that a gradual slow burn between the reader and him is most feasible out of anything else !! a ridiculous, absurd amount of pining, longing, heart ache, and bottles of…adult juice chugged and discarded— culminating to a confession and eventual relationship ♡
♡ ♡ ⸝⸝ speaking of which, i personally believe that he’d be averse to acknowledging his feelings, let alone disclosing them in a DECLARATION OF LOVE altogether !! and would infinitely prefer to conceal the lamentations of his heart— content with admiring from afar, never risking your relationship at present.
either refusing to confess and forever holding his tongue, or unwittingly divulging his feelings in a moment of raw, inebriated honestly. which, is met with an immediate flush marring his cheeks, anddd maybe a frantic, vigorous swig of his bottle. awe, poor dude— good thing you like him back, don’t you? ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧
♡ ♡ ⸝⸝ upon your positive reciprocity, he’d be absolutely ecstatic— save for a slight irritability elicited by Vinnie’s incessant, yet inevitable teasing— but wouldn’t particularly know how to express his inapparent joy. indubitably though, he’d be keenly and UTTERLY engrossed in attempting to communicate his fondness regardless.
during the first few days of your newly forged affections, he’d take an acute, particular interest in becoming closer to you— a privilege he was previously denied prior to your relationship. seeking to know, love, and cherish in a way never before; engaging in your interests, prompting you to talk about yourself, attentive and adoring to your every move— occupying himself wholly in you. okAY ME WHEN !! /j
♡ ♡ ⸝⸝ as stone navigates through his emotions, his burgeoning affections might manifest through delicate, almost imperceptible shifts in behavior. his once aloof demeanor could soften, revealing a hidden tenderness emerging like a blossom in the dawn ♡
in these moments, he may offer you fragments of his inner world—intimate revelations and personal anecdotes previously shielded behind his façade. each shared secret becoming a thread weaving the tapestry of your connection, imbuing it with a profound sense of mutual trust and understanding that every good relationship necessitates <3
♡ ♡ ⸝⸝ and despite his best efforts, stone might grapple with self-doubt, the shadows of insecurity lingering at the edges of his consciousness. this introspection could lead to poignant, heart-to-heart dialogues where he lays bare his fears and vulnerabilities. and while tinged with his characteristic gruffness, reveal a deeper yearning for affirmation and acceptance— a testament to the genuine depth of his affection.
YOUR ardent reassurance in these moments become the anchor that steadies him amidst the his uncertainty— good luck to you, lovebird (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵) !!
♡ ♡ ⸝⸝ as your relationship matures, Stone’s expressions of love might evolve into more nuanced of gestures and intentions. his once sporadic acts of kindness become deliberate, thoughtful endeavors— perhaps, a surprise visit to a place that holds significance for you, or an earnest attempt to engage in activities you cherish. these gestures, though not always grandiose and often mild, resonate with an earnestness that speaks volumes about his evolving capacity for affection.
possible instances of this might be: playing a song for you on his fiddle, laying his coat on your shoulders when he notices that you’re cold, the very act of noticing that you’re cold in the first place, sharing food despite his evident lack of it …
♡ ♡ ⸝⸝ in addition to this, eventually though, Stone might make a twirling display of your relationship, a culmination of all his efforts and growth. it could be a heartfelt confession or an action that signifies his commitment and deepened feelings deeply personal to just u and him !! even if it’s not a grand public display, but it will be incredibly intimate and reflective of his journey from reluctance to open-heartedness 💕 allowing ur imagination to run wild for this one, u take it from here !!
♡ ♡ ⸝⸝ following this revelation, stone’s growth would continue to manifest in subtler, yet significant ways. his once-stiff demeanor may give way to a more fluid, expressive engagement with you— an ongoing journey of balancing his innate reticence with his deepening affection. each shared moment, every moment spent with your quiet companionship, becomes a testament to the unique bond you’ve cultivated together, rare and precious as your relationship further progresses. look at you two, how cute !!
that’s all i can offer at the moment !! for now, i wish you two all the best, lovers ♡
⊹ ࣪ ˖
OKAY WOW I DID NOT PLAN IT ON BEING THIS LONG but erm all my fics are never intended to and yet !! BUT ANYWAY woaghg first x reader fic since like, 2016 or something !! have honestly never done anything like this before, so i hope this does just fine :)) skipp and vinnie are next BTW !! i totallyyy want to do one of these for each character in ramshackle !! then deliberating on taking requests bUT ANYWAY thank you for reading my work !! no matter how silly haha i really appreciate it :)) BUT MOST OF ALL THIS ALL FOR ANOMALYYYY THE BIG BROTHER EVER !! looking back at you like THIS !!
Villain and Violent, Infant and Innocent; of Asya and Tré— a Ramshackle OC Fanfiction.
Asya. He wanted to reach her, to bridge the yawning chasm of their shared misery, but the action he sought to venture eluded him. Words hovered atop his lips, but they felt insignificant upon mental rehearsal, inadequate against the vast distance that separated them. Are you okay? What are you doing? You’ll get sick like that. What could there even be to say? A trembling hand extended in reach for her, willing himself a few steps nearer, but withdrew upon the slightest distance taken. You have cake on your cheek. Come here, I’ll wipe it off. What modicum of comfort could he provide when he himself was adrift, suspended in the unforgiving reality he scarcely endured? I’ll take care of you.
Crumbling like castles ever gleaming, civilizations proclaimed to be eternal— hubris, is it? Or, desperation?
“God, Asya…” breathed Tre, feigning melodramatic stupor— pressing a hand atop his chest as if a blow had penetrated through his heart in affected gesticulation. Finally, he succumbed to familiarity; what was cruel was infinitely easier. “What a scare. You could have given me a heart attack!”
about anastasia salvador (ramshackle oc insert) pairing ramshackle tré x oc (asya) genre character lore, canon-divergent, angst, the romance with the aforementioned couple is merely an addition tws insomnia, depiction of a a panic attack/mental breakdown, moments suggesting eating disorders, and religious guilt insinuated although never explicitly pictured. please heed said warnings and stay safe.
PART ONE of Indeterminate—
The house was but a husk of a home, a tomb— wholly overcome with a bleak, desolate stillness that preceded every crevice of the manor of lacquered gold. Each broad outline of shadow, cast by the obnoxious, grandiose amenities every room was furnished, stretched long and weary into the oppressive depth of the dark night, their harsh, jagged silhouettes becoming a dark pool in the creaking floors, which succumbed with the slightest oppression of force. Each cautious step Tre ventured was a laborious endeavor, his limbs leaden and uncooperative. Plagued by the gnawing restlessness of insomnia, he hauled himself from bed (which, proved nothing but an immediate regret of departing from his dearly beloved covers) and driven begrudgingly forth by some primal, desperate need for a cheap semblance of gratification, however fleeting or elusive the venture’s fruits culminated.
He wandered through the narrow, shadowed corridors, each embellished corner overcome with a total, inky blackness that seemed to pulse with a life of it’s own. It was as if the very walls conspired to remind him of the bleak night beyond the manor’s sprawling gates, weathered by a storm most penetrating— his existential insignificance in the vast, boundless expanse of the rain’s unforgiving onslaught. He advanced with a kind of mechanical detachment, his mind a clouded haze of half-formed flights of thought and distant memories in dejected recollection, all blurred by the heavy fog of insomnia and lethargy.
He crossed the threshold of the kitchen, where a sterile, clinical luminescence from the refrigerator cut through the darkness with an almost surgical precision. The manor’s opulent evening had been marked by a grand dinner party, which had just concluded hours earlier. The remnants of the festivities lay scattered, a detestable departure from the emptiness it now harbored. The stark blue cast long, sharp shadows, outlining the vagueness of the dark into delineated contrasts and unsettling angles. There, standing bathed in the cold glow, a spectral silhouette against the harsh illumination of the open fridge, perched a dejected Asya, her figure etched in sharp relief against the gloom.
The coveted names in the exclusive guest list was a calculated pick of the most desirable prospects in the current social ecosystem, which of course, encompassed Ramshackle’s Holy Order, and their dearest girl. The extension of the night’s festivities was not intended, but drew out longer than expected, and neither was the weather most penetrating— nevertheless, it proved to be an immense joy to Tre’s mother, whom was most excited to suggest her guests’ extended stay.
Although “dearest”, at the moment, Anastasia did not quite appear. She clutched a slice of a cold, decadent cake with bare hands, it’s wet, saturated grain, moist from it’s refrigeration, apparent even from a distance— her fingers overcome with a fitful tremble against the frigid cold as she held onto it as if her only remaining anchor to reality.
Everyone is standing on shaky ground; teetering on insecurity half-concealed and trembling from the weight of the false identities we cannot sustain upright.
Her eyes were gouged of even the vaguest notion of thought or color, vacant and unthinking— fixed in some vague, indiscernible point in the wistful distance, as if she had slipped from the brutal moorings of reality. The light bathed her in an unforgiving pallor, every shadow of outworn grief marring her gaunt face. A mere statue, frozen in stagnant, desolate contemplation, only, a statue would not have been the picture of pity Asya epitomized— the usual, poised arch of her back hunched and sunken, slumped helplessly over a slice of moist cake in the ceaseless expanse of the dark.
The air was frigid, each breath taken a sharp, icy stab that seared Tre’s lungs. Outside, a storm raged, an unrelenting onslaught that battered against the house as though in zealous effort to wring it apart. The wind howled, the mournful howl of a swift succession of rapid gales— overlapping into one another in a fitful, anguished cry.
Asya. He wanted to reach her, to bridge the yawning chasm of their shared misery, but the action he sought to venture eluded him. Words hovered atop his lips, but they felt insignificant upon mental rehearsal, inadequate against the vast distance that separated them. Are you okay? What are you doing? You’ll get sick like that. What could there even be to say? A trembling hand extended in reach for her, willing himself a few steps nearer, but withdrew upon the slightest distance taken. You have cake on your cheek. Come here, I’ll wipe it off. What modicum of comfort could he provide when he himself was adrift, suspended in the unforgiving reality he scarcely endured? I’ll take care of you.
Crumbling like castles ever gleaming, civilizations proclaimed to be eternal— hubris, is it? Or, desperation?
“God, Asya…” breathed Tre, feigning melodramatic stupor— pressing a hand atop his chest as if a blow had penetrated through his heart in affected gesticulation. Finally, he had succumbed to familiarity; what was cruel was infinitely easier. “What a scare. You could have given me a heart attack!”
Asya remained inert, hardened into stone by the utter sorrow enveloping her— tightening it’s constriction upon every waking moment, until it ensnared and choked, stifling her to total lameness. And much to Tre’s dismay, apathetic to his incessant provocation. The right words, the gentle ones, escaped his lips— shaping instead to the cruel, vain ease of scrutiny.
“Wha— what are you even doing?!” He behested incredulously, the berate of such an interrogation almost akin to those subject to those he apprehended for larceny. Talking to her as if hopelessly caught amidst the scene of an abhorrent crime. “You’re supposed to be asleep, or at the very least, with Father Matthias in the guest bedroom. If he or Mother— scratch that, if ANYBODY caught you in such a state, you’d be in awful trouble!”
“Look at you! You have cake on your forehead! I mean— how does it even get there?!” He pursued tempestuously, pointing to the prominences which he expressed indicated such an offense, apparently to him personally. “Are you TRYING to look pitiful?”
There was an inherent frailty to Anastasia, the susceptibility of both her physical constitution and mental character to total, absolute collapse upon the slightest incitement embedded to the delicate fixtures of her being. Weak, she was. Every sharp utterance, every disagreeable flick of the tongue, merely even a cold, fleeting glance, prompted her to unravel, to the point of ceaseless tears— an abnormal sensitivity perhaps a consequence of the isolation she subject in childhood, and social ineptitude.
“Pick yourself up, Salvador!” He bellowed, coupled with a frantic gesticulation of his arms— wild and ardent. “I mean, honestly—’
And of course, upon Tre’s oblivious barrage of scrutiny and imputation, she succumbed to a heaving rise of her trembling shoulder, and subsequent sob. With great suddenness, a rupture of emotion tears her asunder, snapping like thread strained too far— surrendering at last, to the desperate, clamoring tempest of her heart.
Her face twists in her violent outburst, contorting as her brows furrow in impassioned languish, her eyes aching with the tears restrained unshed yielding to its inevitable flood of grief, and her lips parting agape hitching, gasped curse. Ugly, it was— indubitably so, and she was painfully aware.
“--- how do you possibly think to maintain the provisions you’re bestowed when you’re…you…”
Her hands instinctively endeavor to obscure the maddening red that marred her cheeks upon the discernment of Tre’s gaze laid upon such a scene of her vulnerability. It was then that fervent, solemn sentiment was conceived in her heaving chest. She had witnessed her mother amidst a similar collapse of emotion once before, a single sliver of moonlight enlightening the scene as she infiltrated the moment behind a door parted agape. In her Father’s arms, sniveling most pathetically— enveloped in an embrace, incessant kisses pressed to her face, wet with tears. “It’s okay, darling. I have you, do I not?”
God, could he do that?
“You’re crying,” Tre concluded, indicating the painfully obvious— the perceived monotony and tedium of his attention feeling infinitely more debilitating than the sorrow Anastasia lamented, piercing through the heart.
Please?
“Surely, you’re above such dramatics,” he drawled, the familiar intonation and emphasis of his tone laden with a solid disdain, “there isn’t anybody here to fall for your little shtick. That hateable, poorly conceived act you put on, to procure excessive sympathy. I find it revolting.”
No. No he could not.
“I– I do not—” Anastasia chokes, forcing her utterance upon the vice, imposing grip on her throat, wrecking with sobs with a force that shook her corporal entirety. An accusation she would not allow, the only one. “I– I would never—!”
“Please, Asya. That’s pathetic.”
— End of Part One.
erm…what the sigma !! chat this is kinda funny they’re so pathetic PFTFTFTT ERMMM sorry for making Tré such an asshole I AM GOING BY HOW ZEDDYZI CHARACTERIZES HIM IN HER OLD TUMBLR POSTS ☹️😔😔 obvi their validity in canon is questionable taking into account how they’re like…from 2016… BUT ANYWAY he’s not totally a jerk or won’t be for the entirety of the fic i promise 💔💔 he and asya are just complicated angry stupid teenagers and they are 💕 so precious to me !! part two soon, promise ♡
