Oh My, This Is So Beautifully Written??
Oh my, this is so beautifully written??
It's been a while since I read something on these two and I'm so glad the first fic after that time was this<33
You didn't disappoint, hope I'll read more angst like this from you<33
I very much recommend reading<33
and if you go, i want to go with you.
⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚ synopsis: the sister of the empire has died, the emperors subsequently follow. (2.1k)
⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚ contents: death, depictions of dead bodies and decay, mourning, buckle up for this, intrusive thoughts, angst, suicide, heart attacks and brain hemorrhaging
⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚: caracalla x sister!reader x geta
⋆ ౨ৎ˚ ⋆ ˚ a/n: making my comeback with something sad!! let me know how you feel about this, as i’m slightly unsure of it! thank you all for being so patient with me, it truly means so so much to me!! a few people wanted angst, and i hope i delivered it properly!!
my masterlist!
the halls have begun to stench.
down the hall, next to geta’s chambers, the doors to their sister’s chambers are thrown open. through the doors, caracalla can see her body, cloaked by a white cloth. his hands wrap tighter around the flowers in his hands, thorns digging into his hands, yet the sting is dull. he hasn’t felt much since she died, flowing through his days as if he was stuck in a wine bottle, slushing around.
he can see geta’s hunched form, laying over their sister.
the moon illuminates the room, casting a light over the now abandoned room, dust covering the untouched surfaces. he can see the jutting of geta’s back through his night robes, the bumps of his spine protruding out as if he was the one dead. they’re the same robes that he had worn when they found their sister, curled into her bed, her soul ascended to the heavens.
it was no murder plot that took her life nor a fit of rage or a sudden spark of depression. no, it was her brain, physician after physician had been dragged into the room, crinkling their noses as they studied the deceased empress, gently pointing out the slight swelling of her head. they had murmured about blood pooling in her skull, leaking from a burst vessel.
even now, a week later, they cannot move her body.
there’s a pile of vomit next to her bed, rotting into the carpet, a sign of her struggle. next to it lies a pile of fabric she had been messing with, giggling about dresses and shawls. it pains him, to stare at the multitude of projects and hobbies littered around palatine, forever frozen in time. incomplete and forgotten. even now, in her bed, with the slight sheen of blistering and bloating, foam leaking from her nose as if she had a cold, caracalla cannot help but think she is beautiful.
he knows geta thinks the same.
even now, lingering at the door and trying to ignore the stench of his rotting sister, caracalla can see how geta holds her as if she’ll awake any minute now, clinging to her like a small child. his hair is matted from his refusal to bathe, darkened by grease as he curls into the side of the bed, refusing to leave. at night, when he sleeps in the room next to geta’s, desperate to be close to his siblings, caracalla will even hear him talking to her, crying pitifully.
but who is he to judge?
at night, caracalla curls deep into his bed, mourning the loss of his anaticula. the bed is no longer warmed by the sleeping body of his sister, seeking out comfort in the dead of night while geta works. no longer do the halls smell of berries and flowers, the curtains drawn tight as the smell of her body fills palatine. no longer does caracalla have support against geta, no one to run to when their brother gets mean. at night, he’ll cry into his bedsheets, trying to cling to the lingering scent of her perfumes.
the servants have left alongside their mother. all that is left is the two of them in their grief, guarded by the praetorian.
-
rome mourns the loss of their empress alongside the brothers.
a darkness spreads over rome, the streets no longer bustling with life and activity when the news breaks. the games are indefinitely paused, any celebrations or parties getting lost in the wave of grief.
banners are hung over every window, aristocrat or commoner in remembrance of the now late empress. a procession is led through town by the praetorian guard once her body is removed from palatine, getting taken through palatine. deification had started later, with an uncanny wax version of the empress being presented in the temple.
when they first see her, the brothers cannot look away.
not while an uncannily similar version of their sister rests upon a bed of ivory and gold, dressed in her finest robes, gold and jewels strewn over her body like garland. a laurel wreath is wrapped around the figure’s head, large and commanding of attention as people pour in to pay their respects. on the left side of her body, the senate sits, cloaked in black as they stare ahead while the brothers sit on the right, dressed in their mourning robes. their outfits are eerily similar to their war uniforms, cloaks dangling off their shoulders with gold plates pressing into their chests, yet instead of white, they’re dressed in black fabric.
on the final day of mourning, geta is the one to seal his sister away, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before the bier is whistled away.
-
they break tradition.
there is no cremation, no pyre that raises to the skies and carries the scent of death throughout rome. instead, their sister is embalmed and entombed within the pantheon. neither of them see her body before it’s put in it’s tomb, still intact. however, caracalla is cursed to see it while her tomb is getting shut, a glass pane spread over the top of her coffin, her face staring back at him before the door is slammed shut.
he pukes in the pantheon, nasty, gagging sobs leaving his mouth as the image of his sister’s embalmed body sinks into his eyelids.
that night, caracalla dreams of too dull eyes and pale skin.
-
geta becomes cruel once their sister is gone.
he’s a mean shell of a man, screaming and launching items at caracalla as if he were a stray dog, haunted by the ghost of his sister. at night, he sees her still, curled into her side of the bed, head swollen with blood leaking out of her lips. he cannot move once the phantom joins him, unable to move or talk. he stays awake until the day breaks, the illusion of his sister disappearing once the light begins to seep into his room.
everywhere he goes, he sees her. phantom laughs echoing through palatine, flickers of tan skin and curly hair running through the garden, whispered proclamations of love flowing through the library. catching glimpses of white dresses running around a corner, forever out of his reach.
her death keeps him awake, constantly aware.
paranoia seeps into his chest as he continues on his duties, waiting for someone to take advantage of his weakness, waiting for the inevitable knife to slice through his chest. he cannot look at caracalla, haunted by his eyes that shine the same way their sister’s did. he pushes for more military invasions, not wanting to spend anymore time with the mourning look in general acacius’ eyes when they meet, pushing back any attempts of consolidation. geta wishes for pain, for suffering.
he wishes for sleep.
one night, he lies next to his phantom sister, mind sluggish with exhaustion and grief. the room is swelteringly warm, silence pressing into his chest as he thinks back to the warm nights he’d spend with his sister, sitting out on the balconies and watching rome, unbothered by their duties outside of their relationship.
and he wants to do it again.
he wants to loosely braid his sisters hair as she looks at the stars, stumbling through the stories of her day as she basks in the warmth of rome’s nights. he wants to bury his head in the junction of her neck and shoulder, to feel the comforting scratch of her nails in his hair as he cries. he wants to hear uncontrollable laughter and the slight rasp of her breath as she sleeps.
-
he finds himself standing in front of her tomb.
the pantheon is empty, bare of it’s vestal virgins and priests, the moonlight seeping in through the windows, illuminating her tomb. his fingers dig into the stone as he pushes the door open, ignoring the loud creaking and dragging of the door.
his sister stares back at him.
if he didn’t know better, he’d assume she was stuck in her coffin, still breathing. heart still beating. she looks like nothing had ever happened, like she never rotted in palatine for days, organs and muscles deteriorating. as if her vessels had never exploded. as if geta didn’t spend weeks mourning over her dead body, feeling her skin grow cold and nasty as she blistered.
he knows he should turn back. that he should slam the door closed and return to the ghostly apparition waiting in his room. but he finds himself creeping closer to her coffin, stretching out a hand to lay against the glass panel, feeling the chill of her tomb creep into his body.
and then he cannot stop.
he’s slamming the coffin door open, the embalmed body of his sister falling into his arms as he sinks to the stone floor, holding her body close.
he cries like a baby into pale skin, tangling his hands in the familiar curls of his sister’s hair. he knows deep down, that it’s not truly her body, a mess of wax and embalmed organs lying in his grasp, the remnants of her hair blended in with hair that didn’t belong to her. he knows that it’s the body from her mourning, not the decomposing mess they had removed from palatine.
but he seeks out comfort from it nonetheless.
in the morning he will be found, clutching her close, wrists sluggishly bleeding as his body is removed from her tomb, freshly deceased. weeks later, he will be entombed in the same tomb, forever next to his sister.
-
caracalla is left by himself.
there is no one for him to lean on, no comfort to be found in the sprawling halls of palatine as he mourns the loss of his older brother and younger sister. the weight of rome rests upon his shoulders now, cruel and demanding as he plans for geta’s mourning, for his brother’s embalming.
enemies have begun to press into rome, hearing whispers of the back to back loss of the empire. riots break throughout the streets, the people angry with the lack of consideration, with the lack of support and leadership. but caracalla cannot bring himself to face the masses of people, selfishly wishing that he could still hide behind geta’s demanding attitude. to be safe behind his brother’s iron throne and his sister’s popularity with their people.
hallucinations haunt him at night, twisting his preexisting sickness into something crueler.
terror seeps into his bones at all hours of the day, his heart forever seized in terror as he waits for his inevitable return to his siblings. every creak and whisper of wind within palatine sends him into a fit of terror, hiding underneath geta’s bed like a small child, curled around the linens that used to comfort his brother.
it’s with one clamber of a sword that caracalla is sent over the edge.
his body grows heavy with something he cannot explain, head spinning wildly as he curls into the linens deeper, terror spreading through his chest. he can do nothing but grasp the linens tighter as his body grows heavy, the world spinning as the pain in his body grows deeper.
in the morning, the praetorian guard will find him seemingly asleep underneath geta’s bed. the physicians will whisper about a broken heart and stress as he’s carried off to the temple, body being placed upon the same bier that held his brother and sister. caracalla will join them in the tomb, placed on the other side of his sister.
maybe in another life, they are not emperors and empresses, instead they will be small children once more, unburdened by power. every life they will find each other once more, together even in death as they’re reunited again and again. in some lives, they will be siblings, in others they will be classmates or soldiers in a war. in some they will be born to royalty once more, facing the same tragic fate of sudden death. in every life, their sister dies first and they follow suit, forever chasing her through time.
-
More Posts from Hicanivent and Others
My brain choosing my current hyperfixation:
Ok so this might be a wild take but bear with me;
So imagine Modern!AU with the Stan twins and considering what kind of father Filbrick was in the canon and potentially would be in this AU along with the internet and Reddit and podcasts or whatever, do we think Ford would be an incel or not?
'cause I can see the potential of it but I'm not sure if it'd be in-character enough
Requests are currently:
OPEN
The Boys Masterlist also includes The Boys Diabolical. It does NOT include Gen V NOR the comics.
Even though I might write for some characters more than others, the other characters are still available as well!
Do not be afraid to request anyone from the current open form of media of the Fandom!
Works:
COMING SOON
Disclaimer:
I do not own The Boys or any of its characters. The Boys is the property of Garth Ennis and Darick Robertson and Sony Interactive Entertainment This fanfiction is written purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended for profit. Please support the original work!
"I SAID NOW"
Does that line do something to me? Yes. Do I feel like a whore? Also yes. Will I do something about it? Absolutely not.
NEVER FORGET.
death isnt enough. i need to never have existed
Ford get held down day has got me sweating like a sinner in church. Good Lord. Oh my. Great heavens. Ij think I hauve covid.
Amen 🙏
Name || Write my name like a poem
Pairing || Jackson!Joel Miller x NB!Reader
Summary || Thanks to your favourite student, you might just find out the one whose heart you've been guarding
Word Count || 3k
Tags/Warnings || Idiots in love, Fluff, Joel is probably a bit OOC, Feelings!, Joel is a pookie, Ellie was adopted by Joel, Acquaintances to Lovers, Flustered Joel, Hinting at Sub!Joel, Age Gap, Insecurities, Unestablished Relationship, Joel struggles with confessions, No Beta We Die Like Men
English is not my first language
If you find any grammar or spelling mistakes, let me know so that I can fix them
Masterlist
Advent Calendar 2024 Masterlist
“Have a good day; and Merry Christmas!” called back at you the children as well as their parents as they left your class. It filled your heart with joy to see them so excited for Christmas. You already got used to it after the past three years you had spent in Jackson. Nonetheless, it still somehow felt unreal.
You saw the world fall, being just a child back then. Despite your young age at the time, you remembered it all. How life had been before the Infected took over. After surviving for years and years on end, dreaming about a dead future of your childhood self, living a somehow normal life in Jackson seemed almost laughable.
These kids, they weren't of how much they had missed simply by being born too late. They would never dream of the world you and the other people from the world before knew. Even though you acknowledged it every single day, you tried. You tried to teach them, showing them the wonders you remembered. You wanted them to see. To let them know there was a future once and that there might be one again, even if slightly different.
Being a school teacher in Jackson made it easier. Otherwise, you would probably be the talk of the town. The lunatic who couldn't stop thinking about the past. Of course you could. Letting go was simply…. hard from time to time.
Teaching on the other hand gave you the space to express yourself. To shift the kids’ minds towards something bigger. Greater than they realised. It was a power which shouldn't be held by one person alone and you knew it. However, you never acted upon it. Those children were the world's future. Your legacy. You couldn't ruin it for selfish wants, no matter how justified they might be.
Because of your kindness, the kids loved you. Adored you. Their favourite teacher? You, without debate. Their English, history and arts teacher. Unlike their other teachers, you were much more understanding. Or maybe you had that parental instinct your colleagues lacked, you weren't sure. Either way, you were their number one.
Honestly, even Ellie liked you a bit more. Ellie. Ellie Miller. Your newest student. She was a bit older but learning never hurt anyone. Especially since they hadn't been taught everything they should. You had to admit, she could be hard to deal with at times. She wasn't stupid or anything, quite the opposite. She was highly intelligent, skilled and competent, too. She was simply her own person. Then again, so was her father.
Her father, Joel, wasn't as familiar to you. Yes, you knew each other and talked when given the chance but had you actually properly hung out with him. You were both busy, mostly seeing each other at parent-teacher meetings. After all, you had students to look after while he gathered supplies for the settlement.
Honestly, when you first met him when he and Ellie arrived a few months ago, you assumed he would be, to put it lightly, an asshole. Surprisingly, he wasn't. He was actually kind of charming. Sweet, caring personality hidden underneath a rugged, reserved persona.
You had seen through it though; on many occasions. The way he talked to Ellie, how he helped out with the kids when you were losing control and he was around. How he knew exactly what to do when it came to the smallest of your pupils. Truth to be told, it made your heart flutter a tiny bit.
You heard enough rumours to know a few pieces of information about him. It was fairly obvious Ellie wasn't his, at least not biologically. You had assumed he took care of children of some of his friends, back in Boston QZ. When rumors of him losing his daughter rolled around, it suddenly made sense. Of course, no-one ever voiced it, but a few people still knew, maybe 10 people at best. Those were the closest to the family anyway and knew they shouldn't spread such things around. You didn't either.
You pitied him but at least he had Ellie now. The girl was truly something and she matched him perfectly. The change from once they had arrived and after those few months of staying in Jackson was palpable. At first slightly detached, they now couldn't handle being gone, away from each other. They were each other's way to heal from the scars and pain of their lives prior to living in Jackson.
As you cleaned your desk, vibrating with excitement at the thought of settling in front of your fireplace with cocoa in your lap, a soft knock came to your door. Turning around to see the newcomer, there stood Ellie. You swore the kid was getting bigger every day. She most likely was; now almost as tall as you. She gave you a smile as she came closer, seemingly beaming.
“Hey, sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to give you something,” she spoke quickly, barely giving you time to greet her back. She opened her backpack, it being filled with all sorts of stuff, before taking out a card. She handed you the blue holiday card, a shrug following her words.
“Sorry if it's wet. Those assholes from lower years thought it would be funny to throw snowballs at me.” she scoffed. You on the other hand shot her a quick look to remind her to mind her language. That is if she even noticed it. Then again, the holidays were officially on and that meant you weren't their teacher anymore. You were simply another anonymous part of the community. If kids had foul language, their parents had to deal with it. You were having a break after all. Maybe the lack of reprimands considering Ellie's language outside of class were why she liked you so much. You were never quite sure.
“Thank you Ellie, it means a lot,” you dipped your head as a thanks, a genuine smile placed upon your face. You weren't lying, it did mean a lot. Even though many kids and their families adored you, there were just a few who actually ever gave you something outside of the end of the school year. It was nice knowing that some of them thought about her during the holidays. It meant a bit more now, since Ellie was the only one who actually gave her something other than wishes of health and joy.
“You're welcome. I gotta go, we're supposed to pick a tree today and Joel's gonna be grouchy if I come late. Merry Christmas!” she said quickly, giving you a small wave. With that, she disappeared out of the door. Once again, you didn't even have time to wish her a merry Christmas. She was so uncatchable at times.
Turning your attention back to the cleaning, you finished as soon as possible. Your mind was all over as you walked home. The town was already feeling festive but you had better plans. Your absence would probably not be noticed anyway. Coming to your lonely home at the edge of the commune, you cleaned up a bit more. Even if you didn't have many festive things around at your disposal, you could at least try to make your home pretty.
Later into the day, the sun slowly nearing the horizon, you finally sat in your armchair by the fireplace. Sipping on your hot cocoa with a marshmallow or two swimming at its surface, you simply relaxed underneath a blanket. You were reading one of the books you had borrowed from the town’s library, it being written by Erich Maria Remarque, as your mind shifted to the card Ellie gave you earlier. Honestly, your eyes only ran over it back then and now you were getting curious.
Putting the things in your hands aside at a nearby coffee table, you move towards your bag. Searching through it for a bit, your hands came into contact with materials, pens, important documents and whatever you actually had in there, some of those things long since forgotten. Finally, your finger flickered against the card. You took it out without any further delay, immediately starting to read.
It was the typical mindless text which had always been on cards such as this. Still, it was the thought that counted. Gaze flickering over the names of Ellie, Joel, Tommy and Maria, your attention was brought back upon Joel's name. That handwriting. You saw it somewhere before. Not on any documents, no, it was familiar from somewhere else. A sudden thought to you, making you freeze for a second in your spot. Next thing you knew, you were running up the stairs to your bedroom.
You immediately headed for your desk, opening its drawer without hesitation. Searching through its contents, you quickly found the thing you had been looking for amongst the amounts of paper and office supplies. There, in your hands, was a thick envelope, filled to the brim with letters. Taking one of them out, your eyes widened.
For weeks, you had been getting letters. Not threats though. Poems, it almost seemed. Declarations of love and devotion, the sender never signing their name. Now, seeing the letters right next to the holiday card, you were left speechless. It was Joel's handwriting. To be completely honest, the letters sometimes sounded corny enough to be from no-one but him. Still, you appreciated the gesture. Who could say they got love letters in the first place?
“Focus, focus right now,” you told yourself. Shaking your head to at least somehow clear it, you tried to gather your thoughts. Joel Miller. Joel, the guy you had never even hung out with without it being a social event had been sending you love letters for weeks. Would you ever find out if Ellie didn't give you that card? Did she know? Was it on purpose? Was she playing matchmaker? Was it all just a joke? You weren't sure. However, you definitely knew you needed to speak to Joel.
You were ready to go when it suddenly started seeming like a bad idea. Would he start ignoring you? Would he deny it? What if you were wrong and they weren't from him? What if what if… All sorts of thoughts were running through your head as you paced around your living room, flames in the hearth making your shadow dance on the walls. Eventually, you decided what to do. You would wait until the tree in the town's square was lit before making a move.
The weight of your plan was getting more suffocating with every passing minute. The insecurities and uncertainty swirled in your chest like snowflakes in the air, pressing down on you. You shouldn't had slept until 3 PM. Yes, you had less time to stress but it suddenly seemed so near. The dark came quickly and the gathering happened even quicker.
You stood in the back of the crowd, not too far from where Joel along with Ellie and his brother with his wife stood. The lump in your throat wouldn't go away, no matter how many times you swallowed. What was happening to you? You were an adult, a teacher, an apocalypse survivor, and you were still terrified to talk to a guy about some letters that he most likely already knew about? It was almost shameful.
Your eyes didn't stray far even after from him even as the biggest tree in town had been lit, it somehow grounding you with its light. It was a beacon of hope for many in the community and yet, you could only focus on how it made Joel's eyes sparkle. You had noticed it before, his eyes. You refused to acknowledge how easily you could get lost in them. How he selfishly stole every single thought from your head, words from your tongue and breath from your lungs with no more than one look.
For just a second, you let yourself get lost. It had been so long since your mind went silent, simply swimming along your heart's surface. You should had been more careful but as your heartbeat got less and less steady, the soft hum in your ears soothed any worries you had. You didn't even register Joel's eyes meeting yours. Neither did you really pay attention when he completely disappeared from your view, only to appear by your side.
“You okay? You looked as if you were putting a curse on me,” he jested, dark eyes fixed on the tree in front of the two of you. His gaze flickered to you for a second from the corner of his eye, watching your reaction. You had already looked away, joining the other townsfolk in watching the beauty of the tree. Joel's mind was elsewhere however.
Joel wouldn't admit out loud but he somewhat wished you hadn't looked away. He wished to see the way you looked at him when you talked to him. It was the way you looked at most of your friends and yet, it was somehow different. Or maybe, his mind was just making him too hopeful.
“Oh, sorry. I got lost in thought,” your attention flickered to the cup of tea in your gloves-clad hands. You felt Joel's eyes on you, gaze intense as he watched you. You didn't know why he was so fascinated by you at that moment and it made you shift in your spot.
“What, do I have something on my face?” a tilt of your head and you were staring at him again. Why did you look like that? That look in your eyes, how the air made your cheeks and nose rosy, a snowflake on two stuck on your eyelashes. You looked so cozy despite the weather, snuggled up in your warm winter coat.
“No, of course not,” answered Joel, casting his gaze elsewhere. He prayed the cold was enough to make you believe he was redder from that and not you. After all, he was capable of unwitnessed violence but you were the line of what he could handle? Even he had a hard time believing it.
“Alright then,” you hummed before blowing onto your drink. Taking a small sip, the two of you settled into a comfortable silence. Everyone else around you was unaware of the tension brewing between you. To them, it came across as two acquaintances sharing a quiet moment.
“Thank you for the card,” you mumbled suddenly, catching him off guard, “I appreciate it.”
The smile you sent him mirrored in his own expression as he recalled the holiday card Ellie forced him to sign the morning before. He hadn't been aware it was for you but, seeing your smile, he didn't consider anyone a better receiver than you.
“Don't mention it. Besides, it was Ellie's idea,” Joel shrugged, pulling his jacket a bit more over himself to get warmer. Everything else was freezing compared to the heat in his face. The need to escape, to swim up and get out of the ocean of unsaid emotions you posed was a bit too much. And yet, he would drown if you asked him to.
A smile tugged on your lips, a tiny flickered of amusement flickering through your expression. Glancing down to his jaw, you watched the way he thickly swallowed. Were you making him uncomfortable? Maybe he knew about the topic you needed to discuss. Taking a shaky breath, you took in your shoes, covered in a white blanket.
“The letters weren't written by Ellie though, were they?” the sound of your voice, your words, they made Joel tense up. The man stood there like an icicle, mind slowly processing what you just told him. You knew. He had hoped you wouldn't find out, not until he was ready to come forward himself. What coward hid behind unsigned letters? Joel Miller, apparently.
“No, they weren't,” shaking his head, he once again surveyed your face, searching for at least something to catch on to assess your opinion. For the first time since he started talking to you, your eyes met. His brown ones stared into yours while a lump formed in his throat. You gave him a look you hadn't given anyone else and it was reserved for him and him only. He was hooked.
“Should I... stop? Sending them, I mean,” the sound of his voice made you chuckle. He seemed embarrassed, desperate to assess your mood. It made you smile to know how easily such a ruthless man could get flustered. The uncertainty was basically flowing out of him. With a smile, you shook your head.
“No, it's okay. I actually kinda like it,” at your words, Joel's expression softened to the point where he reminded you of a puppy. Those huge brown orbs, staring at you as if you were an otherworldly being. He nodded, immediately listening to your words. He would send as many letters as you wished if that's what it took.
“Can I get you a coffee?” he blurted out without hesitation. A sudden fear penetrated his mind; what if he was too rash? Was he trying too hard? He was worried, quite a lot. Joel wanted anything but to blow it. However, a tiny voice inside told him you would accept. And, indeed, you gave him a nod, your smile somehow even widening.
“Sure, I'd like that,” you nodded, a warm feeling running through you. You weren't of that but you both felt butterflies fluttering inside you. How could they not? You liked him and Joel, well, Joel voiced his thoughts in his letters. He let out a sigh of relief, a lopsided grin spreading on his face. For just a moment, he let himself enjoy the feeling of your acceptance. Composing himself once more, Joel cleared his throat.
“Alright. I'll uh, pick you up tomorrow at 8?” a call from Tommy slightly interrupted the moment of vulnerability between the two of you, but Joel didn't seem to even notice. He glanced Tommy's way but his attention remained on you nonetheless. His mind was filled with you for the time being, the only person he truly cared about outside of his little family.
You managed to agree to his proposal before he was pulled away from you by Ellie, the girl forcing him to come along with her back to their original spot. Waving him goodbye, your smile still lingering. Maybe those holidays wouldn't be so lonely after all?
-
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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ no discrimination here .𖥔 ݁ ˖ shitposts and venting of all kinds here .𖥔 ݁ ˖ newly fanfiction .𖥔 ݁ ˖ requests open
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