[melonminnie]

A girl who's chronically online 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ Jack of all trades, master of none.

♡𓈒⁎ Pink-haired angel, minor, and Funfetti or confetti cake enjoyer to the extremes. My mother's biggest marriage contract fan sticker addict, directed by Cameron Crowe, written by Stephanie garber ୨୧ manga fan, and manhwa writer. Evangeline Fox's #1 fan. Megumi enjoyer

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ CURRENT WIPS: lyrica x fem! magician! mentor! reader

☆⁺‧͙* CURRENT READING: Alchemy of Secrets by Stephanie Garber, Addicted for Now (3) by Krista and Becca Ritchie.

♡𓈒⁎CURRENTLY WATCHING: Atelier witch hat, X-men '97

MILLIE'S TABLE OF CONTENTS 𝜗𝜚 ⊹

pls note i made the gif ontop myself! so no stealing!!!!

[melonminnie]

Teaser for u lovelies on the next fic im working on!!! It’s a modern AU 🥹 trust you will be fed 💯💯💯💯

LMK if you guys have any other modern au’s you want! Btvf is def one im thinking emo Lloyd but I’m not sure

[melonminnie]

Hiii mellyyyy💗💗💗 hrruuu??? Hope ur doing well💗💗 my birthday is coming soon so I'm getting a sun and moon cake yayy🥹💗 the Internet is out in my house tho so I keep calling my dad to send me net 😭 and I picked science for my major(?) and I'm gonna check if they approve in a week or two💗💗 XOXO

Hiii my loveee!!!! I miss u so so so much ☹️☹️ im okay!! How are you? Stay safe w this war HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY WHAT DATE IS IT??? Show me ur cake in the future plsplsplspls!! ☺️☺️

Also I picked science too! But in my country it was based on your previous grades and I had done oksy I hope you get in!! I really need to get your other socials so I can talk to you else where at some point 😭

[melonminnie]

A girl who's chronically online 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ Jack of all trades, master of none.

♡𓈒⁎ Pink-haired angel, minor, and Funfetti or confetti cake enjoyer to the extremes. My mother's biggest marriage contract fan sticker addict, directed by Cameron Crowe, written by Stephanie garber ୨୧ manga fan, and manhwa writer. Evangeline Fox's #1 fan. Megumi enjoyer

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ CURRENT WIPS:

☆⁺‧͙* CURRENT READING: Alchemy of Secrets by Stephanie Garber, Addicted for Now (3) by Krista and Becca Ritchie.

♡𓈒⁎CURRENTLY WATCHING: Atelier witch hat, X-men '97

MILLIE'S TABLE OF CONTENTS 𝜗𝜚 ⊹

pls note i made the gif ontop myself! so no stealing!!!!

[melonminnie]

new theme who dis

[melonminnie]

What the fuck was that ending for chainsawman tatsuki Fujimoto don’t let me catch you don’t let me catch you don’t let me catch you

Wha aht kishibe what abt kobini what abt pochita himself dude WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO AKI??? Himeno ???? WHAT IM CRASHING OUT I CANT DO THIS WHAT WAS THAT ENDING DONT LET ME CATCH YOU FUJIMOTO

[melonminnie]

So sorry 4 the inactivity i legit don't have any ideas on what 2 write... （''ᴗ‸ᴗ）

[melonminnie]

Hi! Can I do a Yandere agriche family x little sister reader? Like, reader is soft hearted and cries at violence and death and blood? Maybe even faints at the sight of them or something? Sorry if it's too complicated 😔

Thank you 😊 (feel free to ignore. If you didn't like it)

EVERLONG -( Yan! Agriche family x younger female reader!)

CONDENSATION: The Black Agriche household had never been capable of feeling the emotion that many called love. till you except you weren't like your siblings. You had the fears that most of them got rid of when they were younger. blood, violence, death—all of it!.

WORD COUNT: 2k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: THANK YOU and happy new years!! sm for requesting; I hope this met your standards! You're like 6 or 8? I didn't specify Lante isn't present here, nor is Dion. Lante is mentioned in passing!!!! (Got too lazy to write a scene with him, okay? okay..)

BEING SOFT AND DOCILE.  It was a foreign thing amongst the Agriche family. A bloodline full of bloodshed and violence.  The walls were often stained crimson red. To some of the servants it truly seemed never-ending. The screaming and the blood, that is. 

So, to say, being born soft-hearted and opposed to everything the family stood for. It wasn't the first time. The head of the family had seen it numerous times before. In older people. Younger people, some with dark hair that the sun never reflected on, others the opposite. 

But Lante was never known to be a generous man, nor was he ever kind to his children or his wives. 

What mattered most to Lante was how useful his children could be. If you couldn't fight? Fine, you'd just have to master seduction. He found a solution to every little problem that would pop up.  

So...what would his solution be for his more softhearted children?.  Death, of course!.  He couldn't have the Black Agriche be known for anything less than violent.  

And that was how it was for an incredibly long time. For generation upon generation, Lante had never hesitated to kill pests who interfered with his vision. That was till a few years ago. And it was as if the impossible had become painstakingly possible.  

THE MAIDS had been growing restless for the past few days. Stuck in their quarters, barely leaving their side of the mansion.  

“This feels wrong...” once echoed through the then silent room. Her leather-bound shoe tapping against the floor.  It didn't make a sound, but it sent similar jitters to every nerve in her body. 

There was a murmured agreement amongst the others, all in similar clothes and sitting and moving in the same way.  

“Oh, I got it!”  Another maid stood up. The room was clustered and small, causing her black dress to thwap others in the face. The victims of that smack sent her some glares. She remained oblivious.  

“I think it’s because none of the masters have given us any orders to clean up after them,” she stated the obvious. Others let out some ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ as if they’d thought the same thing.  

The first maid that had spoken up met the standing ones.  “Yes...now thinking about it...why haven’t they called for us?”  

“Maybe they are busy?” stated one. 

“Maybe they’ve finally decided against all that violence they familiarized themselves with and ran for the countryside?” said another.  

“No, no... what?  They’ve obviously all died or abandoned the place!”  Another shook her head. 

“Who abandoned the place?” a smaller voice asked, peering from behind the standing maid, causing half the speculating maids to screech. And the other half to slump and let out a sigh of relief upon the realization of who it was.  

One of the younger kids—or, for more detail, it was you!.  Your name left the headmaid's lips, who was seated in the far corner. To which you'd given the weary maid a big smile, running towards her.  

The head maid cleared her throat. Trying to find a way to simplify what she wanted to ask without seeming too outward and possibly dying at that spot. 

Because, sure, you were sweeter and kinder than your half siblings. But, to the maids. Most of them are there by force; your kindness was a facade.  

It wouldn't be the first time someone had fallen for that kind of trick.  

And the head maid couldn't help it, not really! With your chubby cheeks and wide eyes, it was as if she could say whatever came to her without thinking about it first. 

She pursed her lips for a second before letting out a sigh and asking.  “Well, see...  I and the maids were questioning where your, uhm, siblings were? They haven't asked for us for some time. And the head chef hasnt been getting orders of food…”  The head maid voiced her worry.  

Now you were standing in front of her, and she was resting on her elbows on her knees as she was sitting on an empty crate just so she could make eye contact with you.  

She watched as your eyes lit up with the answer.  You would know that sort of thing whenever you spent a long time around young children.  

The way their eyes lit up whenever they knew the answer to something or little quirks whenever they'd lie. Like rubbing their fingers on the side of their nose.  

She leaned forward, waiting to hear your answer.  

“Oh well, that’s because my dad made them all go to another house!” you declared brightly.  

The maids in the tiny room shared confused glances with each other. And so the head maid asked for more clarification.  

“What—what do you mean, made them go to another house?  In...in what way?” she asked once more. Mostly because the one thing she was thinking about was that the head of the Agriche family had gone mad and murdered everyone in the house.  

And that would frankly be even more surprising, as they all thought the younger generation would get to their father before he ever got to them. Hell, they'd put money on that!  

“Wellll,” you took your time kicking your feet at the empty air.  “One day I was walking because I wanted to show Roxie a paper butterfly I made her,” you began recounting the incident.  

“And then I saw blood, and it smelled so strong, and it was everywhere, and it made me feel super duper sticky, and I don’t really like blood, so I started to cry, and it was in my face and hands, and then everything was black.” You were explaining what had happened.  With wide gestures with your hands, as kids often do, the maids in the small room clustered around you even more to hear your recollection of events.  

“And then when I woke up...Papa said he made them all go away and that they’d come back in...”  You raised your tiny hands, one finger going up, then another and another, counting.  

You proudly held up your hands, the counted number reaching up to four.  “In four days!”  The maids weren't questioning anything as much as they were thinking if the head had gone mad.  

“Well, are you sure he said this, sweetheart?” asked the head maid, smiling tentatively in a pitiful way that read, “Oh, she’s gone mad like her siblings, but you didn’t catch on.  

You nodded your head, and an indiscernible noise came from the back of your throat. You held out both of your hands.  “Anyway, can I have a cookie now, please?” 

. 

. 

. 

Four days had passed, and the quietness that had once enveloped the Black Agriche had bubbled up and died. The manor is now back to being a zoo. Children in clusters, some fighting for the fun of it.  Others are taking it more seriously.  

One was currently practicing the skill of climbing atop a chandelier, the expensive crystal wobbling side to side as the child grasped onto another clear, fragile crystal up high.  

Unfortunately for you, you'd been making your way towards a very specific item that had caught your eye. But from how far away you were, you couldn't make out anything except how shiny it was.  

Ignoring the pushing and your half sibling stumbling and falling in front of you, you didn't mind really. You weren't dumb; you understood it was just play fighting. You were so close when some warm liquid spilled onto your face, causing you to stop in your tracks.  

You whirled around towards whoever had thrown whatever they had on you; you hadn't touched your face.  You hadn't gotten a chance to look at the perpetrator, a delicate hand flying and covering your eyes. 

You raised your head. The back of your head bumping against the person who was concealing your peripheral vision. But it didn't matter.  

You'd recognize that calm voice anyway, not belonging to anyone else but Grizelda. 

“Is my face dirty?” you asked.  Thinking you just got milk spilled onto your face. But, from Grizelda’s point of view. Her smile tightened. 

“Yep, just water, sweetheart,” when the crimson liquid was anything but clear. You looked like...well, it looked like someone had just thrown up pints of blood on you.  

The brunette didn't remove her hand. Though she continued her faux reassurances. The lies fell from her mouth easily like water moving along in a lake.  

At that moment, everyone had turned their heads to a certain blonde that somehow always held the attention of everyone in the room. Roxana moved swiftly in the room till she stood in front of Grizelda.  

“What happened?”  Her voice echoed across the now silent room. Grizelda didn't say a word. Her eyes moved to the side, eyeing the two who had been fighting to the death, standing bloody and ashamed.  

The worse of the two had his eye purple, most of his blood having landed on you.  

“Aha,” she acknowledged, turning to where Grizelda had glanced at.  With a simple hand gesture, Grizelda walked away with you still in her arms, confused. 

Roxana’s crimson eyes grew menacing in a way as she inched towards the perpetrators.  

Sure, maybe they wouldn't have known that they weren't supposed to fight or show any violence when you were around. But Lante had addressed it and had forbidden it. And he had never addressed anything before.  

Not the death of his wives. The mistreatment or the death of his other children.  

So all the children knew about it.  

No blood in front of the girl.  No violence in front of the girl. Nothing that can even signal aggression in front of her.  

And the rule was going as smoothly as you could expect from a bunch of children who grew up surrounded by violence.  

“Go see Father,” Roxana said simply. Their appearance would signal why they were standing in their father's office.  

If it ever got through his thick skull, Roxana could only hope as she went to find Grizelda. The blonde had expected silence. Not the familiar screeching of Jeremy from the other side of the door.  

She pushed the wooden doors open. The scene made her soften almost. Grizelda is sitting next to you on an incredibly huge bed.in probably the pinkest room in the entire house. 

Jeremy had his arms on his hips as he stood proudly, chest puffed and all as he proclaimed a bunch of things from the few seconds it took her to get from the door frame to besides her younger brother. 

“Next time I see that twerp, I’ll beat him up!” he exclaimed, making you laugh. It was probably all staged. Just so you wouldn't notice the tissues of blood as Grizelda wiped the remnants away.  

It wasn't love. Though it was a close feeling to it. Agriche children don't have that emotion even if they all grew up privileged.  

It was taken away from them a long time ago. Not you though never you.  

Your eyes brighten as you take in Roxana, her name falling out of your mouth in what can only be described as a squeal. Jumping off the bed in a hurry to hug her legs.  

“I made you something!” you exclaimed, carrying the same excited tone Jeremy had just seconds prior. Fishing out the gift from one of the folds of your (very) expensive dress. Lace and ribbons and whatnot.  

In the palm of your hand was a crimson butterfly. Made from paper the same color as her eyes.  

It was poorly made. The edges were crinkled, and some of the blood from the earlier incident had spilled onto it somehow.  

But the blonde didn't care. She crouched down to your eye level, her hand outstretched to take the gift, which you so graciously plopped into her awaiting hand with the sweetest sound that most definitely made her break into a smile that bordered on creepy.  

Causing your laughter to die and Jeremy to slap his hand over your eyes.  “Roxy...stop that; you’re going to scare her,” Jeremy whispered loud enough for her to stop but low enough so you couldn’t hear.  

“Do you like it?” you asked, swiping your brother’s hand away.  

“Yes, thank you,” she replied, ending her words with your name leaning in to peck your cheek. Making you smile.  

And looking at your smile. It made Roxana feel as if just looking at it would bring that feeling of love back into her heart. It made her want to wrap you in a blanket and shield you away from all the violence you already despised.  

The blonde knew though that if she told her other siblings, her father, her mothers. The entire household. They would agree with her. 

[melonminnie]

Hi! Can I do a Yandere agriche family x little sister reader? Like, reader is soft hearted and cries at violence and death and blood? Maybe even faints at the sight of them or something? Sorry if it's too complicated 😔

Thank you 😊 (feel free to ignore. If you didn't like it)

EVERLONG -( Yan! Agriche family x younger female reader!)

CONDENSATION: The Black Agriche household had never been capable of feeling the emotion that many called love. till you except you weren't like your siblings. You had the fears that most of them got rid of when they were younger. blood, violence, death—all of it!.

WORD COUNT: 2k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: THANK YOU and happy new years!! sm for requesting; I hope this met your standards! You're like 6 or 8? I didn't specify Lante isn't present here, nor is Dion. Lante is mentioned in passing!!!! (Got too lazy to write a scene with him, okay? okay..)

BEING SOFT AND DOCILE.  It was a foreign thing amongst the Agriche family. A bloodline full of bloodshed and violence.  The walls were often stained crimson red. To some of the servants it truly seemed never-ending. The screaming and the blood, that is. 

So, to say, being born soft-hearted and opposed to everything the family stood for. It wasn't the first time. The head of the family had seen it numerous times before. In older people. Younger people, some with dark hair that the sun never reflected on, others the opposite. 

But Lante was never known to be a generous man, nor was he ever kind to his children or his wives. 

What mattered most to Lante was how useful his children could be. If you couldn't fight? Fine, you'd just have to master seduction. He found a solution to every little problem that would pop up.  

So...what would his solution be for his more softhearted children?.  Death, of course!.  He couldn't have the Black Agriche be known for anything less than violent.  

And that was how it was for an incredibly long time. For generation upon generation, Lante had never hesitated to kill pests who interfered with his vision. That was till a few years ago. And it was as if the impossible had become painstakingly possible.  

THE MAIDS had been growing restless for the past few days. Stuck in their quarters, barely leaving their side of the mansion.  

“This feels wrong...” once echoed through the then silent room. Her leather-bound shoe tapping against the floor.  It didn't make a sound, but it sent similar jitters to every nerve in her body. 

There was a murmured agreement amongst the others, all in similar clothes and sitting and moving in the same way.  

“Oh, I got it!”  Another maid stood up. The room was clustered and small, causing her black dress to thwap others in the face. The victims of that smack sent her some glares. She remained oblivious.  

“I think it’s because none of the masters have given us any orders to clean up after them,” she stated the obvious. Others let out some ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ as if they’d thought the same thing.  

The first maid that had spoken up met the standing ones.  “Yes...now thinking about it...why haven’t they called for us?”  

“Maybe they are busy?” stated one. 

“Maybe they’ve finally decided against all that violence they familiarized themselves with and ran for the countryside?” said another.  

“No, no... what?  They’ve obviously all died or abandoned the place!”  Another shook her head. 

“Who abandoned the place?” a smaller voice asked, peering from behind the standing maid, causing half the speculating maids to screech. And the other half to slump and let out a sigh of relief upon the realization of who it was.  

One of the younger kids—or, for more detail, it was you!.  Your name left the headmaid's lips, who was seated in the far corner. To which you'd given the weary maid a big smile, running towards her.  

The head maid cleared her throat. Trying to find a way to simplify what she wanted to ask without seeming too outward and possibly dying at that spot. 

Because, sure, you were sweeter and kinder than your half siblings. But, to the maids. Most of them are there by force; your kindness was a facade.  

It wouldn't be the first time someone had fallen for that kind of trick.  

And the head maid couldn't help it, not really! With your chubby cheeks and wide eyes, it was as if she could say whatever came to her without thinking about it first. 

She pursed her lips for a second before letting out a sigh and asking.  “Well, see...  I and the maids were questioning where your, uhm, siblings were? They haven't asked for us for some time. And the head chef hasnt been getting orders of food…”  The head maid voiced her worry.  

Now you were standing in front of her, and she was resting on her elbows on her knees as she was sitting on an empty crate just so she could make eye contact with you.  

She watched as your eyes lit up with the answer.  You would know that sort of thing whenever you spent a long time around young children.  

The way their eyes lit up whenever they knew the answer to something or little quirks whenever they'd lie. Like rubbing their fingers on the side of their nose.  

She leaned forward, waiting to hear your answer.  

“Oh well, that’s because my dad made them all go to another house!” you declared brightly.  

The maids in the tiny room shared confused glances with each other. And so the head maid asked for more clarification.  

“What—what do you mean, made them go to another house?  In...in what way?” she asked once more. Mostly because the one thing she was thinking about was that the head of the Agriche family had gone mad and murdered everyone in the house.  

And that would frankly be even more surprising, as they all thought the younger generation would get to their father before he ever got to them. Hell, they'd put money on that!  

“Wellll,” you took your time kicking your feet at the empty air.  “One day I was walking because I wanted to show Roxie a paper butterfly I made her,” you began recounting the incident.  

“And then I saw blood, and it smelled so strong, and it was everywhere, and it made me feel super duper sticky, and I don’t really like blood, so I started to cry, and it was in my face and hands, and then everything was black.” You were explaining what had happened.  With wide gestures with your hands, as kids often do, the maids in the small room clustered around you even more to hear your recollection of events.  

“And then when I woke up...Papa said he made them all go away and that they’d come back in...”  You raised your tiny hands, one finger going up, then another and another, counting.  

You proudly held up your hands, the counted number reaching up to four.  “In four days!”  The maids weren't questioning anything as much as they were thinking if the head had gone mad.  

“Well, are you sure he said this, sweetheart?” asked the head maid, smiling tentatively in a pitiful way that read, “Oh, she’s gone mad like her siblings, but you didn’t catch on.  

You nodded your head, and an indiscernible noise came from the back of your throat. You held out both of your hands.  “Anyway, can I have a cookie now, please?” 

. 

. 

. 

Four days had passed, and the quietness that had once enveloped the Black Agriche had bubbled up and died. The manor is now back to being a zoo. Children in clusters, some fighting for the fun of it.  Others are taking it more seriously.  

One was currently practicing the skill of climbing atop a chandelier, the expensive crystal wobbling side to side as the child grasped onto another clear, fragile crystal up high.  

Unfortunately for you, you'd been making your way towards a very specific item that had caught your eye. But from how far away you were, you couldn't make out anything except how shiny it was.  

Ignoring the pushing and your half sibling stumbling and falling in front of you, you didn't mind really. You weren't dumb; you understood it was just play fighting. You were so close when some warm liquid spilled onto your face, causing you to stop in your tracks.  

You whirled around towards whoever had thrown whatever they had on you; you hadn't touched your face.  You hadn't gotten a chance to look at the perpetrator, a delicate hand flying and covering your eyes. 

You raised your head. The back of your head bumping against the person who was concealing your peripheral vision. But it didn't matter.  

You'd recognize that calm voice anyway, not belonging to anyone else but Grizelda. 

“Is my face dirty?” you asked.  Thinking you just got milk spilled onto your face. But, from Grizelda’s point of view. Her smile tightened. 

“Yep, just water, sweetheart,” when the crimson liquid was anything but clear. You looked like...well, it looked like someone had just thrown up pints of blood on you.  

The brunette didn't remove her hand. Though she continued her faux reassurances. The lies fell from her mouth easily like water moving along in a lake.  

At that moment, everyone had turned their heads to a certain blonde that somehow always held the attention of everyone in the room. Roxana moved swiftly in the room till she stood in front of Grizelda.  

“What happened?”  Her voice echoed across the now silent room. Grizelda didn't say a word. Her eyes moved to the side, eyeing the two who had been fighting to the death, standing bloody and ashamed.  

The worse of the two had his eye purple, most of his blood having landed on you.  

“Aha,” she acknowledged, turning to where Grizelda had glanced at.  With a simple hand gesture, Grizelda walked away with you still in her arms, confused. 

Roxana’s crimson eyes grew menacing in a way as she inched towards the perpetrators.  

Sure, maybe they wouldn't have known that they weren't supposed to fight or show any violence when you were around. But Lante had addressed it and had forbidden it. And he had never addressed anything before.  

Not the death of his wives. The mistreatment or the death of his other children.  

So all the children knew about it.  

No blood in front of the girl.  No violence in front of the girl. Nothing that can even signal aggression in front of her.  

And the rule was going as smoothly as you could expect from a bunch of children who grew up surrounded by violence.  

“Go see Father,” Roxana said simply. Their appearance would signal why they were standing in their father's office.  

If it ever got through his thick skull, Roxana could only hope as she went to find Grizelda. The blonde had expected silence. Not the familiar screeching of Jeremy from the other side of the door.  

She pushed the wooden doors open. The scene made her soften almost. Grizelda is sitting next to you on an incredibly huge bed.in probably the pinkest room in the entire house. 

Jeremy had his arms on his hips as he stood proudly, chest puffed and all as he proclaimed a bunch of things from the few seconds it took her to get from the door frame to besides her younger brother. 

“Next time I see that twerp, I’ll beat him up!” he exclaimed, making you laugh. It was probably all staged. Just so you wouldn't notice the tissues of blood as Grizelda wiped the remnants away.  

It wasn't love. Though it was a close feeling to it. Agriche children don't have that emotion even if they all grew up privileged.  

It was taken away from them a long time ago. Not you though never you.  

Your eyes brighten as you take in Roxana, her name falling out of your mouth in what can only be described as a squeal. Jumping off the bed in a hurry to hug her legs.  

“I made you something!” you exclaimed, carrying the same excited tone Jeremy had just seconds prior. Fishing out the gift from one of the folds of your (very) expensive dress. Lace and ribbons and whatnot.  

In the palm of your hand was a crimson butterfly. Made from paper the same color as her eyes.  

It was poorly made. The edges were crinkled, and some of the blood from the earlier incident had spilled onto it somehow.  

But the blonde didn't care. She crouched down to your eye level, her hand outstretched to take the gift, which you so graciously plopped into her awaiting hand with the sweetest sound that most definitely made her break into a smile that bordered on creepy.  

Causing your laughter to die and Jeremy to slap his hand over your eyes.  “Roxy...stop that; you’re going to scare her,” Jeremy whispered loud enough for her to stop but low enough so you couldn’t hear.  

“Do you like it?” you asked, swiping your brother’s hand away.  

“Yes, thank you,” she replied, ending her words with your name leaning in to peck your cheek. Making you smile.  

And looking at your smile. It made Roxana feel as if just looking at it would bring that feeling of love back into her heart. It made her want to wrap you in a blanket and shield you away from all the violence you already despised.  

The blonde knew though that if she told her other siblings, her father, her mothers. The entire household. They would agree with her. 

[melonminnie]

MLLL HII!!💗💗 I MISSED U SM HRU DOING???💗💗💗🥹

HI HI HIIIIIIII LINDIEEEEEE OMG HXKABXKS I MISSED YOU SO MICH MOREEEEEEE IM GOOD HOW AFE YOUUU?????

[melonminnie]

HIATUS NOTICE 🍓

Hi hello 😛😛😛 since my finals r rapidly approaching as I’m writing this unfortunately I won’t have any time to write so I can put all my time into studying!!! But do not fear the minute my exams are over I’ll be back to my regular posting schedule!

Thank yew for all your support throughout the one month that I’ve been active 💖💖

[melonminnie]

I'LL KEEP YOU FAR AWAY FROM ME LIKE A STAR! - (platonic btvf x star child reader

CONDENSATION: To a sick Sabina, you were the starry-eyed kid who had saved her when she was too sick to even get up. She calls you her shooting star. Little does she know you, in fact, did come from one!

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: got carried away but i really like how this turned out! song for the header is fallen star by 'the neighbourhood'

THE ANCIENT GREEKS BELIEVED THAT their fate was written in the stars. That they were tied to destiny in a cosmic and mythical way. They believed in the Moirai, or the fates, who cut and measured lives. Also believed that the stars were thought to be a part of the fabric they'd woven.  

And it is widely believed by the ancient civilians that the stars were divine beings or connected to gods. Like, say, Astraea, the goddess of innocence. She became the star-maiden constellation Virgo.  

Or Orion, a famous hunter, who after his death got turned into a constellation. And it is famously known that the king of gods. Zeus often placed mortals he favored among the stars. 

Nonetheless. When a sick Sabina, who at that point was still sick and bedridden. Strands of raven ink 

 hair sticking onto her forehead. Her bleary eyes were trained on the midnight sky. The world had long since gone to sleep. The stars are twinkling. And the moon shining up so high, making itself the main attraction for those who still weren't asleep.  

The duchess smiled faintly Her head was propped against a pillow one of the maids had put for her before leaving. knowing how much she despised being helped. Even though she was powerless and weak due to the illness that had overcome her. 

The night was her friend. It didn't pity her. Didn't worry about her like Tristan did. Standing next to her everywhere she went. refusing to leave her side. The duchess knew her husband meant well.  

But he still irritated her with his nagging.  

She pushed the thoughts aside. Watery eyes from how bad her throat ached shifted to look out the open balcony. Once more admiring the inky sky. Once more, taking in its twinkling stars.  

They shone so, so, so brightly. She focused on one specific star. One that stood out to her in her vision. 

It looked the same as the others. Faint and barely there amidst the other incandescent things. 

Maybe she was too sick? She tried to reason with herself. Because of the particular celestial body she'd been looking at. Seemed to... It seemed as if it was inching closer. At rapid speed.  

Her eyes widened. One of her clammy, pale hands was digging into the white table nestled next to her bed. 

The realization of how weak she was caught up to her. “Fuck,” she cursed, her voice hoarse from disuse. But as she stared at the floor of the once dark room. The beaming light from the shooting star was blinding. Coming closer and closer by the second.  

Everyone almost always says that when you spot a shooting star. You should wish upon it. Whatever it may be, realistic or not, achievable or not. It may come true.  

If so, if the myths were true. Sabina closed her eyes. The faint images of her family were flashing in her brain.  

Lloyd, Vincent, and Tristan. As well as the newly arrived guest, Sabina had been hearing her name whispered among the maids. “I’d like to meet her too,” she thought out loud. Her wish was now obvious, loud, and clear in her hazy brain. 

“I wish to get better,” she rasped out, hand still on the white side table in a way as if she wanted to will her body to get better. 

Just so she could live out the rest of her days with her family. Even though she barely spent time with them. Even though she hated how much Tristan and Lloyd pitied her rapidly deteriorating state. Or the maids' pitiful guilty glances thrown her way when they thought she wasn't looking.  

So, stupidly, she was so hopeful that her wish would come true. The light was almost blinding at this point. The room once cloaked in darkness was now blindingly and flashing white from the beaming star falling upon the Valentine mansion.  

The sick duchess closed her eyes. Once more envisioning her cursed family she'd grown to love, accepting the fact that she was now one foot into death's cold dark door. Only waiting to put the other foot in.  

She still remembered the day that she held Lloyd. Mewling and crying for the first and only time as her body began its long journey of giving up on her. He was so pale. With the smallest hands she'd ever seen. Tendrils of sticky hair still stuck to his head. The maids were moving rapidly, the midwife yelling out orders that fell deaf on Sabina’s ears. Eyes trained on the babe in her grasp. She had never truly experienced feeling the weakness that was settling on her sinking into her body as one of the maids quickly took her son away. For all she knew, it was the last time she'd ever held him. The illness settled that day.  

 She was never truly able to hold a baby Lloyd ever again.  

And yet to anyone that asked about her pregnancy. Boasting about it was all she ever did.  

When Sabina opened her eyes. She wasn't greeted with darkness, nor was she sent into hell. Her chest felt so much lighter. Hands gripping the sheets and then ungripping, checking if she was still alive.  

what the fuck

She blinked a few times, making sure what she saw wasn't fake. That she wasn't delusional or that she'd died and now she was a ghost with others haunting the mansion.  

But the vision in front of her never truly left. Her cheeks were warm from the tiny hands pressed against them. The hands belonged to the brightest and most glowing child Sabina had ever laid her eyes on.  

And it wasn't figurative either. The child in front of her was, in fact, glowing. Surrounded by this pale white or yellow halo. It encircled the little girl. Wrapping her up as if it were keeping her safe. Her face had patches of stars shades lighter than her skin color, as if she were born with them.  

The mystery child's cheeks were puffed out as if in concentration. The duchess felt the heaviness that seemed to have settled in her chest when the illness took place practically disappear as if being popped like a bubble.  

Rapidly her illness was fading away. She could breathe normally now. Not having to take long, deep breaths because it physically hurt her to breathe. The pain shooting up into her body usually makes her double over and vomit red crimson blood.  

The keyword was usually. This time when she breathed, it felt like fresh air. As if she were seated by her favorite tree. Inhaling its sweet scent as the petals gently landed on the floor.  

It was as if her wish had come true. She didn't even know she had closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she witnessed the child's action. It was so endearing to the duchess, causing her to break out into an infectious grin. 

Sabina’s heart practically melted at the same time as her brain worked to figure out where this mystery child had come from. At first she thought it would be the work of her husband, Tristan. But for the split moment she'd looked up to look around the room. 

She didn't find the worried duke standing next to her with his black hair and the weariness and worry etched into his expression as he looked into her crimson eyes.  

A kind of vulnerability he didn't show around anyone but his wife.  

So, she had concluded. That. She'd come from that beaming shooting star. The one she thought would kill her.  

Instead. That bright celestial object was now seated on her lap, staring at her as if she had no idea how the world worked.  

Sabina found the girl so...so...so cute? She couldn't think of another word to describe it. With her puffed-up cheeks, the scars shaped like stars itched all over her form. And that wide-eyed starry hope that nowadays you only saw in children.  

“God, you’re cute,” Sabina blurts out. And maybe an old traitorous part of her thought that this was indeed fate.  

. 

. 

. 

BEING assigned a job to fulfill one's wish was truly tedious and, to you, really tiring. Truly you'd rather play with the clouds or catch astray stars and put them back where they come from.  

But nonetheless, a wish is a wish. Your name had come out of one of the assigner's lips. An old woman in billowing robes the color of cream and gold. Immediately recognizing her as one of the main assigners who gave you and others like you jobs to do around the mortal world as she crouched, placing the files in your tiny hands.  

“I know how much you hate doing jobs like these,” the woman started. In your eyes, she looks unbearably young like this. As if she was trying to reassure you. Like one did with their own children.  

“It’s fine,” you replied, feet kicking at moving wisps of white beneath your feet. Trying to catch some other sound from the nearby attendants also getting assigned. They were all older. Usually, younger people like you didn't get assigned to materials like this. 

But you neither had a mother nor did you have a father to take on the jobs. And the stars weren't as forgiving as mortals. So, you were made to take on the hardships children weren't familiar with.  

It wasn't as if your body was built for it either. Stars didn't have a need for sustenance, or at least you were told adults didn't need any. And you were too skinny.  

“Barely any meat on these bones,” the old lady muttered, her hand on your forearm, causing you to turn your attention back to her. Immediately flinching at the moment, taking a step or two back away from her. Feet barely making a sound against the clouds beneath your feet. The chatter of others and the rustle of paper and pens were louder than anything else.  

You hadn't been paying attention to what she had said before. Lost in your own world. She still had that smile dancing on her lips as if she did.  ‘She was probably trying to encourage me,’ you thought. And you weren't wrong, as that was what she usually did.  

The old woman stood up. A slow movement, as if if she moved too fast, she might fracture her body. Her clothes rustled by the movement.  

“Anyhow,” she replied. Your name fell out of her lips once more. “Don’t forget.” She turned around; you could barely make out her facial features as she turned. “In the end we are all made of star-stuff.” She shrugged, turning her head and giving you a wink.  

She looked impossibly young in that moment. No older than thirty, maybe. But before you could dwell on the moment, you were being ushered to go fulfill your job.  

. 

. 

. 

  “AND where did you say this child came from?” the doctor asked. You'd been around for less than a day. Remembering exactly when a tall man with a raven head had barged into the room frantic. And had looked at you as if you were a pest. 

You weren't!. At least to yourself you weren't. And quite frankly, this was your best job ever. Gone was the bedridden, too-pale woman. The sickness that once clogged and cloyed the room with it had disappeared. Leaving the imposing, elegant woman who had (thankfully) gotten you out of the jail cell you'd been thrown into once the man had gotten his hold on you.  

Bluntly, your hatred for the man was festering more, gosh! Who knew dukes could be such prudes!. It wasn't as if you were going to kill the woman. You just made her feel better...permanently!. 

“Around and about,” Sabina answered vaguely to the doctor’s question. Her eyes were trained on you. Curious and protective in a way you weren't able to decipher. Upon closer look. Sabina was truly really beautiful when she wasn't on death’s door.  

‘I did this,’ you thought. Boasting to yourself. This wasn't the first time you'd healed someone. But it was the first time you had healed someone as sick as Sabina.  

Sabina was beautiful in a way. She looked like a black swan in your opinion. A divine being blessed by Aphrodite. With her dark hair, it fell almost to her waist. And the prettiest eyes that reminded you of red roses. You'd never seen such eyes look at you with so much reassurance in your short-lived life.  

Tristan eyed you. And then he eyed his wife. Letting out a tch before grabbing the back of your dress. Holding you like an 's' and going from side to side. Eyes trained on the marble floor as you tried to maneuver your way out of this grasp. 

Has this man never held a child before? 

The voices around you blurred. You saw the shadow of the duchess fall upon you, the doctor stammering out more questions that Sabina answered with so much vagueness it was astonishing, honestly.  

And with each question, Tristan was just getting more irritated. The blood rushing to your brain just as quickly.  

“I don’t understand why you’re protecting this child. If it’s a thief, then so be it!” Tristan quipped. Voice dripping with agitation. He was probably also frowning, but you couldn't confirm that. 

“Because I can,” Sabina replied, moving closer as if just seconds away from slapping Tristan’s hand away. But not following through with the movement, as she realized you'd just plummet to the cold floor before anyone could catch you.  

“If it’s because she’s a girl, I told you we already have one, and she’s far better than this glowing creature!” He tried to reason. His words hurt. Glowing creature, for fuck's sake! You'd saved his wife's life.  

“Don’t call her that. If I wish to keep her, then so be it; it shall be my responsibility, not yours!” Sabina argued, crossing her arms.  

He let out an exasperated sigh. As if just having this talk and her being angry with him after just getting better physically pained him. “Well, what if she’s an outsider? A spy? Sent by the emperor! She could harm you then! And you could end up dead!” he spat out.  

It was petty, and you knew it too, for you to still be upset that he had called you a growing creature. To be fair, you were one. But still you were a toddler! What kind of grown man does that to a toddler?!. 

Blurry tears clouded your vision. Tiny sniffles now filled the hostile air. Your lips quirk downwards and into a frown.”Gosh, adults were just so mean and ungrateful,” you thought somberly.  

Hiccups came out before the tears began dripping down your face and onto the marble floor. The doctor had long excused himself. As to not get slain for witnessing this conversation in the beginning.  

If looks could kill, Tristan Valentine would have been six feet under the moment Sabina had glared at him as she heard the tiny sniffles coming out of the toddler. 

“You made her cry!” Sabina's slender arms swiftly picked her up from how he was holding her. Her head was now buried in the crook of her neck. Fat tears bubbled down her chubby cheeks.  

“I—” Tristan was at a loss for words. Not a single child he'd ever had cried in front of him. Maybe when he wasn't in the room, sure. And maybe it was because he was just oh so kind that they would cry from happiness.  

“Whatever thought you have in your brain, I will be keeping this child,” Sabina declared. And she had declared a lot of things in the past. Just not with the same intensity that she had in that moment.  

Tristann sighed. Not able to get a word in as she stormed out of the room. Slippers slapping against the floor, the wooden door slammed shut with a loud bam. Making the maids nearby physically jump. Watching as the duchess walked back to her room.  

Back inside, Tristan sighed, rubbing his temples. “God help me,” he groaned, moving swiftly and slumping against the leather chair of his office, head tilted back. Strands of his hair had stuck to his cheekbones.  

He felt the doors creak open, assuming it was Sabina, though he knew that after every argument he had to be wrong. Never her. 

And usually it was never her that was wrong. Just what was so special about that child that made her want to keep her?. The doctors and healers he had called in had all called it a miracle from the stars that she had gotten better from what they had called an ‘incurable illness.’  

But Tristan wasn't like that. Surely it wasn't fate. That made no sense to the duke. 

Anyhow, pushing his thoughts aside. His eyes followed the creaking of the wooden door. It was, in fact, not Sabina.  

“Who dares to enter the duke’s office without knocking?” He asked, voice sharp, still not witnessing the figure emerge from behind the wooden door on the other side.  

But, once he saw the tuft of pink hair. He relaxed ever so slightly. His daughter. Or so he called her; it hadn't been more than a few weeks since she had arrived at the Valentine mansion.  

But Aria Cortez (or Valentine) was perhaps the second person ever to have made him care about their well-being. 

The duke didn't say anything. His demeanor eased as he beckoned her over using one hand, to which the pink-haired 

 The girl had strolled towards him and was now at his side. Big doe-pink eyes meeting his, a smile blooming on her face.  

She pulled out a card from the brown satchel she carried with her everywhere. The paper rustled inside as she tilted her head downwards to find the paper she had written.  

“Why were you fighting?” She wrote, showing him the paper. Her handwriting was loopy. The paper was tinged brown from use. He made a mental note to buy her some new paper. 

“Just adult discourse,” he said vaguely. His hand now rested on the armchair, his fist holding his face as he gave her his full attention. Something he rarely did. 

Aria didn't look convinced; her brows furrowed in a way that made it visible that she didn't believe him. Trying to gouge the truth from him.  

But Tristan was used to things like this. And didn't relent as he continued staring at her. Blinking every few seconds.  

Aria, in defeat, pulled out another paper. Grabbed a pen off of his desk using the tip of her foot. Creasing the tip of the shoes, the maids would surely weep after seeing it.  

She turned the paper towards him after she finished writing. “I heard that there is a new child here besides me. Is that why you and the duchess were fighting, Father?” She wrote asking not  bothering with niceties.  

The duke made a disgruntled sound that sounded like a yes. The pink-haired child tilted her head in curiosity before tilting her head back down to write something else.  

It was in smaller handwriting at the corner of the paper. “When can I meet the duchess and the child?” His daughter sure was full of curiosities.  

“The duchess isn’t in a good mood... And the child won’t be staying long,” he answered, voice muffled by his palm.  

Aria's lips quirked into a frown. God, why was every woman in his life upset with him today?. 

. 

. 

. 

“Come on,” Sabina cooed, her voice muffled as you were hiding beneath the blanket. The duchess had learned your name just last week. And she had to say it did in fact really match you.  

But it seemed no matter the amount of words, she would tell you to get rid of Tristan, calling you a glowing creature went in vain

. As it was the only thing stuck in your brain as you hid beneath the silk, white cover, you looked like a lump in the middle of it with how little you are. As if a misplaced pillow. 

Sabina could drag you from out, but where's the fun in that? Considering you would get more upset if she did that. Her soft hand patted the top of the blanket, trying to make it look like a comforting gesture.  

“Come on, star child, I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” she tried to convince. “My husband just says stuff without thinking. I’m sure he will love you if you two just sit with each other.” Tristan had, of course, apologized to Sabina like maybe a week ago.  

But, when he tried apologizing to you, you wailed so loud he immediately shut the door and didn't try communicating with you ever again.  

Sabina sighed. Head rested against the mattress. Fine if you wouldn't go to the duke. Then she would just bring him to you!. 

With the brilliant idea that had bloomed in her mind, she pressed her lips against the comforter atop of where your head was. “I’m going to go get something and come back, okay, baby? “Don’t move.” She stood up swiftly, crouching in pain for a second or two. Before her slipper began their sound against the carpeted floor.  

Moving out of the room. Suddenly it was all quiet. You peeked out of your safe haven to make sure it was true that she was gone. 

But in your vision was the old woman now sitting next to you on the bed. It had dipped in her barely there weight.  

She smiled her signature smile. “Ready to go home, starchild?” she asked. eyes twinkling with amusement at the scene she had just witnessed. But for the first time in any mission, you didn't want to go home.  

Because no amount of tears or future missions would make you forget how happy being with Sabina was.  

And in a few years, looking back. Those would be the best memories of those two weeks you spent with them. They would be the best days of your life. 

The moments after you'd vanished. Sabina had managed to drag Tristan to apologize. Your name coming out of her lips in such delight would've made you giggle if you had heard it. 

“Where—” The words died on her lips. She didn't need to investigate as her heart broke. She hadn't even known you that long, and she believed that it was fate. That you'd be the child she finally raised. The child whom she had grown to adore in such little time.  

Had vanished. And a stupid part of her hoped. That the next time she saw a shooting star, she wished upon it. You'd show up again.  

[melonminnie]

I'LL KEEP YOU FAR AWAY FROM ME LIKE A STAR! - (platonic btvf x star child reader

CONDENSATION: To a sick Sabina, you were the starry-eyed kid who had saved her when she was too sick to even get up. She calls you her shooting star. Little does she know you, in fact, did come from one!

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: got carried away but i really like how this turned out! song for the header is fallen star by 'the neighbourhood'

THE ANCIENT GREEKS BELIEVED THAT their fate was written in the stars. That they were tied to destiny in a cosmic and mythical way. They believed in the Moirai, or the fates, who cut and measured lives. Also believed that the stars were thought to be a part of the fabric they'd woven.  

And it is widely believed by the ancient civilians that the stars were divine beings or connected to gods. Like, say, Astraea, the goddess of innocence. She became the star-maiden constellation Virgo.  

Or Orion, a famous hunter, who after his death got turned into a constellation. And it is famously known that the king of gods. Zeus often placed mortals he favored among the stars. 

Nonetheless. When a sick Sabina, who at that point was still sick and bedridden. Strands of raven ink 

 hair sticking onto her forehead. Her bleary eyes were trained on the midnight sky. The world had long since gone to sleep. The stars are twinkling. And the moon shining up so high, making itself the main attraction for those who still weren't asleep.  

The duchess smiled faintly Her head was propped against a pillow one of the maids had put for her before leaving. knowing how much she despised being helped. Even though she was powerless and weak due to the illness that had overcome her. 

The night was her friend. It didn't pity her. Didn't worry about her like Tristan did. Standing next to her everywhere she went. refusing to leave her side. The duchess knew her husband meant well.  

But he still irritated her with his nagging.  

She pushed the thoughts aside. Watery eyes from how bad her throat ached shifted to look out the open balcony. Once more admiring the inky sky. Once more, taking in its twinkling stars.  

They shone so, so, so brightly. She focused on one specific star. One that stood out to her in her vision. 

It looked the same as the others. Faint and barely there amidst the other incandescent things. 

Maybe she was too sick? She tried to reason with herself. Because of the particular celestial body she'd been looking at. Seemed to... It seemed as if it was inching closer. At rapid speed.  

Her eyes widened. One of her clammy, pale hands was digging into the white table nestled next to her bed. 

The realization of how weak she was caught up to her. “Fuck,” she cursed, her voice hoarse from disuse. But as she stared at the floor of the once dark room. The beaming light from the shooting star was blinding. Coming closer and closer by the second.  

Everyone almost always says that when you spot a shooting star. You should wish upon it. Whatever it may be, realistic or not, achievable or not. It may come true.  

If so, if the myths were true. Sabina closed her eyes. The faint images of her family were flashing in her brain.  

Lloyd, Vincent, and Tristan. As well as the newly arrived guest, Sabina had been hearing her name whispered among the maids. “I’d like to meet her too,” she thought out loud. Her wish was now obvious, loud, and clear in her hazy brain. 

“I wish to get better,” she rasped out, hand still on the white side table in a way as if she wanted to will her body to get better. 

Just so she could live out the rest of her days with her family. Even though she barely spent time with them. Even though she hated how much Tristan and Lloyd pitied her rapidly deteriorating state. Or the maids' pitiful guilty glances thrown her way when they thought she wasn't looking.  

So, stupidly, she was so hopeful that her wish would come true. The light was almost blinding at this point. The room once cloaked in darkness was now blindingly and flashing white from the beaming star falling upon the Valentine mansion.  

The sick duchess closed her eyes. Once more envisioning her cursed family she'd grown to love, accepting the fact that she was now one foot into death's cold dark door. Only waiting to put the other foot in.  

She still remembered the day that she held Lloyd. Mewling and crying for the first and only time as her body began its long journey of giving up on her. He was so pale. With the smallest hands she'd ever seen. Tendrils of sticky hair still stuck to his head. The maids were moving rapidly, the midwife yelling out orders that fell deaf on Sabina’s ears. Eyes trained on the babe in her grasp. She had never truly experienced feeling the weakness that was settling on her sinking into her body as one of the maids quickly took her son away. For all she knew, it was the last time she'd ever held him. The illness settled that day.  

 She was never truly able to hold a baby Lloyd ever again.  

And yet to anyone that asked about her pregnancy. Boasting about it was all she ever did.  

When Sabina opened her eyes. She wasn't greeted with darkness, nor was she sent into hell. Her chest felt so much lighter. Hands gripping the sheets and then ungripping, checking if she was still alive.  

what the fuck

She blinked a few times, making sure what she saw wasn't fake. That she wasn't delusional or that she'd died and now she was a ghost with others haunting the mansion.  

But the vision in front of her never truly left. Her cheeks were warm from the tiny hands pressed against them. The hands belonged to the brightest and most glowing child Sabina had ever laid her eyes on.  

And it wasn't figurative either. The child in front of her was, in fact, glowing. Surrounded by this pale white or yellow halo. It encircled the little girl. Wrapping her up as if it were keeping her safe. Her face had patches of stars shades lighter than her skin color, as if she were born with them.  

The mystery child's cheeks were puffed out as if in concentration. The duchess felt the heaviness that seemed to have settled in her chest when the illness took place practically disappear as if being popped like a bubble.  

Rapidly her illness was fading away. She could breathe normally now. Not having to take long, deep breaths because it physically hurt her to breathe. The pain shooting up into her body usually makes her double over and vomit red crimson blood.  

The keyword was usually. This time when she breathed, it felt like fresh air. As if she were seated by her favorite tree. Inhaling its sweet scent as the petals gently landed on the floor.  

It was as if her wish had come true. She didn't even know she had closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she witnessed the child's action. It was so endearing to the duchess, causing her to break out into an infectious grin. 

Sabina’s heart practically melted at the same time as her brain worked to figure out where this mystery child had come from. At first she thought it would be the work of her husband, Tristan. But for the split moment she'd looked up to look around the room. 

She didn't find the worried duke standing next to her with his black hair and the weariness and worry etched into his expression as he looked into her crimson eyes.  

A kind of vulnerability he didn't show around anyone but his wife.  

So, she had concluded. That. She'd come from that beaming shooting star. The one she thought would kill her.  

Instead. That bright celestial object was now seated on her lap, staring at her as if she had no idea how the world worked.  

Sabina found the girl so...so...so cute? She couldn't think of another word to describe it. With her puffed-up cheeks, the scars shaped like stars itched all over her form. And that wide-eyed starry hope that nowadays you only saw in children.  

“God, you’re cute,” Sabina blurts out. And maybe an old traitorous part of her thought that this was indeed fate.  

. 

. 

. 

BEING assigned a job to fulfill one's wish was truly tedious and, to you, really tiring. Truly you'd rather play with the clouds or catch astray stars and put them back where they come from.  

But nonetheless, a wish is a wish. Your name had come out of one of the assigner's lips. An old woman in billowing robes the color of cream and gold. Immediately recognizing her as one of the main assigners who gave you and others like you jobs to do around the mortal world as she crouched, placing the files in your tiny hands.  

“I know how much you hate doing jobs like these,” the woman started. In your eyes, she looks unbearably young like this. As if she was trying to reassure you. Like one did with their own children.  

“It’s fine,” you replied, feet kicking at moving wisps of white beneath your feet. Trying to catch some other sound from the nearby attendants also getting assigned. They were all older. Usually, younger people like you didn't get assigned to materials like this. 

But you neither had a mother nor did you have a father to take on the jobs. And the stars weren't as forgiving as mortals. So, you were made to take on the hardships children weren't familiar with.  

It wasn't as if your body was built for it either. Stars didn't have a need for sustenance, or at least you were told adults didn't need any. And you were too skinny.  

“Barely any meat on these bones,” the old lady muttered, her hand on your forearm, causing you to turn your attention back to her. Immediately flinching at the moment, taking a step or two back away from her. Feet barely making a sound against the clouds beneath your feet. The chatter of others and the rustle of paper and pens were louder than anything else.  

You hadn't been paying attention to what she had said before. Lost in your own world. She still had that smile dancing on her lips as if she did.  ‘She was probably trying to encourage me,’ you thought. And you weren't wrong, as that was what she usually did.  

The old woman stood up. A slow movement, as if if she moved too fast, she might fracture her body. Her clothes rustled by the movement.  

“Anyhow,” she replied. Your name fell out of her lips once more. “Don’t forget.” She turned around; you could barely make out her facial features as she turned. “In the end we are all made of star-stuff.” She shrugged, turning her head and giving you a wink.  

She looked impossibly young in that moment. No older than thirty, maybe. But before you could dwell on the moment, you were being ushered to go fulfill your job.  

. 

. 

. 

  “AND where did you say this child came from?” the doctor asked. You'd been around for less than a day. Remembering exactly when a tall man with a raven head had barged into the room frantic. And had looked at you as if you were a pest. 

You weren't!. At least to yourself you weren't. And quite frankly, this was your best job ever. Gone was the bedridden, too-pale woman. The sickness that once clogged and cloyed the room with it had disappeared. Leaving the imposing, elegant woman who had (thankfully) gotten you out of the jail cell you'd been thrown into once the man had gotten his hold on you.  

Bluntly, your hatred for the man was festering more, gosh! Who knew dukes could be such prudes!. It wasn't as if you were going to kill the woman. You just made her feel better...permanently!. 

“Around and about,” Sabina answered vaguely to the doctor’s question. Her eyes were trained on you. Curious and protective in a way you weren't able to decipher. Upon closer look. Sabina was truly really beautiful when she wasn't on death’s door.  

‘I did this,’ you thought. Boasting to yourself. This wasn't the first time you'd healed someone. But it was the first time you had healed someone as sick as Sabina.  

Sabina was beautiful in a way. She looked like a black swan in your opinion. A divine being blessed by Aphrodite. With her dark hair, it fell almost to her waist. And the prettiest eyes that reminded you of red roses. You'd never seen such eyes look at you with so much reassurance in your short-lived life.  

Tristan eyed you. And then he eyed his wife. Letting out a tch before grabbing the back of your dress. Holding you like an 's' and going from side to side. Eyes trained on the marble floor as you tried to maneuver your way out of this grasp. 

Has this man never held a child before? 

The voices around you blurred. You saw the shadow of the duchess fall upon you, the doctor stammering out more questions that Sabina answered with so much vagueness it was astonishing, honestly.  

And with each question, Tristan was just getting more irritated. The blood rushing to your brain just as quickly.  

“I don’t understand why you’re protecting this child. If it’s a thief, then so be it!” Tristan quipped. Voice dripping with agitation. He was probably also frowning, but you couldn't confirm that. 

“Because I can,” Sabina replied, moving closer as if just seconds away from slapping Tristan’s hand away. But not following through with the movement, as she realized you'd just plummet to the cold floor before anyone could catch you.  

“If it’s because she’s a girl, I told you we already have one, and she’s far better than this glowing creature!” He tried to reason. His words hurt. Glowing creature, for fuck's sake! You'd saved his wife's life.  

“Don’t call her that. If I wish to keep her, then so be it; it shall be my responsibility, not yours!” Sabina argued, crossing her arms.  

He let out an exasperated sigh. As if just having this talk and her being angry with him after just getting better physically pained him. “Well, what if she’s an outsider? A spy? Sent by the emperor! She could harm you then! And you could end up dead!” he spat out.  

It was petty, and you knew it too, for you to still be upset that he had called you a growing creature. To be fair, you were one. But still you were a toddler! What kind of grown man does that to a toddler?!. 

Blurry tears clouded your vision. Tiny sniffles now filled the hostile air. Your lips quirk downwards and into a frown.”Gosh, adults were just so mean and ungrateful,” you thought somberly.  

Hiccups came out before the tears began dripping down your face and onto the marble floor. The doctor had long excused himself. As to not get slain for witnessing this conversation in the beginning.  

If looks could kill, Tristan Valentine would have been six feet under the moment Sabina had glared at him as she heard the tiny sniffles coming out of the toddler. 

“You made her cry!” Sabina's slender arms swiftly picked her up from how he was holding her. Her head was now buried in the crook of her neck. Fat tears bubbled down her chubby cheeks.  

“I—” Tristan was at a loss for words. Not a single child he'd ever had cried in front of him. Maybe when he wasn't in the room, sure. And maybe it was because he was just oh so kind that they would cry from happiness.  

“Whatever thought you have in your brain, I will be keeping this child,” Sabina declared. And she had declared a lot of things in the past. Just not with the same intensity that she had in that moment.  

Tristann sighed. Not able to get a word in as she stormed out of the room. Slippers slapping against the floor, the wooden door slammed shut with a loud bam. Making the maids nearby physically jump. Watching as the duchess walked back to her room.  

Back inside, Tristan sighed, rubbing his temples. “God help me,” he groaned, moving swiftly and slumping against the leather chair of his office, head tilted back. Strands of his hair had stuck to his cheekbones.  

He felt the doors creak open, assuming it was Sabina, though he knew that after every argument he had to be wrong. Never her. 

And usually it was never her that was wrong. Just what was so special about that child that made her want to keep her?. The doctors and healers he had called in had all called it a miracle from the stars that she had gotten better from what they had called an ‘incurable illness.’  

But Tristan wasn't like that. Surely it wasn't fate. That made no sense to the duke. 

Anyhow, pushing his thoughts aside. His eyes followed the creaking of the wooden door. It was, in fact, not Sabina.  

“Who dares to enter the duke’s office without knocking?” He asked, voice sharp, still not witnessing the figure emerge from behind the wooden door on the other side.  

But, once he saw the tuft of pink hair. He relaxed ever so slightly. His daughter. Or so he called her; it hadn't been more than a few weeks since she had arrived at the Valentine mansion.  

But Aria Cortez (or Valentine) was perhaps the second person ever to have made him care about their well-being. 

The duke didn't say anything. His demeanor eased as he beckoned her over using one hand, to which the pink-haired 

 The girl had strolled towards him and was now at his side. Big doe-pink eyes meeting his, a smile blooming on her face.  

She pulled out a card from the brown satchel she carried with her everywhere. The paper rustled inside as she tilted her head downwards to find the paper she had written.  

“Why were you fighting?” She wrote, showing him the paper. Her handwriting was loopy. The paper was tinged brown from use. He made a mental note to buy her some new paper. 

“Just adult discourse,” he said vaguely. His hand now rested on the armchair, his fist holding his face as he gave her his full attention. Something he rarely did. 

Aria didn't look convinced; her brows furrowed in a way that made it visible that she didn't believe him. Trying to gouge the truth from him.  

But Tristan was used to things like this. And didn't relent as he continued staring at her. Blinking every few seconds.  

Aria, in defeat, pulled out another paper. Grabbed a pen off of his desk using the tip of her foot. Creasing the tip of the shoes, the maids would surely weep after seeing it.  

She turned the paper towards him after she finished writing. “I heard that there is a new child here besides me. Is that why you and the duchess were fighting, Father?” She wrote asking not  bothering with niceties.  

The duke made a disgruntled sound that sounded like a yes. The pink-haired child tilted her head in curiosity before tilting her head back down to write something else.  

It was in smaller handwriting at the corner of the paper. “When can I meet the duchess and the child?” His daughter sure was full of curiosities.  

“The duchess isn’t in a good mood... And the child won’t be staying long,” he answered, voice muffled by his palm.  

Aria's lips quirked into a frown. God, why was every woman in his life upset with him today?. 

. 

. 

. 

“Come on,” Sabina cooed, her voice muffled as you were hiding beneath the blanket. The duchess had learned your name just last week. And she had to say it did in fact really match you.  

But it seemed no matter the amount of words, she would tell you to get rid of Tristan, calling you a glowing creature went in vain

. As it was the only thing stuck in your brain as you hid beneath the silk, white cover, you looked like a lump in the middle of it with how little you are. As if a misplaced pillow. 

Sabina could drag you from out, but where's the fun in that? Considering you would get more upset if she did that. Her soft hand patted the top of the blanket, trying to make it look like a comforting gesture.  

“Come on, star child, I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” she tried to convince. “My husband just says stuff without thinking. I’m sure he will love you if you two just sit with each other.” Tristan had, of course, apologized to Sabina like maybe a week ago.  

But, when he tried apologizing to you, you wailed so loud he immediately shut the door and didn't try communicating with you ever again.  

Sabina sighed. Head rested against the mattress. Fine if you wouldn't go to the duke. Then she would just bring him to you!. 

With the brilliant idea that had bloomed in her mind, she pressed her lips against the comforter atop of where your head was. “I’m going to go get something and come back, okay, baby? “Don’t move.” She stood up swiftly, crouching in pain for a second or two. Before her slipper began their sound against the carpeted floor.  

Moving out of the room. Suddenly it was all quiet. You peeked out of your safe haven to make sure it was true that she was gone. 

But in your vision was the old woman now sitting next to you on the bed. It had dipped in her barely there weight.  

She smiled her signature smile. “Ready to go home, starchild?” she asked. eyes twinkling with amusement at the scene she had just witnessed. But for the first time in any mission, you didn't want to go home.  

Because no amount of tears or future missions would make you forget how happy being with Sabina was.  

And in a few years, looking back. Those would be the best memories of those two weeks you spent with them. They would be the best days of your life. 

The moments after you'd vanished. Sabina had managed to drag Tristan to apologize. Your name coming out of her lips in such delight would've made you giggle if you had heard it. 

“Where—” The words died on her lips. She didn't need to investigate as her heart broke. She hadn't even known you that long, and she believed that it was fate. That you'd be the child she finally raised. The child whom she had grown to adore in such little time.  

Had vanished. And a stupid part of her hoped. That the next time she saw a shooting star, she wished upon it. You'd show up again.  

[melonminnie]

I'LL KEEP YOU FAR AWAY FROM ME LIKE A STAR! - (platonic btvf x star child reader

CONDENSATION: To a sick Sabina, you were the starry-eyed kid who had saved her when she was too sick to even get up. She calls you her shooting star. Little does she know you, in fact, did come from one!

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: got carried away but i really like how this turned out! song for the header is fallen star by 'the neighbourhood'

THE ANCIENT GREEKS BELIEVED THAT their fate was written in the stars. That they were tied to destiny in a cosmic and mythical way. They believed in the Moirai, or the fates, who cut and measured lives. Also believed that the stars were thought to be a part of the fabric they'd woven.  

And it is widely believed by the ancient civilians that the stars were divine beings or connected to gods. Like, say, Astraea, the goddess of innocence. She became the star-maiden constellation Virgo.  

Or Orion, a famous hunter, who after his death got turned into a constellation. And it is famously known that the king of gods. Zeus often placed mortals he favored among the stars. 

Nonetheless. When a sick Sabina, who at that point was still sick and bedridden. Strands of raven ink 

 hair sticking onto her forehead. Her bleary eyes were trained on the midnight sky. The world had long since gone to sleep. The stars are twinkling. And the moon shining up so high, making itself the main attraction for those who still weren't asleep.  

The duchess smiled faintly Her head was propped against a pillow one of the maids had put for her before leaving. knowing how much she despised being helped. Even though she was powerless and weak due to the illness that had overcome her. 

The night was her friend. It didn't pity her. Didn't worry about her like Tristan did. Standing next to her everywhere she went. refusing to leave her side. The duchess knew her husband meant well.  

But he still irritated her with his nagging.  

She pushed the thoughts aside. Watery eyes from how bad her throat ached shifted to look out the open balcony. Once more admiring the inky sky. Once more, taking in its twinkling stars.  

They shone so, so, so brightly. She focused on one specific star. One that stood out to her in her vision. 

It looked the same as the others. Faint and barely there amidst the other incandescent things. 

Maybe she was too sick? She tried to reason with herself. Because of the particular celestial body she'd been looking at. Seemed to... It seemed as if it was inching closer. At rapid speed.  

Her eyes widened. One of her clammy, pale hands was digging into the white table nestled next to her bed. 

The realization of how weak she was caught up to her. “Fuck,” she cursed, her voice hoarse from disuse. But as she stared at the floor of the once dark room. The beaming light from the shooting star was blinding. Coming closer and closer by the second.  

Everyone almost always says that when you spot a shooting star. You should wish upon it. Whatever it may be, realistic or not, achievable or not. It may come true.  

If so, if the myths were true. Sabina closed her eyes. The faint images of her family were flashing in her brain.  

Lloyd, Vincent, and Tristan. As well as the newly arrived guest, Sabina had been hearing her name whispered among the maids. “I’d like to meet her too,” she thought out loud. Her wish was now obvious, loud, and clear in her hazy brain. 

“I wish to get better,” she rasped out, hand still on the white side table in a way as if she wanted to will her body to get better. 

Just so she could live out the rest of her days with her family. Even though she barely spent time with them. Even though she hated how much Tristan and Lloyd pitied her rapidly deteriorating state. Or the maids' pitiful guilty glances thrown her way when they thought she wasn't looking.  

So, stupidly, she was so hopeful that her wish would come true. The light was almost blinding at this point. The room once cloaked in darkness was now blindingly and flashing white from the beaming star falling upon the Valentine mansion.  

The sick duchess closed her eyes. Once more envisioning her cursed family she'd grown to love, accepting the fact that she was now one foot into death's cold dark door. Only waiting to put the other foot in.  

She still remembered the day that she held Lloyd. Mewling and crying for the first and only time as her body began its long journey of giving up on her. He was so pale. With the smallest hands she'd ever seen. Tendrils of sticky hair still stuck to his head. The maids were moving rapidly, the midwife yelling out orders that fell deaf on Sabina’s ears. Eyes trained on the babe in her grasp. She had never truly experienced feeling the weakness that was settling on her sinking into her body as one of the maids quickly took her son away. For all she knew, it was the last time she'd ever held him. The illness settled that day.  

 She was never truly able to hold a baby Lloyd ever again.  

And yet to anyone that asked about her pregnancy. Boasting about it was all she ever did.  

When Sabina opened her eyes. She wasn't greeted with darkness, nor was she sent into hell. Her chest felt so much lighter. Hands gripping the sheets and then ungripping, checking if she was still alive.  

what the fuck

She blinked a few times, making sure what she saw wasn't fake. That she wasn't delusional or that she'd died and now she was a ghost with others haunting the mansion.  

But the vision in front of her never truly left. Her cheeks were warm from the tiny hands pressed against them. The hands belonged to the brightest and most glowing child Sabina had ever laid her eyes on.  

And it wasn't figurative either. The child in front of her was, in fact, glowing. Surrounded by this pale white or yellow halo. It encircled the little girl. Wrapping her up as if it were keeping her safe. Her face had patches of stars shades lighter than her skin color, as if she were born with them.  

The mystery child's cheeks were puffed out as if in concentration. The duchess felt the heaviness that seemed to have settled in her chest when the illness took place practically disappear as if being popped like a bubble.  

Rapidly her illness was fading away. She could breathe normally now. Not having to take long, deep breaths because it physically hurt her to breathe. The pain shooting up into her body usually makes her double over and vomit red crimson blood.  

The keyword was usually. This time when she breathed, it felt like fresh air. As if she were seated by her favorite tree. Inhaling its sweet scent as the petals gently landed on the floor.  

It was as if her wish had come true. She didn't even know she had closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she witnessed the child's action. It was so endearing to the duchess, causing her to break out into an infectious grin. 

Sabina’s heart practically melted at the same time as her brain worked to figure out where this mystery child had come from. At first she thought it would be the work of her husband, Tristan. But for the split moment she'd looked up to look around the room. 

She didn't find the worried duke standing next to her with his black hair and the weariness and worry etched into his expression as he looked into her crimson eyes.  

A kind of vulnerability he didn't show around anyone but his wife.  

So, she had concluded. That. She'd come from that beaming shooting star. The one she thought would kill her.  

Instead. That bright celestial object was now seated on her lap, staring at her as if she had no idea how the world worked.  

Sabina found the girl so...so...so cute? She couldn't think of another word to describe it. With her puffed-up cheeks, the scars shaped like stars itched all over her form. And that wide-eyed starry hope that nowadays you only saw in children.  

“God, you’re cute,” Sabina blurts out. And maybe an old traitorous part of her thought that this was indeed fate.  

. 

. 

. 

BEING assigned a job to fulfill one's wish was truly tedious and, to you, really tiring. Truly you'd rather play with the clouds or catch astray stars and put them back where they come from.  

But nonetheless, a wish is a wish. Your name had come out of one of the assigner's lips. An old woman in billowing robes the color of cream and gold. Immediately recognizing her as one of the main assigners who gave you and others like you jobs to do around the mortal world as she crouched, placing the files in your tiny hands.  

“I know how much you hate doing jobs like these,” the woman started. In your eyes, she looks unbearably young like this. As if she was trying to reassure you. Like one did with their own children.  

“It’s fine,” you replied, feet kicking at moving wisps of white beneath your feet. Trying to catch some other sound from the nearby attendants also getting assigned. They were all older. Usually, younger people like you didn't get assigned to materials like this. 

But you neither had a mother nor did you have a father to take on the jobs. And the stars weren't as forgiving as mortals. So, you were made to take on the hardships children weren't familiar with.  

It wasn't as if your body was built for it either. Stars didn't have a need for sustenance, or at least you were told adults didn't need any. And you were too skinny.  

“Barely any meat on these bones,” the old lady muttered, her hand on your forearm, causing you to turn your attention back to her. Immediately flinching at the moment, taking a step or two back away from her. Feet barely making a sound against the clouds beneath your feet. The chatter of others and the rustle of paper and pens were louder than anything else.  

You hadn't been paying attention to what she had said before. Lost in your own world. She still had that smile dancing on her lips as if she did.  ‘She was probably trying to encourage me,’ you thought. And you weren't wrong, as that was what she usually did.  

The old woman stood up. A slow movement, as if if she moved too fast, she might fracture her body. Her clothes rustled by the movement.  

“Anyhow,” she replied. Your name fell out of her lips once more. “Don’t forget.” She turned around; you could barely make out her facial features as she turned. “In the end we are all made of star-stuff.” She shrugged, turning her head and giving you a wink.  

She looked impossibly young in that moment. No older than thirty, maybe. But before you could dwell on the moment, you were being ushered to go fulfill your job.  

. 

. 

. 

  “AND where did you say this child came from?” the doctor asked. You'd been around for less than a day. Remembering exactly when a tall man with a raven head had barged into the room frantic. And had looked at you as if you were a pest. 

You weren't!. At least to yourself you weren't. And quite frankly, this was your best job ever. Gone was the bedridden, too-pale woman. The sickness that once clogged and cloyed the room with it had disappeared. Leaving the imposing, elegant woman who had (thankfully) gotten you out of the jail cell you'd been thrown into once the man had gotten his hold on you.  

Bluntly, your hatred for the man was festering more, gosh! Who knew dukes could be such prudes!. It wasn't as if you were going to kill the woman. You just made her feel better...permanently!. 

“Around and about,” Sabina answered vaguely to the doctor’s question. Her eyes were trained on you. Curious and protective in a way you weren't able to decipher. Upon closer look. Sabina was truly really beautiful when she wasn't on death’s door.  

‘I did this,’ you thought. Boasting to yourself. This wasn't the first time you'd healed someone. But it was the first time you had healed someone as sick as Sabina.  

Sabina was beautiful in a way. She looked like a black swan in your opinion. A divine being blessed by Aphrodite. With her dark hair, it fell almost to her waist. And the prettiest eyes that reminded you of red roses. You'd never seen such eyes look at you with so much reassurance in your short-lived life.  

Tristan eyed you. And then he eyed his wife. Letting out a tch before grabbing the back of your dress. Holding you like an 's' and going from side to side. Eyes trained on the marble floor as you tried to maneuver your way out of this grasp. 

Has this man never held a child before? 

The voices around you blurred. You saw the shadow of the duchess fall upon you, the doctor stammering out more questions that Sabina answered with so much vagueness it was astonishing, honestly.  

And with each question, Tristan was just getting more irritated. The blood rushing to your brain just as quickly.  

“I don’t understand why you’re protecting this child. If it’s a thief, then so be it!” Tristan quipped. Voice dripping with agitation. He was probably also frowning, but you couldn't confirm that. 

“Because I can,” Sabina replied, moving closer as if just seconds away from slapping Tristan’s hand away. But not following through with the movement, as she realized you'd just plummet to the cold floor before anyone could catch you.  

“If it’s because she’s a girl, I told you we already have one, and she’s far better than this glowing creature!” He tried to reason. His words hurt. Glowing creature, for fuck's sake! You'd saved his wife's life.  

“Don’t call her that. If I wish to keep her, then so be it; it shall be my responsibility, not yours!” Sabina argued, crossing her arms.  

He let out an exasperated sigh. As if just having this talk and her being angry with him after just getting better physically pained him. “Well, what if she’s an outsider? A spy? Sent by the emperor! She could harm you then! And you could end up dead!” he spat out.  

It was petty, and you knew it too, for you to still be upset that he had called you a growing creature. To be fair, you were one. But still you were a toddler! What kind of grown man does that to a toddler?!. 

Blurry tears clouded your vision. Tiny sniffles now filled the hostile air. Your lips quirk downwards and into a frown.”Gosh, adults were just so mean and ungrateful,” you thought somberly.  

Hiccups came out before the tears began dripping down your face and onto the marble floor. The doctor had long excused himself. As to not get slain for witnessing this conversation in the beginning.  

If looks could kill, Tristan Valentine would have been six feet under the moment Sabina had glared at him as she heard the tiny sniffles coming out of the toddler. 

“You made her cry!” Sabina's slender arms swiftly picked her up from how he was holding her. Her head was now buried in the crook of her neck. Fat tears bubbled down her chubby cheeks.  

“I—” Tristan was at a loss for words. Not a single child he'd ever had cried in front of him. Maybe when he wasn't in the room, sure. And maybe it was because he was just oh so kind that they would cry from happiness.  

“Whatever thought you have in your brain, I will be keeping this child,” Sabina declared. And she had declared a lot of things in the past. Just not with the same intensity that she had in that moment.  

Tristann sighed. Not able to get a word in as she stormed out of the room. Slippers slapping against the floor, the wooden door slammed shut with a loud bam. Making the maids nearby physically jump. Watching as the duchess walked back to her room.  

Back inside, Tristan sighed, rubbing his temples. “God help me,” he groaned, moving swiftly and slumping against the leather chair of his office, head tilted back. Strands of his hair had stuck to his cheekbones.  

He felt the doors creak open, assuming it was Sabina, though he knew that after every argument he had to be wrong. Never her. 

And usually it was never her that was wrong. Just what was so special about that child that made her want to keep her?. The doctors and healers he had called in had all called it a miracle from the stars that she had gotten better from what they had called an ‘incurable illness.’  

But Tristan wasn't like that. Surely it wasn't fate. That made no sense to the duke. 

Anyhow, pushing his thoughts aside. His eyes followed the creaking of the wooden door. It was, in fact, not Sabina.  

“Who dares to enter the duke’s office without knocking?” He asked, voice sharp, still not witnessing the figure emerge from behind the wooden door on the other side.  

But, once he saw the tuft of pink hair. He relaxed ever so slightly. His daughter. Or so he called her; it hadn't been more than a few weeks since she had arrived at the Valentine mansion.  

But Aria Cortez (or Valentine) was perhaps the second person ever to have made him care about their well-being. 

The duke didn't say anything. His demeanor eased as he beckoned her over using one hand, to which the pink-haired 

 The girl had strolled towards him and was now at his side. Big doe-pink eyes meeting his, a smile blooming on her face.  

She pulled out a card from the brown satchel she carried with her everywhere. The paper rustled inside as she tilted her head downwards to find the paper she had written.  

“Why were you fighting?” She wrote, showing him the paper. Her handwriting was loopy. The paper was tinged brown from use. He made a mental note to buy her some new paper. 

“Just adult discourse,” he said vaguely. His hand now rested on the armchair, his fist holding his face as he gave her his full attention. Something he rarely did. 

Aria didn't look convinced; her brows furrowed in a way that made it visible that she didn't believe him. Trying to gouge the truth from him.  

But Tristan was used to things like this. And didn't relent as he continued staring at her. Blinking every few seconds.  

Aria, in defeat, pulled out another paper. Grabbed a pen off of his desk using the tip of her foot. Creasing the tip of the shoes, the maids would surely weep after seeing it.  

She turned the paper towards him after she finished writing. “I heard that there is a new child here besides me. Is that why you and the duchess were fighting, Father?” She wrote asking not  bothering with niceties.  

The duke made a disgruntled sound that sounded like a yes. The pink-haired child tilted her head in curiosity before tilting her head back down to write something else.  

It was in smaller handwriting at the corner of the paper. “When can I meet the duchess and the child?” His daughter sure was full of curiosities.  

“The duchess isn’t in a good mood... And the child won’t be staying long,” he answered, voice muffled by his palm.  

Aria's lips quirked into a frown. God, why was every woman in his life upset with him today?. 

. 

. 

. 

“Come on,” Sabina cooed, her voice muffled as you were hiding beneath the blanket. The duchess had learned your name just last week. And she had to say it did in fact really match you.  

But it seemed no matter the amount of words, she would tell you to get rid of Tristan, calling you a glowing creature went in vain

. As it was the only thing stuck in your brain as you hid beneath the silk, white cover, you looked like a lump in the middle of it with how little you are. As if a misplaced pillow. 

Sabina could drag you from out, but where's the fun in that? Considering you would get more upset if she did that. Her soft hand patted the top of the blanket, trying to make it look like a comforting gesture.  

“Come on, star child, I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” she tried to convince. “My husband just says stuff without thinking. I’m sure he will love you if you two just sit with each other.” Tristan had, of course, apologized to Sabina like maybe a week ago.  

But, when he tried apologizing to you, you wailed so loud he immediately shut the door and didn't try communicating with you ever again.  

Sabina sighed. Head rested against the mattress. Fine if you wouldn't go to the duke. Then she would just bring him to you!. 

With the brilliant idea that had bloomed in her mind, she pressed her lips against the comforter atop of where your head was. “I’m going to go get something and come back, okay, baby? “Don’t move.” She stood up swiftly, crouching in pain for a second or two. Before her slipper began their sound against the carpeted floor.  

Moving out of the room. Suddenly it was all quiet. You peeked out of your safe haven to make sure it was true that she was gone. 

But in your vision was the old woman now sitting next to you on the bed. It had dipped in her barely there weight.  

She smiled her signature smile. “Ready to go home, starchild?” she asked. eyes twinkling with amusement at the scene she had just witnessed. But for the first time in any mission, you didn't want to go home.  

Because no amount of tears or future missions would make you forget how happy being with Sabina was.  

And in a few years, looking back. Those would be the best memories of those two weeks you spent with them. They would be the best days of your life. 

The moments after you'd vanished. Sabina had managed to drag Tristan to apologize. Your name coming out of her lips in such delight would've made you giggle if you had heard it. 

“Where—” The words died on her lips. She didn't need to investigate as her heart broke. She hadn't even known you that long, and she believed that it was fate. That you'd be the child she finally raised. The child whom she had grown to adore in such little time.  

Had vanished. And a stupid part of her hoped. That the next time she saw a shooting star, she wished upon it. You'd show up again.  

[cassanderasblog]

The Forgotten One (part 2 of FOR THE SWEETNESS OF HER LAUGHTER... )

Platonic yandere! Athanasia de alger obelia x sister! Daughter! Reader x platonic yandere Claude de alger obelia x Soft yandere Felix

Warnings : mention of death, child neglect and suicidal behaviour and thoughts, pure fluff, germline reader, reincarnation

Authors note: Guys I'm back!!!!! Please reader the part one on @melonminnie and credit for the idea goes to them too !! I hope you guys l be the story.

-------------------------------------------------

Death did not feel like falling. It felt like letting go.

Athy’s scream tore through the air, the river swallowing the light above you. You remembered the cold, the pressure, the taste of regret in your mouth far stronger than water.

There were hands reaching toward you too..... Felix’s frantic splash, the guards shouting, the swirl of panic..... But Claude’s blue eyes were fixed on only one person.

Only her. Always her. You were sinking.

And a strange calm bloomed in your chest as everything blurred, muffled, dimmed .....

Of course. There no next time for someone like you.... Even at the end, you are not the one he saves.

And then the world snapped shut.

Black. Silent. Empty.

You didn’t wake up gently. You shot up from bed like someone who had been chased by trauma in a dream.....which, to be fair, you had.

Your tiny, chubby eight-year-old legs tangled in the blankets and you immediately tumbled off the bed and landed on your face. Not Again.....

The maids gasped, scrambling around you like startled pigeons. Put you back in the bed like the baby bird.

“P-Princess, are you hurt?!”

You lifted one hand weakly.

Rebirth

You were in a smaller bed. A softer one. In a room you hadn’t seen in years.

Your hands… tiny. Your legs… short. Your heart? Old. Too old for this body.

You were back .You didn’t know how or why. But you knew one thing for certain... You weren’t going to waste your second chance waiting for love that would never come.

You were done. Completely done.

“I have… survived,” you muttered, sounding like a war veteran trapped in a child’s body.

The maids exchanged horrified looks.

You did not cry as children do. You did not giggle. You did not cling.

Your silence was not innocent...... it was a fortress.

Maids whispered about “the calm princess,”but your calmness was simply exhaustion in disguise.

Your little feet moved soundlessly through corridors, your little hands folded neatly in your lap during lessons, and your little eyes saw everything.

Every guard shift. Every route Athy took. Every moment Claude was in the same wing of the palace so you could avoid him.

You were a strategist trapped in a child’s body.

And every night, you wrote in your small leather notebook:

“101 Ways to Escape a Trash Father”

Pages filled with diagrams, maps, overheard guard conversations. A manual for freedom.

Athy, just as luminous as in your first life, tried so hard.

Tried to braid your hair. Tried to share cookies. Tried to force dolls into your hands.

You smiled at her sometimes.... not the excited childish smile she expected, but a small, tired curve of lips that carried years behind it.

Athy didn’t understand your distance. Didn’t know why your hugs were quick. Why your eyes drifted away as if you were preparing for the day you must leave her behind.

Yet you let her stay near you. Not close.... just near.

Athy thought she was melting your icy heart. But really, you were simply letting her think so, because she deserved a childhood untouched by pain.

Athy, bless her bright little heart, kept trying. She would pop into your room with cookies, toys, ribbons—

“Come play with me!”. “I found a new book!”. “I braided your doll’s hair!”.

You entertained her sometimes. You weren’t cruel. Just careful. She became someone you… tolerated. Sometimes even liked.

But you kept your walls up, because you knew what losing a sister felt like. And you weren’t letting yourself feel that again.

You saw him again. Just once. In the corridor. He turned the corner, tall, elegant, cold-eyed—

And your whole face twisted in disgust purely natural, your reaction was instinctive. Immediate.

Your face twisted sharply, disgust shattering through your tiny features like a crack in glass.

In your first life, you cried quietly when Claude walked away from you. In this life, you walked away first. Your small feet pivoted, body turning with the precise formality of someone who had already been hurt by him once.

Claude froze mid-step.

In that brief moment, two theories formed in both your minds—

Yours: “Trash spotted. Exit required.”. His: “…Why did she look at me like I kicked her puppy?”

But you were gone before he took his next breath. It didn't took much time as he sent Felix to look into you .. well and that was a big mistake cause the man was traumatized..

Felix knocked on Claude’s door, holding your notebook with trembling fingers.

“Your Majesty,” Felix said cautiously. “The young princess has written… a text.”

Claude: “A text?” Felix: “Yes. A book, actually.” Claude frowned. “A storybook?”

“…No, sire. A manual.” “A… manual,”

Claude repeated, slowly. Felix swallowed.

“It’s called: ‘How to Run Away From Trash.’”

Claude stared. His eyebrow twitched. His soul left his body.

“…From what?” “Trash, sire.” “Which trash?” Felix whispered, “Based on context… you.”

Claude needed five minutes to process this like a man who’d just realized even a toddler had declared him unsalvageable.

From then on you avoided him like a plague... If it was a royal sport no one could beat you..

Second Encounter

You shuffled out of your room, brain foggy, stomach empty, hair an absolute bird’s nest.

You were NOT ready to exist. But the universe didn’t care.

Because apparently, it had scheduled an early-morning humiliation for you.

You turned a corner.....

And slammed straight into a solid wall of black uniform.

Claude. YOUR FATHER.

The universe needed to be fired.

You bounced back like a rubber ball and fell on your butt with a tiny “oof!”

Claude blinked down at you.

Blue eyes. Cold aura. That resting “I-don’t-even-like-air” face.

Claude blinked. You blinked. You blinked up at him.

Silence.

His golden eyes narrowed as if examining a strange creature.

Your eyes widened like a raccoon caught stealing rice.Then your instincts screamed.

DANGER. DO NOT ENGAGE. RUN.

So you scrambled to your feet and Then—

“CONTAMINATION!!!”

You screamed like a kettle.

Claude stared at you, baffled, frozen like someone unplugged his brain.....and you SPRINTED.

Just zoom. A tiny ball of trauma zooming down the corridor.

Claude stood frozen.

“…Did she just run away?” he murmured, eyes genuinely confused.

Felix, who witnessed everything from behind him, hesitated.

“Yes, Your Majesty. Quite… impressively.”

Disgust Level: Maximum

You scrambled up, sprinted down the hallway at toddler speed, and burst into your room where the maids were folding sheets.You barged into your room, slammed the door, and pointed dramatically at the maids.

“BATH. NOW.”

They jumped.

“Scrub me!” you demanded, hopping in place.

“S-Scrub you, Princess?”

“SCRUB OFF HIS TOUCH!” you wailed, even though Claude literally hadn’t touched you.

The maids stared.

“…Princess… he didn’t lay a finger on you—”

“He breathed near me!”

The maids burst into panic like soldiers receiving evacuation orders.

Buckets were fetched.Bath was filled.

Soaps were lined like weapons.You marched into the tub like you were entering holy purification.

“Harder,” you instructed with dead seriousness as a maid scrubbed your arm.

“Princess, your skin—”

“I said harder. I bumped into garbage.”

The maids exchanged exhausted looks.

You pointed at yourself like you were covered in nuclear waste.

“SCRUB ME! SCRUB ME NOW!”

The maids: “Princess… nooo..

In short you were stripped, dunked, scrubbed, shampooed, rinsed, and wrapped in towels like a traumatized dumpling.

Meanwhile Claude stood in the hall, still processing:

“…Did… my daughter just scream… contamination?”

While you were being aggressively scrubbed, Claude sat in his office, concerned. And confused. Very confused. He turned to Felix.

“…Do I smell?” Claude asked slowly.

Felix’s soul left his body.

“N-No, Your Majesty,” he said quickly. “You are… extremely clean.”

Claude frowned harder.

“Then why did she run from me like a hunted deer?”

Felix hesitated. Should he say it? Should he lie? . Should he fake a heart attack?

“Your Majesty…” Felix whispered. “The princess… believes you carry… ‘emotional contamination.’”

Claude blinked.

“…Contamination.”

“Yes, sire.”

“Emotional.”

“…Yes.”

Claude stared at the wall for a full minute.

Freshly scrubbed and wrapped in a towel like a traumatized dumpling, you stared into the mirror.

“I refuse to be emotionally infected again,” you declared like a monk taking vows.

Maids nodded along fearfully. You lifted your tiny fist.

“This time I live. This time I leave. This time I am allergic to trash.”

The maids clapped nervously. You glared.

“Not literal trash. FATHER trash.”

They clapped even more nervously.

The Day Continues… But Unfortunately for you....

When you finally left your bath, smelling like ten flowers fighting for dominance, you tried to sneak to the garden....

.....and bumped right into Claude again.

“…”

“…”

You screamed internally. Claude’s eye twitched.

“Are you going to run again?” he asked calmly.

You replied with the bravery of a lion: “…Yes.”

And you ran. Again.

This was your fifth “disinfection bath” this week.

Your Avoidance Game Level: Olympic Athlete

From then on, avoiding Claude became your number one job.

He passed by the gardens? → You body-rolled behind a bush.

He walked into the library? → You yeeted yourself under a table.

He opened his mouth to greet you? → You dove behind Felix like he was a human shield.

Felix, tired: “Princess, please stop using me as barricade—”

You: “THIS IS WAR, FELIX.”

The Notebook of Escape Plans, At night, you wrote in your notebook:

“Memo #26: Claude cannot teleport but his shadow is fast. Avoid his shadow.”

“Memo #37: Windows are friends.”

“Memo #52: If Athy distracts him, use that moment to flee.”

Felix accidentally found it once and nearly fainted reading:

“Trash Alert Scale: Mild = ignore. Medium = run. High = scream.”

“If Claude picks me up, bite.”

“If he tries to pat my head, fake death.”

Felix presented it to Claude like it was a cursed relic. Claude read in silence. Eyebrow twitching.

“…She called me WHAT?

Felix: “…Trash, sire..... Biohazard level trash.”

Claude re-evaluating every life choice he ever made.

Claude thought gifts would soften you. He chose dresses. Carefully. Thoughtfully.

When the salon owner brought them in, you pointed at the clothes like a detective interrogating a criminal.

“Which of these did that trash choose??

The owner, sweating rivers: T-These three—

You pushed those dresses away like they carried plague.

“I refuse. Remove them before I catch something.”

Athy gifted you a beautiful pastel dress one day. You embraced it dearly.... soft fabric, warm colors, the feeling of being loved for once.

Felix smiled proudly.

“I’m glad you like it. His Majesty actually chose—”

The dress hit the floor instantly. Your face went pale with horror.

“I need a sword, cut my hand off” you muttered in a chilling whisper. “I need to burn it. Burn me. Burn everything.”

Felix: panics. Athy: shrieks. Claude (hearing about it later): looked amused

Every attempt he made to interact with you turned into a comedic tragedy.

Even the maids had started to bet what you are going to do to avoid him this time..

Your escape attempts reached a legendary 67.5 times.

The “.5” being the time you tried to jump the palace wall, saw Claude on the other side…

You stared at him. He stared at you.

You panicked and jumped BACK over the wall into the palace.

Claude was confused. Even looked offended.

“…Did she just run toward danger to avoid me?”

But then he understood that your hate towards him are not a play... It was too deep...

Athy fell into the river while you three were in boat. And you didn’t hesitate.

You jumped straight into the water, grabbed her, and dragged her to the surface with small arms that shouldn’t have been that strong.

Another boat came rushing toward you. Claude reached out his hand to pull you in.

His expression— worried. Almost desperate.

You looked at that hand. And looked away. And refused. Flat out refused.

You’d rather drown... You were sinking..... Deep...

Felix dived in after you and dragged you up himself. You were fainted you were laid on the bank and Claude stared in stunned silence.

His daughter... the one he couldn’t remember, the one he neglected, the one he never bothered with.... would rather sink to the bottom of a river than let him touch her.

And for the first time in Claude’s life…

something inside him actually hurt.

The Window Incident (Attempt #68)

Next morning after the royal physician checked you up you were walking out side your room , when you saw Claude walking toward your room.

Your soul left your body.

“Nope. Nope. NOPE.”

You ran to the window, climbed the ledge, and prepared to yeet yourself out like a tiny suicidal gremlin.

A maid screamed. Felix dropped his clipboard. Athy shouted, “Y/N NOOO—!!”. Claude: “…What in the—?”

You jumped..... Or tried to.....

Because Claude moved faster than your trauma-driven instincts and grabbed you.....

BY THE BACK OF YOUR COLLAR.

Like a mother cat grabbing a naughty kitten. Your legs kicked uselessly in the air.

“PUT ME DOWN YOU CONTAMINATED TREE MAN—!!!”

Claude held you up with one hand, staring at your dangling form.

“Why,” he asked, too calmly,

“were you about to jump out of a second-story window?”

You glared at him, puffed up like an angry hamster.

“…Because. You exist.”

Felix choked. Athy gasped. A maid fainted.

Claude: “…I am your father.”

“No,” you corrected him, “You are a hazard.”

Claude blinked. Then....for the first time in his life...his lips twitched.

Into a smile... "Well I think you can't do anything of that you have to live with that..."

His expressions were not turning angry but into the expression of a man who has just discovered something very interesting to obsess over.

You expected him to yell. Or punish you. Or send you away. Instead… he became curious. Too curious. He followed you silently.

Watched you avoid him like he carried plague. Observed your little escape attempts with a strange fascination. Read your escape manual like it was a holy text.

He even whispered once to Felix,

“…She hates me. It's adorable?” Felix: “Sire you need THERAPY.” Claude: “No. I need to catch her again.”

©️ Littlephoenix 2025 , do not plagiarize, distribute to other sites or translate any of my work , or ideas without my permission it's strictly prohibited.

[melonminnie]

I loved this sm!! Thank you for taking the time out of your day to write it!! 💕💕

[melonminnie]

FOR THE SWEETNESS OF HER LAUGHTER... (wmmap x platonic athy's sister! reader!) ANGST (maybe? idk)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I forgot how much I loved writing for them. loosely inspired by the song "Maybe This Time I'll Win" from the Cabaret musical!

SUMMARY: being neglected by your father was something both you and your sister were so intimately familiar with. But what happens when all of a sudden? Claude begins paying attention to the princess, but you're still left in the dark?

“I'm not jealous,” you mumble to yourself. Eyes trained on the scene in front of you.  

You were seated at a wooden desk in the library. The wooden table pressed against glass panes that overlooked the garden of the palace.  

You’d gone there to quote on quote. ‘Study’ your book opened in front of you. Sticky tabs and highlighters were particular and stood out against the rather plain pages. But you weren't paying attention to any of that.  

Instead, your optics were directed at the scene in front of you, far beyond the confines of the glittering palace. Down in the lush garden of the Palace. With its prosperous ground. Trimmed grass. Flowers of every type and color surrounded the two.  

You lean against the table. The familiar lump growing at the back of your throat. Your dad. Claude De Alger Obelia. With his tyrant rule. Mostly known for when he murdered the entirety of his harem. And would've killed the baby a dead dancer had given him if it wasn't for the baby's name.  

The baby is now a grown teenager. And very obviously loved by her dad. Your sister. Athanasia. Or how you just called her Athy when no one was around. The father and daughter were seated in a shaded area beneath a willow tree. Smiling and laughing.  

‘Why wasn’t I invited? ‘I’m your daughter, and I’m your sister too! ’ you thought bitterly. Before shoving the thought down, guilt is gnawing at you more than the jealousy ever would.  

This has been happening more often than you'd like to admit. Their forgetting to invite you is starting to outweigh them inviting you. Sure, maybe. They'd forgotten.  

But you'd been the one to comfort Athy more than the emperor ever had. You were the one who wiped her tears after she had gotten pushed in the water. You'd pushed for her to do all she's doing now.  

Maybe...maybe you were in fact just meant to be forgotten.  

With a huff, you stood up, closing the book you hadn't spared a glance for. Picking it up. Your dress swished at your feet as you walked out. Faster than usual speed-walking, really. As if running from the scene you'd just witnessed. 

“It’s fine; they’ll just—I don’t know—they’ll invite me next time? ” You muttered to yourself. Feet taking you anywhere, you weren't looking up ahead, eyes trained on the floor beneath your feet. Thoughts are piling up as every other circumstance and excuse comes up as to why they didn't invite you to their tea party this time. Or the other twenty times.  

You stopped. Ears catching onto the maid's gossip before they see you. Your name being mentioned in low-toned whispers.  

“Poor girl... I mean, really, it's not like the crown princess or the emperor is really trying to hide it! ” She gasped in that fake tone you were oh-so-familiar with.  

“I know, oh my god! Did you see what they did last week? They had to—I'm not even joking—sneak out just so she wouldn't ask them,” the other maid piped in. Adding more fuel to the fire.  

Fuel that was making your heart ache. Which you realized had been aching for weeks. Just feel heavier. The lump in your throat is now worse than before. Water is pooling from behind your eyes, making your vision blurry. 

This time when you walked, you made sure not to make the sound of your heels visible. Just so you wouldn't jostle the gossiping maids.  

‘Maybe I’m just too much? ’ You tried to justify your voice still being low, whispering low. Trying to figure out where you went wrong. Sure, you always knew that your sister was closer to your father than you ever were. And you knew that your father was closer to your sister than he ever was to you.  

And yes, the favoritism was there. But it wasn't like you hadn't noticed them. Nor had you ever pointed it out.  

For all it's worth. Athy was the only sister you'd ever had. And Claude, maybe he wants the best father figure in the world. 

But truth be known, he was the only father you'd ever known in your life. “Maybe I just need to sleep it off.”  

You said that part out loud. Once in the confines of your opulent bedroom. Now alone. You removed the shoes you were wearing. And sliding into bed. Unshed tears staining your pillow. Before sleep finally took hold of you  

. 

. 

. 

. 

When you woke up. It was because Athy had called your name. Crystal blue eyes staring into you. “Good morning! ” the blonde chirped, standing next to your bed instead of peering at you.  

You greeted her back. The bitter thoughts are still bubbling at the back of your brain. But causing trouble would be so much worse. And you barely saw Athansia happy. So, you shut your mouth.  

The crown princess had taken the opportunity to plop down on your bed. Now grinning. Pearly white teeth showing as she finally started explaining the reason for her smile.  

“Guess what I did? ” she asked. Prodding around. 

“Ummm, you discovered that cows could fly? ” you asked in a voice half muffled by you hiding in the pillow, one eye looking at Athy.  

She shook her head, blue eyes glancing at you for a second before swinging her feet, eyes trained on the movement and then back to you. “Guess again, come onnnn! ” she encouraged. Smile widening.  

It caused a tiny crack of a smile to form on your own lips. “Hmm, what could the great Athanasia De Alger Obelia have done this time? ” you asked out loud sarcastically. “Maybe she invented a new key to the underworld—wait, no—that magician guy you like has proposed! ” You guessed, not moving from your position buried in your pillow.  

“What—no,” she shook her head. Your name followed the words with a whine. “Fine then!” she huffed. “I guess you’ll just never know,” she shrugged. Then silence followed.  

You rolled onto your back, hands folding just below your chest. Not even less than five minutes followed before the princess started spilling.  

“Father commissioned a painting of me and him!” She blurted out a tone filled with so much excitement and happiness. 

Your smile froze. The quirk of your lips almost going to a frown before you held your smile. Forcing your tone to appear... Happy?. You didn't know what you were attempting, really.  

“Aw, I’m so happy for you! When did he do that? ” you asked. How much was too much crying? Three or four times a day?. You weren't on a counting streak.  

“I think last week,” Athansia chirped.  

“I’m so happy for you,” you reiterated once more. Athanasia beamed happily. 

“Ah, I’m just gonna—uhm—go to the bathroom,” you excuse yourself, sitting up and getting out of your bed.  

. 

. 

. 

It was finally your day. What day?. Day you'd been dreaming of since forever. And your birthday, of course. Claude, to celebrate your birthday, had invited all of the most important people in the empire just for his daughter. 

So, dressed in your most extravagant dress. Your hair is done justtt right. You hurried down the steps of the palace. Shoes clicking against the floor, making your way to the ballroom.  

It was closed off with two large doors. The color of wood, the handles made of gold. Two guards were also stationed next to the large doorframe. Immediately bowing once they saw you, their lips moved in the form of the greeting before one moved closer and opened the door for you.  

You heard the muffled voice of the announcer. The door was pushed open.  

Everything was perfect. Everything was gleaming and perfect, and for the first time in so, so, so long, you felt like you belonged here.  

That you were, in fact, a princess. Not an outsider. 

You didn't have anyone to help you down the steps. But that was fine; you made your way down. Every guest's and noble's eyes landing on you. You saw the blonde hair of your sister standing next to your father.  

Everything was perfect, better than you could've ever imagined.  

But you'd barely made it down the stairs when they shifted music suddenly playing. It was known that the emperor would dance with his daughter on her birthday.  

So...everyone expected him to come towards you, right?. Not reach out for the crown princess to dance. 

Almost every pitiful gaze dropped to you at that. “Poor girl, she’s not even treated as a princess,” a nearby noble whispered. 

The empty void inside you returned in that moment. Watching the father-daughter 

The duo twirl and dance in happiness. Maybe you thought stupidly. That the tradition had changed?. 

You couldn't even bring yourself to be mad. just solemnly heartbroken and disappointed. Something that wasn't new for you.  

“It’s fine,” you thought to yourself.  

“Maybe next time I’ll win.”

[melonminnie]

FOR THE SWEETNESS OF HER LAUGHTER... (wmmap x platonic athy's sister! reader!) ANGST (maybe? idk)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I forgot how much I loved writing for them. loosely inspired by the song "Maybe This Time I'll Win" from the Cabaret musical!

SUMMARY: being neglected by your father was something both you and your sister were so intimately familiar with. But what happens when all of a sudden? Claude begins paying attention to the princess, but you're still left in the dark?

“I'm not jealous,” you mumble to yourself. Eyes trained on the scene in front of you.  

You were seated at a wooden desk in the library. The wooden table pressed against glass panes that overlooked the garden of the palace.  

You’d gone there to quote on quote. ‘Study’ your book opened in front of you. Sticky tabs and highlighters were particular and stood out against the rather plain pages. But you weren't paying attention to any of that.  

Instead, your optics were directed at the scene in front of you, far beyond the confines of the glittering palace. Down in the lush garden of the Palace. With its prosperous ground. Trimmed grass. Flowers of every type and color surrounded the two.  

You lean against the table. The familiar lump growing at the back of your throat. Your dad. Claude De Alger Obelia. With his tyrant rule. Mostly known for when he murdered the entirety of his harem. And would've killed the baby a dead dancer had given him if it wasn't for the baby's name.  

The baby is now a grown teenager. And very obviously loved by her dad. Your sister. Athanasia. Or how you just called her Athy when no one was around. The father and daughter were seated in a shaded area beneath a willow tree. Smiling and laughing.  

‘Why wasn’t I invited? ‘I’m your daughter, and I’m your sister too! ’ you thought bitterly. Before shoving the thought down, guilt is gnawing at you more than the jealousy ever would.  

This has been happening more often than you'd like to admit. Their forgetting to invite you is starting to outweigh them inviting you. Sure, maybe. They'd forgotten.  

But you'd been the one to comfort Athy more than the emperor ever had. You were the one who wiped her tears after she had gotten pushed in the water. You'd pushed for her to do all she's doing now.  

Maybe...maybe you were in fact just meant to be forgotten.  

With a huff, you stood up, closing the book you hadn't spared a glance for. Picking it up. Your dress swished at your feet as you walked out. Faster than usual speed-walking, really. As if running from the scene you'd just witnessed. 

“It’s fine; they’ll just—I don’t know—they’ll invite me next time? ” You muttered to yourself. Feet taking you anywhere, you weren't looking up ahead, eyes trained on the floor beneath your feet. Thoughts are piling up as every other circumstance and excuse comes up as to why they didn't invite you to their tea party this time. Or the other twenty times.  

You stopped. Ears catching onto the maid's gossip before they see you. Your name being mentioned in low-toned whispers.  

“Poor girl... I mean, really, it's not like the crown princess or the emperor is really trying to hide it! ” She gasped in that fake tone you were oh-so-familiar with.  

“I know, oh my god! Did you see what they did last week? They had to—I'm not even joking—sneak out just so she wouldn't ask them,” the other maid piped in. Adding more fuel to the fire.  

Fuel that was making your heart ache. Which you realized had been aching for weeks. Just feel heavier. The lump in your throat is now worse than before. Water is pooling from behind your eyes, making your vision blurry. 

This time when you walked, you made sure not to make the sound of your heels visible. Just so you wouldn't jostle the gossiping maids.  

‘Maybe I’m just too much? ’ You tried to justify your voice still being low, whispering low. Trying to figure out where you went wrong. Sure, you always knew that your sister was closer to your father than you ever were. And you knew that your father was closer to your sister than he ever was to you.  

And yes, the favoritism was there. But it wasn't like you hadn't noticed them. Nor had you ever pointed it out.  

For all it's worth. Athy was the only sister you'd ever had. And Claude, maybe he wants the best father figure in the world. 

But truth be known, he was the only father you'd ever known in your life. “Maybe I just need to sleep it off.”  

You said that part out loud. Once in the confines of your opulent bedroom. Now alone. You removed the shoes you were wearing. And sliding into bed. Unshed tears staining your pillow. Before sleep finally took hold of you  

. 

. 

. 

. 

When you woke up. It was because Athy had called your name. Crystal blue eyes staring into you. “Good morning! ” the blonde chirped, standing next to your bed instead of peering at you.  

You greeted her back. The bitter thoughts are still bubbling at the back of your brain. But causing trouble would be so much worse. And you barely saw Athansia happy. So, you shut your mouth.  

The crown princess had taken the opportunity to plop down on your bed. Now grinning. Pearly white teeth showing as she finally started explaining the reason for her smile.  

“Guess what I did? ” she asked. Prodding around. 

“Ummm, you discovered that cows could fly? ” you asked in a voice half muffled by you hiding in the pillow, one eye looking at Athy.  

She shook her head, blue eyes glancing at you for a second before swinging her feet, eyes trained on the movement and then back to you. “Guess again, come onnnn! ” she encouraged. Smile widening.  

It caused a tiny crack of a smile to form on your own lips. “Hmm, what could the great Athanasia De Alger Obelia have done this time? ” you asked out loud sarcastically. “Maybe she invented a new key to the underworld—wait, no—that magician guy you like has proposed! ” You guessed, not moving from your position buried in your pillow.  

“What—no,” she shook her head. Your name followed the words with a whine. “Fine then!” she huffed. “I guess you’ll just never know,” she shrugged. Then silence followed.  

You rolled onto your back, hands folding just below your chest. Not even less than five minutes followed before the princess started spilling.  

“Father commissioned a painting of me and him!” She blurted out a tone filled with so much excitement and happiness. 

Your smile froze. The quirk of your lips almost going to a frown before you held your smile. Forcing your tone to appear... Happy?. You didn't know what you were attempting, really.  

“Aw, I’m so happy for you! When did he do that? ” you asked. How much was too much crying? Three or four times a day?. You weren't on a counting streak.  

“I think last week,” Athansia chirped.  

“I’m so happy for you,” you reiterated once more. Athanasia beamed happily. 

“Ah, I’m just gonna—uhm—go to the bathroom,” you excuse yourself, sitting up and getting out of your bed.  

. 

. 

. 

It was finally your day. What day?. Day you'd been dreaming of since forever. And your birthday, of course. Claude, to celebrate your birthday, had invited all of the most important people in the empire just for his daughter. 

So, dressed in your most extravagant dress. Your hair is done justtt right. You hurried down the steps of the palace. Shoes clicking against the floor, making your way to the ballroom.  

It was closed off with two large doors. The color of wood, the handles made of gold. Two guards were also stationed next to the large doorframe. Immediately bowing once they saw you, their lips moved in the form of the greeting before one moved closer and opened the door for you.  

You heard the muffled voice of the announcer. The door was pushed open.  

Everything was perfect. Everything was gleaming and perfect, and for the first time in so, so, so long, you felt like you belonged here.  

That you were, in fact, a princess. Not an outsider. 

You didn't have anyone to help you down the steps. But that was fine; you made your way down. Every guest's and noble's eyes landing on you. You saw the blonde hair of your sister standing next to your father.  

Everything was perfect, better than you could've ever imagined.  

But you'd barely made it down the stairs when they shifted music suddenly playing. It was known that the emperor would dance with his daughter on her birthday.  

So...everyone expected him to come towards you, right?. Not reach out for the crown princess to dance. 

Almost every pitiful gaze dropped to you at that. “Poor girl, she’s not even treated as a princess,” a nearby noble whispered. 

The empty void inside you returned in that moment. Watching the father-daughter 

The duo twirl and dance in happiness. Maybe you thought stupidly. That the tradition had changed?. 

You couldn't even bring yourself to be mad. just solemnly heartbroken and disappointed. Something that wasn't new for you.  

“It’s fine,” you thought to yourself.  

“Maybe next time I’ll win.”

[melonminnie]

FOR THE SWEETNESS OF HER LAUGHTER... (wmmap x platonic athy's sister! reader!) ANGST (maybe? idk)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I forgot how much I loved writing for them. loosely inspired by the song "Maybe This Time I'll Win" from the Cabaret musical!

SUMMARY: being neglected by your father was something both you and your sister were so intimately familiar with. But what happens when all of a sudden? Claude begins paying attention to the princess, but you're still left in the dark?

“I'm not jealous,” you mumble to yourself. Eyes trained on the scene in front of you.  

You were seated at a wooden desk in the library. The wooden table pressed against glass panes that overlooked the garden of the palace.  

You’d gone there to quote on quote. ‘Study’ your book opened in front of you. Sticky tabs and highlighters were particular and stood out against the rather plain pages. But you weren't paying attention to any of that.  

Instead, your optics were directed at the scene in front of you, far beyond the confines of the glittering palace. Down in the lush garden of the Palace. With its prosperous ground. Trimmed grass. Flowers of every type and color surrounded the two.  

You lean against the table. The familiar lump growing at the back of your throat. Your dad. Claude De Alger Obelia. With his tyrant rule. Mostly known for when he murdered the entirety of his harem. And would've killed the baby a dead dancer had given him if it wasn't for the baby's name.  

The baby is now a grown teenager. And very obviously loved by her dad. Your sister. Athanasia. Or how you just called her Athy when no one was around. The father and daughter were seated in a shaded area beneath a willow tree. Smiling and laughing.  

‘Why wasn’t I invited? ‘I’m your daughter, and I’m your sister too! ’ you thought bitterly. Before shoving the thought down, guilt is gnawing at you more than the jealousy ever would.  

This has been happening more often than you'd like to admit. Their forgetting to invite you is starting to outweigh them inviting you. Sure, maybe. They'd forgotten.  

But you'd been the one to comfort Athy more than the emperor ever had. You were the one who wiped her tears after she had gotten pushed in the water. You'd pushed for her to do all she's doing now.  

Maybe...maybe you were in fact just meant to be forgotten.  

With a huff, you stood up, closing the book you hadn't spared a glance for. Picking it up. Your dress swished at your feet as you walked out. Faster than usual speed-walking, really. As if running from the scene you'd just witnessed. 

“It’s fine; they’ll just—I don’t know—they’ll invite me next time? ” You muttered to yourself. Feet taking you anywhere, you weren't looking up ahead, eyes trained on the floor beneath your feet. Thoughts are piling up as every other circumstance and excuse comes up as to why they didn't invite you to their tea party this time. Or the other twenty times.  

You stopped. Ears catching onto the maid's gossip before they see you. Your name being mentioned in low-toned whispers.  

“Poor girl... I mean, really, it's not like the crown princess or the emperor is really trying to hide it! ” She gasped in that fake tone you were oh-so-familiar with.  

“I know, oh my god! Did you see what they did last week? They had to—I'm not even joking—sneak out just so she wouldn't ask them,” the other maid piped in. Adding more fuel to the fire.  

Fuel that was making your heart ache. Which you realized had been aching for weeks. Just feel heavier. The lump in your throat is now worse than before. Water is pooling from behind your eyes, making your vision blurry. 

This time when you walked, you made sure not to make the sound of your heels visible. Just so you wouldn't jostle the gossiping maids.  

‘Maybe I’m just too much? ’ You tried to justify your voice still being low, whispering low. Trying to figure out where you went wrong. Sure, you always knew that your sister was closer to your father than you ever were. And you knew that your father was closer to your sister than he ever was to you.  

And yes, the favoritism was there. But it wasn't like you hadn't noticed them. Nor had you ever pointed it out.  

For all it's worth. Athy was the only sister you'd ever had. And Claude, maybe he wants the best father figure in the world. 

But truth be known, he was the only father you'd ever known in your life. “Maybe I just need to sleep it off.”  

You said that part out loud. Once in the confines of your opulent bedroom. Now alone. You removed the shoes you were wearing. And sliding into bed. Unshed tears staining your pillow. Before sleep finally took hold of you  

. 

. 

. 

. 

When you woke up. It was because Athy had called your name. Crystal blue eyes staring into you. “Good morning! ” the blonde chirped, standing next to your bed instead of peering at you.  

You greeted her back. The bitter thoughts are still bubbling at the back of your brain. But causing trouble would be so much worse. And you barely saw Athansia happy. So, you shut your mouth.  

The crown princess had taken the opportunity to plop down on your bed. Now grinning. Pearly white teeth showing as she finally started explaining the reason for her smile.  

“Guess what I did? ” she asked. Prodding around. 

“Ummm, you discovered that cows could fly? ” you asked in a voice half muffled by you hiding in the pillow, one eye looking at Athy.  

She shook her head, blue eyes glancing at you for a second before swinging her feet, eyes trained on the movement and then back to you. “Guess again, come onnnn! ” she encouraged. Smile widening.  

It caused a tiny crack of a smile to form on your own lips. “Hmm, what could the great Athanasia De Alger Obelia have done this time? ” you asked out loud sarcastically. “Maybe she invented a new key to the underworld—wait, no—that magician guy you like has proposed! ” You guessed, not moving from your position buried in your pillow.  

“What—no,” she shook her head. Your name followed the words with a whine. “Fine then!” she huffed. “I guess you’ll just never know,” she shrugged. Then silence followed.  

You rolled onto your back, hands folding just below your chest. Not even less than five minutes followed before the princess started spilling.  

“Father commissioned a painting of me and him!” She blurted out a tone filled with so much excitement and happiness. 

Your smile froze. The quirk of your lips almost going to a frown before you held your smile. Forcing your tone to appear... Happy?. You didn't know what you were attempting, really.  

“Aw, I’m so happy for you! When did he do that? ” you asked. How much was too much crying? Three or four times a day?. You weren't on a counting streak.  

“I think last week,” Athansia chirped.  

“I’m so happy for you,” you reiterated once more. Athanasia beamed happily. 

“Ah, I’m just gonna—uhm—go to the bathroom,” you excuse yourself, sitting up and getting out of your bed.  

. 

. 

. 

It was finally your day. What day?. Day you'd been dreaming of since forever. And your birthday, of course. Claude, to celebrate your birthday, had invited all of the most important people in the empire just for his daughter. 

So, dressed in your most extravagant dress. Your hair is done justtt right. You hurried down the steps of the palace. Shoes clicking against the floor, making your way to the ballroom.  

It was closed off with two large doors. The color of wood, the handles made of gold. Two guards were also stationed next to the large doorframe. Immediately bowing once they saw you, their lips moved in the form of the greeting before one moved closer and opened the door for you.  

You heard the muffled voice of the announcer. The door was pushed open.  

Everything was perfect. Everything was gleaming and perfect, and for the first time in so, so, so long, you felt like you belonged here.  

That you were, in fact, a princess. Not an outsider. 

You didn't have anyone to help you down the steps. But that was fine; you made your way down. Every guest's and noble's eyes landing on you. You saw the blonde hair of your sister standing next to your father.  

Everything was perfect, better than you could've ever imagined.  

But you'd barely made it down the stairs when they shifted music suddenly playing. It was known that the emperor would dance with his daughter on her birthday.  

So...everyone expected him to come towards you, right?. Not reach out for the crown princess to dance. 

Almost every pitiful gaze dropped to you at that. “Poor girl, she’s not even treated as a princess,” a nearby noble whispered. 

The empty void inside you returned in that moment. Watching the father-daughter 

The duo twirl and dance in happiness. Maybe you thought stupidly. That the tradition had changed?. 

You couldn't even bring yourself to be mad. just solemnly heartbroken and disappointed. Something that wasn't new for you.  

“It’s fine,” you thought to yourself.  

“Maybe next time I’ll win.”