Déjà vu || an OC UnOrdinary fanfic

help

i just logged back on to this account after like 2 years and i mean lets just say 12 year old me had way too much confidence bc wtf is this 

mary sue, a/ns halfway through the chapter, obnoxious amounts of !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!, overall shit writing, paragraph range of like half a line to what, fucking 20? christ on a bike

yeah this account is now the one i'm using for testing out smut writing since my friends know of my other one lmfao and i have no more emails to spare 

anyways uh. i was shocked to find out 4k people had read this and all the comments were entertaining to read through so even though this story makes me want to slam my head through the nearest wall i'm glad some people could enjoy it at least kshskdj.

it's my 15th birthday today (whoop) & it's safe to say that my writing has improved a fair bit if i do say so myself

yeah this will absolutely not be continued so sorry to anyone that was enjoying it sjdl

i mean i guess i could always rewrite it? without the fucking 18.8 ability level jfc i really embraced the mary sue life with that one

but fanfiction writing isn't something i'm massively interested in anymore (the only reason i'd ever write one again is bc they get so many more reads so much more easily than original stories seriously i) so probably not 

ANYWAYS. bye bye guys thanks for reading i hope you could enjoy this while it lasted 

my new writing is more like this is anyone is interested:

  "Would you rather be beheaded, hung, or burned?"

Illa found himself unable to answer- merely crouching down in a permanent bow on the floor like the meek, pathetic excuse for a knight he was.

Hanging... his father had hung. The cracking sound as the platform fell away underneath him- and the incessant chocking of the man that swung beside him, unlucky enough to have a neck able to withstand the force of the fall without snapping. He would never die like that.

Burning sounded excruciating. Not only the pain as the flames licked the soles of your feet, but then that same pain was amplified and heightened as they danced around the rest of your body, eventually swallowing you whole as if you were a weak mouse falling prey to the venom of the snake that encased you. Beheading was the best option. If he was going to die, he'd rather it be short, clean and sharp: with no ties to his sorry excuse of a father.

"B-"

"Burning? That can be arranged." The prince cut him off with a smirk, placing his foot, wearing the most delicately crafted of shoes, on top of Illa's head so he could push the man down. He forced his forehead to touch the carpet as he bowed before him, knees huddled underneath a sweating torso as the prickly material dug into his skin and left an uncomfortable indent- the kind of mark the bedsheets leave on your face when you wake up from a particularly satisfying nap.

"I mean beheading, please." Illa paused for a second before remembering to add a respectful, "Your highness." At the end of the statement. It would do him no good to anger the man more than he already had.

"Usually I'd go with your first answer. But since it's you..." He dug the heel of his shoe into Illa's head, making him grunt in pain. "I guess I'll reconsider."

"Thank you, your highness." Manners were key, when dealing with a person as unreasonable as him.

"Do you remember my name?" In a sudden change of topic, he lessened the pressure he was putting on Illa's head an allowed him to look up, to see the beautiful room which had once been so familiar to him.

The intricately threaded scarlet curtains, strands of gold and bursts of silver flowing through them like a swishing school of fish, spreading boundless amounts of colour and patters wherever their pretty little fins happened to flick towards. Each banister, statue, mural, windowsill, seat, bedframe: everything the resided inside the ornate room was handcrafted and loved to a degree someone the likes of Illa could never hope to match. The smallest item in this room- perhaps even one thread from the assortment of tapestries that lined the walls- would be worth enough precious coins to buy Illa many times over.

He hated rich people sometimes.